fivetimechamp: by me (dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità)
All commentary thanks to the outstanding Toraonice:


Miyamoto: Hello, I’m the choreographer Kenji Miyamoto.
Kubo: Hello, I’m the original planner Mitsurou Kubo. Thank you for today.
M: Thank you~.
K: Thank you for coming. Well then, this is Victor Nikiforov’s free skating, “Aria (Hanarezu ni Soba ni Ite)”. So, regarding the choreography, what did you pay attention to when you created it, Kenji-sensei?
M: Yes. Regarding Victor, I created the choreography trying to make his throat and chin look beautiful, like in the stone statues you see in museums.
K: So basically, it’s important to have a clear image when you create a choreography, isn’t it?
M: Yes. When you want to show something, you have to make it so that it comes forward.
K: So that it comes forward.
M: Yes. If you try to express too many things it will just get confusing, so I always try to show the points I want to convey as much as possible.
K: Ok. Regarding this choreography, well, it’s not really the choreography itself, but I would like to explain the reason Kenji-sensei’s clothing style is a bit unfashionable. If the right & left arms and legs don’t look different in some way there is a high chance that they’ll get mixed up when creating the animations, so we asked him to make them look somewhat different, and that’s why he’s like, showing only one sock, using different gloves, and so on.
M: Exactly. And it just happens that I was wearing striped socks that day (LOL). If I think about it now it’s quite embarrassing (LOL).
K: He’s also changing outfits a few times, and this is because from time to time we would like, retake the sequence, or ask him to skate again a part we didn’t have enough material for, and such.
M: This outfit [tn: the white shirt] was used to check how to depict the fabric fluttering because of the wind.
K: Though it was just in the beginning, right? (LOL.) But yeah, Victor’s skating in episode 1 is really, you know, the animated scene was really amazing, but actually “Hanarezu ni Soba ni Ite” is also the first program that was choreographed.
M: Yes. At the time there wasn’t a clear image for it, but I received lots of input from sensei, so…
K: Yeah, we requested the choreography when the story wasn’t completely decided yet, and I was kind of worried that we had made Kenji-sensei uneasy, but he came up with such nice steps.
M: Well, indeed, I did make it so that you could get level 4. In the program I used deep edges, choctaw, bracket, rocker, counter and all kinds of steps, so if you use it in a tournament you might actually get a good score. I mean, you will get a good score.
K: You do?
M: Yes.
K: See, we can feel at ease because we know that Kenji-sensei will think about all these things too when he creates the choreographies… Ah, this is my camera (LOL). [tn: when Miyamoto looks like he’s skating toward the screen]
M: This is when Kubo-sensei asked me to bring out a man’s sex appeal…
K: Yes, that’s right… (LOL)
M: That was really embarrassing (LOL).
K: I was gripping the camera and going “haaaaah” inside (LOL).
M: I see (LOL).
K: But I think that anyone who watches the final footage that was created for the broadcast will understand right away that Victor is a great skater, I mean, we could get a convincing sequence that conveys that. Thank you very much, Kenji-sensei.
M: Well, I’m not Victor, so it was really hard to skate that (LOL).
K: (LOL). Ok, so this was Victor Nikiforov’s free skating, “Aria (Hanarezu ni Soba ni Ite)”.

(More from Kenji Miyamoto on choreographing "Yuri!!! on Ice")

Was there any music that you found especially memorable?

All of them took a lot of work, so I remember every single one. Victor’s “Aria ~Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare~” is a really beautiful song. And because I retired at the age of 27 to become a choreographer, like he did, when I thought about how Victor felt and his passion for skating, I found myself really empathising with him, in the sense of wanting to rejuvenate my own feelings again, and so I put a lot into his choreography.


fivetimechamp: by plastic (before the gold and glimmer)

There's a swift, fleeting moment, between his toes breaking the water's surface and the waves he'd created closing over his head, where he imagines himself on vacation. On a break from the hectic stresses and mundanity of everyday life, floating high above a sea of lights. Free to be himself, to relax. To lose himself in those self-indulgent fantasies only possible when daily training and errands, practice and diet, aren't demanding every second of his undivided attention.

He floats on his back, spread-eagled in the water, letting it buoy him, letting his thoughts trickle along whatever path they most wish to take –– which, these days, means they wander along a well-worn path from sleepless nights and newly-opened gates. Life and love –– two words he's neglected for over twenty years, that suddenly knock at the door of every thought, nudging him further down the path before he even recognizes he's headed that direction. 

Whispering, for the first time, in glimpses and sidelong glances, of a tomorrow past today.



"Ah-choo!"

A sneeze brings him out of tantalizing reverie, and he sinks further into the water to sniffle, the moment broken. It turns out even Barcelona's cold in December –– not the bone-deep freeze of St. Petersburg or Moscow, a thin wind biting through coats and scarves and jumpers with ease, but still probably a little cool to be lazing in a rooftop pool, here at the official hotel for the Grand Prix Final. Still, it's peaceful up here, and the water is heated even if the air isn't, and he has no place special to be. Yuri is still sleeping off his jetlag –– that's why they got here early to begin with. They have all of tomorrow to practice and acclimate before the Final begins. 

Steps, and the gentle tinkling of crystal against glass, distract him before the words even come, but then, Chris is a prodigy of distraction. He's made it into an art form.

"I thought, other than me, only a Russian would be stupid enough to get in the pool this time of year." That robe is scandalously short, and Victor allows himself an amused moment of picturing Chris, and the accompanying distress, at the baths at Yu-topia. "I guess I was right."

And dark glasses, even at night. Victor can't hide his amusement. "Chris!"

"Hi, Coach Victor." From anyone else, that tends to sound like an insult, but from Chris it only feels like a fond nickname. They've known each other too long and too well to stand on ceremony, so Chris' complaint that Victor is in the way of his skinny dipping rolls right off Victor's back like water droplets. 

"Don't let me stop you. I'll even take photos for you."

It wouldn't be the first time.

And just like that, the illusion of a vacation is over, drowned and smothered by the dozens of photos Victor finds himself taking of Chris mugging for the camera like he was born to do it. Sometimes it's difficult to remember that this sex bomb was once an angelic-looking little boy with golden curls, the sort Victor could picture most clearly skipping through a Swiss meadow full of flowers, but Chris has become a force to reckon with in his own right. 

He can't imagine a skating season without Chris. They've shared the podium so many times it's almost begun to feel like tradition. 

But then, it's already been eight months since he came to Hasetsu, too. How much time does it really take to change the things that can't be imagined?






fivetimechamp: by awkward (Hasetsu Castle!)
When he'd said "rest day," he'd meant rest day. He's not really sure Yurio and Yuri had wholly understood him when he'd told them that taking a break is part of training, too, and they'd more or less spent the afternoon trying to escape back to the rink and their short programs and their training.

Which means they're still over-thinking it. 

Which means they still aren't relaxing. Not at the spring festival, not at the hot spring, not at any of their evening meals or early morning runs. He knows he can't actually force them to relax, but it just about has him befuddled.

(Yurio, at least, he shouldn't be surprised by. He's only been working with Yakov for a short while, rinkmates with Victor for only the last few years, and he's never seen Victor do anything other than throw himself, body and soul, into his training, has he? 

Especially this last winter. 

Especially the winter before that.)

Still, for better or worse, he's the coach right now, and as their coach, he's certain they both need a break, or else they'll snap well before their debut at Onsen on Ice in only a few days' time. The day at the festival hadn't been the magic bullet, but he can admit it was more his style than either of theirs: both Yuris dislike large crowds and neither of them are very keen on interacting with people. It's an alien notion to Victor, but he'd have to be blind not to see that they both look a little more ragged and edgy than they had before -- and whatever Yakov might say, he's not so self-involved that he can't tell they need a change of pace.



Which has brought them here, to the seaside, as the sun settles deep into the water, and Victor sits back on his haunches, hands dangling between his knees, watching with pleasure as the little fire he'd built begins to seek out and consume the twigs he'd piled for tinder, before catching on some larger branches. It's still warm, but the night air is likely to cool down soon, and he wants both Yuris to stay healthy.

Besides, is there anything more relaxing than a cheerful bonfire on an otherwise empty beach?

He'd wheedled Yuri's mother into a basket of goodies to share for dinner, and it's full of simpler fare than they had at the festival, but no less toothsome (his stomach is already rumbling), and there's no one but Maccachin and some gulls to share it with. Despite the warm weather, it's still too early for most beach goers.

Which means the three of them are here alone.

Which means that finally, finally, they might begin to relax a little. "Wow! Look at that."

That being the sky over the sunset waters, glinting a fiery path. "What a beautiful spot. I wish the water weren't still so cold."

fivetimechamp: by me (you kept me waiting)
There is no slowing down the sweeping minute hand that ticks implacably about the face of the clock which marks out their season: Grand Prix, Nationals, Worlds, break that never really is a break, as much as it is a chance to delve into everything that had been wrong the season before.

And this year, the Olympics. Putting Victor back in Sochi.

(Back in that hotel, the source of so many frustrations.)

Commentators falling all over themselves to discuss how much his routine has changed in the last year: it has a new dimension, he thinks one of them called it. 

Idioty.

A bare month between the Olympics and the World Championships, but he wouldn't want a break, even if one magically appeared in his schedule. A break would only mean time to think, or time to wander around social media and annoy himself by not finding what he's looking for (and then being annoyed at getting annoyed) and he doesn't want that.

He wants to skate. He wants the gold. He wants to win. Everything else is an annoying distraction.

Like how Worlds are in Japan, this year. 

(He didn't qualify. Didn't even try, this last year. Hasn't been anywhere since the crushing defeat at the Japanese Nationals.

Not that it matters.)

More pressingly, his current annoyance is Yakov yammering in his ear while Victor sips water at the wall and tunes him out. All the same thing: worry about next year's programs after World's, Victor! You never listen to me, Victor! My grandmother could land that triple axel better than you, and she's DEAD, Victor!

Boring.

Yakov's not even finished, but Victor is finished listening to him, and pushes back off the wall, but instead of picking up where he left off with Stay Close to Me, he calls up a memory of the music he's been listening to, trying to decide between.

The seductive strings of Eros, or the unearthly beauty of Agape

Just another annoying distraction. No matter how many times he listens to them at night, with Maccachin curled at his feet, and pretends he's just planning ahead.
fivetimechamp: by me (struck with inspiration)
 It's a much longer plane ride, this way.

(It's actually an hour less to go east from Moscow to Tokyo than the other way around, but if anyone told Victor right now that he's on the shorter flight, he'd call them a liar, and to their face, no less.)

In the end, it was faster to get a direct flight to Tokyo and take a commuter flight from there to KMJ than to Kumamoto directly: he couldn't stand one lay-over, let alone two. If nine and a half hours (and then a wait, and another two, and then the time it will take to get to Hasetsu from Kumamoto) seems unbearable, fifteen would have driven him to madness.

Not that it doesn't seem like he'll be heading that way soon enough, as it is.

It didn't take longer than getting into the taxi outside the hotel to regret leaving, the first moment he'd had a chance to breathe and think since Yuri cornered him in the hall after the interviews ––

(you have to go!)

–– and pushed him out the door.

Or, just stood there, as he left, looking more alone than Victor can bear. Stricken and pale, and stubborn.

(He should never have left. His duty is there. He's a coach, and he'd abandoned his skater. A lover, who'd selfishly left. Yanked Yuri's support out from under him. 

Even if Yuri was the one to tell him to go.)

Yakov will take care of him, Victor knows, but Yakov doesn't know Yuri, and he isn't overly fond of Victor these days, either, and Victor's fingers have been drumming such an anxious tarentella on his thigh that the nice old lady sitting next to him pats his hand gently and tells him there's no need to be afraid of flying.

(Nine hours to go. Plus two. Plus...)

His phone is in his hand, and he keeps checking it, until he remembers he has to actually connect to the inflight wifi in order to get (or send) anything, and once he does, he flounders, thumb hovering over the text box in the thread in his messages with Yuri's name at the top.

(To text anything now would be unbearably selfish. Wouldn't it? Him reaching out for comfort, when what he should be doing is helping Yuri get ready for tomorrow's free skate.

He won't even see it, unless he can find a way to be near a television. It might be over before he even reaches Hasetsu.

He should be there. 
He should be there.
 
 
Maybe he really is too inexperienced as a coach.)

Either way, he scrolls through pictures he doesn't really see, and updates he never reads, until a brush against his shoulder makes him jump, and he looks to find the flight attendant offering him a selection of canned sodas, with a smile, but water is all he wants, and when he looks at his watch, it's beginning to turn towards night in Moscow. Close enough that Yuri should be going to bed, and getting some sleep.

Which reminds him, collecting his scattered and shattered thoughts like pieces of a broken toy on the floor, that when he does get in, it will be too early to call Yuri. That if he hears anything during the flight (no texts from Mari yet), it will be the middle of the night in Moscow, and Yuri needs sleep more than he needs to hear from Victor. Tomorrow is important.

(He should be there.)

But he can do this: hit that text box, and write out a few sentences.
 
Good flight so far
Remember not to eat anything heavy tonight
get some sleep
I'll let you know how things look in the morning
 
...
...
...
...
...
 
this seat is less co he deletes, along with I'm sor and I know you'll and in the end, he just closes the app with a sigh, to lean his head against the window.

Six hours to go.
fivetimechamp: (*_*)
 Probably he should be more bothered by what Yakov said –

(I feel sick when I see you playing pretend-coach)
 

– but it's difficult to worry too much about a cranky old Russian coach when he's in Shanghai, and it's competition season, and Yuri has two of the best programs he's ever choreographed up his sleeve to wow the judges with. He has no interest in discussing with Yakov whether or not he plans to return to competitive skating, or if he ever wants to come back to St. Petersburg, or his own skills as a coach.

(All right. That last is a bit of a lie: Yakov is the best coach he knows, and there have been more times than he'd anticipated when he'd wished he could ask the old man's advice.

But he's not pretending. He never was, and he isn't now.)

And, anyway, his focus is on Yuri.

As it should be, as a coach. Over the last eight months, he's gotten attuned to the shifts of Yuri's moods, his nervous tics, the tells when he's feeling stressed or uncertain, and right now, Yuri is distracted. He's been lost in thought since their arrival interview, and quiet during their walk through the Shanghai streets, although not uncharacterisically so.

Sometimes Yuri speaks loudest when he uses no words at all. It's another thing Victor's learned about him, noted, kept in the back of his mind for afternoons like this. Yuri gets nervous near competition, and there's already mounting pressure to succeed after the failure of the last season. There's a nervous energy Victor can feel humming under the arm he's got slung around Yuri's shoulders, distraction in the short, one-word or belated answers to Victor's comments. He's not even sure Yuri notices when Victor's steered them into a hot pot place (almost universally agreed upon as the best one by the fans he'd asked for recommendations on social media), or when they're seated in a private booth, or when Victor orders.

It's all right, Victor decides, smiling gently across the table at him. Yuri's been able to overcome his nerves on the ice, and they both have absolute faith in the programs they've built together, practiced together, perfected together. Tomorrow, Yuri will seduce the whole of China, and everyone else watching: Victor has every certainty in his ability to win.

He could hardly be more confident if he were skating them himself. "Look, Yuri!"

(But he still needs to find a way to distract Yuri tonight.) "Shanghai crab! Drunken shrimp! Duck blood!"

Everything looks so colorful and delicious, he almost doesn't know where to start: hands up, an expression of pure bliss settling over his face.

"Doesn't it all look great?"
fivetimechamp: by me (struck with inspiration)
He's not sure what he's doing wrong.

None of this is going quite like he expected. Yuri just isn't bonding with him as a coach the way he thought he would. In fact, Yuri doesn't seem to want to have anything to do with him, as a coach or otherwise. It seems like every time Victor reaches for him, Yuri pulls back. Still

It's been over a month.

It's been over a month, and every time he thinks he's got the problem figured out – Yuri needed to get back into shape, Yuri lacks confidence, Yuri has no faith in his own decisions and ability, Yuri has trouble landing quads, Yuri needs some external motivation to finally fight – another day breaks and they're still out of sync with each other.

So he's not sure what he's doing wrong, only that it's something.

Or maybe that he is.

There must be some reason Yuri's avoiding him. He'd worked so hard to win Onsen on Ice that Victor had been sure that Yuri wanted him here, but morning after morning, he's late to the rink.

(A little later each time.)

Morning after morning, he mumbles one or two word answers to Victor's questions, hunched and awkward and not meeting Victor's eyes.

Day after day, he works, and listens, and does what Victor says, but doesn't offer anything of himself aside from his presence and his obedience. Outside the rink, there's barely anything at all, like Yuri can only be around him when they're on the ice, working on Eros.

And night after night, he turns red and looks away in the bath, he sits in silence across the table, he shuts the door, and won't let Victor in.

So he must be doing something wrong, or maybe he's just wrong, entirely, after all, and Yuri doesn't want him here, but –



Don't forget!

 
He hasn't. Can't. 

Spending the nights when Yuri is a hallway and a closed door and further away in the same house than he seemed when he was continents and oceans away lying in his own bed with Maccachin at his side, scrolling through old pictures, old videos, laughter and applause and loud voices tinny through his phone speaker.

Going back, time and again, to the one that brought him here. The message in a bottle. The reminder. Trying to find any other explanation for it than the most obvious one, the only one that makes sense.


Please come.



So he's here, but Yuri refuses to meet him on the same page, and time is starting to get away from them, and Victor has never been a particularly patient man:

And when –

– on the morning after the morning after the morning after the morning, Yuri simply never appears at the Ice Castle –

Victor?

Is done waiting.
fivetimechamp: by me (I live for the applause)
Languages: Victor Nikiforov 🇷🇺
- Russian (native)
- English. Very good to fluent, presuming he studied in school, he’s been on the international stage enough, and it’s his common language with Yuri.
- Japanese. Basic to moderate, but of course Yuri is teaching him*, plus he lives in Hasetsu for months, so he’s levelling up quick.
- French? Presuming that Victor has been in ballet training in Europe he’d come into contact with French.

(* Headcanon: after months living and training together in Hasetsu, by the time the international competitions start and they’re joined at the hip, Victor and Yuri are probably talking to each other in English liberally sprinkled with Russian and Japanese words and phrases. This combined with their obvious COUPLEDOM SHORTHAND probably makes for conversations and interactions that to observers can be impossible to keep up with let alone understand beyond THESE TWO ARE OBVIOUSLY BANGING.)
fivetimechamp: by me (a sharp-dressed man)
He's never quite sure how long he should stay at these things.

It's not that he doesn't enjoy the banquet – he does. After winning his fifth consecutive Grand Prix Final, the champagne tastes all the brighter, and the company around him is more delightful than ever. He enjoys seeing his peers and companions, sharply-dressed and relaxed for the first time in months, the strain of competition dropping away, even if only for a single evening. The food is tasty, the attention warming, the evening sparkling, the room filled with all the brightest stars of their world. Yes, he enjoys the banquet.

But there's a part of him that itches to make his excuses, and leave. To trade out this suit for a loose part of pants and a warm shirt; these polished shoes for the clean glide of his skates.

He can make the program even better. He can perfect it.

So there's an element here, too, of detachment. He notices it with the others, too – with Chris, who fell short of him, again, and JJ, full of boundless confidence. Eventually abandoning polite small talk and gossip to dig into their craft, to discuss music selections and jump compositions, to compliment and rag on each other. No one used to being off the ice for long.

He talks less, but thinks more. Already working through the choreography in his head, even as he laughs over champagne, and greets his friends.

It is who he is. The champion. And tomorrow will be more of the same.
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