I Grieve In Stereo

Chapter Text

"Viktor! Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry?"

"You stupid old man! Go bald, get dementia, blegh! You drive me crazy!"

"Are you still mad at me?"

"Of course I am! You acted like a total douche!"

"Language, Yura."

Viktor gave a pleasant, genuine smile, gently ruffling the hair on the younger skater's head,earning a rough shove in response. It had been a slow morning, the kind preceded by a dinner with Yakov. When he had awoken in his coach's guest bedroom, Viktor knew it was going to be a decent day.

He, Yakov, Lilia and the tiny terrors had shared a light breakfast that was more conversation than consumption. It was fun taking on the role of big brother, though the little ones refused to refer to Viktor as such. There was something refreshing about helping someone else instead of focusing on himself.

The press loved to make him out as a self obsessed playboy, concerned with only his own needs, but Viktor relished in moments where he had the opportunity to assist those he loved. It gave him proper purpose in a life that lacked clear direction and control.

When Yura had pulled Viktor aside that morning, the older skater had been pleasantly surprised. The blonde was a fiery and self-sufficient little thing, conditioned to do everything on his own, rarely asking for assistance even when he was clearly struggling with something.

Yura had asked him for tips on landing his triple flip, bashfully listing off his previous failures as if justifying his inquiry. How could Viktor possibly say no?

Yes, Viktor was happy to help, but he was admittedly preoccupied. The night prior, as he lay in bed desperately seeking out a distraction, he had stumbled upon a certain skater's Tiktok page.

There was only one video available for public viewing, a short 'life in the day of a figure skater' type vlog with a trending sound playing quietly in the background.

A text lit up the sliding bar at the top of his screen. Lilia? He'd look into it later.

Yuuri started his day at around 6:30 in the morning, reluctantly awoken by that junior Thai skater he had been glued to at Skate America. Apparently they were roommates, and since Yuuri didn't reliably respond to his phone's pre-set alarms, Phichit took on the role of human alarm clock.

The video continued on to show a humble rink. Yuuri's soft voice had been pasted over the footage, patiently explaining that the venue pictured was where they worked with Celestino during competition season. There were even a few shots of the pair practicing their programs.

Yuuri didn't show much of his own face, instead filming from a first person point of view and talking to the viewer as if they were at his side. In fact, the only moments that visually included the boy were the aforementioned skating segments.

After the practice montage, the video shifted its focus towards Yuuri's schooling. Short clips of one of the boy's professors speaking animatedly in a large lecture hall and sneak peaks at his homework made up the majority of the video's second half, but at the very end, Yuuri had included about twenty seconds worth of footage.

That final twenty seconds hit Viktor the hardest. It was astonishing, really, how something so simple could bring out feelings so deplorable within Viktor. Yuuri had everything. He had close friends, an education… and a family.

The end of the video had centered around a FaceTime call open on Yuuri's laptop. A kind looking woman with round cheeks was chattering on in a language Viktor didn't understand, bouncing in her seat as she spoke to the camera.

Next to her was a portly man with salt and pepper hair that had been slicked back in a neat comb over. The last person present was a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to Yuuri. It didn't take a genius to see how much they all loved one another, language barrier aside.

Yes, Yuuri had access to everything a person could want, all the things Viktor lacked the luxury of enjoying. He knew it was pathetic. He was smart enough to see that his inner thoughts and perceptions were selfish, so the man would lock them away diligently, concealing them beneath a practiced smile and cool demeanor.

At the very least, he should be allowed to feel and acknowledge them, even if only in his own company, no? If Viktor couldn't have anything else, he deserved the right to analyze his feelings, to allow their weight to settle within his chest and serve the ravenous hunger that drove him forward.

The anger outweighed the guilt, a rare occurrence, one Viktor wouldn't dare take lightly.

So he moved past his initial grief, gently guiding his worries into the backdrop of his consciousness. Today all of his attention would be dedicated to Yura, as he had promised. Maybe he could erase his growing debt by giving more than he had taken.

Though the recipients of Viktor's two vastly different selves shared a name, they earned two separate pieces of his heart. One had found his way into the most shameful corners of Viktor's being, fueled only by rage and spite, jealousy coupled with shame, and the other inspired warmth and unconditional love, not unlike that of a parent and their child. He could only hope karma would take pity on his soul.

The two Russians worked tirelessly that morning, running through several combination jumps and individual triples. Even the devoted 'ice tiger' had limits, so once lunchtime rolled around, Viktor forced the boy to sit down and eat a healthy lunch to replenish his energy.

"I think I've convinced Yakov to allow me a pet."

'And I think you're mistaken', Viktor thought to himself. He knew first hand how Yakov felt about animals.

It had taken him months and a therapist's recommendation for him to earn the privilege of owning a pet, and even then, he had been made to sign an informal contract stating that the dog would be entirely his responsibility. Little Yuri didn't have the time or maturity to take care of an animal.

"And how did you come to that conclusion, Yuratchka?"

Gulping down a large mournful of steamed chicken, Yura took a big swig out of his water bottle before responding "Lilia said that if I got all A's for a full semester and kept on top of my training, I could get a cat! Yakov doesn't like saying no to her, so by default, I'm pretty sure it's a yes!"

That made sense. Though the two were separated, they had grown close in recent years, even moving in together in order to properly care for the younger skaters who had less than savory home lives. Yakov had a well known soft spot for the swan-like woman, bending to her will in a way he would for no other.

"Are you excited? What shall we name her? Or is it a him? Do you know where you're going to get it?"

"Mm, I want to adopt a shelter cat. A stray should take care of another stray."

"Don't call yourself that, Yura. Your situation is unique."

"The same way yours is?"

"…touché, brat."

The blonde cackled out in triumph and shoved another heaping helping of chicken into his cheeks, looking like an overgrown chipmunk. What a precious sight it was, such a proud boy acting like the child he was. Viktor may have lost the verbal battle, but he had won the war.

"One moment, Yura, I need to type out an email. A sponsor wants my opinion on the Rostelecom promo's color scheme so I've got to-"

"Yeah, yeah, I don't need the details. Get it over with so we can return to practice!"

Viktor raised an eyebrow at Yura's impatience, quirking a small smile at the familiar eager attitude he displayed. They were truly two of a kind, so much so that one may mistake them for siblings had they known Viktor as a child.

Pulling out his phone, Viktor opened up his messenger app, doing his best not to flinch at the lack of activity. He had been burning bridges left and right. Most of them were inconsequential, but others, not so much. Chris hadn't messaged him since the night of the banquet. No matter, Viktor hadn't the energy to dwell on it, instead setting his sights on a more exciting endeavor.

Vitya: What is this I'm hearing about Yura getting a cat?

Coach: Bah, I had hoped he had forgotten. The boy has a one track mind. I'd prefer if he solely applied it to skating, but this whole cat ordeal has lasted months. I'd say he's earned it.

Vitya: I think so too

Vitya: Would it be possible for me to take him to the shelter? I want to see the look on his face when he finds 'the one'.

Coach: You should be focusing on yourself. I haven't forgotten what happened in America.

Vitya: But Yakov :( Please? I'll do double time at the rink for a whole week

Coach: Two weeks… and wait until next weekend.

Vitya: Ok, that's fine! Why?

Coach: For the moment, I want him to focus on perfecting that triple flip.

Vitya: Makes sense. I bet I can have him landing it by Wednesday.

Coach: Focus on your own programs, Vitya. You have tough competition this season.

Vitya: Ладно.

"Yura, put some time aside for me next weekend. I need help moving that ikea coffee table into my apartment."

"Да, whatever."

The plan was in place and it gave Viktor's tired heart something to look forward to. Things had been tense between him and his 'mini me' since Skate America.

Yura, knowing Viktor through and through, had caught onto the older man's foul glances and stiff behavior towards Katsuki. Upon hearing the cruel interview Viktor had given the day of their short programs, the boy promptly flipped his shit, sending paragraph upon paragraph of outraged threats.

It was on that day Viktor learned little Yura had an idol, and it wasn't him. No, of course it had to be Yuuri Katsuki. The bastard seemed to have an innate ability to take the most sacred of things and crush them to ash. It was admittedly unintentional this time, but Viktor was slighted nonetheless.

Although it was selfish, the goal was to earn back Yura's trust, and what better way than making one of his dreams come true? Viktor would get to see a rare smile bloom onto his face once they pulled up to the adoption center, too, which was an even more exciting notion. It felt wrong that they hadn't been acting like the family they had become, and Viktor knew just how to remedy the situation.

As promised, he continued running his own programs in the evenings, mornings typically spent preoccupied with assisting Yuri through spins and jumps.

Viktor found it was becoming harder to hide his growing exuberance as the day drew near. There were still blips of guilt and rage, but any thoughts of Yuuri were vastly overshadowed by the anticipation Viktor felt in regards to the surprise he had planned.

The day had passed the same as any other, dissipating into the wind along with a mixture of blood, sweat, and tears, all integral facets of their rigorous training schedule. Viktor had even been a little extra pushy, having Yura repeat his triple flip and toe loop until the boy was so physically exhausted the he was visibly panting.

As the two packed up their practice bags and slipped into Viktor's unassuming little Beamer, Viktor twiddled his thumbs, silently vibrating with glee.

"What are you doing asshole? You took the wrong exit. You don't even know how to get to your own house?"

"Ah, I need to run by the grocery store first. You can stay in the car, I just need to grab some food for Makka."

"Can you grab me some Kartoshkas? I want to mail some to grandpa. I'll pay you back."

"Да, no worries. You don't need to pay me back. They cost next to nothing."

"For you, maybe."

Viktor gave a short hum in response, not paying the small dig at his spending habits any mind. There were much more important things to come. The man took another left and drove down a discreet backroad, entering back onto the highway once they were less than a mile away from their destination.

Taking a deep breath as he parked in a spot near the front of the center, Viktor shook Yura, leading him to look up from the mobile game he had been immersed in.

The curses died on his tongue and the young boy looked up to see a sign reading 'Pets Alive'. He blinked once, and then twice, swinging his head between the sign and Viktor too many times to count before he was able to choke any words out.

"Why… Why are we here? You're not screwing with me, are you?"

"Is it not obvious, Yuratchka? To get you a friend."

The blonde's lip quivered, forming a small upturned crescent as he fought back a wave of tears.

His chubby little cheeks and nose grew red as he fought to form a coherent sentence. Instead of speaking, Yura tilted his head down, not meeting Viktor's gentle gaze.

Leaning across the divider separating the passenger seat from the driver's seat, the boy tugged gently on Viktor's sleeve before giving him a short half-hug. It was the most gratitude he had ever seen the young boy openly display.

"Let's go peruse, hmm?"

"Thank you, Viktor."

"Don't mention it."

Yura seemed almost shy as he entered the building, eyes looking around brashly as if he were trying to hide his excitement. It was so out of character that Viktor was bordering on being concerned. Was it too much? Maybe it would have been best to tell him ahead of time. Viktor loved surprises, but that didn't mean everyone else did as well.

"How can I help you boys?" Questioned the small elderly woman seated at the front desk. Her graying hair was clipped back into a loose bun, loose locks falling out near the base of her neck and spilling onto the pastel pink flannel she adorned.

"We'd like to take a look at the cats you have up for adoption, if that's alright?" Viktor replied.

"Lovely, follow me!"

Yura's face reflected the childish joy he was obviously holding in as they stalked through rows upon rows of cats and kittens, each one fitted with a colorful collar and nameplate. The nameplates listed their personality traits, age, and gender, allowing the pair to choose the perfect fit for Yura's preferences.

They held and played with around a dozen cats, clearly taking their time and enjoying the process. As they began getting to know cat number 11, a fluffy Siamese kitten named Rhubarb, Viktor noticed a shift in Yuri's demeanor. He was cradling the creature like a child, staring at her with eyes full of tender compassion.

"This one. I want this one. Did you see her story? She's so small…"

Viktor hadn't remembered to survey the details of her nameplate, so he meandered over to the now empty cage and glanced at the label.

Rhubarb, 9 Weeks, Female

Rhubarb was found in a hoarder's yard after the home's owner died of old age. She was trapped underneath a fallen tire casing for nearly a week before we got to her. At only four weeks old, Rhubarb survived the odds and found her way into our shelter.

She has a playful demeanor and can get a bit sassy at times, but the little angel gets along well with humans and other animals . She is litter box trained and can walk on a leash.

Jesus Christ, they spared no details. It was probably a tactic used to encourage potential adoption candidates to go through with it, but that didn't change the fact that poor little Rhubarb's sob story could bring a grown man to his knees.

The kitten did suit Yura, their situations were eerily similar in the worst of ways. Both were free of those shackles, but much like her human counterpart, Rhubarb was likely carrying some fear along with her.

The amount of paperwork was excessive to say the least, but it was all worth it in the end as Viktor took a moment to soak in Yura's gratitude and happiness.

He needn't say a word to convey it, his demeanor said enough. They drove back to Yakov's home, stopping at the pet store to buy some essentials such as a litter box and food along the way. Lilia met them at the door, her harsh features forming into a gentle smile, though it looked a bit pained.

Yakov could deny it all he wanted, but it was clear that he had fallen for Rhubarb's charms the moment he had laid eyes on her. Mila was ecstatic, jumping in place and trying her damndest to snatch the kitten from Yuri's arms, pleading for a chance to hold her.

Viktor headed up to the loft so he could set everything up while Yura helped with dinner and worked on his homework. This room had once belonged to Viktor.

Every faint mark and chip were familiar and nostalgic, reminding him of the fact that he was once a child too. It was bittersweet seeing a space he had once called his own completely transformed into that which suited another. He had his own apartment now, though it was cold and empty.

"Vitya, come down and set the table, please." Called Lilia.

Shaking the melancholy away, Viktor skipped down the stairs and found his way to the silverware drawer, delicately selecting each piece of shined cutlery and setting them in their designated spot on the table. He filled two cups with iced water and just a splash of lemon juice, another with whiskey, and his own with room temperature cranberry juice.

Lilia always preferred to pour her own wine, insisting Viktor would drop the bottle and waste the money she had spent on the elevated brands she so favored. It happened one time, three years ago.

"I hate her name. I can change it right? She's just a baby, she won't mind." Exclaimed Yuri through a mouthful of mashed sweet potato.

"Don't choose something stupid. You're always trying so hard to be edgy." Pouted Mila, still bitter over not yet getting a chance to hold Rhubarb.

"Of course, she's yours now. What were you thinking?" Yakov retorted, shooting a 'be quiet' glare in the young girls direction.

"I think… how about Puma? No, she's fiercer than that…"

Viktor knew exactly where this was going.

"First name Puma, middle name Tiger, last name Scorpion! Ла, it's perfect!"

Viktor couldn't help it, he burst out into a fit of laughter, nearly spraying half the table with water. Mila cackled along with him, not caring if Yura heard. Lilia and Yakov weren't much better off, hiding their amusement behind feigned coughs and thinly pressed lips.

"What's wrong with that? Why are you laughing?"

Viktor held his hands up in defense, shaking his head in denial, though the small chuckles that slipped past his lips gave him away. "It's just a bit long, is all. I don't think an old man like me can remember all that."

Yura nodded, eyes squinted in concentration. "How about Potya for short? It's classy, no?"

Mila nodded, sneakily bending her arm beneath the table and scratching behind the kitten's ears. Rhubarb had been officially dubbed 'Potya', becoming the newest member of their little family on a lazy Sunday evening.

All good things must come to an end, as they say, and once Viktor had finished assisting the youngsters with dish duty, he bid the group goodnight, setting out for his own home where Makkachin awaited him dutifully. The drive was spent in a trance, eyes fixated on the road ahead and mind elsewhere.

Evenings usually went this way for Viktor. There weren't proper words to explain the way it gripped him by the throat, urging the life from his lungs in tiny bursts of discontent. Discontent did the feeling no justice, but agony felt a little too dramatic, even for his tastes. He had no right to use such a descriptive word in regards to a feeling as nondescript as the one he experienced nightly.

Clicking the buttons on his keys in two gentle taps, effectively locking his car, Viktor made his way into the building and pressed the '8th floor' key as he situated himself in the corner of the elevator. Yura had gotten his kitten and Viktor had gotten to be happy for a few hours. That's how it always went, short term goals bridging into one another. An endless cycle of highs and lows that seamlessly dictated his mood.

The next thing to look forward to was the Rostelecom cup, nearly two weeks away. Two weeks of empty mornings, two weeks of isolation outside of rink time. It didn't help that he wasn't able to text Chris as he typically would in times of woe.

Upon entering his home, Viktor set his keys down in the small thrifted China bowl that rested upon the dining room table.

The telltale tap of Makka's claws clattering against the hardwood allowed him to brace himself for her loving assault. He took her outside for twenty minutes, soaking in the night breeze as she took her time sniffing out squirrels and using the bathroom. They returned inside, dragging their feet and paws respectively.

Viktor changed into a pair of gray sweats, transforming into 'Vitya'. His shoulders slouched and his bangs covered his face as the man held himself, knees pulled up to his chest. The cold leather of the couch did little to ease the hot pangs of loneliness. The clock on his wall was letting out soft ticks as the seconds passed, nearly driving him crazy. He could see why his mother had hated them so ardently.

He unlocked his phone, turning the table lamp on so the device could read his face. There was nothing there for him, no matter how deeply he searched. No meaningful messages, no one to call. His fans, how could he forget his fans? Eyes bleary, he opened up Twitter and began scrolling solemnly.

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@SkateDaily

Rumors say that Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov was blatantly underscored at Skate America due to allegations regarding his sexual identity, but ardent Japanese figure skating fans disagree, claiming bad sportsmanship on Russian fans behalf. Read the article linked below to hear more!

Http://Viktor?Nikiforovskateallegations//skatedaily.com

2:07 pm 11/02/19 • 47823 views

103 Retweets 12.9 k Likes 37 Bookmarks

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@Icegoddess842

@skatedaily They are just rumors, stop perpetuating stereotypes. Viktor's obviously not gay, people see a male figure skater and run with the narrative that he's too feminine to like women… get real.

2:24 pm 11/02/19 • 2371 views

14 Retweets 521 Likes 4 Bookmarks

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@nikiforovobvi

@icegoddess842 Ikr… the drama is unreal. It doesn't help when 'reliable' news outlets hop on the bandwagon for a few extra clicks. Shit drives me NUTS bro. Leave Viktor alone :/ he's got enough on his plate.

3:58 pm 11/02/19 • 1862 views

11 Retweets 198 Likes 1 Bookmarks

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@donttrustme

@nikiforovobvi So, like, what if he is gay? What's the big deal? You guys are kinda being shitty abt the whole thing. If he is gay and he sees comments like this, how do you think it'll make him feel?

4:32 pm 11/02/19 • 911 views

3 Retweets 79 Likes 1 Bookmarks

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No more Twitter, no more phone, and no more fan wars. It was one thing to debate scores and programs, but digging into something as personal as his sexuality was absolutely invasive. Yes, Viktor Nikiforov is a public figure, but he's an athlete first and foremost. Shouldn't the focus be on his hard earned achievements?

This was the last thing he needed to be thinking about. Viktor rarely allowed his mind to wander to romance, accepting the fact that it simply wasn't in the cards for him. This life was meant to be spent on the ice, in the cold, never in the warmth of another's arms.

Viktor had one night stands here and there, but only when he was too drunk to properly think it through. When he awoke in the bed of a stranger, it always rocked him to his core, especially because that stranger was always another man.

The world was changing, acceptance for all sorts of unique preferences had grown astronomically in many countries around the world. Russia was not one of them. It was no longer illegal to bed another of the same sex, but it might as well be. Homosexuality was seen as an unfortunate sexual deviance, a disease, even.

That mindset had been drilled into him thoroughly as a young boy pursuing the arts. The implications of partaking in 'feminine' hobbies such as dance and skating were concerning enough to cause discourse among fans, so by validating the stereotype, Viktor would not only be harming his own career, but the careers of others.

He would behave and stay within the parameters that had been set. Viktor wouldn't allow silly thoughts of love and temporary affection to muddy his determination.

Not once had he even alluded to it, publicly or otherwise. Those ridiculous one night stands, the ones that he couldn't even remember were the only thing that threatened to expose his preferences. The hopeless romantic he had once been was dead, buried beneath layers of sediment that would remain untouched until his dying day.

That little boy would hate who he had become in the pursuit of success. The nine year old Vitya who had been obsessed with fairytales and princes… and that one older boy in his second year of ballet classes.

He could remember it so clearly, the way his pulse would patter in an uneven rhythm every time Lilia had paired the two for their pre-workout stretches, the amorous glances he would steal as they took turns pushing one another into the splits.

Poor little Vitya, too shy to speak a single word aloud. Even when he learned to make conversation, it was nothing of substance, just aimless chatter used to conceal his affections. Demitry had been so kind and gentle with his heart of glass. What could he be doing now, Viktor wondered. Hopefully he had achieved his dreams of becoming a professional danseur.

Viktor could probably find out what he was up to if he searched hard enough. It was a tempting idea, one that would thoroughly distract him from the solitude of his own empty home. So he opened Instagram, cautiously typing Demitry's full name into the search bar.

It felt dirty and stalkerish, but it's not like anyone would ever find out. Sure enough, a public profile appeared within seconds. His face had matured, boyish charms transforming into adult sensuality. Viktor clicked the quick-link and began perusing the man's post history.

Demitry had become a danseur, performing in front of large crowds all around the world. His list of credits was insane, rivaling Viktor's own. All of the photographs were beautiful visions of grace and artistry, but one in particular caused his heart to catch in his throat.

Demitry was pictured in a navy suit that had been expertly fitted to his lithe form. At his side was a shorter man with curly ginger hair that cascaded over his ears in soft waves. There were warm spatters of freckles covering the curves of the man's pink tinged cheeks.

He looked like he had been crafted from the sun, radiating warmth in a way Viktor had never before seen. The pair were locked in a gentle kiss. It was so overwhelming, the flurry of emotions it drew out of Viktor.

He was happy for Demitry, happy he had found a place for love and warmth in their cold lifestyle. Viktor wasn't so as to deny the fact that he was jealous, however.

The two conflicting emotions were struggling against one another, nearly giving him whiplash as they tugged his heart back and forth. He wasn't jealous of the pretty redhead, though his younger self would have definitely have despised his sunny presence at Demitry's side.

No, Viktor was jealous of the bond they shared, two halves of a whole. How had they pulled it off?

Viktor backtracked from the photo he had selected, turning his attention to the man's bio. Ah, there it was Demitry had settled down in America. There was no place for Viktor in the U.S, not if he wanted to continue pursuing success in his field of interest.

Dancers could migrate with ease, flocking to European countries and America in droves. There were so many places that reserved respect for their art form, content to welcome them with open arms. The same could not be said for ice skating.

Russia was known for it, and Viktor had often considered himself one of the lucky ones, having been born in a country that held his practice in high esteem. It was an unfortunate trade off.

No use wallowing in it further. He shouldn't have delved into his past, anyways. There was no better place to lol than ahead, and he had foolishly done just the opposite.

Viktor fell asleep on the couch that night, as he often did, earning himself days of neck pain and a three day migraine. The days before the Rostelecom cup were absolutely brutal. Yakov worked Viktor to the bone, not allowing a hint of imperfection to slip through the cracks. That was why he stuck with his coach.

While a lot of skaters hopped around intent on learning new skills from new people, Viktor continued to sculpt himself into top form under Yakov and Aleksei's strict instruction. During off season, he would sometimes travel in order to complete training camps with well known retirees, but none of it made much change to his technique. Yakov was the best there was, at least in Viktor's humble opinion.

Three days before they were set to head out for the venue, little Yura began kicking up a fuss.

"Yakov, please! It'll be a learning experience. How am I supposed to improve without seeing how the pros do it?" The blonde pleaded.

"You have Viktor and Georgi at your disposal. What more could you want? People would kill to be in your position, not to mention the fact that Lilia and I train you daily." was Yakov's gruff reply.

That didn't bode well with the petulant little skater. It was clear that he wouldn't let up until his demands had been met. Yakov had confided in Viktor that the boy's behavior was a healthy representation of his competitive nature, so Yura was given an ultimatum.

"If you can earn the money for your own train ticket, you can come. A healthy dose of the real world would do you good."

Yakov's unexpected compliance surprised Viktor, but it wasn't like he was handing the opportunity over for free. With their coach, everything was a lesson. The train fee was 6,770 rubles, pocket change, really.

To a child, it was a daunting sum, but Yura didn't back down. He had gone around to all of the older skaters asking for chores to complete, anything to earn enough money to meet his idol in person.

Yakov had preemptively warned him that Yuuri was probably not anything Yura expected him to be, but even that warning did little to dampen the boy's determination. Six lawns and three shopping trips later, Yuri had met his quota with 300 rubles to spare.

That's how Viktor ended up squashed between his snoring coach and ecstatic rinkmate for a full two hour train ride. The music that leaked from Plisetsky's earbuds was ironically a mirror of Viktor's own eclectic tastes, though he kept it under the radar so as to not ruin the elegant image he had built for the public. The two shared a love of rock, especially classic rock.

Their go-to was a German rock band from the 80's called 'The Scorpions'. Viktor favored emotional tracks like wind of change whereas Yura tended to loop their heavier songs, most notably Rock You Like A Hurricane.

Yakov would claim god was calling him home anytime the skaters attempted to play the music over the intercom while they skated their warm up laps, but one of these days Viktor would convince him to allow a short program centered around one of their songs. That or he'd perform to one of their songs in the summer season ice shows he was dutifully forced into every year.

The band as an entity meant a lot to him. His father hadn't been around for much of his youth, or adulthood for that matter, but one of Viktor's formative childhood memories took place at one of their concerts.

In early spring of Viktor's 8th year, his mother had entered into another…episode. He panicked and used the family landline to phone his father, begging him to return home and help. Vitya hadn't a clue how to handle his mother when she was having one of her 'moments'.

Mister Nikiforov had been on his way to a concert where he would be meeting up with his high school friend group for the first time in many years.

Not wanting to leave his son with someone of unstable mind, the man turned his truck around and removed Viktor from the home, gently tucking his child into the passenger seat. Instead of going to a hotel, he brought the boy along, buying one of the last available tickets upon arriving at the venue.

His father's friends had spoiled him rotten with treats, showering him with icecream and popcorn and cheering as Viktor rocked out to the music with the rest of the group, and so a little metal head was born. Yura would loathe to admit the fact that he had picked up his 'edgy' style and attitude from Viktor, but it was nothing short of the truth.

They arrived at the St. Regis Moscow Nikolskaya hotel at 7 P.M. Yura ran into the lobby like a feral toddler on a sugar high, which left Georgi, Katya and Viktor horribly embarrassed as they scrambled to control their rink-mate.

Aleksei and Yakov were too distracted picking up their keycards from the front desk to be of any help. Everyone but Yuri would be competing, so stress levels were off the charts.

A steady stream of skaters from around the world were trickling in through the sheer glass doors of the building, eyes curiously taking in the intricate gold detailing that lined the eggshell tinted wallpaper.

The hotel was unusually nice for a federation sponsored event, most stays costing around 31,311 rubles a night. It was probably a culture shock for many of the athletes, especially those who were visiting Russia for the first time.

Viktor was growing antsy as they awaited the bellhop, fearing a certain someone's impending arrival. The last thing he needed was an awkward stare down with thing one and thing two. That Thai skater had a nasty temper, god only knows what kind of accusations he would toss out this time.

The Russian had tried to let him spill his guts and vent the seemingly endless outpour of rage from within at Skate America, but Yuuri had shown up and thrown a fit, blaming him for the spectacle instead of the true culprit.

Figures. Every time Viktor tried to play nice, it backfired on him explosively. He was through with Yuuri and his little entourage's penchant for drama. He wouldn't touch that mess with a ten foot pole.

Luckily, it wasn't something he would have to worry about for the time being, seeing as the bellhop arrived with their luggage cart before any unwelcome faces made their grand entrance.

The group of Russians, like a traveling circus, made their way through the building, loudly cracking jokes and hushing one another when their coaches shot them warning glares.

Katya had her own room, as did Georgi. Viktor was paired up with Yura, meaning he was on glorified babysitting duty, and the two coaches were situated in the master suite at the end of the hall.

After setting his suitcase down and hanging his steam pressed costumes inside the tiny hotel closet, Viktor put on a simple light gray Walmart brand hoodie. It was a sort of magic trick he had learned somewhere along the way, hiding in plain sight.

He needed an energy drink if he was to catch up with the rest of his crew at dinner. Yura insisted on joining him, pulling out the old puppy dog eyes and insisting he could buy his own drink and snack combo. Viktor would have been happy to pay for it, but the boy seemed proud to pay his own way.

The two headed to the first floor canteen which lay nestled between the lobby and indoor pool. No one had recognized them, thank god. Viktor wasn't sure he could handle playing up the charm, as tired as he was.

On their way back upstairs, little Yura stopped dead in his tracks just before they reached the elevator. The older Russian nearly trampled over him, catching his weight on the wall instead.

"Viktor. Oh my god. Viktor, look!"

Standing in front of the elevator were two familiar faces. Chris and Yuuri were making polite conversation as they awaited the lift. Well, if you could even call it that.

It was mostly Chris talking at Yuuri who stood there shyly, anxiously fiddling with his bag's drawstrings. What a joke. He had managed to lure Viktor's best friend in with his pleasant little pretense. It took every bit of Viktor's inner self control, but he kept the snarky quips forming on his tongue to himself for Yura's sake.

It would do neither of them any good if he were to cause a scene, and Yuuri was the boy's idol. It was a losing battle. Viktor chewed on his lip, deep in thought. Would Yuuri take their own beef out on Yura? Surely not, they were in front of Chris and his party.

This would be the perfect time for the junior skater to grab an autograph. Yuuri would have to be brain dead to show his true colors in front of so many reputable faces. Settling on what he concluded was the right choice, Viktor gave Yura's back a gentle shove, pushing him towards Katsuki.

"Go on, then. You wanted to meet him, right?"

The glimmer that shone in Yuri's bright green eyes was answer enough. Hands clutched nervously at his sides, the boy teetered his way to Yuuri's side, discreetly pulling at the fabric of the man's sleeve to grab his attention.

Viktor pulled the hoodie further over his hair, watching the interaction play out from the sidelines. If anything went awry, he could intervene, but it was best to keep his presence concealed if at all possible. Yura deserved to maintain the image he had built up of Katsuki in his head, who was Viktor to bring it crashing down to Earth?

"Mister Katsuki?"

Yuuri broke eye contact with Chris, looking down to the source of contact. His soft features formed into a quizzical expression as he bent down to Yura's level.

"Hi there. Are you lost?"

The blonde shook his head vigorously, standing as tall as his small frame would allow. Yuuri was obviously uneducated on how to deal with fans, and to be honest, it was pretty comical to watch him flounder in the face of Yuri Plisetsky of all peoples

"No! I'm… I'm a skater!"

What was he trying to achieve here, exactly? Viktor was worried Yuuri would grow impatient with the boy's evident anxiety.

He couldn't fathom watching the light in Yura's eyes flicker out as he realized that his idol wasn't who he presented himself to be. Viktor silently prayed to any and all higher powers that may be, pleading with them to allow the interaction to play out smoothly.

There was a heavy bout of silence, suffocating and deafening. Instead of lashing out or sneering, Yuuri displayed none of the impatience Viktor had been subjected to at the banquet.

The man placed a hand on the child's fluffy head of hair, playfully rustling it to and fro before returning "That much is obvious, silly. You move with a dancer's grace. You've trained in ballet, haven't you?"

"Yes! I train with Madame Lilia Baranovskaya!"

Yuuri visibly stiffened, but only for a fraction of a second. There's no way he connected the dots… right?

"Oh, I'm so jealous! My ballet instructor trained beneath her for most of her teenage years. She always tells me how wonderful it was to learn from such a natural talent."

Yura was bouncing on the balls of his feet, beaming at Yuuri's involved response. Color Viktor impressed. Celestino had trained him, after all. The young Russian took a deep breath, clenching his eyes tightly shut as he shoved his phone towards his Japanese counterpart.

"Can I please get a picture with you? I'm your biggest fan, and one day, when I join seniors, I'll be your biggest rival !"

Yuuri's face flushed as he sputtered out an unintelligible response. Was he mad at Yura for his bold declaration? Viktor tensed up again, awaiting the worst.

"I- uh- with me? You want a picture with me? Or did you mean Chris-"

Yura pushed the phone into Yuuri's hands and positioned himself at the man's side, not even glancing in Giocommeti's direction. That had to sting. The child was red faced and sweaty as he repossessed the phone and held his shaky hand up in the air, camera poised and ready.

Though faint and brief, the click was gratifying in so many ways. Viktor couldn't help but smile. Good, Yura had gotten what he had come here for, no damage control needed.

"Thank you!"

He remembered his manners, too! Perfect. Viktor would have to treat him to a soda later, if he could slip it past Yakov and Aleksei.

"Viktor! Look, I did it!" The boy shouted as he ran back towards the Russian, small palm holding his cellphone outstretched in the air.

Yuuri's chestnut eyes snapped to meet the Russian's now frozen form, expression contorting into one of total shock. Chris's brows raised to his hairline, eyes wide as he followed suit. Well, there goes any chance of remaining incognito.