Help Me To Breathe

Chapter Text

Viktor managed to beat the world record, which is great and all, but meant very little to him in the grand scheme of things. Since the morning of the short program, when the world had collapsed around him, Viktor found that he could hardly decipher what the world around was made up of. It was subtle, a shimmer in the distance, no definition upon the skin of his palms. A smooth canvas of blurred flesh took up the space where soft lines and creases would normally be nestled. Something had gone wrong, but he couldn't figure out why it scared him so much. That's a lie, but if he were to acknowledge the root of his fear, Viktor felt he'd make the possibility of it coming true all the more likely.

A worm of doubt had made a permanent home in Viktor's stomach, chewing through layers of flesh and bone in bouts of hunger interspersedly. When he was distracted, such as when he was performing, things were alright, pleasant, even, but the moment he was allowed to think, to worry, he grew strangely nervous… The right word to use would be 'unsettled'. For the first time in his life, Viktor hated his 20/20 vision. If he wore glasses, he could simply remove them and avoid having to perceive the world in a way which incited unwarranted terror. Viktor tried not to give it much weight. It wasn't an impossible notion that he had caught a cold or the flu from the creep he had slept with a couple days prior. Once he recovered from whatever it was, things would return to normal.

Doing what he did best, Viktor ignored the issue, throwing all his attention into his career and the feeling of solid ice meeting steel. The gold plated skates he had ordered after Skate America had arrived just in time for his second assignment, which was both a blessing and a curse. He had gotten special permission to use the rink after hours thanks to Yakov's fluid network of sponsors and officials. Though he had broken the skates in a little in the preceding week, they still felt stiff and unfamiliar, the way most new pairs tended to. His day had been a blurry stress fest, but he was more than ready to skate some sneaky figures before the gala in the morning.

Exiting his room quietly, hoping to avoid a cranky, half asleep Yura, Viktor teetered down the hallway, giddy and restless. The elevator came within his field of vision, but it was already halfway closed. He could choose to wait for the next one, like a proper adult, or he could make use of his physique and sprint forward at top speed in the hopes of slipping past the heavy metal framework. Obviously, he chose to do the latter, because frankly, he was a child at heart.

Thrusting one arm into the elevator to halt the door's sliding motion, Viktor slid into the elevator, banging his elbow against the dull handlebar situated beneath the backlit buttons. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Viktor concluded that the original rider deserved a chance to pick their floor first. Pivoting his waist, the Russian sculpted a polite smile out of his tired features as he turned to the individual in question.

Oh, so god hated him? That's cool, or whatever. Yuuri, because who else would it be, had clearly been crying. The boy's eyes were puffy and watery, nose dusted with a rosy shade of pink. Beneath his glasses, he avoided Viktor's gaze. The skin on his lips was torn, chapped as if he had been chewing on them. Viktor allowed himself to weigh out his options. He was thoroughly screwed if the younger skater decided to make an issue of the debacle.

Play it cool, just follow through with what you had already planned on doing. Ask him what floor he's headed to, press the key, and then follow it up with the ground floor's respective button.

"So, Um-"

"No, Not right now."

Viktor blinked. 'Don't lose your temper' he reminded himself, 'Chris will hear about it and everything will go to hell again'. Considering Yuuri's supposed 'anxiety', the older skater bit his tongue and grounded himself, praying his expression didn't betray him, not that Yuuri would notice, since he refused to make eye contact. Viktor counted to three, in his head, of course, and gave it another shot.

"I just wanted-"

"Not right now, please ."

'Ok, well, fuck you too.'

Viktor would have liked to voice the thought aloud, but he had an image to uphold and a rival to outwit. Regardless, any inkling of courtesy on Viktor's part was thrown out the window. If Yuuri refused to speak with him, then he would be making a trip to the ground floor whether he wanted to or not. Viktor jammed his finger into the button with an admittedly excessive amount of force and turned away, wishing to be anywhere but trapped in a stuffy box with Yuuri Katsuki.

As soon as the lift came to a stop, the young skater made a beeline for the inset convenience store near the front desk, whereas Viktor took a hard right and pretended to check his phone by the lobby's sliding glass doors. He didn't feel comfortable heading off to the arena when Yuuri was present to see him leave. Who knows what kind of rumors the brat would spread. Based upon prior experience, the Japanese skater would find a way to morph it into a doping accusation or something of equal malice. The wait was boring, doubly so due to the fact that every second spent standing there took away tidbits of his rink time. Every couple seconds, Viktor peered up to reassess where his rival was, gaze masked by his thick bangs.

When Katsuki finished checking out, a clear plastic bag resting on the crook of his elbow, Viktor turned his head to the side, doing his best to look lost in thought. The predicament came to a close when Yuuri was out of sight. Viktor spent most of his night in the arena, skating figures as if it were his religion.

The gala was miserable. The worm was still making rounds in the man's intestines, bringing with it distress and nausea that distracted from any pride he would have felt otherwise. Viktor wished he'd grown physically 'ill' like Yuuri had so he too could have an excuse to avoid performing, but Yakov was much less lenient than Celestino and Viktor had a cult following to appease. Not even a gold medal made up for his sorry state. The weight was familiar yet irritating, like someone had their hands gripped around his throat just loose enough to avoid properly cutting off his airflow. Yuuri looked no better off, eyes still swollen with deep set bags beneath their waterlines. It brought Viktor great satisfaction… That and the fact that he was wearing a silver medal and Viktor was wearing the gold.

Chris cleared his throat once the trio were excused from their pedestals, flicking his green irises towards the Japanese skater. Right, Viktor was expected to kiss his ass and make amends. He wasn't above groveling in the name of friendship. Deciding to strike while the iron was still hot…and while people were still present to see, he made his way over to Katsuki, who was obliviously sipping from a sports drink near the raised bleachers, back facing the crowd as they trickled out of the venue.

Viktor felt silly, tugging on Yuuri's sleeve, but he couldn't think of a more effective way to grab his attention. To alleviate some of the embarrassment, he stood up straight, shoulders back and chin up, just like mama had taught him to. At the very least, he could appear falsely confident in the choice endeavor he was currently suffering through. Yuuri's initial expression was that of excitement, totally throwing Viktor for a loop, but the rosy flush that reached his warm eyes and gentle smile disappeared once he realized who had sought his attention. The living had turned into a corpse, all because Viktor had made a nuisance of himself. Shit, what was he supposed to say? Things weren't likely to turn ugly, considering the fact that press were crawling about like the insects they were, but Viktor remained cautious nonetheless. Yuuri seemed like a loose cannon. Unsure what to start with, he went for something simple, classy.

"Hey…"

How cruel, for such soft features to form into a mask of distaste over a single world. Not only had Yuuri grimaced, the boy visibly shuddered, cringing away from Viktor like a feral beast blockaded into a corner. If he didn't know better, Viktor would assume Yuuri was frightened of him, but it would be stupid to even consider the possibility. Lost in the moment, Viktor found himself growing weary, guilty even…Then Katsuki turned around to grab his belongings off the bleachers, avoiding the conversation masterfully, and you know what? It really pissed Viktor off. In a moment of blind agitation, he decided that Yuuri needed to know that.

"I'm getting deja vu over here, Katsuki. Do you make a habit out of ignoring people? You did the same thing at the banquet of our last assignment."

Katsuki paused, smirked, and then narrowed his eyes before voicing his disdain, mocking Viktor in the worst way possible, in a way no one else could see.

"Aren't you embarrassed?"

Turning tail without even a hint of remorse, Yuuri left the Russian standing alone in a room full of people. It's ironic, the fact that most if not all of Vitya's loneliest moments were spent surrounded by crowds of thousands. They weren't seeing him, they simply saw Viktor, a man to be revered, and that's something he couldn't fault them for, because it was a monster of his own creation.

But why did that statement feel like a kick to the gut? Should he be embarrassed? What was Yuuri referring to, exactly? The worm feasted on those thoughts, and as it did, Viktor only dug himself deeper into a self dug grave, because why? Why should he be embarrassed for playing the part expected of him? He had tried to be respectful, to be humble and apologetic, though it was a false pretense…Had his rival seen through him? Or was Yuuri alluding to something far more sinister? It came to him in a moment of rare clarity, still standing exactly where the boy had left him, that Katsuki may have been referring to Viktor's most recent scandal. Chris would call him paranoid, Yakov would say that it was a problem of his own creation, and Yura would take Yuuri's side. Mila and Katya were enamored with the Japanese skater, as were most of the other athletes present.

Once again, Viktor was shown that he could trust no one. Sure, it was a lonely revelation, but such a cliché word had no business being used to describe the hurt bundled up in tight robes, just above his beating heart and just below his throat. He didn't cry, nor did he complain. In fact, he didn't quite remember what happened for the remainder of the day. There were brief flashes, similar to those that occur during a booze fueled blackout, but other than that, it all faded into muffled voices and morphed mandalas of alien colors.

Chris had patted his back in an attempt to cheer him up, sweetly murmuring words of comfort and urging Viktor to 'try again at the finals, you can't blame him for being cautious'.Yura had thrown a fit about not getting to bid his idol goodbye. The Russian team had gathered in the hotel to pack their bags, heading to the airport soon after. Yes, he could recall the basic timeline, and that's all that mattered, or so he tried to convince himself. The little details would take up pointless space in his busy head, anyways.

Arriving back at his St. Petersburg apartment should have been a relief. Seeing Makka awaiting him at the dog sitter's side would normally soothe his woes. Unfortunately, things change, as is the way of the world, and Viktor's previous comforts no longer held enough weight to battle the unseen shift he was faced with. What he came to discover in his three days of rest, as was the tradition for any international event, was that he had been cursed, diminished into nothing more than his 'key components', if you will.

As it was, he could only choose from two simple states of living. The first state being pure panic and misery, jumping at the sight of his own reflection in the mirror. He couldn't even recognize what had become of himself. Logically, he knew that the man reflected could be no one other than Viktor Nikiforov, but that logic didn't extend any further. His movements didn't seem to match up with the intent behind them, like he was living life in a recording that had a three second delay. The positive side to this unfortunate phenomenon was that when the panic eventually subsided, when he found a way to stop the raving warning bells in his head, he lost hours of time. Less time meant less torment and turmoil.

The second emotion Viktor had access to was a bottomless sort of despair, the kind that loved to remind its afflicted that nothing really mattered and the world was far too large to care about one small life. Viktor wasn't suicidal or anything, even he had the sense to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but for the first time since he was a small boy, he'd quite like to just sleep. Not sleep as in get a good 8 hours, but sleep as in 'chemically induced coma'. For that plan to work, however, he'd need the world to pause along with him, for he had competitions to attend and people to appease.

Once Yakov cleared his skaters to return to the rink, Viktor drowned himself in the sensation of chilled air and sore muscles, pushing his limits in a way that would bring Satan himself to his knees.

As expected, there was still talk, rumors and speculation surrounding him and what had happened at the Rostelecom Cup. Unfortunately, some of his own rinkmates had begun avoiding him. None of them were important people in his life, but it stung all the same. Katya and Georgi had made attempts at reaching out a few times, trying their damndest to be good friends, which Viktor genuinely appreciated, but to no avail. He couldn't tell a single soul how he actually felt.

Times were trying, and though he wasn't of the religious sort, his mother had been. Her influence had him reaching out to any omnipresent being that may or may not exist, pleading with them to save the little world he'd built for himself. Nothing changed.

In the weeks leading up to the GPF, Viktor leaned towards the anguish and paranoia and did what he could to make use of it in regards to his performance. With half the rink whispering curses at him and the other half not so subtly fearing for his well-being, the skater felt alienated and pathetic, the way an ant would feel in the face of a lion. 'Vitya' became a more prominent fixture within his programs, for he was far too exhausted to force his public persona to present 'Viktor' the way it was expected of him.

He hadn't the energy to visit Yakov and Lilia's home in those weeks, though Yura and Mila consistently hinted that they desired his presence at their dinner table. Viktor played dumb, convincing himself that one should be subjected to him as he currently was. If it were an option, he would leave himself behind. He made for terrible company. Instead, in the periods of drawn out solitude that his practiced isolation afforded him, Viktor habitually rifled through the dusty cardboard boxes that had spent years in the attic storage, pitifully seeking out the company of someone who could only be present in spirit.

Lilia had done well, organizing the items into categorized containers with her elegant handwriting detailing their contents atop each lid.

It took a few days of sorting, but eventually, he found them. The poems. As a child, Viktor couldn't properly make sense of them, but in a way that both terrified and encouraged him, they were more legible than ever.

Pigeon Fingers

My pigeon fingers sound to me

like a fidget slinging symphony.

Nails scraping

Knuckles breaking

I think of it as music-making.

Sweaty palms and limpid wrists

attend to all the notes I miss.

Then my elbows join the band

They are dancing with my hands.

Fruit And Envy

There was a woman in the window

of the flat straight across from me.

She was smiling, eating melon by the slice... her life

seemed much nicer than mine.

I turned, went to the kitchen, and grabbed myself a peach.

As I ate, I forgot

that ugly envy I had felt.

Mama had written these ones before he was born. Her handwriting was horrid back then, much like Viktor's own. What had she been like, before the illness took hold? Clearly unstable, even then, but her words held clear intent. Viktor tucked the crumpled parchment into a waterproof folder for safe keeping. Onto the next.

I Am

I'm a slimy olive floating in your glass

I'm a broken wine bottle lurking in the grass

I'm the little girl

at whom you made a pass

I'm an ugly insect

resting on your floor

I'm the intellectual

you always seem to bore

I'm your dear, dead mother

whom you deem a whore

I am this and so much more

I am what you can't ignore

I am what you are.

This one was dated even further back in time, when mama was only nineteen. He hadn't gotten the chance to make it to an age where she felt comfortable sharing the cut and dry truths of her life with him. The poems told him more than mama ever had, not that he resented her for it. He read and cataloged each piece, growing sicker by the second, for he and his mother had much more in common than the man had originally assumed. It was terrifying and gratifying, all in one frigid breath.

A slightly less weathered sheet caught Viktor's eye. It would soon be over, the torture he was subjecting himself to… but if no one else in the world would remember, he had to.

Goat Men

Down

down the dirt road

came two sharp faced fools.

Loud offerings, profferings of assistance issued from cruelly shaped mouths. Morons emitting

a spitting black bleat,

goats dressed as humans

out looking for meat.

Run

warn the village

the goat men are near.

Hear their sounds

pounding down

down

the dirt road.

Mama was firmly ensnared by her mind when she had written this one, that much was evident. She always came up with discomposing allusions when she got 'worked up', as Papa called it.

There was a single piece of parchment remaining, the last work she had ever written. Viktor grew pale, knowingly shivering in place. He had read this one when he was only eleven years old, and afterwards, willingly turned a blind eye to its existence. Even wistful things deserve to be known, to be seen, and no part of his mother should be forgotten.

Poppy

Daddy's little girl killed herself today.

Considering how much she hurt,

It was a tiny price to pay.

She bundled up

her large black curls

with father's favorite tie,

the one he said was paisley...

she'd thought they were just swirls.

Flipping through the books

Poppy boarded by his bed,

she happily imagined

the pages spattered red.

A spritz of dad's cologne

made everything just right.

She was wearing all his jewelry...

It would be a lovely sight.

She lifted up the pillow

where daddy kept his gun,

placed it to her temple,

and did what must be done.

Too many assumptions could be made from a single sheet of paper, a fact Viktor was finally old enough to understand. They had been hidden away for good reason. Tucked into a folder, delicate and worn, the unassuming paper was finally treated with the respect it deserved. In that same box, hidden beneath the note, was a thin gold chain adorned with a small charm. He placed the dainty article of jewelry around his neck, fiddling with the clasp until it finally took.

Viktor gave himself a single night to recover from the experience, though it was made less arduous with the assistance of his new confidant, the golden sunflower draped just above his collarbones. The very next day, he made sure his smile was more dazzling than ever. His friends liked it, as did Yakov. Vitya hated it, but he hadn't ever had much say in these decisions.

Strangely, Lilia, as quiet and conserved as she had been since he'd turned eighteen was the only outsider who picked up on his farce. He didn't have the capacity to worry about her at the moment. If she wanted her grievances to be known, she'd have spoken up.

Yura demanded to sleep over at Viktor's apartment exactly a week and two days before said skater would be leaving for Italy. Yakov reluctantly pulled his star student aside at practice around lunchtime to see if it was an idea that could be made possible, because, as he put it, "Yuri is too proud to ask you, but too stubborn to quit asking me."

Light was peeking through the blinds of Viktor's heart, and although he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to keep up his falsified cheery demeanor for a full 24 hours, he would damn well try. Yura didn't like to ask for help, and if he was actually that desperate to spend time with him, then Viktor feared something may be eating at the boy. He was more than willing to push aside his own struggles for the time being in pursuit of a solution.

The small blonde made a show of 'begrudgingly' shoving the heavy overnight bags he had preemptively packed into Viktor's car, but there was no energy behind the act. They drove to the apartment complex with high spirits, the older of the two asking question after question about school and whatnot, while Yura sat in the passenger seat answering only one or two of the many inquiries thrown his way. There was some edgy rock song playing through the aux connected to the boy's phone, but Viktor didn't mind. A little metal never killed anyone, and although he wasn't in the mood for scratchy guitar riffs and aggressive vocals, he was happy to accommodate.

Upon their arrival, Makkachin knocked Yuri flat on his ass in her excitement, placing slobbery kisses all over the boy's face as he groaned in disgust.

"I want food… and a bath."

Viktor, giddy with delight at the opportunity to play big brother, ran Yura a warm bath and handed him a towel. While he washed up, Viktor stretched himself out on the plush couch and phoned a nearby takeout spot, ordering an assorted variety of Pirozhkis. It's not that he was lazy, he simply had zero talent in the culinary department. The last time Viktor had tried to cook was two years prior, when he decided to warm up some cup noodles in the microwave during off season. The microwave met a devastating end that day, nearly catching his entire apartment aflame along with it. His cup noodles were lost to the tragedy as well.

Yura padded into the living room. The boy had changed into his tiger print pajamas, looking every bit like the silly little kid he was at heart. Viktor was geared up to tease him, in true sibling fashion, when the boy plopped down on the couch next to him, Makka at his heels.

"You're sad. Why?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't be sorry, be honest."

"That's not what I-"

"Da, whatever. What's going on? Nobody tells me anything. Katya and Georgi keep shutting me out! I'm your rinkmate too, I deserve to know."

The man could do nothing but sigh, brows pinching into a tight knot above the bridge of his nose. How had his plan to talk Yura through the trials and tribulations of life turned into a reverse intervention? The boy wasn't world weary enough to hear about what was going on between him and the media, though Viktor had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew a good deal based upon the lack of attitude he'd been exhibiting as of late. It was almost as if he were walking on eggshells, worried to rock the boat.

"Yura, you aren't old enough to deal with this sort of sh- stuff. I'm an adult, it's my problem to handle. All you need to focus on is your juniors debut."

"I'm not a little kid! Do you think I'm stupid? I have Twitter, I see what they are saying about you, but I don't understand why! Who cares if you're gay? As long as you keep winning, you'll make Russia proud!"

Viktor guffawed. "I am not gay! Where did you hear that?"

"Twitter, moron! Did you not hear me say that like four seconds ago?"

"Yura. I need you to look at me."

The blonde turned away, purposefully doing a full 180 on the couch to do exactly the opposite of what was asked of him. At a loss, Viktor sat still, pushing at his cuticles. There was no way in hell he could tell Yura the truth, it wouldn't be right. No child should have to hear of the world's depravity, especially not in regards to something as inconsequential as a celebrity scandal. He pulled at the frizzy hair cascading past his woolen sweater, grasping at straws. A stifled sniffle broke the silence before Viktor had time to come up with proper elucidation.

"Yuri, are you ok? What's going on?"

No response, but the sniffles grew louder, morphing into muffled cries. It was an established fact that Viktor was atrocious when it came to comforting people, because no one had ever taught him how to handle his own sympathies, much less someone else's. Panicking, the older skater rushed off the couch, hurriedly sitting on the hardwood floor so he could examine the child's expression.

"What did I say? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset- We were supposed to have a slumber party, remember? What can I do to make it up to you? We could rent a movie, or-"

"Shut up, old man!"

Viktor pursed his lips closed, watery eyes flickering across the stray threads dotting the couch's velvet upholstery.

"You didn't do anything wrong, ok? I'm worried! We are all worried, Viktor, but I'm the only one who doesn't get to talk about it! Why? I'm your family too, aren't I?"

His words felt so familiar, thoughts Viktor had every day. How could he be so selfish? Little Yuri had no one but his grandfather, his rinkmates and his coaches. It was no secret that Nikolai was growing sicker by the day, Alzheimers firmly taking its hold on his aging mind. Everyone tried to shield the boy from the unfortunate reality of the situation, but Yuri Plistskey was no fool. What he needed was stability, support from those he trusted. Viktor couldn't help it, he began to cry in tandem, ashamed and hurting for the boy who reminded him so much of himself.

"Don't cry, asshole! Why are you crying? What the hell?" Yura spluttered, wiping his own tears away with the baggy sleeves of his pajama shirt.

"I'm sorry. So sorry, I mean it. You are my family, I promise. I'd never hurt you on purpose. I need you to listen closely, ok? I'm going to be one hundred percent honest with you, but not in the way you want." Viktor squeaked out through his own pathetic blubbering. Yuri nodded, sniffling once more as another trail of tears trickled over his reddened cheeks.

"Bad things happen, you know that, right? Sometimes good people are treated unfairly."

The blonde nodded vigorously, empathizing with the statement. Viktor took it as his cue to continue, willing his voice to come out in a solid stream, uncut by the bouts of hiccuping sobs brewing in his chest.

"Well… Some places, Russia included, don't like when people stray from the beaten path. They want everyone to act the same, to follow the guidelines they've created. If you do what they want, things are easier."

Viktor took a moment, formulating his next sentence carefully to avoid instilling the same fear he had grown intimate with into his younger counterpart.

"I need you to keep this to yourself, ok? You have to promise."

Yura leaned forward so quickly he nearly toppled off the couch, pinky finger outstretched towards the older skater expectantly. Viktor's vision blurred as another wave of melancholy overtook him. This poor child had been through so much, yet he still offered his trust freely. He locked pinkies with the blonde, nodding seriously before fist bumping him, as they did before competitions for good luck, and continuing his explanation.

"I am …different."

He simply couldn't bring himself to say the words outright.

"The ISU doesn't like that, and if they find out, I won't get to skate anymore. That's why you can't tell anyone, and that's the reason why I've been so sad lately. It'll blow over soon, and everything will be back to normal, don't you worry."

Before Yura could make sense of what he had been told, the doorbell rang. Viktor hopped up, airily promenading towards the front door to pay for what he assumed to be their dinner. As soon as the smell of well seasoned meat and freshly baked dough filled the air, both skater's stomachs growled ostentatiously, effectively breaking the tense atmosphere and shooting the elephant in the room.

Practice brought with it a hint of joy after that day. Instead of sliding across the ice in tense, abrupt bursts fueled by fear and anger, Viktor flew through the air with a heart at ease knowing he had at least one person who maintained their faith in him. His evenings remained morbid and empty, but he carried on, the way he always managed to.

The days were mundane but palatable up until the end of November. November 29th, to be precise, as it was Yuuri Katsuki's birthday, and Yura made sure everyone knew it. The Russian skaters had planned a short choreographed Tiktok to congratulate him on turning 18, and Viktor hadn't the heart to turn little Yuri down when he shoved him in front of the camera's lens along with Mila, Katya, and Georgi. If nothing else, he'd give the Japanese skater a proper dose of bemusement. With that sentiment fresh in his mind, Viktor played the part right and proper, blending seamlessly with the rest of his team as they skated to 'The Room Where It Happens', Yuuri's old free program, in synchronized movements. He even blew a kiss at the end, an afterthought he'd soon come to regret. Yura was pleased, and that's what mattered.

When said video went live, the comments flooded with messages from thousands of figure skating fans worldwide. Most were pleasant, some creepy, but the worst of them were those which mentioned Viktor by name. A few cited the public rivalry between Katsuki and himself as a reason for concern, while some were just blatant homophobic remarks towards him, unsavory innuendos and the like.

@PaisJane

I'm sick, I'm ILL, I'm sobbing and eating at my floorboards. Thank you for this. The collab I didn't know I needed. Ilysm <3!< p>

2h Reply ♡

@Friesbutsoggy

Lol why is Viktor acting like he likes Yuuri all of a sudden?? You mad mate?? Guess he didn't get the attention he wanted from the rivalry, so he's tryna play nice or sum

3h Reply ♡

@Iceboner420

I love u I love u I love u I love u I love u I love you (yes homo)

2h Reply ♡

@Kacchi39211

ステキダネ,,,ヴィクトルさんとかつきさんが大好き💕

32m Reply ♡

@Lizardlegsho

Can we leave the drama on Twitter? Look at how sweet this video is 🥹. Most of that shit is made up, check ur sources and respect the fact that they are real people too!

1h Reply ♡

@Nikiforovluver62

Oh my god he is fucking gorgeous. I'd commit international treason for just one sniff of his hair. Look at it flowing in the wind. He's literally a Disney princess.

2h Reply ♡

@PaisJane

@nikiforovluver62 Did you take your meds today babes?? 😭 your the type of fan who gives the rest of us a bad name, goddamn-

46m Reply ♡

@Hewasask88rboy

Aww I hope Yuuri sees this!! They tagged him and everything 🥹 look at the little Yuri, he looks so excited waving his silly little poster around!!

1h Reply ♡

@Historiaismygod

Woooo!!! Good luck at the GPF everyone! Glad to see skaters supporting other skaters. Fuck the hate comments, yall are doing great.

51m Reply ♡

@Kanneddororthy

This is the gayest shit I've ever seen lmao… Get it?

2h Reply ♡

@Lizardlegsho

@kanneddorothy Jesus Christ, hop off his dick, Viktor didn't do anything wrong and nothing is confirmed. Your attention seeking is kinda pathetic <3< p>

22m Reply ♡

@YuuriKatsuki

Thanks guys, this is so sweet! Best birthday present ever. Nice poster @pumascorpionicetiger !!

2h Reply ♡

Yuri cried when he saw the comment. Mila complained vociferously, griping that she wanted to be noticed by the 'great' Yuuri Katsuki as well, as she claimed to share equal responsibility in organizing the video's creation. The two were pulling at each other's hair for ten minutes before Yakov promptly separated them and confiscated their phones for the remainder of the day. Viktor shot his coach a thumbs up, relieved, as playing mediator was not his strong suit. They were all forced to double up on training that day, as their coach claimed they had too much energy to spare if they were willingly wasting time promoting a foreign competitor. Aleksei laughed at them rinkside.

Despite his newfound regard for the support surrounding him, Viktor's botherations remained a constant and debilitating presence. He had begun to shake when the terrors gripped at him, unable to suppress the raw trepidation that the altered state plaguing him brought about. He refused to confide in anyone, lest they label him clinically insane. Viktor wasn't crazy. He was stable and hardworking, proud and independent… but one can only take so much. Three days. He only had three days before he was expected to board a plane bound for a foreign and unfamiliar country where not even Makka could keep him company when the jitters hit. Such a concept was beyond beastly.

Desperate, Viktor took to the internet with his woes. He wasn't quite sure how he should phrase the query. That's a falsified notion. He knew what he wanted to ask, but feared the answers Google would supply him with. Blinking, the cursor mocked him in the search bar as it awaited his impending request.

'Why does nothing feel real?'

A breath, a reminder, and repetition.Viktor Nikiforov was not insane, or off his rocker, or even the slightest bit off kilter. Everyone struggles, he reassured himself, even those who masquerade about feigning faultlessness. A million and one results flashed across the LED screen. He shut the laptop and cursed his foolishness, opting to sleep it off instead. Though aware of his defects, of which there were many, Viktor was not weak. Readily, he erased the fruitless endeavor from his mind. He had a final to win and a beautifully infuriating rival to obliterate. For the first time in many months, Viktor was looking forward to a competition.

Two days later, the morning channeled its energy into sunbeams, relentlessly bludgeoning Viktor's tightly clenched eyes with their obnoxious radiance. He had a migraine, likely stress induced. Those within the Russian team who had made the top six in their respective division met with their coach at the airport, costumes and luggage in tow. Georgi bid them goodbye, along with Mila and Yura. Lilia, who normally accompanied the little ones, had stayed at home to prepare new choreography for Europeans, and thank god for that. She had been indirectly hounding Viktor through Yakov about ballet, saying he'd lost what made him a great skater and claiming only dance could remedy the matter.

While trapped on the plane, sandwiched between Yakov and Katya, Viktor previewed the men's GPF lineup for the first time. He'd been avoiding it for far too long, and Chris decided that it was simply unacceptable, threatening to send him screenshots from the ISU website if Viktor didn't check it himself before landing in Italy. The top six included Viktor himself, Chris, Yuuri, Javier Fernandez from Spain, Morgan Ciprés of France, and Kevin Alves representing Canada.

Javier and Chris were his most prominent competitors, but if Katsuki kept his nerves in check, the newcomer was entirely capable of stealing the gold from beneath their noses, especially if he had suitably polished his new free program. Viktor looked best in gold, however, as silver blended into his hair and clashed horrendously against his pale complexion, therefore anything less than first would be inadmissible.

Italy was more sultry than the man had anticipated. It might as well be summer, with highs of sixty five and lows in the mid-forties. Russia was buried beneath layers of compacted snow, so the sudden heat was a stark and unwelcome contrast. Hopefully the rink had decent refrigeration, otherwise they'd be skating through a mess of slush. Who had thought it a good idea to hold the finals in Italy, of all places?

Thankfully, Viktor managed to sleep through the latter half of the ride. The Russian trio piled into an admittedly sketchy taxi and began their migration.

The first thing Viktor noticed upon entering the humid hotel lobby was Celestino. The man stood out wherever he went, with his flashy high ponytail and distinct height. He looked at ease, but that was to be expected, considering the fact that they were in his country of origin.

The second thing he saw was the slight figure at the burly Italian's side. Clearly, it was Katsuki, but not the one he had grown used to seeing. Had his skin been this dull at the Rostelecom cup? Why were the bags under his eyes more prominent than the dim irises above them? In less than a month, Yuuri looked to have lost at least ten pounds. The only plausible explanation was an illness of some kind, but why was he competing if he couldn't give a hundred and one percent? Maybe he was a stubborn ass, not unlike Viktor himself.

No matter, if he was healthy enough to travel, he was healthy enough to compete. The feisty little Thai skater was here, too, so that meant he had backup, but it also meant he would get Chris all to himself. Viktor made a note to steer clear of the pair.

As the Russian team stood behind Yuuri and company in line, patiently awaiting their turn to speak with the bouncy blonde receptionist, Phichit took notice of Viktor and bristled like a startled cat. The older skater could almost see the animosity radiating from the boy's body, daring him to approach so he could take a bite out of Viktor's arm, or something. It gave him the heebie jeebies.

Well, Viktor had no plans to interact with Yuuri, at least not until the banquet, so Phichit could respectfully shove it. Chris had implored him to make at least one more attempt at an apology, this time in a less public setting so Yuuri wouldn't feel pressured to respond a certain way, despite Viktor's ardent protests. The plan was to approach Katsuki right before taking his leave, so if things went south, he could tell Chris "well, I tried!" and make a swift escape to bypass any further damage.

"Vitya! Pay attention. Why are you staring off into space? Take your key and get unpacked, then meet me in the arena so you can get used to the ice."

So it begins. Viktor did as Yakov asked, boarding the elevator. The minute twinge of anticipation that settled in his gut went unnoticed, entombed beneath a blanket of exhaustion.