Chapter Text
The off season ends much sooner than usual. Victor could've sworn they had another month or two. A week at least.
Maybe it just feels shorter after skipping half of the last season's competitions to coach Yuuri. Either way, Victor is not so cheerful as he ought to be when they return to St. Petersburg.
Something is wrong. The world just a bit off kilter in a way he cannot place.
Mila and Georgi's enthusiasm when they arrive makes up for his dour mood. Somewhat. Their smiles almost contagious.
Soon they're bouncing ideas for their themes back and forth while the four of them warm up on the ice. Yuuri manages to follow the Russian better than the year before, but he says very little regardless, and Victor only offers his advice.
Both of their own themes have already been decided, after all. The choreography slowly coming together in Victor's head. New Beginnings for Yuuri, Family for Victor. The themes compliment each other nicely, though their routines will not.
Or at least that's the plan.
He has a rough idea for both of Yuuri's skates. An explosive short program and an intricate long, weaving together elements from their clashing cultures to create a beautiful narrative.
The plan for his own programs remain more... theoretical. Nebulous. Victor has lots of ideas for it, of course.
But nothing solid. Everything refusing to click into place like he knows it should.
It will though. Eventually. Once he finds the connecting thread. Something to push past the block in his head.
Maybe once Victor finds his footing, it will be easier. Then the season can truly start.
"Ah, there's Yuri!" Mila shouts and they all pause in their warm ups, turning to face the entrance. She's already waving before Yuri's even properly in view. Smile big and bread as she yells, "You're late, Yura!"
The wild print of his shirt makes him easy enough to spot from a distance. Vibrant colors from his Team Russia jacket clashing horrendously with the mash of tiger stripes and leopard print he's donned for the day.
Victor chuckles, raising his own hand in greeting. His question about the shirt dies on his lips when he catches sight of their youngest rinkmate's face.
Dark circles drag at both of Yuri's eyes. The short locks falling over his forehead leave them fully visible, barely tickling at his cheekbones. Much, much shorter than the golden strands had been back in March.
"Eh? Are you copying my hairstyle now, Yurio?" Victor arches a brow, voice light and teasing. "You went a bit short."
"Looks more like Katsuki's than yours," Georgi snorts, skating in a wide arc behind him. Victor glances over his shoulder with a smile. Skating past, Yuuri flushes and comes to a stop near the wall.
He offers Yuri a small smile, "I like it, Yurio. It suits your face well, makes you look a little older even."
A lie, but one Yuri will almost certainly appreciate. He looks even younger to Victor. Like the scrawny preteen he'd watched fight his way through the novice competitions, grumbling about the age minimums for juniors the whole way.
Except... there is no fire in his eyes. Not today. Victor furrows his brow when dull green eyes flick over all of them.
Yuri doesn't rage at Victor or Georgi for the comparisons, or Yuuri for his kindness. He ignores all of their comments in fact, barely acknowledging them at all as he heads for Yakov's office.
Not the locker rooms, or the bench where Victor dropped his own bag so he could get on the ice a little quicker. The office.
Beneath his feet, the earth seems to wobble a bit. As if its spinning in the wrong direction. Victor rolls his shoulders back.
"What's with him?" Georgi asks, voice low as he skates up to Victor. His own forehead wrinkling while Mila shouts after Yuri for being rude. "Why would he want to talk to Yakov before training?"
"I can't think of a reason..." Victor mumbles. His lips pull down into a frown. A creeping sense of foreboding rises up his spine.
He can't think of a good reason.
The only time he'd ever gone to Yakov's office before training were for scheduled reprimands. Or... when he decided to skip training and fly to Japan.
Victor has half-convinced himself Yuri is quitting by the time the younger man leaves Yakov's office. Perhaps an injury over the break? Or maybe he'd failed one of his required classes for school?
Yuri drops onto the bench near the gate and starts tugging off his shoes. White sneakers spray painted black and then colored in with neon tiger stripes. Victor'd bought the templates for Yuri himself after his first training back under Yakov.
The old man hadn't so much as spoken to Victor for a week after, while Yuri chattered on about making sure every item of clothing he owned suitably matching.
"Drills first!" Yakov shouts, appearing behind Yuri. His usual sour expression decorating his face while he calls out the skills. He doesn't even acknowledge the fact they're starting late.
Victor's gaze flick towards the clock. 20 minutes past the hour. He can count on one hand the number of times this has happened. Each and every one of those incidents had begun with a lecture from Yakov about the value of his time.
But Yuri sits on the bench, hands shaking as he tugs his skates on. When Yakov kneels to tie the laces for him, Victor chokes and Georgi trips, nearly face planting right onto the ice.
"Eh?" Victor claps his hands over his face, exaggerating a shriek, "I'm suppose to be the favorite! Not Yurio!"
"Fuck off!" Yuri snaps back, but there's no heat in his words. The crude hand gesture utterly lackluster. Like it's more muscle memory than anything.
The same can be said for his skating.
Victor keeps one eye trained on Yuri while circling the rink. His turns are just as sharp as usual. His spins just as quick. The footwork might be a little slower, but nothing out of the ordinary for a first training back after their break.
Still... there's something off about it. Something lacking. Hollow.
That creeping sense returns. Unease clawing its way up to tense shoulders. His gaze narrows on the bags under Yuri's eyes, his short hair.
When Yakov barks the order for them to start practicing their jumps, he snaps at Yuri to work on his figures instead. So while they jump, over and over, Yuri remains alone on the opposite end of the ice, skating in circles.
So it's not all in Victor's head then. Something is wrong. He watches Yuri out of the corner of his eye as best he can, searching for the injury. Some twitching muscle or well-hidden bandage.
Nothing pops though. Yuri is just as graceful as he'd been at the end of last season. His edges sharp. Clean.
His balance is good too. Center of gravity unchanged, still waiting for his next growth spurt to come along and trip him.
Mila's lips curl back after a particularly messy triple. Yakov is quick with corrections and she snarls back. Her eyes narrow on Yuri across the ice.
"Don't," Yakov silences her with a look. His jaw clenched. His gaze hard. Mila falters.
They're all silent, holding their breaths. The explanation doesn't come. No threat either. Nothing.
With a sharp bob of his head, Yakov sends Mila away and Georgi moves forward. He's short half a rotation, but the landing is solid. Yakov grunts.
The tension remains and Yakov cuts their session short for the first time in Viktor's memory. Mila and Georgi head for the ballet studio, rushing away before Yakov can change his mind. They grumble all the way to the locker room though.
Viktor can't blame them, but he does ignore them. He tries to push all of the distractions away - Yuri included - now that he and Yuuri have a two hour block to work on their routines. His brain already turning over ideas.
He intends to use every extra second provided to nail down his choreography, to force his mind to focus.
But his plan is quickly derailed. Victor's head snaps around, ears perking up at the sound of an argument.
"I'm perfectly fine in the dorms!" Yuri's voice carries through the rink. His voice sharp, angry. Victor almost sights in relief.
Some fire! Finally! He'll admit it, he was starting to get a little worried...
Yuri's face is flushed with anger, his eyes narrowed to slits as he argues with Yakov off the ice. Arms flying widely. If Victor just happens to skate a little closer to the boards so he can hear them, well... he's still technically working on a step sequence.
The green of Yuri's eyes brighten when he shouts, "I'm fully capable of taking care of myself!" Yakov remains stone faced.
"You have two choices, Yura," Yakov growls, "You either stay with me and Lilia, or..." His gaze flicks briefly towards Victor suddenly. Their eyes meet. Yakov wrinkles his nose before he finishes, "Or with Vitya."
Victor startles. He stumbles, crashing into the wall, arms flailing. "With me?" Victor yelps, "You want Yurio to stay with me?!"
A warmth settles beside him. Yuuri skating up to the railing. He squeezes at Victor's shoulder and aims a wide smile at the fuming blond in front of them.
"We do have a guest room, it's all yours if you want it, Yuri." His voice is light, but the grip on Victor's shoulder tightens.
He wouldn't have said no. Victor's lived with Yuri before, it wasn't too bad. Though... that had been when Yuri and his temper were younger, and quieter.
Plus, Yuri's a teenager now, with hormones and a changing body...
Why the hell would Yakov want Yuri to stay with him?! Doesn't he rememver how bad Victor's teenage years had been?!
Head quirking to the side, Victor's mouth snaps shut. His own memories of being sixteen running through his mind. He purses his lips, eyes wide.
"Yeah... the dorms would be a bad idea..."
The state funded dorms are full of athletes and artists from all around the country. Most of them unsupervised...
"Fine!" Yuri huffs, already stomping off in his socks. He snatches his bag off the floor, skates and shoes both carefully balanced in his arms. "I'll stay with the idiots," he agrees, still glaring at Yakov, "But you're being ridiculous!"
Once the locker room door slams shut, Victor straightens. Leaning over the rails, he focuses on Yakov, eyes sharp as hr surveys the man.
"What's going on?" Victor asks. His coach bristles. "Yura's off balance. I can tell," Victor squints ar Yakov, chin rising up, "And you're babying him, which isn't your style."
With a snort, Yakov shakes his head. "The off season wasn't kind to him," Yakov sighs, frowning. Victor waits.
Still, no explanation is offered. No reason given for Yakov's obvious concern.
"Just look after him," Yakov turns to them, hand rising to cup Victor's face. His hold firm and his accent thick as he says, "He's strong, but he's still a boy, Vitya."
The Russian is spoken quickly, the sounds harsher than usual. Yuuri's forehead wrinkles and Victor is sure his confusion is the point when Yakov finishes.
"He's not you," Yakov's grip tightens, his gaze sharp, "The weight on his shoulders is not just made of gold."
Victor stiffens. The hand on his face drops and he's left with his mouth hanging open when Yakov walk away. Yuuri nudges him, coughing awkwardly, "I, uh, didn't catch the last bit."
Pursing his lips, Victor drops a hand to his fiance's. He lifts Yuuri's hand to his lips and presses a kiss to pink knuckles.
"Just a reminder..." Victor tells him. He squeezes, lacing their fingers together, and forces a smile.
The press compares them, always has, ever since Yuri started competing in the Juniors. Same country, same coach, similar enough styles of choreography.
But Victor'd never been as hungry for the gold as Yuri. Ambitious, yes. Competitive.
Never desperate though.
He'd wanted the golds, wanted to prove himself, but he didn't need it. Not even now. Not like Yuri.
"How much does silver win?" Yuri's little voice echoes in his head. The memory bright and insistent. A furrowed brow looking up at Yakov after Yuri's first short program. Ten years old, biting at his trembling lip, "Will that be enough?"
The landing on his next jump is stumbling.
"Vitya?" Yuuri pauses in the middle of the ice, spinning to face him. Hands rise up as he skates closer. One cups his cheek, the other the back of his neck, "If you're not comfortable with Yuri staying with us-"
"That's not it," Victor grabs hold of Yuuri's hips. He drags him in, pressing their foreheads together. He stares into Yuuri's eyes. The dark pools of warmth shimmering like freshly coated ice.
His theme is family. Yuuri and Makkachin. Mari and their parents. The comfort and security he associates with Hasetsu. He'd not thought to consider anyone else. His own parents hardly worthy of even a fleeting thought.
But something clicks, when he thinks of Yuri. Of Yakov and his rinkmates. The people he's trained with for years now. Day in and day out.
Taking a breath, Victor smiles, "I know what I'm doing for my short program now."