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Yuuri Katsuki had a secret, that nobody knew about. Not Yuuko who’d grown up side by side with him. Not Phichit, whom he’d shared a home with for five years in Detroit. Not Yuri Plisetsky who tore through bathroom doors whenever he saw fit, to scream and shout at the older skater, weaker than most. Not even Victory, his fiancé and coach, whom he’d been in a long-time relationship with, whose bed he shared, and him he saw day in and day out knew.
He wore long-sleeved shirts, and baggy hoodies, to hide it. He felt ashamed when he saw them in the mirror. He felt ashamed when he remembered, how they’d ended up there. On his pale skin.
Because Yuuri’s arms were covered in scars. Deep cuts break the surface, drawing blood. Pain seeped down his arms, fingers going numb under the weight of the blade. A way to control his stutter, panicked breath. A way to control the spiraling thought. A way to hide and to forget, the worst parts of himself.
Yuuri Katsuki had a secret. He never imagined moving to St. Petersburg would reveal it.
***
Yakov knew all the skaters at his rink well. They’re strengths and weaknesses, both on and off the ice.
How Plisetsky couldn’t skate to his full potential when his grandfather wasn’t there to support him. He felt insecure about his growing body and felt the full effects of the change on his jumps, relearning, redoing, and reclaiming them.
Knew how Victor’s need to surprise the audience led to crazy choreography, that Yakov helped fix. How depression struck when inspiration wasn’t there. How he’d drill himself to death before a competition, no matter how big or how small. Yakov had seen it since Victor was just a junior, those first years they’d worked together. It wasn’t until Katsuki that Yakov found a solution.
He knew how Georgi’s love and hatred for one woman fueled the fire that allowed him to skate. Pulled him out of bed in the morning, and out onto the ice. Because in the cold, he could express himself in a way the man couldn’t in words.
How Mila practiced quads in hiding with the Living legend, her body sore when her practice time came around, and Yakov would scold her but also smile kindly and encourage her.
Yakov knew his skaters. He wouldn’t be as good a coach as he was if he didn’t. So, while Yuuri Katsuki wasn’t officially his student, Yakov needed to know him too. He’d played stand-in for Victor are competitions where they both skated, and he helped Yuuri perfect his flip when Victor was working too hard on his programs.
He knows about the anxiety, the whole skating world did. There were plenty of leaked videos and pictures of a Yuuri sobbing into Celestino’s of Victor's chest. Where his jumps had sent him crashing, again, and again, and again.
Yakov knows this. Yet Yuuri manages to surprise him.
It’s a late afternoon and Yakov is working in his office, signing papers and preparing training plans for the upcoming season. Most of the skaters are long gone, going home to cook dinner or catch up with friends and schoolwork. But Katsuki lingers on the ice, even as the sun starts to set over the city.
Usually, it’s with Victor standing rink side, watching silently as the skater got rid of the nervous energy that had built up inside his body. Compulsory figures shaping the ice into a masterpiece.
This night was different as Yakov stepped up to the empty barrier. Katsuki wasn’t skating his usual figures, and Victor wasn’t there. It was just the two of them. Kutsuki’s eyes are red and distant, his head a mess. Each movement is erratic, chaotic, and unpredictable.
It was an uncommon sight for the usually calm, collected skater. Where each step was thought about in advance.
“Katsuki!” Yakov calls out over the rink. “Off the ice, I have to close the rink.”
Yuuri’s head snaps up towards the man, his face pale and tired. No, exhausted. Yakov wondered what had happened to put the Skate into such a state. Had he and Victor thought?
A moment later Yuuri moves across the ice and off it, grabbing his skate guards. He slides onto the bench and carefully undoes the lazes, then removes his skates with shaky hands. “I thought you and Victor left hours ago” Yakov comments as Yuuri packs his skates away in his bag.
“Oh?” Yuuri meets his eyes for a flicker of a second before they glue themselves to the floor. Hands clenched together around his sleeves, knuckles growing white. “I was just…” he trails off.
“Does Victor know you’re here?” he asks after a moment of studying the skate. Yuuri shakes his head. Yakov curses himself silently. Something was wrong, but Yakov didn’t know what. He knew all of his skaters well, but it took time, a long time, to figure it all out. To understand it in a meaningful way.
Knowing a weakness or a strength wasn’t enough. You had to understand it, to utilize it. To correct it. Like Victor almost identical edge in his Lutz and Flip.
He reaches out a hand to Yuuri, offering the softest smile he can muster. “Come on, I’m giving you a ride up. It’s getting dark.”
Yuuri hesitates, before grabbing his bag. The strep slid over his shoulder, like a heavyweight. Then, carefully, reach for Yakov’s offered hand.
Before he can grasp it, he flinches. A painful expression flashes in his eyes as he pulls back a second later. Wrist to his chest. A soft wheeze of pain. Yakov stiffened. Yuuri hadn’t looked hurt on the ice, but sometimes injuries weren’t immediately obvious. If he’d fallen his sprained his wrist, maybe the adrenaline of skating had masked the pain until now.
Yakov ruled over it for a long minute before kneeling before Yuuri. Reaching for the wrist that the skater tried so desperately to hide.
The black shirt is wet under his touch. Sticky in a way Yakov didn’t understand until he finally pulled the sleeve up slowly. Revealing a row of deep, angry cuts. Blood was still seeping out, covering the skater's skin. Yuuri wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Yakov had seen firsthand what the pressure could do to a good skater. Had dealt with eating disorders in young junior girls, cuts on thighs and tears, and panic attacks. He’d seen what the pressure could do to Yuuri specifically, but he’d never imagined this. It was shocking, to see the skin colored red.
When he looked closer, he could see faded scars below the blood.
He reaches for the second hand and then, pulls up the sleeve too. He breathes a sigh of relief when there aren’t fresh cuts there, too, but feels his stomach turn at the layer of scared skin around his wrist.
Did Victor know? They’d been together for close to a year now. Had Victor ever seen Yuuri without his shirt?
“What a mess” Yakov comments lovely, pulling Katsuki to his feet. Careful not to pull at the open skin. He leads him up the stairs into the office, where he keeps a medical kit. It happened more often than people thought that skaters cut themselves on their blades. Yakov knew how to deal with wounds like those.
He cleans them. Bandages them in white gaze. “Does Victor know?” is the first thing he asks. The coach has a right to know if something could be affecting their student's skating. Panic attacks where one thing, cuts, self-harm, where something else.
“No…” Yuuri’s voice is a whisper, “I…” he shakes his head.
“What?” Yakov encourages. “Yuuri?”
The young man takes a deep breath and studies the wrapped wounds. “He knows I used to do it… he’s seen the scars, of course. I… I… I haven’t done it in a long time…”
That was something at least. Something Yakov could work with. “Why now?”
“I don’t know” Yuuri shrugs. “It’s just… it’s all been a lot, I guess? I couldn’t… think.”
It didn’t take a genius to know what Yuuri was talking about. It hadn’t been long after the final that he and Victor moved here permanently. Victor had sprung headfirst into making programs for the second half of the season, and Yuuri had been left a lot to himself. Buying groceries at the local store when Victor was working late. Learning a language on his own, because Victor didn’t have the time. It was a lot for anyone, especially a skater like Yuuri who already struggled so much.
Yakov nudges him softly and meets the skater’s eyes. “Do you want to tell Victor yourself?” he asks. Yuuri swallows and shakes his head after a moment. “Can I tell him?” Yakov asks next.
“Uhm… I…” Yuuri hesitates, “Could we keep it between us two, for just a little bit?”
Maybe it would be a stupid idea to agree to it. Yakov knew that self-harm wasn’t a joking matter, but he agreed all the same. Nods slowly. He wouldn’t push Yuuri if he didn’t have to. “Let's get you home then, take a rest day. Get some food into that stomach of yours.”
“Yes, coach.” Yuuri nods stiffly. A flicker of a smile on his lips.
***
He hears it long before he sees it. A sharp hiss of pain, followed by a hollow sub echoing from the bathrooms. It felt oddly familiar. An echo of the past, at Yuri pushed the door open, to find the source of the painful sound.
Yuri had seen Katsudon cry before at the Grand Prix final, before his senior debut. Stray tears ran down his cheeks when he thought nobody was watching while Yuri was in Japan. There had been a lot of those moments in the days leading up to hot springs on ice. Agape and Eros programs coming along slowly.
Even in St. Petersburg, Katsudon had cried. Happy tears when he first welcomes them to the rink. Tears of sorrow when he’d fallen on yet another quad flip. Silent tears he’d been gasping for air, clutching to his water bottle like a lifeline.
Yuri had seen it all. Or so he thought.
There stood Katsudon before the sink, head held now, and between his fingers a fine, small blade that slowly traveled across the skin of Katsudon’s arm. Yuri stood frozen.
Another hiss escaped the older skater. A single salt drop of water escaped him, flowing down his chin, and fell into the open wounds along his wrist.
“What the fuck are you crying about this time Katsudon!?” Yuri hadn’t ever been good with emotions. He was a whole year older since the last time they found themselves here, but all he knew how to do was be angry.
Katsudon looks up, and an expression of pure shock drains all the color from his face. Like a dear caught in the headlights of a car, he stands frozen. Blade in hand. “Uh, Yura. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be skating soon?”
“So are you” Yuri responds and lets himself lean against the countertop. “Careful, you might get blood on the costume.”
It was true, too. Though Yuri wasn’t sure anyone would notice it. The short program costume was dark, in a similar style to what he’d worn for Eros, but without the mess layer. It wasn’t quite as detailed either, simplified. It looked good, not that he’d ever tell him that.
A moment later Katsudon lets the blade drop into the sink and turns on the water. The red washes away slowly, swirling into the sink, and disappears. Leaving only clean water behind.
Next Katsudon cleans his lower arm. A mess of deep cuts up towards his elbow.
“What are you doing that idiot?” Yuri asks again. Softer this time, without the usual power. There where true worry filling his gut.
“It’s nothing” Katsudon responds and pulls the costume sleeve down over the wounds. Flinching in pain. He breathes slowly through his nose. “Should you find Yakov and get ready?
Yuri levels him with a deep gaze. “Shouldn’t you tell Victor you can’t skate?”
“What are you talking about? Of course, I can skate. Yura, this is just a little blood. It’s nothing.” The man before him looks like a child, begging for Yuri to believe him. Maybe begging himself to believe it too. But Yuri doesn’t budge. “Look, could we just pretend this never happened?”
“What? No way!” Yuri snaps. “You just… you just cut yourself, and you’re going to act like it’s nothing?”
Katsudon doesn’t meet his eyes for a long moment before he shrugs. Gives in. “It helps me skate, okay?”
It helped him skate?
Yuri had skated since he was a kid, and pain had never helped him skate. Only ever made it harder. Difficult as sharp pains would travel through his body. He’d learned the hard way not to skate while injured. Could Katsudon believe what he was saying?
When Yuri tilts his head in confusion, Katsudon goes on. “The pain, it calms my anxiety. It’s… a coping mechanism.”
“Not a very healthy one.” Yuri spits out.
He’d heard about people using alcohol to drown their sorrows and had seen it too, in a weird way. Katsudon drinks too much champagne and dances with Victor Chris, and well, Yuri too.
He hadn’t heard about pain before, but maybe it shouldn’t be all that surprising. Yuri knew how attention-grabbing pain could be. How it could clear your mind from everything else because there wasn’t space for thoughts about skating or falling or failing. Of losing.
“I know…” Katsudon’s voice becomes small. Tiny in the echoing bathroom. “I… I don’t do it a lot. I was clean, you know. For a long time. But Yakov knows, so I’m fine. I mean, not like I’m gonna bleed out or anything.”
“Then let's go you to Yakov so he can fix you up before you skate” Yuri reaches out and pulls at Katsudon’s wrist good wrist. Another hiss of pain echoes from the man, and Yuri flinches back. An apology on his lips. It wasn’t just one wrist, it was both.
Yuri thought he might throw up.
Had he somehow triggered this? Katsudon remembers what happened the year before. Yuri’s words rang out. There’s only space for one Yuri…
He hoped not. He’d never meant those words. He’d been a stupid kid, he didn’t understand how one of the best skaters on the planet could be crying about it. It hadn’t known about Vicchan then. Hadn’t known about the anxiety. All that came later. Much later.
He regretted that day a lot.
Katsudon carefully stiffens the sobs. “It’s okay, I… the old ones are still healing is all.”
Old once?
He reaches out again, this time for Katsudon’s hand, and pulls him towards the hallway. Out of the bathroom, blade forgotten. Out into the cold air of the rink where Yakov was waiting for them.
Victor stands there too, worry on his face when Yuri all but pushes Katsudon into Yakov’s chest. But the coach catches him by the shoulders, and it doesn’t take many seconds before he realizes that something wrong.
Yakov says nothing, as he takes Yuri skate guards later, the short program starts.
Yakov says nothing as Katsudon goes on the ice, despite having been bleeding only minutes earlier.
Victor says nothing, either. Yuri wonders how much the two truly know.
***
Victor doesn’t hear it from Yuuri himself. It hears it from Yakov. Hidden away in a hotel room during a Grand Prix final, the night between the short program and free skate. Yuuri sound asleep in their shared room just a few doors down.
Yakov buys tea for the two of them, and they each take a seat on the hotel bed in Yakov’s room.
There’s something heavy in the air that makes Victor feel stuffed with emotions. Heavy, gray emotions, that he isn’t sure what to do about. What to do with. Yakov seems equally uncomfortable. Shifting to get comfortable. Shifting from nervousness. Shifting, to do something. “I should have told you weeks ago, but I thought he’d come to you on his own.”
Victor feels the air getting sucked out of his lungs at those words. Because Yuuri hadn’t come to him, Yuuri hadn’t indicated that anything was out of the ordinary. Yet here he sat.
“Yakov?”
“Vitya, earlier today…” Yakov goes quiet. Victor doesn’t need to be reminded of the tear tracks running down Yuuri’s face. Of the dark bags below his eyes. Of his pale, clammy skin.
He’d tried and failed to convince Yuuri not to skate when Yakov was finally done with him.
Victor hadn’t understood. Yakov keeps going. “Remember that day when I drove Yuuri home from the rink?” Victor nods. He remembered. He’d been cooking Katsudon for the two of them, nothing like what Yuuri’s mother could do. Nothing like Yuuri could do either. But he’d seemed so sad that day, and Victor had thought it might cheer him up.
But then Yuuri was late getting home and didn’t pick up his phone. Victor had taken Makkachin on a walk around the neighborhood, trying to remain calm.
Sometimes Yuuri got stuck instead of his head. He’d forget the time; he’d skate till his feet were bleeding. Victor should have gone with him. When he and Makkachin got back Yakov’s car held before the apartment building.
He’d been terrified of what was waiting for him. Yuuri injured. Hurt. Never skating again.
But there Yuuri sat on the couch, a book between his hands and a cup of tea. Yakov hovered in the kitchen when Victor made it through the door. How couldn’t he remember that night? It was the first time Yakov had Katsudon with them.
“Yuuri, he. He was injured at the rink that day.” Yakov goes on. Victor feels his stomach drop. As Yuuri's coach, shouldn’t he have noticed? “It didn’t affect his skating, it’s nothing like that,” Yakov says a moment later, clearly reading Victor's expression. “You know Yuuri used to cut himself?”
Victor nods again. “I do.” He’d seen the scars early on. Yuuri had seemed so ashamed of them.
“He wasn’t doing good on the ice that day, Vitya. I’ve never seen him like that before. A, a full-on monster.” Yakov sucks in a deep breath, sharp and halted. “I didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to walk on his own, so I offered him a ride. Then I noticed something was up. Vitya… Yuuri, he’s been cutting again.”
It doesn’t break Victor's heart the way it maybe should. That Yuuri hadn’t come to him. Victor knew it wasn’t that simple. But it still hurt knowing that Yuuri hadn’t felt safe enough to talk about it.
“Today…” Victor feels his voice break, “Was that about it, too?”
Yakov nods. “Yura found him in the bathrooms. I never thought he’d do it again, he seemed too sad about it. He’s okay, Vitya, he will be at least. I just, I thought you should know.”
Yuuri had been cutting in the bathrooms because Victor had been too busy with his skating to notice Yuuri’s struggles. Yuuri had been alone when Victor was supposed to be his coach. Victor had failed him so badly…
A tear escapes him as he lowers the teacup to the desk beside the bed.
Yakov’s hand comes to rest on Victor’s shoulder. A steady hand in a moment of fear. A light in the darkness. Like Victor should have been to Yuuri. “Sorry, sorry, I-“
“Neither of you did anything wrong, Vitya” Yakov assures him. Protects him from reality. A few doors down Yuuri is asleep, cuts up his arms and wrist, and here Victor sits in his head. “Recovery isn’t linear Vitya, Yuuri knows this, you know this. He’ll be okay, with time.”
Victor stays there for a while longer. Resting in Yakov's strong arms.
He hadn’t done this since his junior days, crying over failed jumps and bad spins. Hadn’t been this close to his coach since his knee injury, during his senior debut. It seemed like forever ago.
When the tears finally stop flowing, Victor gets up and moves back towards his shared room with Yuuri.
The other man is awake when Victor enters. Lying there, staring up at the ceiling with sad, distant, hazy eyes. Victor sits down beside him, the bed tipping under his weight. He reaches for Yuuri's hand and carefully pulls the sleeve up to the elbow, then the best. Old scars and new wounds and healing wounds. Wrapped and taken care of by Yakov’s hand.
Victor leans in close, placing a soft kiss against one of the fading scars. One that Victor knows must have been there for a lifetime. Yuuri looks at him with a curious gaze. “I love every inch of you,” Victor says, placing another kiss against that torn-up wrist. “Every part of you. Even this.”
He doesn’t know what Yuuri expects. Fear maybe. Anger?
Victor can’t bring himself to be angry over this. He wonders if the people from Yuuri’s past had. Victor had been in Japan enough to know, that tattoos at hot springs were a big no-go. He wondered if there were rules about scars too. Judgments from people passing you in the street.
“Victor…” Yuuri's voice is hollow and filled with tears, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I-“
He places a kiss against Yuuri's lips silencing the stream of work between them. “It’s alright Yuuri. It’s alright. You’re safe. I’m right here.”
Yuuri leans into Victor's chest, and cries.