Change The Scene

2 Hour Earlier, Room 104

"Peach! I didn't pack anything to wear… I mean, I did, but I can't find my suit! You know, the one I wore for your sister's wedding? For fucks sake, Ciao Ciao is gonna kill me! To hell with the banquet, I'm going to be a corpse!"

"Yuuri-"

"You can speak at my funeral, ok? I want it to be a total rager, though. Dj it, please. None of that weak shit, either, I want frat boy rock. You can play a few showtunes, too, if you want."

"Yuuri… You said a bad word."

Phichit punctuated his words with a giggle, teasing his best friend in an obvious attempt to get him out of his own head. That was his job, after all.

Yuuri could see right through the act but appreciated Peach's valiant efforts nonetheless. They were opposites in every way, but maybe that's what made their relationship so special. When Yuuri was freaking out over something, Phichit remained as cool as ice, and vice versa.

"So…I think you should just bite the bullet and ask Ciao Ciao for help."

Yuuri sighed, chewing through the inside of his cheek, weighing out the pros and cons. Celestino was always prepared for these sorts of oversights, but that didn't mean he encouraged them.

He'd surely give his student a long lecture, repeating the same words Yuuri must have heard thousands of times, at this point. If he had to cope with one more "Back in my day…" He was positive he'd run for the hills, or the mountains of Japan, in his case.

But the fact of the matter was that if he didn't suck it up and reach out to his coach, he'd be wearing workout clothes to the banquet, and god, wouldn't that be humiliating? Yeah, no thanks.

The scolding didn't turn out to be worth it when Yuuri was faced with himself drowning in one of Ciao Ciao's decade old suits. The boy stood in front of the hotel room's full length mirror, defeated. He had spent nearly half an hour trying to tuck and shove the billowing fabric in such a way that it would appear less unshapely.

Efforts for naught, Yuuri was going to have to accept the homely attire for what it was; a last resort. The fact that Viktor would probably be there was slinking around in the back of his mind, eating little holes through the logical parts of his brain.

The Russian would definitely be wearing some insanely elevated get-up, as he was often known to do at banquets and dinner parties, subtly flaunting his success in the form of brands so upscale that they lacked a visible label. Those who are truly rolling in it don't need to spell it out for everyone to see.

Yuuri, however, would have to settle for 2009 chic. It was… camp, right? It's trendy to wear vintage clothes. He was just hopping on the bandwagon, keeping up with the trends. If he could convince himself it was true, maybe he could convince everyone else.

Regardless, he didn't have time to pick himself apart, they had places to be. While Celestino was standing next to the car, arguing with god knows who in rapid, angry Italian, Yuuri snuck his little stowaway into the back seat.

If they managed to make it there without getting caught, their coach would have no choice but to let Phichit tag along. He'd make an ass of himself in front of the sponsors and athletes if he chewed the Thai skater out publicly, so the pair's plan was totally foolproof.

Distracted and pissy, Celestino sped through the backroads, nearly hitting a sweet little armadillo and stopping to roll it out of the road, gently guiding the creature into the nearby forest.

That's one of the things that drew Yuuri to his coach. Underneath all of the harsh critique and old fashioned ideals, Ciao Ciao was a gentle, patient man. The Italian cared for all of his skaters equally, doting on them as if they were his own children.

The man had never had any little ones of his own due to the fact that his wife passed away sometime during the late 90's, instead choosing to pursue a career where he could instill passion and drive into young dreamers.

That patience was visibly tested when they arrived at the building that would be hosting the event that night. As they pulled to a stop, parking near the middle of the lot, Peach hopped out of the van, skipping over to Yuuri's side and fearlessly flashing Celestino a full smile. Closing his eyes for a moment, their coach counted to ten under his breath, brow cradled between his index and pointer fingers.

"Phichit."

The younger skater straightened up a bit, hands clasped together behind his back before responding with a small "Yes, coach?"

"You will use this as a learning experience. Do not raid the snack bar. Four finger sandwiches, max."

"…yes coach."

With that settled, the three men speed walked through the bustling parking lot, Yuuri nearly tripping over the hitch of a rusty old Ford truck that seemed entirely out of place surrounded by so many luxury sports cars and the like.

"How much do you wanna bet that one's Chris's?" Phichit whispered, looping his arm around Yuuri's own. The only response he got was a wide eyed 'please don't make me lose my shit laughing right now' expression paired with a gentle shove.

The first thing Yuuri noticed upon entering the banquet hall was the scent of noxious floral perfume. The whole room was oozing money, something he was not yet well acquainted with. The most expensive cologne he had ever worn was his father's Ralph Lauren fragrance, having snuck into his room once as a young boy, losing his ongoing battle with curiosity. He stunk of sandalwood and 'gunmetal' for weeks.

Phichit seemed to fare no better, eyes watering from the overpowering mixture. He had openly lamented on his dislike of artificial aromas, insisting that his nose was far too sensitive to cope with their potency.

"Dude, we're breathing in like 20k right now. Do you think we could find a way to extract the perfume from the air and sell it? You're smart, I'm crafty. We could make it happen."

Yuuri was sent into a wheezing fit,trying his best to conceal the laughter begging to pour out of him in loud waves.

"Peach, how would we even market that?"

The younger skater seemed to think on it for a moment, theatrically stroking an invisible goatee.

"I've got nothing. You?"

Yuuri shook his head "Nah, sorry. Give me an hour, I'll figure it out."

"Maybe we can ask Viktor what he thinks."

"I'll leave your ass behind. Then he'll just think you're nuts."

"…Got it. I always forget that you turn into a grumpy old man when you're stressed out."

Yuuri simply stuck out his tongue in response, wrinkling his nose humorously as if to say 'and what about it?'

The two wandered around the room for a half hour, generally sticking to the emptier corners of the room. Yuuri wasn't socialized enough to enjoy such crowded events, and Peach wasn't even supposed to be there, so they had decided early on to avoid most of the other people present this time around, excluding sponsors of course.

Eventually Yuuri was dragged away from his designated 'safe zone' by his coach and led into a small circle of unfamiliar faces gathered near the bar. They all gawked and cooed at him, openly assessing him as if he were an animal at the zoo. It was disconcerting, the tangible power difference between himself and the upper echelon of those in attendance.

An older woman with short, blonde hair, curls hair-sprayed to the point where they had become entirely immobile leaned forward and patted Yuuri on the cheek before exclaiming "Aren't you just the cutest thing?"

Her thick country accent turned "thing" into "thang", which, for some odd reason, really pissed Yuuri off. Maybe it was the fact that instead of complimenting his skating, she seemed to be talking down to him as if he were a dog.

He'd never treat little Vicchan that way, though. His precious puppy was too damn smart for his own good, and he was to be treated as such.

A tall man with a foreign accent, maybe Jamaican, spoke up, salt and pepper beard bobbing as he mouthed out the praise "You're giving these old men a run for their money, huh? I'm placing my bets on you this season, kiddo!"

"Oh to hell with your flattery, I doubt you even know my name." Yuuri thought to himself, desperately wishing he had the balls to say it out loud.

The blonde woman laughed at her companion's overly eager statement, hand covering her mouth. Her fingers were dripping with gold.

"We'll have to get you a new suit though, won't we? You're disappearing inside that thing!"

Ok, rude, but true.

The young skater made sure to keep a large smile on his face, cheeks aching from the prolonged exertion of muscles he rarely used. It was all so plastic, so artificial. He felt silly and childish and out of place, like a cheap piece of old China being auctioned off to a bunch of ignorant collectors.

They had no idea what they were dealing with, did they? These old crooks had probably watched one competition and decided to get in on the action, greedily grabbing for opportunities to cash-in using any of the various means at their disposal.

As long as it kept Yuuri on the ice, he could live with the sponsors and their meaningless small talk. Viktor probably had to put up with much worse to get where has was, so if Yuuri wanted to ride with the big dogs then he'd have to act like one.

Nearly an hour had passed before Celestino excused his student to 'socialize'. It was a cheap excuse, they both knew the real reason he was being freed. Yuuri's smile was starting to strain and his left eye was beginning to twitch, a telltale sign that he was about to become much less pleasant to interact with.

The skater took a deep breath and allowed his shoulders to relax a little as he flitted between bodies. Where was Peach hiding? His first stop was the snack table, but no luck. There was a suspicious absence of finger sandwiches, though, so he was surely near.

Yuuri paced the outskirts of the room, retracing his earlier steps. It took him longer than he'd like to admit, but the boy finally stumbled upon his best friend, hands covered in what appeared to be the remnants of egg salad.

Yuuri senses tingling, Peach turned on a dime and ran towards him, arms outstretched. The older of the two reflexively dodged him in an attempt to preserve his dignity. A hideous suit? Pretty bad, but somewhat excusable considering the circumstances. That same suit, covered in egg salad? His pride couldn't withstand such a hefty blow.

"Yuuri, I can't find the bathroom! I need a sink, or some paper towels- I went fucking crazy on those sandwiches. I gotta hide the evidence."

"You took the term 'sticky fingers' and ran with it, huh?"

Peach was definitely trying to hold back a laugh at that jab, putting on his best pout. Feeling a little guilty for joking at the younger skater's expense, Yuuri led him to the bathroom, patiently waiting outside the mahogany plated door as Phichit cleaned the mess of egg and mayonnaise from his hands. Yuuri couldn't help but wish he had taken a few pictures.

He was already exhausted from the day, feeling like a cranky child in need of a nap. Yuuri had followed his dreams knowing that there would be parts of his career that were less than stellar. These banquets definitely fell into the 'dreadful but necessary' category.

When he had originally taken the plunge, committing to a future on the ice, he'd had a pillar of support. It had given him the security to stray from the beaten path, to turn a blind eye to the logic he was habitually conditioned to cling to.

Then, in a cruel twist of fate, the pillar cracked, growing weaker as the days passed in slow succession, until it finally crumbled into a fine dust, blown away by the winds of change. Yuuri would never truly forgive the pillar for allowing its fragmented marble to slice him to pieces as it shattered, but he'd covered the unseen scars with gauze and plaster, never to be seen again.

With that mindset, Yuuri followed through with his pursuits, carrying with him nothing but outlandish aspirations and his will to fight. Somewhere along the line he lost the plot and found himself hopping on a plane bound for Detroit, determined to do whatever he could to avoid stagnancy. Here he was, two years later, finally comfortable enough to lean on the freshly built foundations of his budding future.

Forcing himself to retreat from the safety of his own mind, intent on being present, Yuuri let his eyes fully gauge the immense thickets of static energy flowing through the room, finally taking a moment to appreciate the positives of his current situation. Opportunity was cascading at his feet like soapy seafoam. Sponsors were eyeing him with want, competition gazing upon him with malice, and to be honest, it felt fucking amazing.

The moment of bliss was short lived, ending as the sound of the bathroom door's rusted hinges signaled Phichit's return. They retreated from the hall in good spirits, making small talk with some of the lesser known athletes, feeling more comfortable talking to those with achievements that matched their own.

Phichit pulled his phone out at some point, and Yuuri caught him trying to take a sneaky candid selfie of the two. He quickly dove out of frame, successfully dodging the younger skater's proceeding attempts as well.

"No, come on, we have to take a picture! Look, Chris is taking selfies!"

Chris was taking selfies. He stood in the middle of the room, excitedly soaking in the attention his good looks and talent drew from the crowd. Yes, Chris may be taking selfies, but Yuuri was cut from a different cloth, preferring attention only when actively demanding it. Exasperated, Yuuri rolled his eyes, complaining "Phichit, please! I'm gonna die, I look so frumpy right now!"

The Thai skater continued to dance circles around Yuuri, catching a few snaps of the two of them at the most unflattering of angles, threatening to post them if the older skater didn't comply with his request for a few decent shots.

"I'm serious! I'm literally wearing one of Ciao Ciao's old suits, I look goofy as all hell…Put the phone down- If you document this, so help me god-"

He felt the words catch in his throat, pulse quickening as he caught a glimpse of his muse. Viktor was here. Viktor was only about ten feet away, actually. One of these days Yuuri would openly challenge god, turning the tables and smiting his supposed creator for the cruel games he played.

Today was not that day, obviously, because Yuuri still had a pulse, be it for better or for worse. Right now it definitely seemed to be for the latter.

Pulling gently at Peach's sleeve, awkwardly shuffling his weight from side to side, Yuuri broke the weird spell of eye contact, silently gesturing to where Viktor was standing with a subtle movement of his irises. The young skater's eyes sparkled as he bent down, whispering into Yuuri's ear.

"He's totally sizing you up! Shit, what do we do? Should we play it cool? No, no, I forgot, he was talking mad shit yesterday. We should walk our happy asses over there and ask him to explain himself. Then, if he owns up to being a total dick and apologizes, we can ask for an autograph so-"

Yuuri cut him off by shaking his head, desperately trying to convey how god awful that plan sounded at present without tempting fate and risking a loud voice crack. He wanted to meet Viktor as an equal, not as some obsessive fan. It would be so creepy to invade his privacy like that at a banquet. He dealt with the public constantly, who was Yuuri to take away one of his numbered moments of reprieve?

Oh, Viktor was coming their way. Yuuri turned to look behind him. Maybe he was searching for Chris? Nope, nothing but an empty platter that once held egg salad sandwiches and a bowl of watered down punch. Looking to Peach for reassurance, Yuuri was met with a bewildered look that matched his own, punctuated with a small shrug.

"Mister Katsuki! I've been looking forward to making your acquaintance."

No, please not now, not while he was wearing this stupid suit, not while his hair was sticking to his forehead and…lovely, now he was pouring sweat at the thought of Viktor taking pity on him and his pathetic attempt to dress like an adult, only coming over to offer Yuuri a few tips on how to look like a human being instead of a human shaped pile of laundry. Charming, Yuuri, play up the 'weirdo' factor some more, maybe Viktor will get uncomfortable enough to turn tail.

Standing a few inches taller than Yuuri, the silver haired man wore a bemused expression. Overwhelmed, Yuuri tried to consider how he would present himself in front of his idol. If he fawned over the Russian like the geeky fan he was, Viktor would definitely regret his choice to 'make Yuuri's acquaintance', as he had put it, and retreat back from whence he came with a sour impression of 'Mr. Katsuki'.

If he acted aloof, unbothered by the sudden meeting, it would likely come off as rude. What other options did that leave?

Yuuri knew he had already been quiet for far too long. Where was Phichit's blabbering when he needed it? As if in tune with Yuuri's internal monologue, the aforementioned boy bent down once more, cupping his hand around Yuuri's ear to conceal his voice as he spoke.

"Good luck, prince charming! Show him who Yuuri Katsuki actually is."

Yuuri was sent towards his demise with a less-than-gentle shove, barely able to stop himself from barreling into Viktor. Ok, he had successfully avoided his first tribulation, but what now? The boy was self aware enough to know he had already been silent long enough to make things awkward. Maybe the best plan of action was to pretend not to have heard him?

"Yuuri?"

Viktor Nikiforov had said his name. If Yuuri had to put a price on it, he would definitely mark it with a six figure number. The R was rolled two times too many, sounding almost like a cat's purr, and by saints and angels, goosebumps littered his skin like thousands of tiny pin pricks. He must look insane standing here, too stuck in his head to speak up.

Voice coming out soft and warm, soothing Yuuri's worries if only slightly, Viktor asked, "Do you not speak English?"

That was a direct question. Time to act and take hold of the situation. He was Yuuri Katsuki, the same skater who performed in front of critical crowds of thousands. He could handle this.

Forcing the words out in haste caused them to spill forth far too quickly, syllables bouncing and crashing into each other as they slipped past his chapped lips.

"I can speak English! I live in Detroit, so I kinda have to."

That had come out wrong, damn it. His own voice sounded entirely foreign, tone bordering on entitled. Rushing to rectify his prior statement, Yuuri jabbered on, undoubtedly digging his own grave.

"Not that I'd expect you to know that, or anything… I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

That sounded sarcastic, didn't it? He was really knocking it out of the park today. Not. Daring to look up, Yuuri made note of the blank expression on Viktor's face. Was he being obnoxious? What was he supposed to say in this sort of situation?

Social awareness at an all time low, the boy's hands clenched and squeezed at nothing, all semblance of confidence withered away to ash. This was not the way things were supposed to go. He was nowhere near Viktor in terms of skill level and compiled achievements. Equals, they had to be equals before Yuuri could comfortably soak in Viktor's presence.

Struggling to break the silence and find a way out, Yuuri stuttered out "I really didn't want to meet you like this. This sucks- I mean... Oh my god". Each word was louder than its predecessor, volume slowly building to a level bordering on a shout. This always happened when he shifted into fight or flight mode, body too focused on basic functions like breathing to assess trivial things such as presentation and body language.

Out of his periphery, Yuuri saw Viktor raise a hand to touch him. Doing a quick internal assessment, the boy's panic spiked as he realized how horribly sweaty and gross he was, the borrowed undershirt sticking to his back like cellophane.

He couldn't fathom how embarrassing it would be for Viktor to touch him and take notice, so in a moment of total terror, he heard his own disembodied voice shriek out the words "Don't touch me."

Angry and cringing at his own lack of control, Yuuri wrapped both arms around himself in a flimsy attempt to soothe his unsteady form enough to run as fast and as far away as possible. Viktor's face reflected his own, brows furrowed and lower lip buried underneath his pearlescent canines.

"This is the worst. I'm leaving…I am just gonna go find Phichit. Bye"

The older skater's face contorted into an expression that the boy had never seen him wear before. Anger. Wait a second, why? What part of Yuuri was so ghastly that it had allowed him the capability to manage a feat so vile?

He had made Viktor, the same Viktor known for smiling through even the most invasive and disrespectful of interviews, so upset that he hadn't the means to conceal it.

Still, even through the film of admiration coating his perception, Yuuri could see how odd the other man's reaction to his minor slip up was. It didn't make sense for someone so seasoned to get upset over such a menial infraction.

It was surely apparent that Yuuri was a nervous wreck, everyone knew of the way he idolized the Russian skater. It had become a running joke, an icebreaker even among skaters who had only heard Yuuri's name once.

Unable to withstand being the subject of Viktor's distaste, Yuuri swallowed the air he had been holding in the back of his throat and dashed forward, feet sliding across the venue's plush carpeting as he spun.

Before he could properly escape, Yuuri felt a hand catch on the baggy sleeves of his suit-jacket, stopping him from moving forward. Instead of immediately turning around, he stood as still as a statue, frozen in place, one foot still halfway off the ground.

"Hey."

No thank you, Yuuri thought to himself. He'd had enough of this interaction. The waterworks were about to start and he would prefer to cry alone, ideally somewhere he could blast sad songs and feel sorry for himself without any chance of someone posting a candid video of it online.

Their nonexistent relationship could still be salvaged if he was able to swallow his pride, stomp out his temper and recoup in the hotel room.

Viktor pulled again, this time with more force, dragging Yuuri backwards, spinning the boy until he was directly in front of him. Refusing eye contact, Yuuri burned a hole through the floor instead.

"You know, I tried to play nice, but god…you're insanely disappointing."

The music came to a halt, and it seemed Yuuri's heart followed suit. All of the noisy background chatter was sucked into a silent vacuum of empty space. He felt his own hands fiddling with the tie resting against his heart.

"Are you acting like this because of that stupid interview? Grow up, Yuuri. News flash; everyone here has to live up to the exact same standards. You aren't special, If you were, don't you think everyone would know by now?"

Viktor's words stung, searing through Yuuri and everything that he was like a hot branding iron. There was no rationalizing their intent away. Nothing could be said to make it better, no salve could ease the ache, and oh, how it ached.

The pain went deeper than anything physical, it severed strips of flesh from Yuuri's body, brutally tearing them away from the layers that rested beneath, exposing every nerve to the foreign dangers of the outside world.

Unforgiving agony set his skin alight with a candle's coy spark, sadistically dripping beads of wax into the unseen weeping gashes and mottled scars that littered his frame. Yuuri would have been content to die right there, feeling so disgustingly small, like an ant surrounded by an array of skyscrapers that touched the sky.

Peeling Viktor's hands off of his collar, Yuuri hid his teary eyes in the crook of his elbow, blindly sprinting away as fast as the clunky shoes on his feet would allow.

Phichit chased after him, only sparing a slight glance back towards Viktor, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted into a snarl.

"Yuuri, for Christ's sake, be careful!"

Yuuri didn't respond, instead continuing his frantic search for a way out of the building. The neon glow of a small sign reading 'exit' caught his eye, granting him grace and relief.

Upon stepping foot into the cool night air, he was finally able to catch his breath, heart hammering away in a state of overdrive. Phichit stepped onto the same concrete landing as Yuuri only seconds later, equally exhausted from the chase.

"Yuuri, what happened? I heard a little bit of what he said but… how did it get to that point?"

Despite Phichit's caring timbre and pleasant presence, Yuuri couldn't hold it together long enough to explain how things had gone down, instead opting for a quick and easy "Hairnet".

As soon as the two syllables squeezed their way past his chattering teeth, Yuuri broke down into tears, torso contorting as he balanced his weight upon a decorative pillar made up of cobbled concrete.

All of the hurt and shame poured out of him, rushing out in a flood of garbled sounds. The weight of gravity became too heavy, stomping him flat to the floor and forcing the boy to crouch down into a kneeling position, head tucked between his legs and hidden beneath his arms as the agony exited his body in quiet sobs.

"Peach, he hates me. Viktor hates me. I didn't mean to, I don't know what I- I just wanted him to see-"

Phichit felt tears stinging his own eyes at the sight of his best friend in such a state of misery. He knelt down slowly, sticking to Yuuri's side and holding him in a gentle embrace. It was all he had to offer.

"Shh, Shh. It's ok, I'm right here. You're catastrophizing. Do you remember how to talk yourself down?"

Yuuri shook his head, the small movement hardly visible through the intense heaving rocking his body in a rhythmic cycle of crying and breathing.

"That's alright, I'll go over it with you, is that ok?"

Yuuri nodded, appreciating the fact that Peach had asked before launching into it. He hated being coddled, hated feeling like others helped him because they thought he was unable to help himself. As his best friend, Phichit openly respected that sentiment, but always stated that he still wanted to be of assistance if given the chance.

"The first step is to acknowledge the way you'll feel about this in a week, in a year, and in ten years. You'll be ok by then, don't you think?"

Yuuri didn't answer the question with any physical movement this time, instead coughing out "Maybe. Probably. I don't know."

"Think about it for a minute. Let me know when you're done, then we can move on to the next step. I'll be right here, but I need to text Ciao Ciao and let him know what's going on."

Yuuri did as he was told, considering the worst case scenario and its consequences. He then moved onto plotting out the best case scenario. Usually, reality landed somewhere in the middle of the spectrum.

Regardless of the outcome, he'd have to find a way to make it through the following day. They had a flight to catch. No one wants to be stuck on a plane with a crying child, so a crying adult would definitely earn an even worse reception.

"Yuuri, Coach will meet us out here in ten, does that sound good? He has to say goodbye to a few of your potential sponsors, but after that we can head back to the hotel."

"Ok."

Satisfied but concerned, Phichit rubbed small circles on the older skater's back, giving him a moment to catch his breath before going back into therapist mode.

"Are you ready for step two?"

"Mm."

"Run through your positive affirmations."

"Peach, I love you, but that won't do shit for me right now."

"Just try, please? It couldn't hurt to give it a shot."

Yuuri chewed on the frayed skin at the corners of his bottom lip, taking a deep breath in and pretending to think really hard about something. He didn't have the energy to run through all of the empty 'feel good' statements that had been drilled into his mind by the federation issued therapist. What Peach didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Instead, Yuuri thought back on the way Viktor had treated him, the impatience and ego that had slipped through the cracks of his carefully crafted mask. Fact; Viktor Nikiforov was Yuuri's idol. Also fact; Viktor Nikiforov wasn't actually who he presented himself to be, that much had been made clear. Those two pieces of information were incompatible, only one could take precedence.

Additionally, if Yuuri accepted the reality of the situation and saw Viktor for who he actually was, the pain would move to the backseat, hurt extinguished by anger until it was nothing more than a dull throbbing.

Who would look up to such an egotistical and self important asshole? Not Yuuri, not anymore. He would definitely allow himself to mourn the years spent chasing after everything Viktor had represented to him, but after that, the one sided relationship would come to an end.

It felt almost like losing a lover or a best friend, but instead of missing someone who had been with him in a physical sense, he was saying goodbye to the concept of a person who had never actually existed.

"-ri?"

"What?"

Yuuri snapped his head up, tears dried upon his cheeks in small colorless streaks. Ciao Ciao was bent down to his level, face reading as a mixture of concerned and saddened.

"Are you ok? What do you need me to do?"

"Can we just go back to the hotel, please? I'm sorry. I know I'm always dragging you away from-"

"No, don't give me that. I choose to stay on as your coach. You are like a son to me, don't apologize for having a normal reaction to someone else's appalling behavior."

Glancing over to Phichit, Yuuri tilted his head, silently questioning him.

"I filled him in while you were calming down."

"Ok. Thanks, Peach."

"Always."

The drive back to the hotel was quiet, everyone soaking in the events of the night individually. Yuuri didn't say anything, but he was more worried about his coach and best friend than himself.

He was still in a state of shock, floating through time mindlessly, but Peach was tapping his fingers on the car door, a habit that only slipped out when he was stressed, and Ciao Ciao was driving ten miles over the speed limit, obviously fuming on his student's behalf.

Once they arrived, Yuuri and Celestino made their way upstairs whereas Phichit insisted upon hanging out in the lobby, stating that "The wifi works so much better down here! I need to Facetune some photos and post them to Twitter."

Whatever floats his boat. All Yuuri wanted was a hot bath and a hefty dose of Unisom that would hopefully knock him out quickly enough to avoid obsessing over things he couldn't change.

After slipping into room 104, he quietly padded into the bathroom and began undressing as the toasty water poured from the tap, echoing against the molded porcelain as it filled the room with steam. Nothing could compare to his family's onsen, but it would have to do for now.

As he waited for the bath to fill, Yuuri took a moment to assess his body in the vanity mirror, chalky steam slowly overtaking the image it reflected with a powdery white blanket. His waist was a little too wide, hips a little too big, and god, he'd do anything to trim down the fat on his thighs.

That's where he tended to carry most of his weight. It was unfortunate. Had he doubled his workout regimen for even a couple of months he'd surely be seeing something he could live with. As it was, he had so much work to do. The fact that only time and effort could fix it was maddening.

Ironically, the stress made him crave fatty foods, mind luring him towards tonkatsu and sticky buns. Yuuri wanted to eat away the gaping hole that had been carved into his soul, food replacing whatever it was that he lacked. That wouldn't do.

If he felt this horrible a day into his 'new and improved Yuuri Katsuki' plan, the next six months were going to be hell. He couldn't give in, weakness had no place in his life. Changes had to be made if he wanted to be taken seriously, so he was going to fight tooth and nail against the urge to stuff his face with vending machine snacks, even if it killed him.

The bath didn't fix his problems, but it was the best he could do. Yuuri ended up soaking for an hour, only leaving the bath when he became so dizzy he couldn't see straight, sweat beading on his brow and upper lip due to prolonged exposure to the intense heat.

The boy slipped on his ragged flannel pajama pants, relishing in the comfort they provided. He had spent the first half of his day stuffed into a tight skating costume, and the second half in an itchy suit, so the soft fabric was a welcomed contrast to what he had grown used to.

Phichit still hadn't returned to the room, which left Yuuri stressed. He was younger than Yuuri by a few years, so it wasn't safe for him to be on his own in an area he wasn't familiar with. Instead of searching him out like a worried mother hen, Yuuri opted to text him before jumping to conclusions.

Yuuri: Hey, you still downstairs?

Read: 1:03 am

Yuuri: why did you leave me on read? :((

Peach: sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm kinda dealing with smth rn

Yuuri: what does that mean

Yuuri: Peach are you good

A minute passed without a reply. He didn't want to be overbearing, but Peach never ignored text messages, especially not ones from Yuuri. He had been pretty vague, so he was probably keeping Yuuri out of the loop intentionally, concerned about his already unstable state.

Well Peach could kiss his ass because Yuuri didn't need anyone to baby him. Friendship was supposed to be built on a dynamic of give and take, therefore it was Yuuri's turn to give.

Yuuri: If you don't respond within three minutes, I'm coming downstairs.

Yuuri: I warned you >:((

Yuuri threw on an oversized hoodie and hid his disheveled hair underneath a thick black beanie, sliding his Birks on as he stepped out the door. Still no text from Phichit.

Worry intensifying, Yuuri shook his leg impatiently as he waited for the elevator to land at the first floor. Once it did, he bolted for the lobby. He could hear a muffled shouting, the voice sounding eerily similar to that of his best friend.

What trouble had he gotten himself into? Phichit was typically easygoing, but on the rare occasions that he did snap, it was never good. God save the poor bastard who was on the receiving end of his rage.

Legs sore from his exhibition skate earlier in the day and fearing for his sandals safety, Yuuri opted to speed walk instead of run. When he turned the corner, he was met with a scene that should only have been possible in his nightmares.

Phichit was standing tall, legs planted firmly to the ground and pointer finger outstretched towards none other than Viktor Nikiforov. The Russian, on the other hand, looked perfectly calm, arms crossed loosely against his chest, blinking slowly as Phichit threw out curse words and accusations. Viktor's coach, Yakov, was standing at his side, angry enough for the both of them. Viktor could go to hell, but if Yakov decided to kick up a fuss about the incident, Peach's career was as good as dead, and for what? Yuuri couldn't let that happen.

"Peach! What happened? What's going on? Are you ok, what did he do to you?"

Phichit looked absolutely feral. Seemingly mad at Yuuri for intervening, he flailed his arms around, looking offended that he had dared ask such a question.

"What did he do?! He treated my best friend like shit, and now he's standing here like a dumbass, pretending not to be a total jerkoff so I look like the crazy one for screaming at him like-"

"Peach- it's fine, you don't have to-"

"Yuuri! If you don't stand up for yourself, who will? I can't just let him get away with pulling-"

"Phichit. Please. Not right now."

Yuuri was startled by how calm he sounded. He probably looked like a sociopath, standing there with a blank expression while his friend fought for his honor. Peach's expression shifted into a look of guilt as he realized the shitty situation he had put Yuuri in by stirring up trouble in such a public space.

If anyone had seen what was going down, both of them would be eaten alive by Viktor's fans, likely booed out of every event they tried to enter, if they were even accepted.

The scuffle would be seen as bad sportsmanship on Yuuri's part, casting him in a bad light and blacklisting him in the skating community. Viktor probably knew that as well, Yuuri thought. He had probably let it happen instead of shutting Phichit down just so he could 'stick it to the man', as Celestino would say.

As it so happened, Yuuri knew better, and he could see that although his friend's intentions were pure, the outcome of the altercation had the potential for disastrous consequences.

"Woof. Great guard dog, Katsuki. Real scary."

Yuuri didn't give Viktor's words a second thought, not even turning around to acknowledge the fact that he had spoken. Instead, he grabbed a bristling Phichit by the arm, guiding him to the elevator as gently as he could.

Adrenaline long gone, Yuuri felt himself shake against the cold metal of the steel box, but felt too drained to pay it any mind.

"I'm sorry."

Phichit looked to the floor as he spoke, demeanor reserved, hands clenching at the fabric of the suit jacket he was still trapped in. Yuuri could tell he meant it, the poor kid looked so ashamed, likely to cry as soon as they made it back to the room.

It would do neither of them any good if he made a big deal out of it. Sure, what Phichit had done was ill thought out, but he was just a teenager. He had done his best, trying to stand up for someone he held near and dear. It's the thought that counts and all that, right?

"It's ok. I understand why you did it. Do you realize why it was a bad idea?"

"…The press would spin it back on us if they had seen me screaming at him. Viktor has his name to fall back on, we don't."

"Exactly. As long as you understand why it can't happen again, then it's fine. You learned from it, ครับ?"

"ใช่."

He noticed how Peach softened, doe eyes wide with gratitude and affection as Yuuri spoke in Phichit's native tongue, indirectly comforting him. The younger of the two leaned in for a hug, discreetly blinking a few tears out of his eyes before they reached their destination. Yuuri pretended not to notice.

Upon entering the room, Celestino, who would normally have been asleep hours ago, was awaiting them, standing in front of the large balcony window ,features painted with exhaustion and disappointment.

"Yakov just called me. Want to tell me why you two decided to act like children instead of allowing me to handle the situation?"

They were in for a long night of scolding, weren't they? Yuuri sat on the corner of the bed positioned closest to their coach, motioning for Peach to do the same. Might as well get it over with.