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fallsintograce · 6 years

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Terra Incognita (India) Ficlet #8

In which the gang visits the Taj Mahal, part one. Yet more ficlets for @unknownlandzine . I apologize for how long it took me to get this up. (I can’t wait till the zine itself comes out! So much good fic and art, y’all!) And forgive me if I misspelled anything. I’m running on little sleep, lol >.>

The trip to Agra was a little less annoying in the fact that they had a car with working A/C and they didn’t need to stop constantly. There were peacocks and peahens running around on the side of the road though none of them had their plumage up. The roads could get a little bumpy and they had to wake up early just to get to Agra on time. Minus the occasional animal or person crossing the street, it was relatively an uneventful ride.

The annoyances were actually in the back. Yuri was thankful to be in a car with AC but that was it. Otabek, the traitor, decided to sit up in front where he could get more air and there wasn’t enough room for Yuri too. So to the backside it was. That wouldn’t be bad if it weren’t for the people he was sitting with. On one side, he had Chris who was drinking a bottle of Pepsi and making strange sounds when he sucked through the straw. The man had no idea how to eat and drink anything without making it sound weird. Still, he would have dealt with this for the entire ride if he didn’t have a certain someone else on the other side. Since the first car had too many people in it, they needed someone else to get in the second car.

“Fortunately, we have a volunteer for this. Things are going according to schedule and we should get there on time.” Yakov said. “He was kind enough to come over and leave some space to the others.”

“Well, that’s fine.” Yuri muttered. “As long as it’s not…”

“Hey, guys! Who’s ready for a road trip?!”

That voice. That irriting, arrogant voice could come from one person and one person only. Yuri paled and prayed that he was wrong. “Please tell me he’s not the one…I’ll walk all the way if I have to, just don’t tell me it’s...”

“IT’S JJ STYLE!”

Yakov refused to let anyone else move places because they would end up being late. Without argument, Yuri took the seat in the back and prayed that they got there quickly. He was the unfortunate one stuck with JJ to his left and JJ was talking too much. He tried to pretend that he was asleep so he could be left alone. JJ didn’t stop though. He just chose to talk to someone else.

It was a little better than being in the middle where Georgi was waxing poetic about how romantic the Taj Mahal actually was. It might have been a mausoleum but it had been built out of love. The beautiful white marble with its many precious stones embedded in it was a stunning sight. It was clear to see why this was one of the seven wonders of the world. It would be worthwhile if they got there.

At the moment, however, they were stuck in traffic. It wouldn’t be so bad if there were several crows taking up the streets. Those birds were mocking them, taking their damn time to fly away. Yuri had enough of those damn crows everywhere. They seemed to mock him anytime he went anywhere. He’d wake up to those annoying ‘caws’ in the morning. However, he could deal with them if he wasn’t listening to Chris eating a bunch of Lays Masala flavored chips right now.

“Can’t you eat quietly?” He asked.

“They’re chips.” Chris waved the bag in front of him. “Nobody eats chips quietly.”

“They don’t eat as loudly as you do either.” Yuri looked out the window and saw a crow sitting on a rooftop. The damn bird looked like it was mocking him. Rolling down the window, he snapped at it. “What are you looking at, asshole?!”

“Caw!” The crow squawked before flying off. It never failed. He would yell at them, they would squawk, and then fly off before he could chase after them. Out of all the animals here, the crows were the ones that irritated him the most. Annoyed, he slumped back in his chair and hoped that they would get there sooner than later. With the blaring horns, random cars cutting through, herds of sheep and cows walking by, and the occasional random person crossing the street without looking at signs, this was taking longer than he had hoped.

After fifteen minutes, they were in Agra and just moments away from seeing the famous mausoleum. Once they arrived and they had made it through security, the Taj Mahal waited for them in all her glory. Bright white under the hot sun, it didn’t seem like a mausoleum. The beautiful green gardens around it added some vibrant colors. The calligraphy and art on it only added to the beauty. They knew that the real tombs were on a lower level of the mausoleum but it didn’t matter if they went inside. The architecture was indeed a labor of love.

“Ah, it is a true gesture of romance and love.” Georgi sighed as they walked around. “The emperor was so stricken with grief that he built such a magnificent tomb for his wife. I hope to do something like this one day.”

“You want to build a tomb for your dead wife?” Yuri gave him a look. He shrugged. “Okay, well, that’s your funeral.”

“Actually, it will be in memory of my dearly beloved. Just like this one.”

Up close, it was more breathtaking. The big marble pillars and domes looked so much bigger in person.The beautiful green gardens had many people walking all around them. Some were taking pictures and others were talking about what they saw. For the most part, everyone was being respectful and quiet. It made sense as this was where the tombs of two people were located. The Taj Mahal was well protected and still standing to this day. It would be around for years to come. For a long time, no one could do anything but stare at it.

“So this is it.” Yuuri murmured as people snapped pictures around him. “It’s been around since the 17th century. Can you believe it?”

“Yeah.” Yuri nodded. “Can we go inside?”

“I think so. I want to see what it’s like.” Phichit nodded. “It’s supposed to be even more impressive.”

“Come on, Yuuri! Let’s plan what our final resting place will look like!” Victor exclaimed, grabbing Yuuri by the arm and leading him towards the mausoleum.

“We haven’t even decided on getting a house to live in and you’re already planning what will happen after we die?!”

Rolling his eyes, Yuri followed the others towards the Taj Mahal. Everything from many years ago, beautiful and priceless, waited for them on the inside.

The trip to Agra was a little less annoying in the fact that they had a car with working A/C and they didn’t need to stop constantly. There were peacocks and peahens running around on the side of the road though none of them had their plummage up. The roads could get a little bumpy and they had to wake up early just to get to Agra on time. Minus the occasional animal or person crossing the street, it was relatively an uneventful ride.

“Well, that’s fine.” Yuri muttered. “As long as it’s not…”

“Hey, guys! Who’s ready for a road trip?!”

“IT’S JJ STYLE!”

“Can’t you eat quietly?” He asked.

“They’re chips.” Chris waved the bag in front of him. “Nobody eats chips quietly.”

“You want to build a tomb for your dead wife?” Yuri gave him a look. He shrugged. “Okay, well, that’s your funeral.”

“Actually, it will be in memory of my dearly beloved. Just like this one.”

“So this is it.” Yuuri murmured as people snapped pictures around him. “It’s been around since the 17th century. Can you believe it?”

“Yeah.” Yuri nodded. “Can we go inside?”

“I think so. I want to see what it’s like.” Phichit nodded. “It’s supposed to be even more impressive.”

“Come on, Yuuri! Let’s plan what our final resting place will look like!” Victor exclaimed, grabbing Yuuri by the arm and leading him towards the mausoleum.

“We haven’t even decided on getting a house to live in and you’re already planning what will happen after we die?!”

Rolling his eyes, Yuri followed the others towards the Taj Mahal. Everything from many years ago, beautiful and priceless, waited for them on the inside.

The trip to Agra was a little less annoying in the fact that they had a car with working A/C and they didn’t need to stop constantly. There were peacocks and peahens running around on the side of the road though none of them had their plummage up. The roads could get a little bumpy and they had to wake up early just to get to Agra on time. Minus the occasional animal or person crossing the street, it was relatively an uneventful ride.

“Well, that’s fine.” Yuri muttered. “As long as it’s not…”

“Hey, guys! Who’s ready for a road trip?!”

“IT’S JJ STYLE!”

“Can’t you eat quietly?” He asked.

“They’re chips.” Chris waved the bag in front of him. “Nobody eats chips quietly.”

“You want to build a tomb for your dead wife?” Yuri gave him a look. He shrugged. “Okay, well, that’s your funeral.”

“Actually, it will be in memory of my dearly beloved. Just like this one.”

“So this is it.” Yuuri murmured as people snapped pictures around him. “It’s been around since the 17th century. Can you believe it?”

“Yeah.” Yuri nodded. “Can we go inside?”

“I think so. I want to see what it’s like.” Phichit nodded. “It’s supposed to be even more impressive.”

“Come on, Yuuri! Let’s plan what our final resting place will look like!” Victor exclaimed, grabbing Yuuri by the arm and leading him towards the mausoleum.

“We haven’t even decided on getting a house to live in and you’re already planning what will happen after we die?!”

Rolling his eyes, Yuri followed the others towards the Taj Mahal. Everything from many years ago, beautiful and priceless, waited for them on the inside.

#unknownlandzine #terra incognita 2.0 #ficlet #yuri on ice

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lavenderprose · 7 years

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Hey kids I wrote a longer version of The Night Yuuri Katsuki Lost His Mind, AKA the College AU

Yuuri jerks awake just after midnight, realizes that he is surrounded by what to the uninitiated observer would look like the detritus of the insane, and quickly gleans from the angle of the ceiling that he is on the floor.

He flings out a hand, looking for his phone. The light of the screen, even set to its lowest level, pulls a violated wail from his throat.

"Oh my GOD," Phichit says from the sofa. He sits up, flops himself over the edge. The hamsters start squealing at the sound of their father's voice. "I submitted myself to only getting an hour of sleep but I am getting an HOUR of sleep, Yuuri Katsuki, do you hear me?"

"When does Starbucks open?" Yuuri demands blearily, trying to work up the energy to disconnect his cheek from the carpet. It smells like Timothy hay and despair.

"This is a college town you absolute disaster," Phichit growls from the depths of the couch cushion he has his face shoved into. "Starbucks never closes."

Yuuri would accuse Phichit of being ugly due to sleep deprivation, if he didn't know that absolute disaster was the kindest thing that Phichit has ever called him during a finals week.

"Oh God, I overslept," Yuuri moans into the carpet. "I meant to take a twenty-minute powernap. Oh God. But I was having such a good dream."

"Was Viktor Nikiforov there?" Phichit asks, because he's the worst person Yuuri knows and also because every single person in the state of Michigan knows about Yuuri's massive crush on the World's Most Beautiful Grad Student, Viktor Nikiforov.

"No," Yuuri whispers, hands now folded over his chest like a dead Catholic. "But God was."

"You're Shinto. You don't believe in the monotheistic God."

"That doesn't stop me from dreaming about him."

Phichit glances over his shoulder. "What does God look like?"

Yuuri considers for a moment. "David Duchovny."

Phichit snorts into his shoulder and rolls back over. Yuuri rises shakily to his feet and stumbles into his bedroom, where he opens his computer and scrolls unseeingly down the seventeen-page research paper he abandoned three hours ago in favor of what was intended to be a powernap. There is a cold cup of coffee on his desk which he unfeelingly chugs in the mannerism of those who drink to forget. He neither remembers when the coffee or the milk in it was poured, but it's an occupational hazard.

"Go to college, they said," he hisses under his breath. "It'll be fun, they said."

"Yuuri, I am legitimately going to murder you," Phichit says from the living room. "I have ten minutes left of sleep and I will get them if I have to gag you."

Five minutes later, Phichit rolls off the sofa and crawls into Yuuri's room.

"What final is that for?" he asks.

"It's for my IAH on the Russian Revolution," Yuuri says, whose eyes have not yet been able to focus on a full sentence. "It's my last final but it's due on Thursday and I still need to proofread."

"Well, uh, that's bad news for you," Phichit mutters, "because it's Friday, my dude."

Yuuri experiences a moment of the kind of calm, collected and composed terror that he imagines overcomes soldiers in their last moments before dying in the line of duty.

"WHAT," is what emerges from his mouth. It doesn't even sound like his own voice. It sounds like a bird has momentarily possessed his body and used his mouth to shriek an arcane and evil message to the heavens.

"It's Friday," Phichit repeats. "It has been for about fifteen minutes."

"Oh my God," Yuuri whispers, frantically pulling up the D2L dropbox. "Ohhh my God. Oh my God."

"David Duchovny leadeth me in paths of righteousness," Phichit says, and leans his head against Yuuri's thigh as, above him, the Chernobyl of undergrad crises implodes.

"The drop box is closed," Yuuri whispers as he watches his entire academic career flash before his eyes. "I'm toast. The drop box is closed. This paper is thirty percent of my grade."

"You can email the professor," Phichit says to Yuuri's knee. "Say you had a wifi problem."

"Professor Feltsman said that technological malfunction isn't a good reason for late work," Yuuri says, quoting the syllabus verbatim and feeling his soul leak slowly out of his ears. "I can't email him. He scares me. I think if I tried to get him to reopen the drop box, he'd bury me in the same hole where the Mafia buried Jimmy Hoffa."

"Okay, first of all, Jimmy Hoffa wasn't buried anywhere," says Phichit, wobbling to his feet. He turns on Yuuri's overhead light and blinks into the now-illuminated room like a newborn. "They cut him into little pieces and threw him into Lake Michigan. Secondly, isn't Beautiful Viktor Feltsman's grad student?"

"Yes," says Yuuri, for whom thinking of The World's Most Beautiful Grad Student is a slight reassurance. "He is."

"So send it to him. He has the hots for you, I'm sure he'd be cool."

"HE DOES NOT," Yuuri shrieks, to the agony of every dog in a six-block radius.

Phichit slams a hand against the back of Yuuri's desk chair and spins him around, jams a finger into his face. "Yuuri, I swear to God, if you even consider making a noise like that ever again, I will gut you like a fish."

"Please gut me like a fish," Yuuri whispers. "I would prefer it to being academically crucified by Yakov Feltsman."

"I told you, send Beautiful Viktor the paper. He'll drop it in for you."

"Phichit," Yuuri says, "we've been over this. Either use the full title, or just call him Viktor. Beautiful Viktor sounds like a rejected Muppets character."

Phichit sighs the sigh of a saint whose patience is being severely tested. "Send the World's Most Beautiful Grad Student your paper."

"I can't—"

"Your tongue has literally been down his throat, and probably other places that I don't like to think about, so tell me why he wouldn't A: have the hots for you and B: submit your paper to the dropbox so that Professor Feltsman doesn't rain the fury of the entire Russian Studies department down on your pretty little head?"

"Because he's a Grad student," Yuuri hisses, "and I could get him in serious trouble. Both by convincing him to give me special treatment, and by putting my tongue down his throat. Among other things."

Phichit literally throws his hands up at that point—they go flying into the air and knock Yuuri's framed poster of Daisuke Takahashi off the wall. It falls to the ground, betrayed, and lands face-down. Phichit, unheeding, carries his one-man demonstration into the kitchen, where he fills up the kettle and shouts, "Aren't there papers to sign? That say you guys can date? It's not like he's a professor! These things happen all the time!"

"The papers don't apply to undergrads taking a course taught by the graduate student they're dating," Yuuri says, arms limp at his sides and face on the desk. "It's unethical. He would lose his fellowship."

"You're only his student for the next…twenty-three hours and thirty-nine minutes." Phichit pulls tea out of the cabinet and leans around the door. "It's Beautiful Viktor's ethics, or your GPA. And you're on an athletics scholarship, so your GPA is kind of—"

"Important, I know." Yuuri sits up from his slump and stares at his computer screen, teeth grinding. "Ahh. AHHHH. AHHH. Okay, God, okay." In a flurry of movement, he slams his computer closed, yanks the flashdrive holding the paper out, and scrambles for his shoes

"What the hell are you doing?" Phichit demands, as Yuuri stumbles past him, pulling his bag over his shoulder. "I told you to email it to Beautiful Viktor, not special deliver it straight to his office at midnight."

"If I emailed it to him, he wouldn't see it until tomorrow morning," Yuuri says, hopping frantically on one foot as he pulls his shoes on. "That would be way too late. Feltsman would know it hadn't been dropped in by then. I can take the flashdrive to Viktor's house and—"

"You know where he lives?"

"I mean…" Yuuri pulls the carafe out of the coffee maker and takes several large sips out of it. It's very, very cold. "Yeah?"

Phichit, who's staring at him like he's finally realized that Yuuri is not necessarily a human being, says, "Godspeed, you complete maniac."

Yuuri is halfway down the stairs before Phichit thrusts his head into the hallway and says, "Are you going to put a coat on? It's like twenty degrees outside!"

"I'll be fine!" replies Yuuri, who is wearing a pair of pajama pants in a cartoon mochi pattern, a shirt that says World's Okayest Brother, and Uggs.

The Uggs are probably Phichit's.

Their apartment is located such that Yuuri has to walk past several of the most popular bars in town as he stumbles his way to the World's Most Beautiful Grad Student's Townhouse. He receives not a small amount of scrutiny from students who are reveling in the end of the semester—those who are lucky enough to have their finals week cut short by convenient scheduling or willpower against procrastination. Yuuri glances at them furtively, enviously, as he shuffles through ankle-high snow towards Collingwood Drive.

Viktor Nikiforov, The World's Most Beautiful Grad Student, lives in a townhouse three blocks away from campus with the two other grad students in the Russian Studies Department under Yakov Feltsman. Mila and Georgi are nice enough, although Yuuri doesn't think he has ever seen the front side of Georgi's head—only the back, as he sweeps out the door towards a date with the mysterious Anya. Mila is an incredibly charismatic redhead whom Yuuri has personally seen throw an undergrad into the Red Cedar River, so he's only a little afraid of her.

The townhouse is designed so that each person has their own 'front' door. Yuuri knows at this point to climb the external stairs to a deck around the side of the house, and knock there, because if he knocks on the real front door, he'll wake the entire house.

Viktor opens the door as he approaches the deck. Makkachin rushes out to shove his face into Yuuri's hip, begging to be pet. Yuuri has absolutely no self-control when it comes to pets, specifically dogs, specifically poodles, specifically poodles that belong to The World's Most Beautiful Grad Student, and so he leans down and rubs Makkachin's ears with both hands, despite his core body temperature rapidly dropping to something deeply unpleasant.

"Hi," says Viktor, the World's Most Beautiful Grad Student. "You should have told me you were coming over. I would have ordered extra food."

Behind Viktor, on the desk in his room, is a full container of Lo Mein.

"Oh," says Yuuri, whose stomach protests its emptiness almost immediately in the form of a noise that sounds almost uncannily similar to the groans of souls on their way to Hell. "That's…okay. I'm…good."

"Are you drunk?" Viktor asks, bluntly, obviously examining Yuuri's lack of coat and the glint of mania in his eyes.

"Of course not," Yuuri snorts, "who needs alcohol when you have sleep deprivation?"

"Good point," Viktor concedes, and holds the door open for him. "Come in, then." Yuuri and Makkachin fall into the door, Yuuri kicking off his (Phichit's?) boots at the door and then falling onto the bed. It's unmade and soft and smells very, very much like Viktor.

"I have a problem," says Yuuri, as Viktor settles back into his rolling desk chair.

Viktor rolls over to him, his knees framing Yuuri's, and says, "Alright, how can I help?"

"The dropbox closed on me," says Yuuri, in the wheedling tone of those dealing with dictators. It's not a flattering or appropriate way to speak to the World's Most Beautiful Grad Student, but it's how Yuuri's feeling today. "I couldn't turn in my paper. I know I should have turned it in before the deadline but I fell asleep and I didn't mean to and I was going to read over what I wrote and then I forgot and I—"

"Whoa, okay." Viktor holds up his hands. He's wearing wire frame glasses that make him look So Smart. Yuuri wants to forget about his paper and be pinned to the mattress behind him by Viktor's strong arms. "It's fine, you're fine. I'll just reopen the dropbox for you. Did you seriously come halfway across town in your pajamas to ask me that? You could have just called."

"I, um…thought you would be asleep," Yuuri whispers towards his feet, shuffling his shoulders. "It's…um…late."

"Midnight isn't late in a college town," Viktor tells him, which is true. Yuuri has personally witnessed people heading out for parties at two in the morning. Midnight is the new nine PM. "And I have finals too, you know. Nobody sleeps during finals week."

"You're right," Yuuri says. "I should have called. Um, I'm sorry, I'll—"

"No! No, it's fine." Viktor's hands go to his thighs, and Yuuri's heart goes swooping through his chest. "I don't mind that you came. I'm always happy to see you. I'm actually really glad you came, because I wasn't sure if I was going to see you again before break, and I wanted to give you something."

"Give me something?" Yuuri mumbles. "Viktor, neither of us is Christian. We don't celebrate Christmas."

Viktor laughs. "It's not a gift, really. Here, let's get your assignment turned in, and then I'll show you."

He scoots his way back to his desk, somehow managing to make it look graceful despite it involving tossing his own legs in front of himself and then dragging his body along for the ride. It's entirely possible that it's not really graceful—it's just that he's The World's Most Beautiful Grad Student, and everything he does has a glamour of beauty applied.

What's definitely, irrefutably graceful, however, is the way his fingers move across his keyboard, and the way he rests his chin in his hand as he waits for the dropbox to load, the light of the computer screen glinting off his glasses. Yuuri is so ridiculously attracted to him.

"Okay, it's open." Viktor holds his hand out behind him. "Do you have your flashdrive?"

Yuuri sets the drive carefully in Viktor's long-fingered hand, and watches as he competently uploads the file.

"Is this unethical?" Yuuri asks, clutching Viktor's pillow to his chest.

"No, Yakov is grading the papers," Viktor says. Yuuri's phone pings with the dropbox confirmation as Viktor closes his computer and turns around, scoots across the room to the file cabinet at the end of his bed, and slides it open. He pulls out a nondescript manila folder, which he tosses onto the bed next to Yuuri's lap. He finally extricates himself from his desk chair to throw himself across the bed, settling behind Yuuri with his head braced on his hand. He taps the folder on the other side of Yuuri's hip. "That's what I have for you."

Yuuri opens the envelope. It's some sort of form titled Disclosure of Relationship Form.

"Oh, just what I always wanted," Yuuri mumbles as he sifts through it, trying to figure out what it is.

"It's the papers we have to sign to keep the relationship above board," Viktor laughs. "We each have to fill out a little bit of information about ourselves, you have to sign a paper that says you won't take a class that's taught by me and I have to sign a paper that says I won't use my graduate status to give you special treatment."

"Oh, um…so…these are going to be filed with the university?"

"No, they're just for my own personal records." Yuuri glances at Viktor, eye twitching, and Viktor laughs again. He has a beautiful laugh. "Of course they're going to be filed with the university. It's unethical if I don't inform them that I'm in a relationship with an undergrad."

"A relationship, huh," Yuuri squeaks.

Viktor's hand slides away from his hip, back towards regions unseen and far away. "Oh. Um…yes? But only if you want it to be? We can, um…we can do this another time? But I thought…now that you're not taking a class with me, I would—I should file the papers, and—"

He stops, then, because Yuuri kisses him.

Yuuri throws himself down onto The World's Most Beautiful Grad Student, and then kisses him until he has to pull away to take a breath—and Yuuri, who's equipped with both incredible stamina and the knowledge of how to breathe through his nose, doesn't have to pull away for a long time.

"Wait, okay, so," says Yuuri, who pulls away more because his mind won't stop buzzing at him than any actual need to stop. "It was unethical. For you to be, um, seeing me. These past few months."

"Well, I mean, I wasn't going to scream about it to the Dean," Viktor says, and his hand is warm up under Yuuri's shirt, and Yuuri is in something that's probably a lot like love with him, "but…it wasn't…technically…against the rules? There are, um, y'know, unofficial…courtship…loopholes. Basically, if you report the relationship within the first few months, the dean's office usually doesn't have a problem."

"How do you know so much about this?" Yuuri asks.

"Georgi dated half the grad students at his undergrad."

Yuuri, who is profoundly unsurprised, throws himself back into what's shaping up to be a very successful tonguing session with The World's Most Beautiful Grad Student.

In the morning, after blackmailing Viktor into sharing his Lo Mein and helping Viktor find wording for his presentation on his work for the semester that doesn't sound a lot like he's saying Fuck the Russian Studies Department, even though it's hard, Yuuri wakes up to an email from Yakov Feltsman.

You turned in the wrong essay, it reads. Please fix the problem. I have reopened the dropbox.

And then, ten minutes later,

Tell Viktor to at least ask me before he accepts late work on a zero late work syllabus.

Yuuri, cringing spectacularly, shuffles to Viktor's computer and uploads the appropriate document. Curious, he opens the one that Viktor submitted the night before, which is titled Rasputin Paper IAH 325 instead of Rasputin Paper for Feltsman.

LET'S HEAR IT FOR EVERYONE'S FAVORITE EVIL MYSTIC, MOTHERFUCKING RASPUTIN, reads the first line, and Yuuri shrieks.

"Professor Feltsman is going to kill me," Yuuri informs Viktor. "I have to go back to Japan. I have to hide."

"He's not going to kill you," Viktor grumbles into his pillow.

"Yes he is! You turned in my notes instead of my paper. He read my notes! Viktor, I called Nicholas Romanov Sad Saint Nick."

Viktor cackles into his pillow.

"I'm serious! I just committed academic suicide." Yuuri throws himself onto the bed and curls up as far under Viktor's arm as possible, hoping to just disappear into his armpit. "Protect me."

"Okay," Viktor murmurs. "I'll protect you from my father."

"Thank you," Yuuri whispers, and there are exactly six seconds of blessed silence before Yuuri processes what Viktor has just said to him.

"Your what?" Yuuri hisses.

Viktor stiffens, and not in the fun way. "Um…I'm…adopted?"

Yuuri shrieks so loudly that, halfway across campus, Phichit Chulanont experiences a spontaneous and violent craving for salmon.

#Victuuri #YOI #Yuuri Katsuki #Viktor Nikiforov #Phichit Chulanont #Maggie's Fic #This is absolute crack #But I had fun writing it so maybe you'll have fun reading it

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georgipopovich-voiceblog · 7 years

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Anywhere but Here: Pt 5

Georgi didn’t speak for days.

Leaving the courtroom, his rink mates that came for support each tried to say something to get him to talk, even something urgent or forceful to get him to do something. Yet he has this dead look in his eyes, like the world had burned before him while he watched it, and he couldn’t be brought back to reality. He was driven home, and he laid in bed for days.

Every day someone would come to visit him, make sure he was still there, make sure he hadn’t drunk himself to death with cocktails, though it seems like he wasn’t even drinking... or eating. He was always somewhere in the house staring at something far off, thinking quietly. It was easy to see this truly had destroyed him. Yakov worried every day, worried so much his coaching was aggravated and quiet compared to usual, and the rest of the skaters knew he was worried for his son’s well being. He wasn’t healthy right now, and Yakov couldn’t fix it like he usually could.

Yuri came in one week later, carrying his grandfather’s piroshki’s and knowing full well that if Georgi didn’t eat them, he would force them down his throat in an attempt to get him to either eat or speak. Despite the teenager being so stern and nonchalant, this scared the hell out of him that one of the most talkative and motherly characters in the entire skating team had suddenly died inside. He’d never seen such a turn like this. Even when he had relapsed or had an anxiety attack, there would always be something after, like a talk or some cookies. Yet there was nothing.

He sets the bag on the table and puts them on a plate, still hot from being made and he turns his head to call for his friend. “Georgi! Get your ass in here!” He shouts, looking around for some sort of response. The house is oddly quiet. That’s slightly concerning. He makes his way down the hallway towards his room, the bed was messy, and the bathroom had steam on the mirror from a shower, so he couldn’t have gone far. “....Georgi, you’re scaring me, get the fuck out here.” He calls.

The patio door opens and his heart lightens up, he rushes back over to the kitchen where he sees Georgi, holding onto some tomatoes from the garden, still with that dead look in his eyes. “Georgi, for shit’s sake, you scared me. Grandpa made you some piroshki’s.” Yuri states, turning to hold the chair open for him. “And you’re going to eat.”

The man, easily swayed lately, sits down in the chair, setting the tomatoes down carefully by the salt and pepper shakers. Yuri can tell by his fingers being so shaky that he’s still torn up inside. So he makes a quick plate for him, setting one lump of the delicious fried food before him, one at a time should keep him from getting sick. He goes to make sure Yakov picked up the mail at the front door, glancing over. “.....Yuri...” says a voice that... sounded far off. Yuri turns his attention to the table, where Georgi is holding onto the piroshki, a small bite taken out of it. “.... Can you tell me about your day?”

Honestly, the young skater can’t believe he’s the one that gets to hear him speak first, he’s been so out of it lately, and so soon after all this came over. He’d begun to think they’d need to admit him somewhere if he’s unable to take care of himself like this... yet Georgi is.... eating. He’s showered. He’s gone outside once today... and now he’s asking Yuri about his day. Asking shakily, sounding fragile as a snowflake ready to crumble. He can’t let this opportunity go to waste, he has to do something. “... Well, Yakov chewed me out this morning because I landed a quad and called him an old man while doing it.”

A smile cracks onto his face, a small one, but it’s progress. This was a day that Yuri wasn’t sure he’d get to witness, to be the first to witness. Yuri continues.

“So then Mila backed me up and we started to fall every time he took his hat off and told him we went blind from it.”

A chuckle appears! Yuri can’t get too excited about it all, what if it goes away just as soon? Georgi nods, listening to him as he eats, eyes still tired, hands still shaky, heart still broken.

They spent time together for a few hours, more than Yuri had done this week, and he was grateful for it. As he was leaving this night, ready to go to an evening practice event, he began to think about how it all must have torn the poor man up this week. “he doesn’t get to meet his child, the one woman he thought was the love of his life betrayed him, and old friend betrayed him.... oy, if I get my hands on Dedushka, I’ll break his fucking....”

Nope. He can’t get salty about this. Yuri takes a cab out to the rink and steps out of it, pays the man in the taxi, and grabs his bag. He has to set a good example of healthy thinking to help Georgi get back to skating, heaven knows he’s too upset right now to do much on his own. He must feel so alone.

Turning on his heels, he goes towards the front entrance when he notices.... oh shit, groups of people with cat ears. Someone must have posted an event to watch him skate for Yuri’s Angels. “God fucking dammit...” He’ll have to sneak through the back. The Russian Tiger slinks into some bushes and creeps on his toes so he isn’t caught, being careful of the headlights that are starting to come on as the sun is beginning to slowly go down in the distance, a golden glow across the parking lot.

Finally, the back entrance, where only a few skaters know to get in. Carefully, he tugs on the door, turning around to make sure he hasn’t been followed.... when he sees it.

There’s a woman leaning against a car in the skater’s parking lot. Long brown hair, plump red lips, furry coat, a cigarette in between her fingers as smoke draws slowly out of her mouth. Anya was smoking in broad daylight, looking through her phone, smiling in the arms of.... Dedushka.

#ALCOHOLISM AU #oh shit

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thepoetsarejust · 7 years

Text

if Aphrodite gives a shit (and We created you in pairs)

Rated: T

Chapter: 1/5

Relationships: friendship Otabek/Yuri, Seung Gil/Phichit, implied Leo/Guang Hong, Yuuri/Victor

Summary:

When Yuri met Otabek, his timer had been showing him zeroes since he was ten. His Soulmate didn't come and find him. Cursed, people call him. Fuck off, Yuri tells them.

Otabek still has years before he's due to meet his Soulmate.

aka the soulmate timer au with a twist

read on ao3

Yuuri and Victor is a tale of misunderstandings made worse by bad communication and scandalous shenanigans.

Yuri's certain this year's season would look so much different if Victor could just admit to Yuuri that both of their timers went off at the Banquet (yes, it has a capital B now, because no one ever forgets the Banquet), that he wants to submit his useless self to domesticity for the rest of his life, and that he, as ridiculous as it sounds, has no desire to return to competitive skating, and the only reason why he did is because of Yuuri's dense, oblivious request.

Yuri can picture it so perfectly, it makes him want to barf: the two retiring together after Yuuri's mediocre silver, living in a luxurious penthouse because Victor is filthy, filthy rich, being embarrassing dog parents. They'd probably adopt ten more dogs—and kittens, too, for good measure, because they are that couple who walk into a pet shelter to get one and end up with twenty.

Disgustingly happy.

It offends Yuri. If they retire, then for the rest of Yuri's figure skating career, he will face an awfully predictable season. He hasn't even had the absolute pleasure to stand above Victor Nikiforov on the podium! It's entirely horrific for them to even consider retiring when Yuri isn't even done with this season. That's why he pushed himself to win gold at the Grand Prix, to remind Yuuri that he's still not half as good as he could be, the perfect opponent to fulfill Yuri's thirst for a real fight.

He didn't really count on Yuuri moving into Victor's ridiculously huge penthouse and becoming the Japanese in Team Russia, but whatever keeps the two on ice.

Besides, it's fun to watch Victor pine. Yuri delights in seeing five-time Grand Prix gold-medalist, two-time Olympian gold medalist, living legend Victor Nikiforov reduced to nothing but a pathetic bumbling fool at the face of something as idiotic as love.

The fun doesn't stay long, unfortunately. On a day such as this, however, Yuri desperately wishes that the couple could just sit down and talk about their stupid feelings. It makes him shudder just to think about it, but Yuri swears he will cut a bitch if he has to share a rink with Victor and Yuuri for one more day.

He's seriously considering moving rinks.

He knows how it sounds. Is Yuri Plisetsky, known for kicking people unceremoniously in the butt in greeting, yelling and insulting everything on Earth the whole time, considering to give up?

There's nothing more that Yuri Plisetsky loves more than a good fight, but even he knows how to pick his battles. Yuuri and Victor is a battle he can't win.

"But Yurio! Yuuri just moved in! You can't tell him to move back to Japan!"

"But Yurio! I need to practice and coach Yuuri at the same time! I can't be in two places at once!"

“But Yurio! Yuuri cooks the best katsudon in all of Russia! You love katsudon, don’t you?”

“But Yurio! We just ordered a new king-sized bed! It’d be shame if I’m the only one sleeping on it!”

“But Yurio! We just adopted a new dog!”

Victor has a lot of buts, but it's never this one:

"But Yurio! Yuuri and I are Soulmates!"

They are both so dumb.

Yuri is not even destined to have any Soulmates, yet he still understands the importance of communication.

Yuri has every right to complain, as he has previously attempted to take matters into his own hands. All of his efforts die in vain. Yuuri believes Yuri is just messing with him when Yuri tells him (which, fuck off, Yuri would never joke to anyone about Soulmates, even if he thinks Aphrodite is nothing but capitalist propaganda. He's a mean little shit, but he's not evil), Victor cries ("He told me he wanted to end things! After he proposed to me!"), and Yuri decides, right then and there, that he is done.

He delivers them a strongly worded ultimatum.

"LISTEN ASSHOLES. FIX THIS SOULMATE SHIT OR I WILL NEVER RETURN TO THIS RINK. RUSSIA WILL LOSE ITS BRIGHT FUTURE—BECAUSE FACE IT, VICTOR, YOU'RE SENILE—AND YURI'S ANGELS WILL ALL PERSONALLY END YOUR LIVES. YURI PLISETSKY OUT."

And then he boards a plane to Almaty.

[20:45] me: better wait up for me cos im coming over

[20:57] otabek: Alright?

"When you told me you're coming over, I didn't think you meant right now," Otabek says in lieu of greeting. He doesn't offer to bring Yuri's suitcase, which is nice. Yuri hates people thinking he's weak just because he's lithe and slender.

"I can't deal with them," Yuri whines. "They turned figure skating into a one-year-long cockblocking, Otabek. I don't know anyone who does that. I can't concentrate. And now that Georgi's moved on and Mila’s found Sara, normal life is out of the question."

Otabek raises his eyebrows, seeming to communicate, aren't you the one who didn't want them to retire? Otabek doesn't say that, which is a good move because Yuri would have punched him, best friends be damned, and instead asks if Yakov is on board with this.

"He better be," Yuri grumbles. "Listen, if it's what it takes to make the pig and the old man to communicate, I will fucking do it, because my mind is about to blow up with their sickening pining."

Otabek halts in his tracks, then, like he’s just realized something. Yuri looks back at him in question. Otabek gives him this look, like he's fond of Yuri, but doesn't make any further comment regarding his impulsive decision. “If that’s what you want,” he says, and somehow it sounds so cryptic, coming from Otabek.

Otabek’s apartment is roughly the size of grandpa’s house. It has two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small kitchen area and an even smaller living room with a flat TV. The balcony is bigger than the kitchen and living room combined, an old-school rocking chair placed in the corner, overlooking the busy streets of Almaty. Yuri peeks into the room that Otabek calls the guest bedroom.

“Why is your balcony bigger than my room?” Yuri asks.

“It’s not your room,” Otabek says patiently. “I like to work out outside. It’s refreshing.”

Yuri steps out into the balcony, hit immediately by a strange combination of cool breeze and carbon dioxide. “I think I like St. Petersburg better,” he decides. Otabek joins him in the balcony, looking amused.

“Then why’d you come to Almaty?”

Yuri sighs dramatically. “I told you, I need to escape Victor and Yuuri.”

“The Russian national championship is coming,” Otabek points out. “Are you sure you really should be here?”

“Ugh,” Yuri hates how Otabek is always right. “Fine. If in five days Yuuri and Victor haven’t made up their stupid minds, I’m coming back to St. Petersburg.” He braces both hands on the railings, looking out into the city. The sky is obscured by light pollution, rendering stars invisible. They don’t say anything for a long time, until Otabek nudges his shoulder.

“I didn’t realize we’re on that stage of friendship where you can just show up unannounced at my apartment,” Otabek remarks. "In another country."

“Alright, you’re one of the few friends that I don’t want to kill every hour, so you better feel damn special, asshole,” Yuri nudges back.

“You sure do set the bar really high,” Otabek replies dryly. “You can stay here and watch the sunset if you want, but frankly, if you want a better view, you should go to Medeu. I’m going to inform my coach about your arrival.”

“Nice,” Yuri says. After a beat, he adds, “Thanks.”

Otabek nods and leaves him. Yuri takes the opportunity to take numerous pictures of the view from Otabek’s apartment. Otabek, the old soul, for the love of him cannot figure out how to use his Instagram, and it turns out that the only picture he’s ever posted—the one where he’s in the airport—is taken, captioned, and posted by one of his three older sisters, Sabina. In turn, he teases Yuri about being the Z Generation, even though Otabek is barely three years older.

They’ve been talking non-stop since last year’s Grand Prix Final, and gone past the weird stage where they’re still trying to test the waters. Otabek, Yuri learns with horror, is the only person Yuri knows who texts with grade-A punctuation and grammar, on top of his inability to use emojis. Even Victor, who’s basically a mummy at this point, uses smiley faces on his texts. Katsudon uses those automated texts that show as cat faces or a human doing very Japanese things.

He’s about to post the fifth sunset picture he takes when Otabek trudges back to his side. “My coach said okay to coaching you temporarily,” Otabek says. “On the condition that you should let no one except for Yakov and your grandpa about your location.”

Yuri’s thumb freezes just over the post button. “Ugh, fine,” he relents, defeated. He closes the app. He can survive without posting anything on Instagram. Cavemen have tried, he, a more advanced human being, should be stellar at it.

Otabek doesn’t look like he’s sympathizing with Yuri even a little bit. Yuri begins to wonder if this friendship is worth it. “Let’s go inside,” Otabek says, touching the edge of the skin where Yuri’s skin meets his palm, grazing the end of his dead timer just so. Otabek’s own timer, very much still working, catches the sunset’s weak light and for some reason, it reminds Yuri of the rings Victor and Yuuri wear. A sealed fate. “Help me make dinner.”

Yuri pointedly does not think of Soulmates for the rest of his stay in Almaty.

Miraculously, Yuuri and Victor get their shit together by the fifth day. Aphrodite herself must be shitting. Mila livestreams the whole thing for the international skating community. Apparently, instead of sitting Yuuri down in their big-ass apartment with some hot tea and sappy music playing in the background, Victor yells it instead at Yuuri after practice, unprompted and out of nowhere, as if he takes one look at Yuuri and decides that he cannot contain all the feelings inside him any longer.

It’s like Victor wants everyone to know.

Now that Yuri thinks about it, Victor most definitely does, has wanted to since Beijing. It is not quite taboo in most Western countries to have a relationship with someone who is not your intended, but Yuri supposes the culture must differ in Asia. Russia isn't really big on Aphrodite, though the laws are pretty strict about these damn timers. If Victor’s not absolutely sure about Yuuri, he wouldn’t have acted so careless with his affection. Yuuri is too wrapped own in his own insecurity to notice, and Victor is not helping by any inch by staying silent and doing what Yuuri thinks he wants to do, without asking him what he wants even once.

“YUURI, I AM YOUR SOULMATE,” Victor shouts in the livestream. Yuri winces and immediately turns down the volume. He should’ve known there would be loud declarations of love.

It’s already lunch time in Almaty, and Otabek, startled by the yell, drops his spatula and spills some of the curry he’s making. The mixture is sizzling, and Yuri hears Otabek hiss in pain, but it looks like nothing serious as the Kazakh simply wipes it off with a clean napkin and moves to sit next to Yuri, who is furiously watching Victor’s latest idiosyncrasy.

“What is happening?” Otabek asks.

“Watch my lunch,” Yuri says, “I don’t want you to burn the curry.”

“Is that Victor and Katsuki?” Otabek raises his eyebrows.

Yuri cranks up the volume in response. “—IN LOVE WITH YOU SINCE THE NIGHT OF THE BANQUET,” Victor continues to yell. “I KNOW YOU DON’T REMEMBER BUT I DO. AND I LOVE YOU, YUURI KATSUKI, AND I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK TO SKATING UNLESS IT’S WHAT YOU WANT.” Victor’s next words are, thankfully, not yelled, but Yuri can’t catch it despite the silence that has dawned on the rink.

“He’s saying, ‘honestly, I’d much rather skip the gold part and marry you,’” Mila whispers behind the screen, barely-contained excitement evident in her voice.

Mila is not standing too far away from where the story develops, so Yuri can make out Yuuri’s reactions, pixellated as they are. Yuuri is frozen, still as a marble statue, no doubt having trouble processing all of this. He hears sobs that are far too distant to be Yuuri’s; it must only belong to one and only Georgi Popovich, in love with love.

After a while, Yuuri skates to Victor and pulls him roughly into his embrace, and kisses the live out of Victor. Mila’s whoops are the most audible among the cheers that fill the ice rink. Georgi is straight up wailing. The screen goes blank for a few seconds, before it switches to front camera, showing Mila’s red face. “Yuri Plisetsky, if you’re watching this, please come back immediately. The nationals are in less than a month!”

Yuri cuts off the livestream after that, and immediately goes to Twitter, vexed to find that, once again, #Victuuri is trending. “Well, I guess now I have no reason to stay here,” Yuri scowls. “By Aphrodite’s name, they are going to be more sickening than they already are. I take it back. I want to stay here until they stop being gross.”

Otabek makes a face. “Well, I suppose that’s never going to happen.”

“Now I regret everything,” Yuri groans.

Otabek gets back to his curry. The spicy smell fills the apartment, prompting Yuri’s stomach to growl. “Why do you call them gross and sickening, anyway?”

“Because,” Yuri takes a deep breath, “they are.”

“They’re Soulmates,” Otabek says, like that explanation is obvious. Like it’s enough for Yuri to excuse Victor’s rash decision to abandon his career and chase down a person who, in the end, didn’t even remember.

“Yeah, well.” Yuri feels the weight of his timer like a ring of fire around his wrist. “Some people just don’t like PDA.”

Otabek is not a complete social recluse. If he’s truly been keeping track of Yuri’s career like he claimed, then there’s no way he wouldn’t know about his dead timer. Yuri's timer stops counting down when he's ten, training at Yakov's camp, but nobody in the room comes to him. Nobody runs to him for a sweet embrace. There are no fireworks going off in his head, lightness in his chest like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, nothing changes. In that moment he knows, with gut-wrenching clarity, that there is no one for him. He wonders if Otabek is there when it happens, or if he's left for Vancouver by then.

Yakov is there when it happens, and he freezes, taken aback. His eyes fill with pity. Yuri has always known pity—it's in his Grandpa's eyes when Yuri spends the first night at his house, mother-less and father-less but not an orphan, in his neighbor's eyes when he tells them that no, he doesn't remember his mother, his mother who fucked off to Aphrodite knows where to marry a man that's not her Soulmate, but very rich and resourceful.

Maybe this is a punishment, a curse from Aphrodite. No one is supposed to split from their Soulmate; the thought itself is anathema.

But the concept of god has always seemed funny to Yuri, and at ten years old, he couldn't care less about a Soulmate. He cares about his flexibility and the choreography Yakov has assigned to him more. He cares about putting food on the table and keeping his Grandpa out of hospital. At sixteen, he still cares about those things. He hones that mindset as he grows up, growing opinions on Soulmates that are contrary to what the general public believes: that meeting your Soulmate is not the best possible thing that could ever have happened to a person.

To Yuri, the best thing that could ever happen to him is a gold medal.

Otabek must know that.

Yuri braces himself for the obligatory pity that’s coming. Instead, Otabek sets down two plates of vegetable curry on the table. “Eat,” he says, like that’s not what Yuri is going to do anyway.

Otabek borrows his mother’s car the next day and drives him to the airport. He gives Yuri a very manly pat on the back and a thumbs-up.

“I’ll see you at Worlds,” Otabek says instead of goodbye.

“I’ll crush you at Worlds,” Yuri promises, then because he now can, snaps a picture of Otabek and posts in on Instagram. He captions it, thanks for granting me asylum from all this lovey-dovey bullshit, and tags it #Almaty.

He falls asleep on the plane and returns to training to Yakov’s incessant anger and Lilia’s death glares.

Victor and Yuuri have decided that this year’s World Championship will be the last for both of them. Victor never intends to go back to the ice to compete, and only did so because Yuri requested him to, very nicely. Regardless of who gets gold, they will get married. Not that Yuri cares about their love; their impending retirement means that Yuri truly only has one shot in beating them both. The GPF gold medalist title pales in comparison to how World champion sounds in Yuri’s ears, and he is taking them from both Yuuri and Victor.

At the Russian national championship, Victor takes gold to Yuri’s respectable silver. Yuuri, to absolutely no one's surprise, bags gold in Japan. But respectable isn’t the goal for Yuri, so he pushes himself, spends more time in the rink than he needs to. This is the last season for them, and Yuri's running out of time. A week before the Russian team flies to Shanghai, Lilia Baranovskaya physically wrestles him into his grandpa’s house and practically tells his grandpa to strap him to his bed. Yuri immediately rattles off to Yakov, but the old man is, apparently, the brains behind the operation to get Yuri to lose.

(“To rest, help me, Aphrodite—to rest,” Yakov says.)

Betrayed, Yuri loads Skype and calls Otabek. Yuri hasn’t been able to reach Otabek since his gold at Kazakhstan nationals. The World Championship is the most important event in a season; he is no doubt on phone-prohibition, avoiding all distractions to spend his waking days getting worked down on the ice. He regrets dialing his Skype now. It’s 21:47 in Almaty, Otabek must be sleeping like the dead, worn out after a full day training. Yuri envies him a little. His quads have been sloppy with the extra length in his lower limbs, and he hasn’t been able to do one with both arms raised since the nationals. This must be the puberty Mila warns him about.

“Hello?”

Yuri is not expecting Otabek to answer at all, so this new development startles him. “Otabek, hi,” Yuri says. “You should be asleep.”

“And you shouldn’t be calling me,” Otabek says. “Everything okay?”

Yuri’s rants are on the tips of his tongue, but he refrains, noticing the disheveled look Otabek’s sporting—he looks good still, and it pisses Yuri off—and his droopy eyes. “No, never mind,” Yuri shakes his head. “Go to sleep. You look like a zombie.”

“I was about to protest, but I walked past a mirror and you’re right, I look like I’ve been run over by a bus twice,” Otabek says, “and come back to life just to eat your brain.”

“You are surprisingly eloquent for a zombie,” Yuri smirks. He feels infinitely better already. This must be another side effect of puberty.

Otabek hums. “Sorry, I’m beat tonight. I’ll talk to you later?”

“At Worlds?” Yuri suggests.

“Too long,” Otabek protests. “But okay.”

Yuri surprises himself by saying, “Good night.” If Otabek’s nearly as surprised, he doesn’t show it. Otabek waves an absent hand on him sleepily. Yuri ends the call, and cannot believe his chest feels lighter than before. And he didn’t even get to vent.

With nothing to do, he ends up browsing his Instagram feed. No one has posted any new posts except for Phichit Chulanont, whose feed now is filled with hamsters. He writes cryptic captions under every picture, complete with suggestive winky faces and a bunch of Thai words Yuri doesn’t care enough to translate. Yuri somehow finds himself on YouTube, coming from a link posted by an skater fan on Instagram, watching a recent performance of Otabek at a charity dinner party. He’s wearing last year’s free skate costume, the white and blue one, but the song is Romeo and Juliet. The program flows smoothly like water. It’s the most relaxed Yuri has seen Otabek skate.

Well, to be fair, Yuri’s only seen him skate live twice.

He watches Otabek’s past programs until exhaustion creeps in and forces his eyes to close.

At Worlds, Phichit and Seung-gil meet for the first time. Their timers hit zero immediately.

Phichit gapes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish stranded on land, for the first time in his life, at a loss for words. Seung-gil looks like he’s struck by lightning. A thousand cameras flash, and today makes history for the day that Phichit Chulanont, notorious for documenting every aspect of his life, looks uncomfortable under the scrutiny of camera lenses.

Seung-gil runs off to the Kiss and Cry. Phichit skates his short program looking dazed the entire time, and turns two of his jumps into singles. After the disappointing Kiss and Cry, Yuuri sprints to his side and leads him away from the press, away from prying eyes of the reporters. Yuri is reminded of how fierce Yuuri can be when protecting his loved ones.

Yuri, on the contrary, is not a complete asshole, and therefore worries about Phichit, sunshine personified and possibly half of the reason why Yuuri is still alive, but decides to keep his questions until after the competition.

Besides, Otabek’s skating next.

“Davai,” he tells Otabek just before he skates off.

Otabek offers him a thumbs-up.

Otabek easily diverges the attention from Phichit to his skating. He doesn't just diverge; he commands attention, and Yuri can't find it in himself to look away. He may even go as far as saying that he is enchanted, but no one will ever hear him say it aloud. Yuri remembers how difficult it is to reach Otabek, how their Skype calls turn, for the most part, into Yuri slowly watching him fall asleep before he taps the end button. He’s modified Samarkand Overture for a greater difficulty and higher scores. Otabek has been working his ass off, and he delivers.

The only thing that Yuri hates about the program is the ugly ass costume.

Otabek places second, below Yuri and, Yuri notes happily, above JJ. This will change when Victor and Yuuri take the ice. Yuri bites his lip at the score panel. At this point, he will end up taking home bronze to Victor and Yuuri's silver and gold. He will have to break down, and rebuild himself in the free skate.

Phichit stays at fourteen.

Otabek gets off the Kiss and Cry and approaches Yuri. "Not my best," Otabek says in lieu of greeting.

Yuri still thinks Otabek is enchanting. "Yeah, the last spin was completely lazy," Yuri says.

"Completely out of power," Otabek agrees. He glances briefly up at the rink side, where Leo de la Iglesia is taking off his blade guards, and his eyes narrow. "It's Katsuki's turn after Leo, right?"

Yuri nods. "Fuck knows where he is."

"Is he still with Phichit?"

"Probably, but Victor isn’t here either, so take my words with a grain of salt,” Yuri shrugs. He puts his hands behind his head and leans back. Leo’s program looks much smoother than when he debuted it at the Grand Prix, but still not flawless. His enthusiasm reminds Yuri of Phichit. No wonder they’re close friends, despite their age gap. “You know, I would have expected that Phichit, out of everyone, would be delighted to meet his Soulmate. Taking pictures of everything at every angle and shit. But I guess... you never really know."

Otabek’s eyes are still trained on Leo. "It is unexpected."

"Aren't you concerned? We’re supposed to feel like, ten times lighter and like the sun is shining out of the ass-crack of your Soulmate. You believe in Soulmates, right?"

Otabek, the asshole, replies, "Do you?"

Yuri scoffs. He crosses his arms over his chest. He feels defensive, all of a sudden. "Come on, Otabek, you have to know. My timer's been dead since I was ten, and nobody came to me. I don't have a Soulmate."

"I don't believe that,” Otabek says.

"That I don't have a Soulmate?" There’s a tightness in Yuri’s chest that comes with talking—or thinking about in general—about Soulmates, refusing to go even when Yuri is forcefully telling himself to calm down.

"Yes. We are created in pairs, we—"

“Then what the fuck do these zeroes mean?”

Otabek’s an idiot if he doesn’t think Yuri knows that. Yuri cuts him off, "Spare the preaching, Aphrodite. I know.” Does he think Yuri doesn’t go to school? He hears what people say to his grandpa about his mother. He’s read every book that has ever been written about Soulmates, even ones not written Russian, just to find a clue to what the fuck is wrong with him. He knows. “Look, do you think I never tried to find out what the fuck is wrong with me? I got people back there at DEI prodding and tugging at my timer, at me, but nothing works. It stays dead. I'm soulmate-less."

His eyes begin to feel warm. He tries to focus his vision on Leo’s eyesore of a costume, succeeding in avoiding eye contact with Otabek except all he sees is blurred colors. Fuck. The World championship is hardly the place to cry like a fucking baby.

"If Aphrodite is so good and loving, then why the fuck is Greece collapsing collectively as a country? Her temple is everywhere at every corner in Greece, she's worshipped—she's loved, isn’t she? Then why the fuck is there still a war happening?"

He needs to get the fuck out of here before he humiliates himself further. He stands up abruptly and leaves a dumbfounded Otabek behind.

[11:37] otabek: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.

[11: 38] otabek: Where are you?

Yuri wakes up feeling infinitely worse than when he went to bed. His phone lies dead on the nightstand. He’s run out of the battery last night playing CandyCrush and deliberately not answering any texts. He goes to wash his face in the bathroom, and the sight that greets him almost makes him shriek.

He has a pimple.

What the fuck.

His already foul mood is further ruined when Mila points it out at breakfast, humiliates him in front of international skaters and Otabek, who hovers near him but doesn’t make any move to talk to him. It’s only fair that Yuri spills his apple juice on her. He takes his toast back to his room and eats while he sulks in his hotel room.

Lilia glares at him when he shows up to the public practice.

“You will apologize to Mila after this,” Lilia orders. Yuri sits down and ties his skate, grunting absentmindedly. Lilia seizes his hair and starts pulling it into a ponytail. Yuri scoots away from her in lightning speed.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” Lilia warns.

“I don’t want my hair to be tied,” Yuri defends.

“The reason why you have pimples right now is because you are growing,” Lilia explains.

Yuri is too humiliated to be angry. “I’ll just cover them with my hair,” he grumbles. His pimple itches. He wants nothing more than to pop it to oblivion. He wants it gone.

“It will only make it worse,” Lilia reasonably says. “Your hair is dirty.”

Yuri growls at her and snatches the hairtie from her hands. “Whatever,” he groans, but ties his hair anyway. He feels so fucking inadequate, despite landing all of his jumps and quads. Lilia doesn’t comment on his posture, so he must be fucking dreaming. Yakov doesn’t look too pleased and tells him to go over it one more time.

Meanwhile, other skaters have started to leave the rink.

Yuri skates exceptionally just to spite Yakov.

“That was amazing, Yurachka,” Yakov applauds. “But save some for the actual performance.”

It takes great strength for Yuri to refrain from punching his only coach.

Of course, he blows it at the free skate.

(He doesn’t get a davai from Otabek. The asshole isn’t getting one either)

(But Phichit—

“PHICHIT,” Seung-gil yells, and for the first time in his career, shows any other emotion other than disgust. “DON’T FUCK UP.”

Phichit lights up like a Christmas tree)

He freefalls from third after the short program to fifth, below fucking JJ, and Otabek replaces him in his stead. Yuuri gets, predictably, gold, and Victor a respectable silver. They both hold a press conference afterwards. Probably about their marriage or fucking retirement, but Yuri will never know because he does not give a shit. He slips away at the banquet and sheds his expensive suit—the only suit he owns—that he bought only because Mila kept telling him to, “Treat yourself!”

He spends hours walking on the streets of Shanghai, and when he realizes he’s lost, his phone is dead and he has no way of contacting others.

“Yuri, get on.”

Yuri purposefully ignores him and keeps walking. Who cares if he doesn’t know where he’s going? His GPS is working just fine on his phone. He just needs to find a café—or any place that has electricity accessible to public—to charge his phone, get it to at least twenty percent, then he will be fine. He doesn’t need a repeat of last year’s hero/fairy debacle, and he definitely does not need Otabek, with his rented bike, to save him.

“It’s getting late, and you’re lost.”

“Is this what friends do?” Yuri snaps. “Annoy each other to death?”

Otabek sighs. Sighs, like he’s dealing with a child. “You took off at the banquet without telling anyone where you went. We were all worried.” The thrum of the engine sounds overwhelmingly loud in the empty street Yuri’s managed to get himself to. Yuri still stubbornly strides on. Otabek catches up easily—because he’s on a damn bike. “I’m stopping you from doing anything stupid. That’s what friends do.”

Yuri kicks the black rented bike, and carefully does not wince when his shin meets hard, cold metal. “Oh, fuck off! Go back to your Soulmate bullshit and cuddle up with your stupid bronze medal!”

Otabek turns off his engine. The sudden silence feels deafening. “I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I didn’t mean to—rub salt in your wounds like that.”

“I am not wounded,” Yuri hisses.

Otabek’s expression is carefully, carefully blank. “I know. It was not my intention to imply that.”

Otabek’s no longer following him. He sits on his bike like a pathetic bastard. Yuri still hates that he still finds Otabek enchanting anyway, even when the older skater is pissing him off to no end. “Fine,” he spits out. “I’m hungry. Dumplings first, then hotel.”

Otabek’s mouth turns into a miniscule smile. So tiny, Yuri wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t spent nights watching Otabek trying to keep himself awake oceans away, through the pixelated image of his phone screen. “Your birthday was March 1, right?” he tosses Yuri a helmet. “I know a place. My treat.”

Yuri hadn’t even remembered his birthday. He probably would’ve, if birthdays are treated as anything other than a normal day in his household of two. Grandpa bakes more pirozhkis and gives him more pocket money on his birthday, and it’s funny because the entire time it’s always been Yuri’s competition money. Sure, Yuri’s Angels are especially rowdy on Twitter on his birthday, spamming his timeline with a thousand kitten edits, but really, it’s hard to tell the difference.

Yuri hasn’t forgiven Otabek yet. He gets on the bike with a scowl. “These better be some amazing dumplings,” he threatens.

Otabek revs the engine alive in response.

The dumplings are amazing, but Yuri would first plunge into Mariana’s trench before he lets Otabek hear him saying it.

“Guang Hong told me about this place,” Otabek says.

“I’ve forgiven you, you don’t need to make small talk to make sure I’m not still mad,” Yuri replies.

Otabek doesn’t look amused. “I really just wanted to tell you Guang Hong told me about this place.”

Otabek seems to be friends with a lot of skaters. Considering that he moves around the continents to train, it’s probably a given. Yuri remembers Otabek casually mentioning Leo’s and Guang Hong’s name in a conversation, even a suspicious Jean, who can’t possibly be—

“Otabek.” A realization strikes Yuri down to his core. He thinks he’s going to be sick. “Are you—are you friends with JJ?”

Otabek blinks once, then twice. Drinks his iced tea (people drink tea with ice on this continent, it’s bizarre). All too calmly, he answers, “We shared a rink together in Vancouver.”

Yuri has never, ever felt more betrayed in his life. Not even when Yakov made Lilia force him to rest. The dumplings turn to cardboard in his mouth. “I can’t believe—“ Yuri points an accusatory finger at Otabek’s chest. The latter looks positively unfazed. “Do you take him on dramatic motor rides in Barcelona, too? Save him from his stupid JJ Girls? Aphrodite help me—is the haircut a matching friendship haircut?”

Yuri is ready to bolt out of the restaurant if that were the case.

“No, Yuri,” Otabek answers gently. “That’s all you.”

Years later, Yuri will remember today as the beginning of everything, and laugh good-naturedly at how dense sixteen years old Yuri had been. Present Yuri, however, has no idea what the fuck is happening, and why his chest lifts at the implication that he’s special, according to Otabek. It almost makes him forget about his fifth rank.

Yuri drags the rest of the dumplings close to his plate. “Any friend of JJ isn’t going anywhere near my dumplings.”

“I bought them.”

“Whatever. I can’t believe you wronged me so bad.”

“Dramatic,” Otabek flicks his forehead. Yuri reels, hissing, touching his forehead, forever contaminated by the hand of a friend of JJ’s.

“You are no longer my friend.”

Otabek ignores him completely and steals his precious dumplings. Yuri is in a state of disbelief. “Oh, also, Katsuki and Victor are not retiring from figure skating,” he mentions, casually like he’s talking about the damn weather, and Yuri almost chokes.

“What the fuck,” Yuri says.

“They’d retire after the Grand Prix Final,” Otabek says. “Katsuki says it’s fitting, that they’d start everything at the Grand Prix Final and end everything at the Grand Prix Final. That means—“

“I still have a chance at beating them,” Yuri says. “Holy shit.”

“If you were at the banquet instead of running off to God knows where,” Otabek sucks from his straw, “You would’ve known.”

Yuri grimaces. “I may have overreacted.”

“If I’d won gold at the Grand Prix and finished fifth at Worlds, I’d feel humiliated too,” Otabek assures easily. Yuri is about retort that it isn’t true, then remembers that Otabek is nowhere to be seen at last year’s banquet. Otabek has won two bronze medals at the World Championship for two years in a row now, and yet not one medal at the Grand Prix Final. “But maybe, next time, make sure your battery is at 50% at least. Leaving anywhere when your iPhone is at 12% is practically a death sentence.”

“You were robbed last year,” Yuri tells him for the umpteenth time. Otabek shakes his head and doesn’t disagree.

After the meal, they ride around on the bike for a while, driving past Shanghai Disneyland. Yuri won’t admit to anyone that it’s his lifelong dream to go to Disneyland. Sure, he thinks Soulmates are nothing but bullshit, but he loves Mulan, and is still salty that Frozen has no musical number with ice dancing in it. It’s a complete waste of ice.

Otabek parks his rented bike at the hotel; someone from the renting agency will pick it up tomorrow, as he has to leave for Almaty first thing in the morning. Team Russia—well, it’s mostly Victor—requests a day off in Shanghai to go sightseeing. Lilia doesn’t look very happy to oblige, but then again, the only time Yuri’s seen her make a face that resembles a smile in the slightest is when he broke Victor’s world record.

And… well, he can’t exactly break records every day, can he?

Guang Hong, having gotten his driver’s license, happily offers to drive Otabek to the airport. Yuri sees him off in the hotel lobby, covering his Team Russia jacket with his favorite black hoodie that he hopes obscure the huge pimple on his forehead. He seriously hopes, for their sake, that no one sees. The world will never see Yuri with pimples, and if someone does—well, Yuri has no other choice but to kill them.

Otabek, the asshole, sees right through him and peels off the hoodie from his head. Yuri slaps his hand and pulls the hoodie over his head immediately. “DO YOU WANT TO GET KILLED EARLY IN THE MORNING, ASSHOLE?”

“Covering it with your hair makes it even worse.”

“STOP SOUNDING LIKE LILIA.”

Otabek rummages through his bag like Yuri isn’t currently screaming bloody murder at him and waking up the entire floor. The Kazakh chucks a pinky-sized white tub at Yuri, hitting him squarely in the chest before falling to his open palm.

“Acne cleanser cream,” Otabek explains. “Works like a wonder on me.”

“Ugh,” Yuri whines. He keeps the tube in his pocket anyway. “I fucking hate puberty.”

Otabek mock-salutes him. “See you at the Grand Prix. Try harder to defend your goal!”

“You try hard! You didn’t even make it to the podium!”

Yuri watches until Guang Hong’s car disappears in Shanghai traffic, and texts Otabek that he hopes Otabek doesn’t die in a plane crash, because it’ll seriously be a shame if Otabek dies before winning his GPF gold.

Nonetheless, Yuri’s not letting anyone take away his gold.

Not even the pig and his trophy fiancé.

Defending his GPF gold, as it turns out, insanely difficult.

It wouldn’t have been, if it weren’t for his fucking growth spurt, and now the god of puberty rains down on him with stupid, new curses, breaking his body every day and forcing him to relearn jumps and quads. It’s like he’s back to being ten and clueless on ice, adoring Victor for all the wrong reasons, practicing for hours just to be let down by the limitations of his own body.

No one is happy about this new development. Lilia has been drinking wine for dinner, Yakov is looking up retirement plans, and Victor offers to coach him. “Like an actual coach,” Victor says. Right, because the year he spent with Katsuki really isn’t him actually coaching him. Yuri’s answer is to plug in his earphones, listens to death metal, and works on his now imperfect flexibility.

Except for JJ. The Canadian asshole is having a field day.

Whoever says Canadians are nice have never breathed the same air as JJ.

He keeps posting pictures of bent at ridiculous angles and sending it to Yuri. What the hell is he trying to accomplish? Death?

He gets even more infuriating now that Isabella (good Aphrodite, please give him some love now that he’s learnt her actual fucking name) agrees to marry him. Poor her, saddled with JJ at such a young age. This is why Yuri thinks Soulmates are bullshit. No one should be so unfortunate to be bound to JJ for life. Nobody even wants to be JJ’s friend!

Well, except for his own best friend, apparently. Yuri will always be butthurt over that.

He’s regained at least some form of his old regality back when the assignments for the GPF are announced. The GPF might not be the most important event in a competition, but it still makes money. Grandpa has been doing well this year, all his medications are working, and he doesn’t get tired as easily as he used to. He even shows up to practice one day—a practice where Yuri, not knowing what to do with his longer limbs, falls over on his ass not once, but twice—and takes him to get milkshakes afterwards, just like the old times.

Yuuri’s assigned to Rostelecom Cup and Cup of China, in an amusing repeat of last year. Victor will be competing in Skate Canada (pfft, say goodbye to that medal, JJ) and Trophee de France. They’re both crying dramatically over it, unable to imagine a competition apart, and start making promises to do this and that once they advance to the Grand Prix Final.

Yuri has Trophee de France with Mila (and Victor, ew) and NHK Trophy with Georgi.

Yuri immediately calls Otabek, who, miraculously, picks up.

“Where did you get assigned to?” Yuri asks.

“Skate America and Cup of China,” Otabek answers, and Yuri’s heart sinks a little at that.

“Well, we better meet at the GPF.”

Yuri finishes second at Trophee de France to Victor’s gold, predictably, and aims for gold at the NHK Trophy. Yakov reminds him not to push himself, since his body is growing each day, and advises him to aim realistic. Getting another silver—or bronze—would be enough to bring him to the final, where he should redirect all of his efforts to. But for Yuri, aiming realistic is aiming low, so he only pretends to listen.

Georgi’s not a real threat at the NHK when he’s seen him skate countless times. Yuri knows his weaknesses and flaws. He should keep an eye out for Phichit, who he knows has been practicing as hard as he is, if the videos he keeps tagging as #teaser on Instagram were any indication. He can handle the rest just fine.

When he gets to the hotel in Beijing, he’s greeted with the sight of Phichit embracing Seung-gil—who is not even competing, he withdrew due to an injury—in a hug that is way too intimate for public view. Yuri wants to kick them both, but hesitates because even he doesn’t have the heart to do any harm to sunshine personified, Phichit Chulanont.

Besides, Seung-gil has a goddamn Siberian husky. They’re practically wolves, for all Yuri cares. Dog people are not to be trusted. They probably know ten ways to kill a person with an elastic band, and Yuri still wants to live, really.

Instead, he yells at them, “GODDAMMIT, IS EVERYONE TURNING INTO VICTOR AND YUURI?” and slams the door on his way into his hotel room. He informs Otabek of this new nuisance, threatens to slash Otabek’s tires if he doesn’t make it to the GPF this year. Otabek texts back, I guess some people can really turn winter into summer, obviously referring to Seung-gil and Phichit. So cheesy; Yuri can’t believe he is friends with the guy.

At breakfast, he slips into a seat next to Leo de la Iglesia, who only looks at him half-terrified before he resumes his breakfast. Georgi is sitting with hockey players and Yuri is having none of that. Leo keeps looking back and forth between his phone and Yuri’s face. After two minutes of silence, Yuri decides he’s had enough.

“What?” he demands.

Leo’s eyes boggle. “Um! I was just asking Otabek how to proceed with you! Because I have no idea how and you’re so fucking intimidating, holy shit, why did Otabek wait around for you for five years?” Realizing he accidentally insulted the current GPF champion, Leo adds hastily, “I mean, um, you know! In a good way! Intimidating in a good way!”

Yuri is not at all offended. After being babied by Victor for so long, it feels like a success when people four years older than him finds him scary. “Don’t bother with texting Otabek. He won’t answer until hell freezes over when he’s in a competition like this.”

“Oh,” Leo pockets his phone. “You… you text him often?”

Ah, the classic, ‘Try to find a common topic so we won’t sit in silence’ move. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to get him to use emojis, but he’s so hopeless with technology.”

“I know, right?” Leo is now grinning. “He doesn’t even understand memes.”

Leo’s phone buzzes, and like any other millennial, he fishes out his phone faster than lightning. His smile grows as he reads the text that just came. His thumbs fly on the screen in that same impressive speed. If Yuri cranes his neck just long enough, he’ll be able to see that Leo is texting Otabek’s Chinese friend, Guang Hong Ji.

But he’s smiling like Victor is when he sees Yuuri.

That’s when Yuri realizes the bare strip of skin around his wrist. Leo’s not wearing his timer. Right, he’s from America. Talks of making the timer optional for its citizens have been brewing in America for quite some time, to the approval of the younger generation and opposition of religious groups. Many teenagers in America show protest by detaching the timer from their wrists without the approval of local DEI. It does not lead in immediate penalty, like in many countries including Russia, but it’s still frowned upon.

The only times a timer may be removed is when one has met their match, or if it simply stops counting, like Yuri’s did. He wonders if Leo’s taken his off in protest, or if he’s met his Soulmate, and he can’t remember for the love of him if Guang Hong’s still wearing his timer.

Yuri finishes his breakfast quickly so he can start practicing early. He likes it when the rink is vacant except for himself; it gives him a calm he never achieves in his home rink in St. Petersburg or through yoga. His plan is ruined in an instant when he sees that there are already two people there, Phichit in his sports gear, and Seung-gil, leaning on his crutches, putting on a hamster hat on Phichit’s head. Yuri hates to interrupt such a heartfelt moment, but no one is indeed allowed here except for the coach and the skater who is competing. Seung-gil is, visibly, not a competitor.

Yuri coughs twice, subtly. Seung-gil staggers back as fast as he could in his crutches, and gives Yuri a curt nod before exiting the room. It may be the first and only time Yuri will ever get to see the almighty Korean skater blushing.

On ice, Phichit has already started his warm-ups. He looks lovestruck. Dear Aphrodite, if you want everyone to be happy and in love, please don’t also make them as dumb as Victor.

Yuri takes off his blade guards and skates to where Phichit is. “So, you and the grumpy guy are going good, huh?”

“Aw, Yurio! Are you asking me if I’m happy?”

“I clearly did not!” Yuri makes hurry to skate away from Phichit’s shit-eating grin, but Phichit is leaner and shorter and therefore faster, and he cannot get away.

“I’m happy, if that’s what you’re asking,” Phichit answers joyfully, lifting an arm as he jumps a Triple Axel. He touches down on one arm, but he didn’t fall. Yuri notices his bare wrist, the lighter strip of skin where the timer had been, and feels for his timer, still wrapped around his wrist.

“That’s under-rotated,” Yuri says quietly. Phichit smiles at his comment, and does the axel once more. He lands it perfectly.

“You must be wondering about my poor reaction at Worlds,” Phichit says.

“Not really,” Yuri lies. No amount of explaining will make him understand the feeling of finding your Soulmate. He doesn’t have one.

Phichit claps his hands together, all too indulgent to recite their first meeting story. “Well! If you must know, I was definitely shocked. I knew that I would be meeting my Soulmate that moment, but I didn’t expect it to be him. We never talked before, and he was so distant, so—disgusted at the thought of fraternizing, I didn’t even want to get anywhere near him at first.”

“Still didn’t ask,” Yuri insists.

“Besides, I didn’t expect my Soulmate to be a guy!” Phichit cheerfully disregards him.

Yuri raises one eyebrow. “Uh, sorry if this offends you, but your favorite movie is The King and the Skater, which is like, every gay person’s favorite movie.” The King and the Skater is a classic movie about a male skater from Detroit who falls into a time machine and lands in some ancient kingdom that is probably meant to a mix between Thailand and China, except it only stars one Thai actor as the king’s second best friend who speaks probably seven lines, and are possibly Korean. The skater ends up marrying the king, until he gets sucked back into the time machine, wherein their story continues again in the sequel. “You choreographed two programs to it! Even the horrible sequel!”

“Okay, you’re right. I always knew, I guess, but the moment it happened, I was—dumbstruck, I guess. Even if I’d known. I just never expected it to happen while I was on international TV.”

“At least you didn’t kiss him like some people would.”

Phichit giggles. Dear Aphrodite, this guy is five years older than him, and he still looks cuter doing it. “The thing is, I’ve always felt a little… apprehensive with the idea of Soulmates. That someone up there is controlling how we love, who we love… it’s scary. I didn’t want the person I’m supposed to be in love with for the rest of my life to be forced to love me, and I don’t want that for me either. When it turned to be Seung-gil, I was sure I’d handed my head on a platter.”

“That’s… probably the meanest thing I’ve heard you say about anyone.”

“And I feel bad now for even saying it!” Phichit waves his hand. “But you know, I remember this one line from The King and the Skater—“

“You are such a stereotype.”

“’It only takes time for two people to fall in love.’ So that’s what I gave to Seung-gil and me. I gave us time,” Phichit looks around, nostalgic as if he hadn’t just seen his Soulmate three minutes ago. “And look where we are now.”

Ever the party-pooper, Yuri says, “You do realize that after the king said that, the skater fell into the time machine and never saw the king again, don’t you?” They meet again in the sequel, but it’s a horrible sequel so Yuri will forget its existence.

Phichit touches his hamster hat with smitten smile. He does not seem to hear Yuri.

“Why hamsters?” Yuri finally asks.

“Ah, I was hoping you’d ask me that, Yuri! Listen, there’s this project that I’ve been working on called Phichit On Ice…”

The final results have Yuri seething because the pig, in all his ‘I’m going to retire to become a full-time househusband’ glory, stands atop the highest part of the podium with a new world record for the short program. He doesn’t care at all that his silver technically wins against Victor’s bronze, doesn’t care at all that JJ got what he deserves at the last place.

The official celebratory picture that ISU posts on their official website is of Victor kissing Yuuri’s gold medal while Yuri stands on Victor’s side, eyes boring daggers into his back, turned to Yuri.

They want to get married as soon as they can. They have no specific request except to have the wedding take place in Hasetsu, so naturally, Phichit takes matters into his own hands. He invites everyone to a groupchat (dubbed by Chris ‘Victor’s Coming of Age,’ which Phichit unfailingly changes back to, ‘Wedding planners’ every time) and begins to organize the wedding of the year (according to Russian QG) in under two weeks. Victor and Yuuri are just in time to have a Christmas beach wedding.

While Chris mostly slacks off to flirt with his brown-haired choreographer, Phichit is doing actual best man work, like making sure Victor and Yuuri don’t go elope before the wedding is even officiated and reminding Yuuri’s old ballet teacher—who, surprise, surprise, knows Lilia from their time skating together—to lay down the sake and to say, once in a while, Yuuri, you are doing the same thing when Seung-gil and I get married, to which Seung-gill responds with, We are not having a beach party.

Phichit’s appointed Yuri to the task of babysitting Makkacchin. If Yuri doesn’t tolerate him, he would have blanched and slapped Phichit goodbye. As a cat person, watching a dog makes him feel like he’s committed treason to the High Council of Cat People. Thankfully, Leo, who arrives suspiciously in the same car as Guang Hong Ji, is as stupid about dogs as Victor is, and volunteers to entertain the ring-bearer. Yuri makes him promise to lay down his life before anything happens to Makkachhin or the rings he wears around his neck before leaving Leo and Guang Hong to complain to Otabek.

The person in question is sitting near the water, his shoes and socks off, slacks folded up to his knees. Yuri plops down beside him. “Aphrodite help me, I need a drink. And careful with the sand. Phichit’s going to throw a fit if your suit’s dirty before he even gets a decent picture.”

Otabek looks at him. “You’re not even of legal age to drink.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I need a drink.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching Makkacchin?” Otabek asks.

“I got Leo and Guang Hong watching them,” Yuri says. “Can you imagine me watching over a dog, Otabek? A big, old dog?”

Otabek turns his eyes back to the waves, gentle and crashing at once. “I see you’ve met Leo and Guang Hong.”

“How did you meet them?” Yuri asks. “Did you save them on a bike and rabid fangirls, too?”

“I had the same coach as Leo when I was still training in Boston. I didn’t know enough English and he taught me. I know Guang Hong because, well, they come in pair. Order one for two.” Otabek bumps their shoulders teasingly, allowing a brief smile before his face turns serious again. “I told you, that’s all you.”

Yuri scoffs. He pulls his knees to his chest and hugs them, looking out at the line where the sky meets the sea, blue and blue. They’re sitting on the part of the sand that’s dry, close enough to the water that they get tiny splashes, but far enough away their suits will not be ruined. Waves lick the edge of Yuri’s white sneakers. They’re a new pair, a gift from Victor and Katsudon for his sixteenth birthday. They most’ve cost a fortune and Yuri initially refused to wear such nice shoes to the beach, where they will get dirty, but Victor insists.

“Why isn’t Leo wearing his timer?” Yuri asks bluntly. He doesn’t want to overthink the meaning of that’s all you, if it means anything at all to Otabek.

Otabek looks taken aback. This is the first time Yuri’s seen him surprised. Yuri can see that Otabek is considering his next words very carefully, and Yuri realizes that perhaps it’s a topic that he should ask Leo himself. “He fell in some with someone else,” Otabek answers simply in the end.

“The protestors in the US,” Yuri says, “Is he a part of it?”

“No,” Otabek says. Then, “Yes.”

“Which one is it?”

Otabek makes a pained sound in the back of his head. “I think you should ask him yourself,” he suggests. “This is personal, and I don’t feel like giving out details that he would’ve liked to keep to himself.” Yuri is almost annoyed at that. Does Otabek think he’s going to rat out Leo? He’s not a child, he’s good at keeping secrets. Then he thinks of how he never tells anyone why he still keeps his timer, and decides that he can understand Leo, a little.

Yuri nods and lets the subject go.

Wow, he is growing so much.

Yuuri and Victor exchange rings—thank you, Leo and Guang Hong for ensuring Makkacchin is on his best behavior—and by the time they finish saying their vows, there is no dry eye left in the party. Even Seung-gil looks somber.

Except for Yuri. He definitely has dust in his eyes.

Afterwards, there’s music and dancing and speeches from both best men. Phichit’s speech is, of course, lengthy and funny, and he tells it like a bedtime story. Chris’ speech is, astonishingly, age-appropriate, and then he ruins it by making a dick joke at the end of his speech that turns Yuuri’s ears red. There’s booze, and Yuri is very tempted to steal some, but with Otabek on his side that’s not happening any time soon.

He means to approach Leo and interrogate him on the subject of his timer when a bouquet of flowers falls into his arms instead.

“Who the fuck—“

His eyes skim the party-goers and notes, curiously, of two things in common: they’re all quiet and staring at him like he’s grown another fucking pimple. Then it dawns on him that he’s caught the bouquet.

Aphrodite is a cruel god.

And it’s a cruel joke—the next person to be married is the only person at the wedding with a dead timer and no Soulmate to match. If there’s no Soulmate, then there’s no wedding, because it’s a crime to marry someone who is not your Soulmate in Russia, in almost every country around the world.

Yuri can’t comprehend how the goddess of love can be so cruel. The only conclusion that he can draw is this: Aphrodite is a false god.

He shoves the bouquet to Seung-gil because he’s nearest, who accepts it bewilderedly, and tells everyone to fuck off and continue partying. He sees Yuuri making a move as if he wants to go to his side, but Otabek beats him to it. He grabs Yuri by his wrist—by his timer—and drags him to get food. Yuri is grateful that he doesn’t try to offer him comfort, and understands that what Yuri needs instead is a distraction.

The giant chocolate fountain proves to be an excellent distraction. Yuri takes about a dozen strawberries and drizzles them in chocolate.

“How many more hours at the gym would I have to add if I eat all twelve strawberries?” Yuri asks.

“One strawberry has about 30 calories, multiply that by 12 and you have 360 calories. Add that up with the amount of calories from the chocolate, which are around 500, and you have a sum of 860 calories that you have to burn. That’s about one hour running at a speed of ten miles per hour.”

“Wow, okay, never mind,” Yuri puts down the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries in horror. “I’ll just eat one and let the Nishigori triplets have the rest.”

“You’d give them sugar high,” Otabek says, “and they’d drive Yuuko insane.”

“Then eat one!” Yuri picks one strawberry from the plate. “The triplets will have one less strawberry to eat, and they’d drive Yuuko a little less insane.”

Otabek steps forward. “They’d still drive Yuuko insane regardless.”

Then he leans down, steadies Yuri’s hand, and eats the strawberry from his fingers. The wet stripe of Otabek’s tongue stuns Yuri, and his breath hitches, eyes unable to leave Otabek’s dark irises as he pulls off with an obscene pop. There’s chocolate on the corner of his mouth.

“Why is your hand trembling?”

It takes a while for Yuri to register that Otabek is asking him a question. Fuck if he knows the answer. He yanks his hand off Otabek’s grip and petulantly says, “Wipe off the damn chocolate, you dumb hick. What are you, a primitive?” He shoves tissues into Otabek’s hands.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Otabek won’t let that go. Yuri’s managed to land a friendship with somebody so earnest and he does not know how he should feel about it. He knows that right now, his heart is beating at a faster rate than normal and his fingers feel impossibly hot.

Yuri is saved from the humiliation of answering by Leo dragging him into dancing with him, shouting, “I’ll return him to you in one piece, Otabek!” He looks around for Guang Hong and finds Phichit dancing with him, twirling him around. Seung-gil, still in crutches, frowns at the dance floor. Yuri can’t tell if that’s just his face or if he’s truly exasperated at the party.

Yuri is only mildly miffed that Leo is the one leading the dance. Still, if Leo dares to do this at any other time—aka, any time he’s not trying to forget the wetness of Otabek’s tongue—Yuri will have him killed.

Leo smiles at him like he’s trying to tell Yuri something. Yuri scowls.

“Not a single comment,” Yuri warns.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything!” Leo says.

“If you tell me that what I did was admirable or brave—“

“What if I think it really is?” Leo challenges him. Yuri narrows his eyes, contemplating if he should kick him in the shin, then remembers Otabek and his tongue on his fingers and decides he can plan the American’s death later.

“To keep the timer even after—“

“Shut up,” Yuri hisses. “Don’t want to hear it.”

“I took it off because it felt like freedom,” Leo tells him. “Aphrodite is the goddess of love, but she doesn’t control love. She doesn’t dictate how we love. She doesn’t pick for us the person that we should love for the rest of our lives. It’s not what she does.”

Yuri feels his chest tighten. “Then why the fuck do these timers exist?”

“I don’t know,” Leo says. “But I know that I want to love on my own volition.”

“You can’t, not without the timer,” Yuri says. “You can only fall in love with your Soulmate.”

“What if I can pick my Soulmate for myself?”

Yuri has nothing to say to that.

Leo squeezes his shoulder with a meaningful smile, and releases him to find Guang Hong.

Alone in the dance floor, there’s nothing much for him to do other than observe the others. Victor and Yuuri (the Nikiforov-Katsukis, they insist to be called from now on) are lost in each other’s eyes, wearing matching rings and matching smitten, happy smiles. Mila is demanding a dance with Otabek, much to Sara’s annoyance, an opportunity her brother exploits to tow Sara into dancing with him, that Czech puppy following them the whole time. Sara breaks free from her creepy brother’s grasp and steals Mila away to dance near the other newly-weds, JJ and his poor Soulmate, Isabella.

It’s a miracle Yuri doesn’t barf from all this love bullshit.

Now partner-less, Otabek catches his eyes and tilts his eyes slightly. Yuri folds his arms over his chest. If Otabek wants a dance, then he’s going to work hard to get it.

Sighing, Otabek approaches him and extends a hand.

“Are you going to dance with me or not?”

Yuri sticks his tongue at him. “But I’m leading. I’m growing taller than you, after all.”

Otabek throws his head back and laughs. Yuri still has no idea what’s so fucking funny even after the music ends.

He wonders if kissing is exclusively reserved for lovers, because in that moment, he kind of wants to kiss Otabek.

#otayuri #victuuri #leoji #seungchuchu #otabek altin #yuri plisetsky

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bishoujomichiko · 7 years

Text

My YOI Mafia AU

Link to Ch. 2

I’ve always LOVED Mafia au’s, and really want to attempt to write my own! I really want to try and make a couple chapters out of this…we shall see! I’ll be posting this on my ao3 account as well!~

•••

How long had it been? Ten, maybe fifteen minutes? Yuuri took a long draw on his Cuban cigar, let it settle on his tongue, then exhaled. The thunking sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the spacious office. A scream, a plead, and then more flesh being beaten in. Yuuri took another inhale of smoke. He really didn’t like to go about things this way, in fact he hated it. It was troublesome and tiring. Just kill them and be done with it, it would save so much time. But his right hand man Viktor was so damn extravagant. He absolutely loved to show off his physical skills. Yuuri watched the silver haired man laying into the accused; jab, upper cut, a kick in the ribs, a step on the knee. Another long, loud scream. Yuuri sighed. “Enough.” Viktor was still going, though. Did he not hear his boss? “I said enough.” It was very dangerous for Yuuri to have to repeat himself. If you lived to hear the repetition, you were very lucky indeed. But of course, Viktor Nikiforov was no ordinary man to Yuuri. Not at all.

Viktor immediately stopped and grabbed a prepared towel off the desk, calmly wiping the blood off his hands. “Damn it, this is a new suit, too! It was so expensive.” He whined, trying to wipe the blood off his cuff links. “But, it was worth it. I’ve wanted to beat the shit out of Mr. Jacques for quite some time.” He winked at Yuuri, who was snuffing out his cigar. “Jean, I don’t have much more patience. And I’m only going to ask this once. Where is my money?” Yuuri cocked his head to the side, surveying the extensive damage Viktor had done. The man laid sprawled out on the floor, but slowly managed to sit up on his elbows. His face was a bloodied mess, quickly purpling all over. Jean Jacques, otherwise known as JJ. Twenty six years old, ran the largest gang in Canada. He co-owned a surplus of prostitution rings with the Swedish black market overseer, Christophe Giacometti. These clubs were spread out over his native country, Sweden and America, too. He named his strip clubs “JJ Girls”. Befitting of the man’s cockiness. He was very loud and obnoxious, boisterous, and tended to overstep his boundaries. But, atleast twenty percent of the clubs he owned himself were funded by a loan from Yuuri. And unfortunately for JJ, he had overstepped. “Fucking bitch…” JJ spat out blood on the floor. Viktor went striding back over. The beaten man threw his hands up. “Don’t worry. I have your fucking money.” He tried to stand, favoring his left leg. “You really had to go all out, eh?” “I’ll transfer the money over today. As soon as I get out of here.” “And who says we’re going to let you out of here?” Viktor asked nonchalantly. “Enough.” Yuuri tapped his index finger on the desk. Viktor knew he used up his last time to speak out of turn. “You will be accompanied by one of my men to your bank of choice, just to make sure everything goes as planned. Please be on time with your payments in the future. The next missed payment will have a very heavy late fee. You are dismissed.” Yuuri relit his cigar, leaning back into his large leather chair. He really had to stop smoking those things. JJ smirked and began walking towards the door. “I definitely don’t want to pay that kind of a late fee. See ya.” He waved, as he was escorted out of the room. Yuuri sighed heavily. “The other organizations are getting way too comfortable, these days.” There was no response from Viktor, who stood on his right, with his arms crossed. Yuuri sent the remaining guards out of the room. “How many times do I have to tell you not to over talk me, Viktor? It’s getting annoying.” Yuuri, again, put out his cigar. Viktor shrugged and turned to him, leaning on Yuuri’s desk. “Sorry, moya lyubov. I can’t help it. I get overly excited sometimes, you know that.” Viktor caressed Yuuri’s lips with his thumb, Yuuri smacked his hand away. “Please don’t think too much of yourself Viktor. I am leader the Russian Mafia.” Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s tie, pulling him down for a deep, tongue-filled kiss. “Make sure you don’t forget that.” Viktor got on one knee, and grabbed Yuuri’s right hand. He kissed the matching gold ring that glinted in the window light. “Yes, sir.” Viktor interlaced Yuuri’s fingers with his. As Viktor and Yuuri were getting prepared to take a long break, there was a knock on the door. Shortly followed by loud cursing and the door being swung open. Yuuri groaned. The slender, blonde young man came stomping in, his face flushed in anger. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt!” He threw a stack of papers on the desk. “Is this a fucking joke?” Yuri Plisetsky. 23. Known as the “Russian Ice Tiger”. He was a ferocious little beast, with a temper that even exceeded that. The mafia’s top ranking assassin; he could shoot a target dead from eight hundred feet with his eyes closed. Sounds exaggerated, but Yuuri’s seen him do it. He also was only second to Viktor in hand to hand combat. And he was the third closest person to Yuuri. “Plisetsky. I am really not in the mood.” Yuuri began to rub his temples. What he had been in the mood for was some personal time with his lover, and of course the kid had to come in and ruin it. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. Please forgive me for wanting to know why the fuck you decided to have me work on the mission with that pussy?” He was referring to Minami Kenjirou. Who was a senior to Yuri by two years. Minami was a go-between, a person who sealed deals with opposing gangs. He was energetic and jovial, a rarity in the business they are were in, also looked at as weak. But he actually doubled as an interrogator for the mafia, a secret of which only Yuuri knew. Those who were questioned by Minami did not keep a tight lip for long. He was overly skilled in torture; Yuuri had sat in to oversee one of his interrogations, and Yuuri decided that was the last time he would ever attend one again. The longest record of anyone that lasted was five minutes, and Minami had interrogated a countless number of people. “I can do this fucking mission alone, goddamnit! I’m not bringing that little annoying shit with me-” “Plisetsky. I’m tired.” Silence. Yuri grit his teeth, but knew better than to continue his rant. “Minami is going with you because of that terrible mouth you have. He’s a good talker, and knows how to persuade people. Talk to people. Qualities that you severely lack. The both of you together will make a good team. I need you to get that informant as soon as possible. Please don’t disappoint me.” Yuri was already stomping out of the room, hands balled in fists. Yuuri exhaled, he really hoped Plisetsky wouldn’t do anything irrational. He was prone to doing terrible things when he was in one of his rages. “Okay. Lock that damn door, Vitya. I don’t want anyone else coming in here.” Viktor chuckled. “You got it, boss.”

Yuuri had his head nestled in Viktor’s neck, inhaling deeply. When he was with Viktor, all other intrusive thoughts failed to plague him. It was just the two of them in the entire universe; nothing else mattered. He remembered when he first met Viktor. Yuuri had been recruited by the Mafia and became a drug runner. He was initiated in to the gang with a severe beating; he was sure it was so bad because he was a foreigner. Not too many of the members agreed with his joining, but Yakov had quickly silenced the doubters. After he had been beaten almost half to death, Viktor came and helped him. He patched his wounds, with gentle yet strong hands. Yuuri thought that was probably the moment he had fallen for him. “They went too far, those bastards. I hate to see such a pretty face ruined like this.” He ran the back of his finger down Yuuri’s cheek. “I’m Viktor Nikiforov. The successor to the Russian Mafia.” Yes, the successor. How Yuuri became the leader of the Mafia, is a story to tell some other time. Viktor held out the hand that had touched Yuuri’s face, Yuuri shook it. He was extremely surprised Viktor was speaking to him, had actually cared for his wounds like that. He heard stories surrounding the man, he was known as “Faceless”. They would say he always wore a smile on his face, and no one could ever tell when he was angry. Until it was too late, of course. “…K-Katsuki Yuuri. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Viktor’s smile widened. “Oh, what beautiful manners! I like you already.” He winked. Viktor grabbed one of Yuuri’s arms, and shouldered his weight to stand. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Yuuri was taken out of his reverie by Viktor brushing his hair to the back of his ear. “How much longer do we have to play mobster, Yuuri?” Viktor pouted, pulling him in closer into his embrace. They had this conversation at least twice a day, and it seemed to be increasing. “Vitya…can we just be quiet and hold each other for awhile? I don’t feel like arguing.” Viktor huffed “But I’m getting bored of all this. Why can’t we go hide out on an island, forever? Just you and me and palm trees? I know all of this is taking a toll on you-” “Viktor, please.” The man continued. “I know you’re getting tired of this, too. Let’s leave this all behind.” Viktor put his forehead to Yuuri’s. There still were no words from the dark haired man. Viktor pulled back. “Are you really going to choose this life over everything that we have? Over real love and happiness? Over me?” Yuuri did not respond, which made Viktor grab his chin and turn up his face, forcing Yuuri to look at him. “Yuuri?” The hurt and anger was beginning to creep into Viktor’s eyes. This was a question Yuuri had been waiting to come up. Though, he wished it never would. Yuuri had joined the Mafia to make some quick cash, originally. His family lived in a one bedroom apartment back in Japan. So when Yuuri got scouted by the Mafia, he was offered what they presented all newbies. Money, protection, power. Three things Yuuri craved, though at that time money was all he truly wanted. With the pay he’d get, he would be able to support his family. Move them out of the Hasetsu slums, give his mother and father the Onsen they’d been dreaming of owning ever since he could remember. Maybe he and his sister Mari could attend college. He had planned on getting rich quick, and then finding a way to escape the organization. But one thing led to another, and the next thing he knew, he was addicted. Every day he fell deeper and deeper into the darkness. Each day a piece of his old self, the little chubby boy that ran around alleyways playing tag with his best friends Yuuko and Nishigori, disappeared. Once he was able to provide for his family, money became an after thought. He wanted power. He wanted underlings. He wanted his reach to spread across every damn country on the earth. It consumed him. By the time his relationship with Viktor had really began to flourish, it was already too late. Yuuri had long since succumbed to the allure of the dark path. The only small decimal of light that he allowed within himself was his family, and the man he was lying next to. Viktor took Yuuri’s unresponsiveness as his answer. He unwrapped his arms from around him, and got off the couch. He began putting back on his suit, which was now wrinkled from being strewn across the floor. “Vitya…I’m sorry.” Viktor turned around, adjusting his button down, tucking it into his pants. He smiled. This wasn’t Viktor anymore, it was Faceless. “I understand.” Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s wrist, but it was jerked out of his grip. “Is there anything else you require of me, Mr. Katsuki?” It was a cold question, one that pulled at Yuuri’s chest. When Viktor became like this, Yuuri had long ago realized it was best to leave him alone for a little while. There was no breaching the wall that Viktor built when he did not want any interaction. “No. You may leave.” With that, Viktor pulled on his blazer and stalked out of the room.

One day, if this darkness ever releases me, and if we’re both still alive; I would love to run away with you.

#yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanfic #yoi mafia au #yuri on ice headcanons #victuuri #yuri!!! on ice

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lavenderprose · 7 years

Note

could you do 4.2 for the fic thing?

[Some of the Mob AU for you, because it fits]

Half of the city attends Viktor’s funeral. At least, it seems that way. The streets of Petrogorod must be empty for how many people are gathered into the cathedral where Viktor Nikiforov is being laid to rest. Yuuri sits in the second-to-last pew, all by himself, and doesn’t recognize a single person in the front row. They are all blue-eyed and silver-haired and Yuuri couldn’t name one of them if his life depended on it.

Many of the people in this church are career criminals. The amount of blood on the hands in the nave of this cathedral could fill the place to the brim.

And yet, most of them seem genuinely distressed by Viktor’s death.

Yuuri attends the funeral in the same suit he wore to his first meeting with Viktor, because there’s a sort of appropriate irony there. He doesn’t want to wear any of the suits Viktor bought for him. He doesn’t even want to look at them. It defines his complicated relationship with the man, that he’s sentimental enough to wear something Viktor hated, but not to wear something he actually liked.

Yuuri foregoes the procession, mostly because the idea of adding his beaten-up compact to the long line of sleek sports cars and SUVs making their way through Petrogorod’s main streets is a depressing one. He drives to Viktor’s building, instead, and is only mildly surprised when Anatoly still lets him in the door.

“How was the funeral, sir?” Anatoly asks gently, and Yuuri doesn’t know how to explain a loneliness so profound that it feels like he’s the one who’s died, and so he just shrugs and offers a sad smile. Anatoly says, “I thought so. I’m sure you’re very tired, but could I have a moment of your time?”

All Yuuri really wants to do is retrieve Makkachin and leave this building, go back to his own apartment in Shoboro and pretend that the last eight months of his life never happened. He can’t even remember the last time he spent the night in that apartment. He’s forgotten which way it is you jiggle the tap in the shower to make it run warm for more than twenty seconds at a time.

“It’s important,” Anatoly says, like he can see Yuuri’s hesitation.

Yuuri sighs and nods, and follows Anatoly into the door behind the desk and through into what must be his personal office. It’s a nice place, with two plush chairs opposite the desk and a set of pictures featuring an attractive young family. A woman, three little children, a dog.

“Are those real?” Yuuri mumbles, knowing full well at this point that Anatoly is much more than just a doorman. He doesn’t know if Anatoly would take the risk of displaying his real family photos in an office that acts as a glorified doorway to the underworld.

“Some of them,” Anatoly says, and it seems like an honest answer, so Yuuri accepts it. He sits down in one of the chairs, letting himself go mildly boneless against it. Anatoly hands him a finger of something expensively amber, and Yuuri doesn’t even taste it before it goes down.

“Viktor did not have many people he trusted,” Anatoly says, perching on the edge of his desk. He splays his fingers over a thick file folder.

“I thought his whole business model was based in trust,” Yuuri scoffs. For all it did for him. Trust in his people, an eye for an eye, a bullet between the eyes.

Anatoly tilts his head to the side. “This is also true. But he had checks and balances. Viktor never gave anyone the full picture. Everybody had just a small piece of the puzzle, and he kept the whole solution inside his own mind. But, as you know, men are mortal.”

“Yes,” Yuuri rasps, harsh. “I do know that, Anatoly.”

“I was the only other person Viktor trusted with the...delicate details, shall we say,” Anatoly says, and unfolds the file.

“Why you?” Yuuri mumbles, brows furrowed. “Why not Yura? Or Georgi?”

“Yura is still a child,” Anatoly says. “Had Viktor died after he turned eighteen, then this job would have fallen to him. Georgi is and always has been a flight risk. Viktor couldn’t entrust someone so unstable with information like this.”

Yuuri thinks about all the things Viktor whispered to him in the night, knowing full well how flighty Yuuri himself could be, and wonders.

“Okay,” Yuuri says after a moment. “Is there a point to this?”

“Until Yura comes of age,” Anatoly says, straightening himself up, “I’m the acting head of Nikiforov Enterprises and all of its...extracurricular business. This means that it’s my job to carry out all standing orders from before Viktor died.”

“And what are those?” Yuuri mumbles, limbs slowly going heavy. The drink must have been stronger than he thought. “He told me that if anything happened to him, he wanted me to take care of his dog. And make sure Yura...that Yura grew up well. That’s--that’s the only thing he said.”

“Ah,” Anatoly says, clearing his throat. “And was that before or after you shot him in the head?”

Yuuri’s head snaps up, despite the oppressive drowsiness weighting him down like there are rocks on his hands and feet. “What?”

“You were the only person in the room with him when he died,” Anatoly says, flipping through the folder with complete nonchalance. “You are the only person who could have killed him.”

“No,” Yuuri says. “No, it wasn’t me--I’d never--I...I lo--”

“You loved him, yes,” Anatoly says, and holds up a picture that makes Yuuri’s head spin. It’s him and Viktor in the window of Viktor’s bedroom, and Yuuri can see his own sweaty hands flat on the glass, Viktor’s face buried in his neck, the tight connection of their hips. Yuuri feels a hot shot of shame go through him, at the sight of his own erect penis pressing against the window, the gape of his own mouth.

Nobody can see us this high up, Viktor had murmured into his ear, and Yuuri had believed him. His hand had gone over Yuuri’s navel and between his legs and his touch had been so tender and Yuuri had believed him.

“It seems he loved you too,” Anatoly says dryly. Yuuri is almost sliding out of his chair. “Which may be why you succeeded where so many others failed. It’s understandable, that Viktor allowed himself to be so distracted. He always did have a soft spot for men like you. How many times did you have to suck his cock before he told you everything you wanted to know?”

“Fuck you,” Yuuri spits, even as his tongue gets heavier. “It wasn’t--wasn’t like that--”

“The drug in your drink was Ketamine,” Anatoly tells him, “in case you were wondering. In a few minutes, you won’t be able to move. The amount in your drink wasn’t enough to kill you, but the amount in this--” he reaches behind him and holds up a syringe, “is enough to kill several full-grown men. Once you’re nice and complacent from your first dose, it won’t be hard for me to administer this one.” Anatoly taps the syringe with the back of his finger, idle. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Yuuri, but we just couldn’t let you live.”

“No, you’re wrong.” Yuuri feels about twice his own weight. Holding his head up is becoming a challenge. “I wasn’t--please, ask--ask Yakov, or Georgi, they know--they’ll believe me, it wasn’t--please, God, please don’t do this!”

“Relax, Yuuri.” Anatoly rises from the desk and kneels beside him, rolls up his sleeve. Yuuri tries to jerk his arm away, but it’s like his muscles aren’t even listening to his brain. His mind clouds, his thoughts go in ten thousand different directions at once. He’s thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. Anatoly wraps a rubber hose unpleasantly tight around Yuuri’s upper arm. A tourniquet.

“You’ll never--” Yuuri’s eyes flutter, head tilting back as his neck loses its battle with gravity. “You’re making a--huge mistake--Yura--”

“Will die too,” Anatoly says slowly. “And then Georgi. And then that blundering old bastard Feltsman. Anyone in my way...will die.” Anatoly twists Yuuri’s arm, looking for a vein. “Just like you. And just like Viktor.”

“You--”

Several things happen all at once. Yuuri’s foot, which was the only thing keeping him from sliding straight out of his chair, slips and he tilts sideways, out of Anatoly’s grasp. Anatoly swears and rises to wrestle him back into his chair. Before his hands reach Yuuri, an ear-splitting crack rends the stony atmosphere. Yuuri feels stickly warmth bloom across his own face and for a moment thinks it’s himself that has been shot.

When Anatoly slumps over, and Yuuri sees his unseeing eyes and his missing ear, Yuuri knows it isn’t.

Viktor Nikiforov rushes into the room and kneels beside Yuuri.

“Yuuri,” whispers Viktor, or maybe a ghost. Maybe Yuuri is dead after all. “Oh, Yuuri, what did he do to you?”

Then, finally, Yuuri passes out.

He almost doesn’t realize his own apartment, in the low light. Mostly because he hasn’t been here in months save for short visits to grab clothes, but also because Makkachin is at the end of the bed and large poodles are not a standard feature of Yuuri’s bedroom.

His muscles ache, his thoughts are foggy. It takes him a moment to remember that Viktor might not be dead. When he does, he springs out of bed with something that’s half-alarm and half-rage, and almost slams right into Viktor as he comes in the room.

“Whoa,” Viktor says, steadying him by the shoulders. “Relax, Yuuri, you shouldn’t--”

“Viktor,” Yuuri breathes, and has to tilt his head back because he’s barefoot and Viktor is wearing those stupid boots. “You’re--Oh, oh my God--”

“I know,” Viktor says, “I know, shh, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m alright.”

“You stu--you fucking--” Yuuri raises a palm and wants so badly to hit him. Viktor even waits for it, unflinching, like it’s his due. He hits Viktor’s chest, instead, and then again and again. Over and over until Viktor finally takes him by the shoulders, and they sink back onto the floor together.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, wheezing, cheek on Yuuri’s head even as he continues trying to hit him. “Yuuri, please darling. Yuuri--”

“FUCK YOU!” Yuuri screams at last, and finally does slap Viktor in the face. His head whips to the side, and Yuuri feels an odd sort of satisfaction settle over him.

“Okay, I deserved that,” Viktor mutters, touching his bloodied lip.

“Fuck you, Viktor!” Yuuri screeches, completely aware of his voice getting away from him and utterly unable to stop it. “What the--how in the he--I’m so--what the fuck! I watched you die, I--fuck you, fuck you, I should--you--” He takes in a shuddering breath and tries to convince himself that the lump is his throat is one of rage, and not one of tears. He will not cry. “I went to your fucking funeral, Viktor. I saw you--in a coffin--dead. You were--pale, and you weren’t moving, and your hair--” Yuuri presses his fingertips to Viktor’s fringe, heart wreaked. “It wasn’t--they didn’t do it right, and I--your hands were so cold. Vitya. Vitya.” Yuuri feels his lips wobble, his cheeks bulge. He’s definitely crying now. “I buried you, Vitya.”

“I know,” Viktor whispers. “I can’t imagine how horrible it was, Yuuri, and I’m so sorry. You have to believe me when i say I thought I was keeping you safe. You have to. The only reason I did any of it was to--to protect you.”

“Well that worked like a charm,” Yuuri scoffs, huddling back against the bed and frantically wiping his face.

“I never thought Anatoly would go after you,” Viktor says, and now he’s on his knees, like he’s groveling, and Yuuri is just going to fucking let him do that. “At least not at first. I had no idea that he knew the extent of our--”

“He had pictures, Viktor,” Yuuri hisses. “I’ve never felt so violated in my fucking life. Where did he get them from?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor says. “My hand to God, Yuuri, I do not know. I don’t know where he was getting any of his information from. I was convinced he would go after Yakov first--that’s where I’ve been the last few days, waiting, but then the tail I had on you--”

“You had a tail on me?” Yuuri snarls.

“Of course I did,” Viktor snaps. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no way I would have left the man I love unprotected, do you think I’m stupid?”

“Sometimes,” Yuuri snaps back, but it’s with less venom. He huffs and runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and lets the words the man I love revolve around his head for a moment. He wants to be in Viktor’s arms so badly. His pride and his anger war with the part of him that is still shrieking this man’s name in a dark room, waiting for him to wake up. “Do you know...what you’ve put me through?”

“Not exactly,” Viktor whispers. “Nobody I’ve ever lost has come back to life.”

Yuuri sighs and finally crosses the space between them and allows himself to be held.

“I’m still angry with you,” Yuuri whispers, as Viktor rubs gentle circles into his back. “And you still have...so much explaining to do. But I’m--God, I’m so relieved.”

“Shh,” Viktor whispers, as Yuuri sobs into his shoulder. “Shh.”

Later, Yuuri stands up and shuffles into the bathroom, taking off his bloodied clothes as he goes. Viktor follows him, and Yuuri still isn’t sure he can stand to have him out of his sight, so he waits for him to strip too before getting in the shower. Viktor washes his back and his hair, and then they lay down in the bath tub together and let the water wash over them like rain.

“It’s nothing like yours,” Yuuri murmurs, a little bit of self-consciousness creeping in. Viktor’s bathroom is worth several hundred thousand dollars. Yuuri’s is worth less than the caulk slowly peeling up from the tiles.

“Shh,” Viktor whispers, and Yuuri shivers as his nose brushes behind his ear. “Yuuri...let me make you feel good.” Viktor slides down his body, takes him in his mouth, and Yuuri’s hand clenches in the shower curtain. The other one tangles in Viktor’s sopping hair.

“Oh...oh...” Yuuri’s back bows off the tub floor.

Viktor Nikiforov gives pretty damn good head for a dead man.

“You said you loved me,” Yuuri whispers into Viktor’s mouth, when he crawls back up and thrusts their hips together, and Yuuri feels like crying all over again. “Did you mean that?”

“I’ve never lied to you,” Viktor says against his neck. “Not even when it might have been easier to.”

“You let me think you were dead,” Yuuri chokes, as Viktor’s cock slides next to his, hot and almost unbearable.

“I died for you,” Viktor says. “Yuuri, the world thinks I’m dead. We can’t go back. Going back means someone’s life. Yuuri, I’m a dead man. All I have left is my body.”

“That’s all,” Yuuri whimpers. “That’s all I need. You, you’re all I--” He cries out in sharp, shrill bursts. He feels Viktor throb.

“My body and you, Yuuri Katsuki,” Viktor whispers against his neck, settling against him as the water cools. “That’s all I have left.”

Yuuri presses a long, hard kiss to his forehead.

He doesn’t know what it means, that he’d kill someone for this man.

#Victuuri #YOI #Yuri on Ice #Maggie Answers #Maggie's Fic #Mob AU #MAN THIS ONE GOT LONG???#I usually don't like putting things under a cut because I know Tumblr mobile eats them #but I didn't really have a choice here!!#sorry about that mobile users!!#there's also??? not a whole lot of sex in this one #so #sorry about that too #Anonymous

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