Chapter Text
“Please welcome our last skater on the ice, Viktor Nikiforov of Russia, who is in first place after his short program performance last night,” the commentator said over a hushed crowd.
Viktor skated to the center of the ice and took his position, waiting for the music to start. “Nikiforov made his return after the Grand Prix Final last season, and seems almost completely unchanged by the time he took off while coaching his fiancé, Yuuri Katsuki of Japan, much to his fans’ relief.”
The music started softly, building up as Viktor glided across the ice, spinning and drawing in the crowd’s rapt attention.
“He has four quads planned, the first is a quad toe loop.”
“That’s enough for today. You need to rest,” Yakov said at their last practice as Viktor leaned over to catch his breath against the boards beside him.
“Just one more, I can still do better,” he insisted.
“You need to uphold your duty as a coach, as well, Vitya. You’ve done enough today.”
Viktor bit his lip and nodded as he stared down at the ice, fingers grasping the boards until his knuckles blanched.
“Nice height on that toe loop. Nikiforov said that this program was inspired by his fiancé. His theme this season is ‘strength.’”
Viktor grimaced as he landed a triple lutz, a dull pain pulsing up his leg and down to his knee. Maybe he landed strangely. He focused instead on pushing off the ice into a camel spin and dropping into a sit spin. As he rose to his full height, he could hardly hear the sound of the applause over the roaring of blood in his ears. “He’s planned a quad-triple combination here, starting with his signature quad flip.”
Viktor set up for his flip, heart jumping into his throat as he took a deep breath.
He met the ice in a flash of noise and sharp, aching pain. A soft groan escaped his lips as he pushed himself up on his knees and shook his head, massaging his right thigh to ease the aching he felt.
“Viktor!” Yuuri shouted as he dropped down to his side to check him over, his hands flailing slightly, unsure where he should put them. Viktor laughed breathlessly at the slight flush on Yuuri’s cheeks.
“I do fall sometimes, Yuuri,” he said.
Yuuri shook his head, his longer bangs falling over his eyes as he pursed his lips and braced his hands on his knees.
“No, I know that. I just...I’ve never seen you fall on a flip before.”
Viktor’s chest tightened at that and he looked down at the ice. He knew that he was being too quiet for too long, but it was dawning on him just how long it had been since he fell doing a flip. He could feel Yuuri’s eyes boring into him and managed to force out a quiet laugh, unable to form any other response.
He looked up into Yuuri’s soft brown eyes, smiling and reaching out to caress his jaw with feather-light fingertips.
“Thank you for caring about me, Yuuri,” he hummed, watching as Yuuri’s cheeks flushed deeper and he looked around the rink, as if someone would have entered without their knowledge at such a late hour. When he turned back, he gave a small smile and nodded.
“Of course.”
He reached out his hand as he stood back up, the gold band around his finger reflecting off of the fluorescent lights in the rink. Viktor accepted his help and steadied himself on his skates once he was up, brushing snow off his pants and shoulder. “We should go home now, it’s getting late and we’re both tired.”
Viktor pouted, eyes narrowing as he looked Yuuri over.
“Yuuri,” he warned. “We haven’t even been practicing for two hours, I know your stamina is better than that.”
Yuuri jumped, looking away and shrugging nervously. Viktor sighed, reminding himself that Yuuri was just worried about his health and nodded to him. “Run through your free program again, then we’ll go. The transition between the first and second half is still a little rough.”
“Quadruple flip, triple toe-loop. Beautiful execution.”
Viktor’s chest loosened as he moved into a fast-paced step sequence and transitioned into the second half of his program. His body spun and sailed across the ice, heart pounding in his chest as he turned his body in preparation for his next quad.
“Oi, old man, if you’re not going to skate then get off the ice,” Yuri jabbed as he skated forward to stand beside Viktor where he was breathing heavily against the boards. “Didn’t Yakov tell you take a break, anyway?”
“I can’t,” Viktor said, raising his head to send what he hoped was a reassuring smile in Yuri’s direction. “I need to work with Yuuri soon, so I can’t take a break yet.”
Yuri glared at him for a long moment before shoving a water bottle into his hand.
“Take care of yourself, moron,” he said before skating away.
“Ah, looks like a slight over-rotation on the quad salchow, but he fought through it.”
The pain jolted up his leg before fading into the dull ache again. He frowned, maybe he had been overworking. Yuuri would probably yell at him. Yakov would force him to take a few days off. He just had to make sure his program was as good as possible.
His skates sliced through the ice as he flew through his last step sequence.
“He’s planned his final quad in a combination. Quadruple toe-loop, triple toe-loop, triple salchow. Oh, he touched down on the salchow, but it looked like there were enough rotations.”
Viktor could hardly focus on finishing his last combination spin as the pain returned, pulsing and throbbing up his leg and into his hip. He clumsily found his way to his final position, breathing heavily as the crowd exploded into cheers and applause. He blinked, shaking his head as the pain disappeared almost as suddenly as it had come on. He forced a charming smile as he waved and bowed to the audience.
He made a quick round of the rink, avoiding putting too much weight on his right leg just in case before he skated to the rink gate where Yakov was waiting for him. He expected the pinched look on his coach’s face, but it was less severe than he thought it would be.
He leaned down and picked up a small poodle plush as he neared the gate, holding it close to his chest. He accepted his skate guards from Yakov’s hand, sliding them on before stepping over the threshold. He slipped his arms into his warm-up jacket on their way toward the kiss and cry.
He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. It wasn’t his best performance, he knew that, but why didn’t Yakov look angrier? And what would Yuuri think? He was acutely aware of the gold band adorning his finger as he smiled to the cameras before him. He absently spun the ring with his thumb, trying to occupy his mind on something other than nerves.
His pain was completely gone, he noted, gently shifting his right leg to make sure, but felt nothing as he did.
“You look tired, Vitya,” Yakov said, holding onto Viktor’s poodle-shaped tissue box holder. Viktor’s shoulders were tense as he stared at the scoreboard. Yakov tried to remember the last time he had seen Viktor so visibly nervous while he waited for scores.
Viktor didn’t respond, hugging the plush he had picked up from the ice closer to his chest.
“The score for Viktor Nikiforov, please,” a pleasant voice called over the speakers, effectively bringing the crowd to utter silence. Viktor was holding his breath, and Yakov felt his frown deepening at the sight. “The score for Viktor Nikiforov is 206.77. His total score is 312.22.”
“Viktor Nikiforov takes the top spot by a margin of over ten points,” the commentator announced.
“The award ceremony will begin in ten minutes,” the soft voice said over the speakers a moment later.
Yakov looked at Viktor again, expecting to see relief but was met with the same tension that had coiled Viktor’s body once he stepped off the ice. He still wore a charming smile as he waved and thanked the crowd, but that just worried Yakov even more.
He would let it go for the time being. If it persisted, he would bring it up with Viktor when they weren’t in the middle of a competition. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Viktor!” Yuuri’s voice cut through the crowd as they were making their way out of the kiss and cry. Viktor’s head snapped toward the crowd and he was running before he even registered what he was doing.
His body collided with Yuuri’s, feeling warm arms wrapping around his back and holding him tightly. Yuuri allowed himself to be spun in a half-circle, laughing as Viktor’s cold nose pressed against his neck. “I know you need to get ready for the medal ceremony, I just…” he trailed off, cheeks flushing as he stepped back and ran his hands down Viktor’s arms to link their fingers. “You were beautiful out there.”
Viktor smiled, hoping none of his own doubts about his performance were showing in his expression. He squeezed Yuuri’s hands gently. “I almost forgot how much fun it is to watch you compete.”
Yuuri lifted his head quickly to smile up at him and he swore his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. All he could do was smile. Yuuri’s glasses were crooked. Viktor tried to keep his heart in check as he leaned down to peck Yuuri’s nose before untangling one of his hands and fixing his glasses, too.
“Thank you, Yuuri.”
His fiance’s face was deep red all the way up to his ears.
“U-um of course!” he said. He shook his head then, pushing on Viktor’s shoulders suddenly. “A-anyway! You have to go. Hurry, Yakov looks angry.”
“Aw, but Yuuri, he’s always angry!”
“Don’t make Yakov’s life difficult, Viktor,” Yuuri said sternly. Viktor pouted but nodded, shoving the poodle plush into Yuuri’s hands.
“Take care of Yuuchan, then.”
“ Yuuchan ?”
Viktor smirked.
“You named your dog after me, it’s only fair I returned the favor, yes?”
Yakov dragged him away then, but he saw Yuuri press his face against the plush before he had to turn around. His ears were still red. Viktor smiled.
__
Viktor looked up as he heard the distinctive sound of a body colliding with ice. He made his way out of the locker room and into the rink. It was well into the evening, and he had assumed that the rink would be empty.
When he looked onto the ice, he frowned.
“Damn it!” Yuri shouted, slamming his fist down as he did. His hair was covering his face, but Viktor was sure there were frustrated tears there.
“Yurio?” he asked softly, stepping into the rink and moving toward him, skates still half-laced. “Are you skating alone?”
“Go away, Viktor!”
“This rink isn’t yours, you know,” Viktor said, watching as Yuri glared up at him, ferocious and dangerous like a wounded animal.
“Just...go away already.”
Viktor hummed, kneeling down to regard Yuri at eye level.
“Do you mean from the rink or skating altogether?”
Yuri didn’t respond, turning his head away and reaching up to wipe his face on his arm. “Come on, you’ll freeze your hands if you keep sitting on the ice like that.” Viktor reached out to slowly take Yuri’s wrist in a loose hold and pull him up to his feet again.
“I don’t need you to babysit me.”
“Then it’s a good thing that’s not what I’m here to do, isn’t it?”
“Shouldn’t you be off with the pork cutlet bowl? I thought you two couldn’t stand to be away from each other.”
“It’s not like that. We still need our time alone sometimes. Besides, Yuuri got dragged out with Mila. Something about not wanting to be a third wheel with Georgi and his new girlfriend.”
Yuri clicked his tongue. The silence stretched on between them as Viktor finished properly tying his skates and stepped back onto the ice. “You’ve gotten taller,” he said finally, skating around the rink to warm up. “Are you having trouble landing jumps now?”
Yuri’s silence was all he needed.
“It happens to a lot of skaters, you know,” Viktor said. “Even I had to relearn some of my jumps and spins when I started getting taller.”
“Just shut up, old man! I can do my jumps just fine! I don’t need your help!” Yuri shouted, pushing himself into Viktor’s space with a sneer. Viktor just smiled softly with a brief sigh.
“There’s nothing wrong with getting older, Yurio.”
“You’re the last person I want to hear that from,” Yuri seethed, turning away and building up momentum for a triple salchow. He crashed into the ground and let off a frustrated shout as he sat up.
“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep practicing like this.”
“I don’t want to hear that from you! You’re just as bad as me, aren’t you? You’re not even supposed to be practicing right now! You’re setting a pretty shitty example for the pork cutlet bowl as his coach!”
Viktor leaned back against the boards, laughing dryly.
“You’re right, of course,” he said, voice soft and sending a jolt of emotion through Yuri’s chest. “But I can’t surprise him the way I’ve been performing. I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Yuri hated the feeling of his chest tightening the more Viktor spoke. He ground his teeth as he skated to Viktor’s side and glared at the side of his face.
“Stop thinking of him as your fan and think of him as your fiancé, or whatever he is. He’ll be more disappointed if you have to retire again at the beginning of the season because you injured yourself trying to impress him. He...really cares about you...for more than just skating. Idiot. Don’t you see that?”
Viktor ran his fingers through his bangs, rubbing at his temples and letting his head fall back slightly.
“And now you’re lecturing me . It’s funny, no?”
“I’m going home,” Yuri growled, shoulder-checking Viktor on his way out of the rink. “You should, too.”
Viktor didn’t move from his place beside the rink gate, looking out over the ice with a pinched expression on his face. “Don’t make him worry about you more than he already does, asshole.”
Viktor just smiled at him, waving as he stomped into the locker room.
__
“Yuuri!” Viktor chimed once the medaling ceremony was over and he spotted the shorter man standing beside Yakov. He pulled his equipment bag behind him and practically launched it to a stop at Yakov’s feet. He grabbed Yuuri once he was close enough, wrapping his arms around his lean waist and pressing their bodies flush against each other. It was much easier to hug him without his skates on, and Viktor reveled in his radiant warmth.
Yuuri laughed softly, the poodle plush still held tightly in his hand as he hugged Viktor back.
“Vitya, the press is waiting,” Yakov said, effectively ending their moment and making Viktor pout into Yuuri’s shoulder.
“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Yuuri said, stepping back slightly and cupping Viktor’s jaw for a moment as he smiled. The sounds of cameras clicking drew their attention toward Yakov, where a group of reporters was waiting to speak to Viktor.
He threw on his camera smile, jovial and charming as he greeted the press and let them get closer than was strictly necessary.
“Mr. Nikiforov, do you believe that you can keep competitions and your private life separate since you will be skating against Yuuri Katsuki in the NHK this year?”
“Of course!” Viktor said. “I’ve wanted to skate against Yuuri since the GPF last year. As a competitor, Yuuri is an enticing challenge. But I’m still extremely proud as his coach and choreographer. I love Yuuri no matter what the results are. If he beats me, it’s just more reason to try again, no?”
The press laughed and Viktor squeezed Yuuri’s hand where they were still tangled at his side. Yuuri was smiling politely, waving and fielding a couple questions directed at him, mostly in Japanese.
“Mr. Nikiforov, are you planning to continue the season after the Grand Prix Finals?”
“Well, first I have to make it to the Finals,” he said, drawing laughter from the crowd, but feeling his own gut churn with worry. “But I do plan to compete in the European Championship and Worlds if I make it there.”
“Does this mean you’re going to continue to skate next season as well, Mr. Nikiforov?”
“I won’t comment on next season until this one is closer to being complete.”
“That’s all the questions we have time for,” Yakov said firmly, ushering Yuuri and Viktor away from the group and toward the exit.
__
Viktor awoke slowly a few days later, back in his and Yuuri’s apartment in St. Petersburg. Yuuri’s soft breaths were ruffling his hair and he smiled, nuzzling Yuuri’s body heat for a moment longer. He took a deep breath as he prepared himself to pull away and start a pot of coffee.
What he didn’t expect was the stiffness throughout his right hip and the tight ache down his thigh as he slipped his legs over the side of the bed.
He groaned softly, trying to move his leg in an attempt to ease the deep ache. He must be overdoing his practicing again. He really wasn’t sure he would be able to stand with the way his leg felt.
“Nn, Viktor?” Yuuri mumbled, voice husky as he barely hung onto consciousness.
“What is it, моё золотце?” Viktor asked, turning his head to shoot Yuuri a disarming smile. Yuuri smiled back, pushing himself up and grabbing his glasses off the nightstand. “Why don’t you sleep a bit longer?”
“No, it’s fine, I’m up now. Why are you sitting on the bed like that?” he asked once he registered that Viktor wasn’t moving from his seated position. He scooted across the bed as he spoke, reaching out to run his hands along Viktor’s shoulders and down his back. “Viktor?” he asked when his initial question was met with silence.
“It’s nothing, really,” Viktor said, smiling again. He reached out and pulled Yuuri toward him, tilting his head and pressing a soft kiss to Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri melted against him, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of Viktor’s long fingers in his hair.
Viktor twisted slightly to make the kiss easier, but winced and hissed through his teeth softly as he did. Yuuri pulled away with a furrowed brow, looking Viktor up and down before his eyes widened.
“Viktor!” he gasped, tumbling out of the bed to stand in front of his fiancé, hands shaking as they gently brushed over his neck, shoulders, and arms. “What hurts? What’s going on? Should I call an ambulance?”
“Yuuri,” Viktor called, reaching his hand out to take Yuuri’s, rubbing his thumb along his knuckles slowly. “It’s okay. I think I just...overdid it at practice. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Viktor nodded confidently. “Okay, stay there, I’m going to call Yakov.”
“But, Yuuri—!”
“Oh, no,” Yuuri scolded, turning to give Viktor a stern glare. “You’re not going to practice today. If you push yourself too much, it’ll only make it worse.”
“But you need to practice! We leave for the Trophée de France in just a couple days! I’m your coach, I need to be there,” Viktor argued, seeing Makkachin stirring at the end of the bed due to his volume.
“You’re doing that model coach thing again, Viktor,” Yuuri commented as he held his phone in his hand, preparing to inform Yakov of the situation. “Yakov can help me if I need it, he’s been my coach once before.”
Yuuri pulled the phone up to his ear and explained Viktor’s condition, nodding seriously a few times before hanging up.
“I don’t like this, Yuuri.”
Yuuri looked up from his phone with a small, exasperated smile.
“And I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he said, leaning down to push Viktor’s bangs out of his eyes. “Yakov said to rest today, and if it feels better by tomorrow you can come back to coach me. But you’re not allowed to skate until after the Trophée de France.”
Viktor pursed his lips, opening his mouth to protest when Yuuri pressed their foreheads together, thumb rubbing at the apple of his cheek. “Please just rest today? For me, Vitya?”
Viktor closed his mouth, heart hammering as he searched Yuuri’s face before closing his eyes and relenting.
“Okay,” he sighed, pretending that he didn’t enjoy the short peck Yuuri placed on his cheek before walking toward the door.
“I’ll make you an ice pack and some coffee,” Yuuri said, as he tried to hide the flush spreading across his cheeks.