Chapter Text
Even though Viktor smiles as he leaves the rink, there is something off about him.
The year's 2008, the place's Everett, the US and while the crowd cheers for him, Viktor quietly breathes in and out and in and keeps his smile bright and easy when he waits for his score to appear. Yakov frowns and just as the number pops up - 98.30, that's good, isn't it? - Viktor blinks.
"And that's a very good score for Viktor Nikiforov, one of this year's favourites! Nikiforov, aged 19, has won the Grand Prix before, not even mentioning the national competitions and European champions, and he's also the last year's winner of the World's Championship. This is his third year in the senior section. Nikiforov's young but incredibly talented - and currently in the second place."
He keeps smiling and waves as they walk away from the audience and the cameras. As soon as he's alone with Yakov, Viktor stops.
"Who?" he demands an answer, feeling somehow numb inside.
Yakov shrugs.
"Some Japanese kid. I’ve never seen him before, to be honest."
Viktor does not answer. It’s 2008 and it's supposed to be his year. He knows there is no one better than him out there, none of these people are half as good as him - he's young and brilliant and already surpassing everyone's expectations, his short program is incredible and this year, the Grand Prix is going to be his.
But somehow, he's second. And as he stands in the artificial light of lightbulbs inside the stadium, something inside him twists.
"Well, at least we know there is a lot more work ahead of you, Viktor," Yakov says. "Now focus on your free program. You’ll beat him there."
"Yes," Viktor breathes out and nods. "I will."
This is nothing but a temporary setback. Tomorrow, he'll show them all.
Yes.
---
When Yuuri's eighteen, he qualifies for the Senior Grand Prix series. It’s the first time he's going to skating in such a high-profile competition and his knees feel very weak.
"Don’t let me down," his coach says and Yuuri forces himself to breathe, smiling brightly.
"I won't," he promises.
---
The final day of Skate US, Viktor climbs into the first place after his performance, scoring well above 180 and breaking the world record for the first time. He glows as they hang a gold medal around his neck, smiling fiercely. The stadium cheers for him and everything feels just right.
"Congratulations on your win." the Japanese boy shakes his hand with polite smile and leaves soon. Viktor does not smirk. He does not.
(This is the first time they meet, but not the last.)
---
Yuuri is not disappointed. (This is a lie)
He flies back to Japan with a silver in his luggage and something heavy on his chest. Everyone's excited beyond measure, congratulating him, but he can't bring himself to care. He almost had it - almost, but not quite. (He tries not to think about the sleepless night before the free skate and the smirk in Viktor Nikiforov’s eyes, but fails to.)
His coach has him watch his performance and points out every flaw, every hesitation and every mistake. Yuuri hates it, but brings himself to see all of it and the next time he gets on ice, he refuses to repeat any of them.
They also watch all of the other competitors, looking for weak spots - and Yuuri catches the weak knee of the Czech skater, he sees the trembling arms of the American competitor and he sees the slight hesitation before Nikiforov goes for a triple axel and suddenly feels a lot surer. They are not perfect. They can be beaten.
After the Skate US, Viktor dominates the Cup of China, qualifying first for final competition. Yuuri smiles mildly, watching him receive the medal, remembering the not-quite-sneer on Nikiforov’s face and thinks: just wait. Just you wait.
Yuuri wins Trophée de France and receives his first gold, the stadium erupting in cheers for him. His coach does not smile or throw a celebration, instead forcing him to drill again and again and again until the routine's down under his skin, until he feels it inside his bones, until it becomes a part of him. Yuuri does not protest and does it again and again and again even when his feet turn bloody and torn, even when the pain ceases to exist, leaving him weightless.
(Because he will never be as talented as Nikiforov and the others, but he can - has to - work harder to beat them. This is who Yuuri is.)
The worse comes comes later, though, when he lies awake in his bed and sweats through the night, thinking about the mistakes he made and the one he can - will - make. He sees all of them - his mother, father, his coach, other skaters, Nikiforov - and they look at him, some with thinly veiled pity, some openly disgusted, whispering between each other. He sees Tokyo - hopeful, eager Tokyo that expects him to give them a medal for the very first time and he sees their faces turn sour, disappointed in him. He hates it and cries quietly, swallowing down sobs.
In the end, this does not stop him from getting up every morning and doing it everything all over again.
When he skates the routine for the last time, it's snowing outside and the night has already swallowed the ice rink. He jumps and lands and spins and twists and does it again and then he stops when the music ceases to play. Breathing loudly in the silence of the rink, his throat feels very dry and his chest has gone tight. His coach looks at him.
"Good," she says, finally. "Good."
And Yuuri smiles and takes a deep, shaking breath and then another and then he's going limp, gasping for oxygen. His head is spinning and his legs finally give up and he crumbles down on the surprisingly cold ice and his coach is running towards him, but that's okay.
"Good," he repeats, his voice soft and small, and he's laughing, his ribs too tight and too sore. "Good."
He can win.
He will win.
---
The next time they meet, it's the Grand Prix Final in Korea.
Viktor’s ready - this is his year. He is the clear favourite. He will win.
He does everything the way he's supposed to - and even not only that, he's better, breaking the world record set by himself in the free skate once enough.
It’s not enough.
---
"And here we have the biggest surprise of this year, Japanese skater Katsuki Yuuri! Coming out of nowhere, this man has dominated the short program, delivering the highest technical difficulty performance ever and breaking the previous world record by several points. And after this free skate, he has truly surpassed everyone's expectations, setting his personal best along with a new world record shortly after Viktor Nikiforov established the previous one. Katsuki, the young hope of Japanese figure skating, is making history this year - and here we have it, folks, it’s official! Katsuki Yuuri, the dark horse of this year’s series, wrestles the first place from the junior star, Viktor Nikiforov, and wins the golden medal! What an amazing twist - congratulations to Katsuki Yuuri!"
---
Viktor tries to smile (after all, he's still the second best in the world), but as he watches the Japanese boy take his place in front of the stadium, he finds that he can't.
This has never happened to him before.
After the ceremony is over and the people start leaving, he slowly skates to the edge of podium and walks out. Yakov follows him, saying some things that Viktor probably should care about, but he ignores them anyway.
(Viktor’s nineteen and he has lost for the very first time. He’s not sure what he is supposed to do next.)
"I’ll pick you up later, for the banquet." Yakov says, right before he shuts the door.
Viktor slowly walks to the bed, feeling not quite awake. The silver medals hangs heavy over his neck, swinging back and forth, hitting his chest, the pain dull and low. Makkachim jumps up on the bed, pushing Viktor with his head and whines, confused. The room is strangely silent but for Viktor's own breath.
Finally, he reaches out for the dog and buries his face in Makkachim's fur, soft and warm.
"I don't know what to do now, Makkachim." he whispers, suddenly feeling very young and very fragile.
The dog whines in response.
"Yeah. I know."
Then there is silence for a very long time.
---
The thing about Yuuri is that he is good.
No one quite expects him to be. His family would be happy if he stayed right where he was, growing up to be a nice yet slightly average person, if he got married and fathered his two and a half children. They love him anyway, with his bruised legs, always busy schedule and lack of friends - but Yuuri knows that they are not quite sure whether he had to do all of this. Whether it was worth it (the tears, the blood, the sweat).
But when's Yuuri on the ice, his head is clear and the music is loud, he feels happier than anywhere else. And sure, sometimes he hates it, hates the blood on his socks, hates the bland taste of yogurt and cereals in the morning (never katsudon, because that's not a healthy and balanced diet, now is it) and hates that he's never had a best friend or a girlfriend, because there isn’t time for that in his life - but somehow, when he stands on the podium, blood running hot in his veins and the world watching, it is all worth it.
The thing is that Yuuri was always good, even when the world didn't trust him, but this is the first time he gets to be better.
It feels very strange.
---
The thing about Viktor is that he's better.
He's more talented, he's more daring, he's more surprising - he's more than everyone expects, he's better than the others and always been, dashing through the junior competition and crushing his rivals, graceful, effortless, charming. (Viktor's sharp as razor and cuts twice as deep and when he smiles and poses for the photographs, gold shining on his chest, you can always see his teeth.)
This is not bragging, mind you. This is who Viktor is.
And to find himself in a situation where he suddenly isn't -
Well.
The thing is that for Viktor, being good was never enough. And yet - here's he is. Good, but not better.
It feels very strange.
---
Yuuri walks into the ballroom slightly dazed, his new suit itching and pulling at his neck. The room is buzzing and everyone's eager to meet the man of the evening and Yuuri faintly thinks about wasps nests and swarms. His coach steers him towards the important people, who shake his hand and pour compliments all over him and he's not quite sure whether he can breathe or not.
He meets the other competitors too.
Some of them are genuinely happy to congratulate him.
Some less so.
(He finds Nikiforov last.)
"Congratulations," the Russian offers with a very affectionate (and very fake, Yuuri thinks) smile. "Amazing performance!"
Yuuri looks at him and sees the slight redness of his eyes, the tie hanging too low and the emptiness lurking behind the brilliant blue eyes.
"Thank you," Yuuri says and a part of him is horrified. "You were good as well."
"I was, wasn't I?" says Nikiforov and there is something very soft about it.
Yuuri wants to tell him something - but then he stops and remembers the smirk Nikiforov wore when he had beaten him in Atlantic City and something inside him hardens.
"Not quite good enough, though," he offers lightly and walks away.
(Viktor stands there for a very long time.)
---
Viktor leaves the banquet early, thoroughly sick. He can't bear it - the pitying looks of other skaters, Yakov disappointment and the memory of Katsuki’s arrogant face. It’s hard enough being a loser, but the cold hate he feels when he thinks about the other man-
This is not who he is. This is thoroughly and horribly wrong.
(He does not throw up, but it’s close.)
---
Yuuri drinks a lot that evening and tries not to think.
It’s hard, but he manages and as he stumbles towards his hotel room, he finally feels victorious. He won, wiping the smirk from Nikiforov’s stupid face - that's good, isn't it? He should be proud, really. (And somewhere inside, he knows that this is not right and that the horrible feeling in his stomach has more to do with himself that Nikiforov, but that's something he'll deal with later.)
He almost manages to convince himself that everything is precisely the way it is supposed to be, when he runs into Nikiforov in the corridor.
The other man looks at him and his eyes turn cold.
"Oh, no smile this time?" Yuuri beams at him, feeling very bitter and upset. This is not the way winning was supposed to feel - and Nikiforov is here and Yuuri wants him to feel worse that he does, because he had no right to take this away from him.
"That’s too bad."
Viktor does not answer, but he looks at Yuuri and he seems terrifying, tall, pale and angry.
It does not feel real at all, Yuuri thinks, detached, and he laughs, because it’s so incredibly strange and the alternative would be crying and like hell he's going there.
Nikiforov suddenly moves, all of that pent-up energy released and pins him against the wall.
“Don’t.” He breathes out, his voice rough and Yuuri shivers, feeling very warm. The collar of his skirt is askew and Nikiforov notices that too, watching a blush spills on his milky, white throat.
Yuuri deliberately swallows and looks him in the eyes, drunk on champagne, victory and something entirely different.
“Or what?” He breathes out, the air suffocating him and watches Nikiforov eyes go dark and thinks about broken bones and bruises and then Nikiforov moves, quick as a viper and Yuuri holds his breath and Nikiforov’s mouth is on Yuuri's and his tongue in his mouth, vicious and dripping with poison and, oh god, Yuuri's dazed but pushing back and he bites him, tasting the angry words spilling from the other man's mouth and grabs a fist full of Nikiforov's too fancy shirt and drags him closer.
This is easier than feeling, he realises later while tearing down Nikiforov's suit, this isn't - but then everything is too much and he struggles to breathe and he can't think-
So he doesn't.
---
Viktor is gone by the morning, leaving Tokyo and Katsuki behind. Yakov is already working on his routines, and there’s the upcoming World Championship to think about. It’s his chance to get back on track and Viktor’s determined not to let it go.
He does not think about Katsuki. (However, when he later sees the skater on TV, walking slow and careful as he leaves the hotel, Viktor smirks.)