Chapter Text
Viktor Nikiforov stepped of the ice, feeling like a winner already. This was his year for sure. There was no way that Katsuki could beat that performance.
He looked back at the crowd, seeing the rest of his competitors clapping, with looks of awe on their faces. Well, except for Katsuki, that is. He was clapping, but Viktor knew that it was just so that his fans didn’t think he was rude.
He got off the ice, took off his skates, and waited for his score. When it came on the boards, he pumped his fists in the air, whooping with pride. 119.75, his new personal best, a new world best! After talking to the press for a minute, he walked over to the booth where his competition was, a swagger in his step.
After receiving praise from most of the group, he turned to Katsuki, and Phichit, who as usual was by his side. While Phichit congratulated him on his new best, Katsuki just looked at him, as if he was staring into his sole and seeing all his secrets. It made Viktor squirm inside, and it was the first thing that had started his hatred towards Katsuki.
The other remained silent as usual, his body in its usual stiff shape, which only changed on the ice. The only time which Viktor had seen him looking free was on the ice. In fact, during his routines, he looked like freedom and emotions themselves, which was crazy compared to his usual expressionless demeanour.
“Good luck beating that, Katsuki!” he said with a smirk, as there was no way that Katsuki would beat him this year, not after his complete flop last season.
None of them had any idea what had happened, but last year, at the final Grand Prix, Katsuki had seemed off to them all. He was more twitchy, and was fidgeting a lot. Then, a few minutes before his turn, he went missing. The group had searched for him, and when they found him, he was curled up in a hallway, sobbing.
To say that they were shocked would be an understatement. They couldn’t comprehend that the emotionless robot was sitting on the floor, crying his eyes out. Phichit had silently ordered them to leave, and when Katsuki had returned, in a new costume, there was no trace of tears on his face, except for his red eyes. But when he had performed, it was clear as day that something was wrong. His routine looked spent, as if all of his fuel was used up, compared to his normally colourful performance. He looked like he did off the ice. The whole time, Phichit had watched with sad understanding on his face, as if he had expected that to happen.
Katsuki had scored the lowest he ever had before, an 87.92, but he didn’t seem to care. In fact, the rest of the day was spent in some kind of trance, like he was just existing, floating through the hours, like a ghost. Viktor had taken note of the look in his eyes, dead and defeated, and had chosen not to antagonize him, praying that he returned to normal the next year so that he had some proper competition.
And he had. Katsuki had come back as the usual robot, and everything would be the same, if not for the worried glances Phichit kept giving him, as if making sure he was still there.
Viktor was brought back to the present by Katsuki’s body stiffening even more, if that was possible, and Phichit’s even more than usual worried glance.
In response to Viktor’s antagonism, he said, “I don’t need luck,” in his flat voice.
It was Viktor’s turn to stiffen, annoyed by Katsuki’s confidence in himself, even after last year’s should-be crushing defeat. Why did nothing affect the man? It was like every insult or compliment just passes through him. The only person who he seemed to care what they said was Phichit, and one could only tell by the slight twitch of Katsuki’s lips when the other congratulated him or said something particularly funny.
Phichit, on the other hand, clung to every word that passed from Katsuki’s lips. When he praised him on a performance, as he did for everyone, (but it was only to keep up his appearance, nothing else) Phichit seemed almost bashful. Viktor always wondered about why the two polar opposites were the best of friends. The Thai man could do much better than Katsuki, but they had been together for as long as Viktor had known them.
Katsuki was called up to the rink, and he was about to leave when Phichit grabbed him by the shoulder and whispered in his ear. Viktor was sure that he wasn’t supposed to hear, but because of how close he was, he just about made it out.
“Skate for them.”
Katsuki tensed under his grip for a second, before relaxing, offering a nod in response, along with a small twitch of his lips.
His rival stepped into the ice, and something changed. Like very other one of his performances (except last year’s), his demeanour immediately changed, and he relaxed, every step to the centre of the rink was graceful, like his routine had already started.
He made it to the centre, got into position and waited to be introduced.
“Katsuki Yuuri, three time Grand Prix final gold medalist, here today, performing to a song composed for him, on heartbreak. The song is called Hell Hath No Such Fury.”
Yuuri usually chose a darker theme(except for that one year he chose seduction, no one would ever forget that ) but this years was especially somber for him. It was very different from the usual upbeat themes other skaters chose.
On heartbreak, Viktor scoffed. How could a man like him ever love in the first place? “That’s where you’re wrong, Viktor.” He startled when a voice next to him spoke. Did I say that out loud? “The only thing a man like him can do is love. Love and skate,” Phichit said with a soft, almost sad smile.
His words confused Viktor, but he had no more time to dwell on it, as the music started and he turned around to see what he was up against.
Katsuki had chosen a rather simple costume, black with sections of mesh. It was plain looking, without any gems or colour to make it stand out, except for one thing. The black was darker in certain spots, looking a bit like water colour. Victor supposed it was fitting for heartbreak.
The music started off slow, a few dark chords of piano, and Viktor had to admit that it was beautiful. It had all the right elements, in just the right places. But while it was beautiful, it felt broken, helpless and tortured. It represented heartbreak perfectly.
Then, Katsuki started moving, and all Viktor could think was Oh. The routine was, for lack of better words... breathtaking. It showcased all of the elements of loss; pain, regret, sorrow, fury. Katsuki was emotions incarnate. Viktor couldn’t tear his eyes away, from this person he couldn’t claim to know, pouring his heart out on the ice, for everyone to see.
It could probably be called the greatest performance he had ever seen, and by a long shot. The moment Katsuki stopped, with one hand over his heart, and the other reaching out to something everyone else couldn’t see, it broke his heart and ground the pieces to dust. Katsuki was right. He didn’t need luck, he had everything he needed right there in him. The crowd erupted in cheers, some sobbing and hugging each other, and some just staring.
The rest of the skaters all had their mouths hanging open, bewildered. When they had thought Katsuki had reached rock bottom, he came back stronger than ever.
Chris whispered to Viktor, “How can he feel that much?!” Viktor just shook his head, in a state of shock.
Katsuki stepped off the ice, back to his usual robotic demeanour, and sat at the Kiss and Cry, awaiting his score. His eyes seemed emptier than before, as if he had given up everything on the ice.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was only a few minutes, the score popped up on the board. It was... 138.68.
Katsuki gave one of his rare, genuine smiles to the camera, as Viktor sat in shock. He had been beaten... by almost 20 points. Even in the past, when Katsuki had bested him, it was always by only a few points, up to five. But here he was, a whopping 20 points below his rival, who had taken the title of the best score in the world from him after less than ten minutes of it being his.
But it wasn’t that the performance didn’t deserve such a score. Anyone could see that that performance had beaten Viktor’s.
Viktor suddenly felt angry. Had he gotten a score like that, he would be doing a victory dance, or yelling at the top of his lungs, but all Yuuri did was smile. It was frustrating, to say the least. Not only had he been beaten, but the man acted like it wasn’t a big deal, and he didn’t even look happy! No, Viktor was furious.
Katsuki Yuuri was an ass.