fivetimechamp: by me (struck with inspiration)
Виктор Никифоров ([personal profile] fivetimechamp) wrote2017-03-01 11:20 am

The Road to the Grand Prix Final, May, 2014 - Hasetsu, Japan

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.
theglassheart: By Existentially (No matter how your teeth sink and pull)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-03-03 02:54 pm (UTC)(link)
He hasn't been on a beach in a long time. Never felt drawn to visit the five Great Lakes more than the very times in five years he was drug out by rink mates, most especially Phichit, who refused to take no for an answer and leave him to their room or the ice. (Everyone needs a break sometime, Yuri! You need to enjoy everything around us, too!)

Even forgotten for years and years, it's not forgotten entirely.
Beach days with rink mates, beach days with his family here, as a child.


Slides into his muscles like the push on the ice, hours in, even when the pull of the water on his feet and ankles is heavier than his skates ever do. Not like choking tight laces that make his boots into his feet, every move what he wants and needs it to be. Effortless melding. This drags him back, this slows him down, but he can feel the muscles and the focus, surging through his legs, bursts of energy billowing down and up, not used already this morning.

Dashing far away, concerned with getting away, until there's suddenly a large splash, a yelp of surprise and Maccachin's happy barking, while Yuri looks over his shoulder and stops entirely. Chest heaving, cheeks flushed with the wind, the water, the embaressment, the extertion, and even play-fear. It's all a wash in his face, swimming in his chest, when he sees something he absolutely doesn't.

He's on the ground, Maccachin jumping at him, head butting his shoulders, licking his face like this is the best turn of events. Like Victor Ni- Victor isn't down. Fallen into the water. Water lapping up at all of his pants, water dripping from his hair, his chin, hands. Trying to fend off his own soaked poodle, laughing and calling out to Yuri to rescue him now.

Who can't help the laugh that startles out of his mouth -- surprising even him, wind blowing his hair across his forehead, almost in his eyes -- as he takes tentative, surprised steps, the quicken as he's getting back there. Even if there isn't actually that far away, and he looks. Victor looks like a surprised kid, a sodden mess, and even painfully perfect even then. But even more real in it. Like a normal person.

This is Victor, his mind whispers, strangely giddy, one hand trying to find Maccachin's neck, and the other Victor's hand.
Victor who said he never got time to be with Maccachin, never got time to be anywhere but the ice before now. (Before Yuri.)
theglassheart: Not by Me (Masquerading as Normal)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-03-03 04:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Victor's fingers slide into his -- again, a second time, warmth tingling into Yuri's fingers, the slide of their palms, where they touch, even as his second hand is getting wet now, too -- and he comes up, while Yuri pushes his weight into his heels, his calves and it feels so easy. Easier than he expects. To pull Victor up (toward him).

He expects the freeze, the sudden clench of his stomach, the tension to put him tight, rigid, but it never comes.

Victor letting go of his hand as soon as he's upright and already bending down, away from him, scolding Maccachin in a way he hadn't even gotten to scolding Yuri before dashing after him, and Yuri's world feels like the sand under him is shifting, rocking, like the waves, but it's not dizzying. It doesn't feel like it's trying to knock him over, drive him down under the water, even only inches high here.

It's tremulous and so new he can't look at it. The same way he can't look away from Victor swinging to look over at him, again.

He's dripping from everywhere. He looks nothing like --

(no, no, no)

-- nothing like anything Yuri wants to forget. Not now. He wants to see this whenever he thinks about that now. Transpose it. Victor shivering in the wind, hair sticking to his cheek, over his eye. His ear. His neck. Sand speckled and a mess, but still so effortless cheerful about it being a mess, about being tripped up, about being knocked down and covered.

(And maybe his being a mess isn't so bad? That Victor is fine with ... even his mess somehow?)

Yuri starts walking toward the beach and their shoes, wind and water and this strange, strange, new space. Words bubbling from some space he can't name, define, place, with the wind tugging his mouth toward a smile even: "The Genke doesn't warm up until later. In mid-summer."
Edited 2017-03-03 16:35 (UTC)
theglassheart: Tumblr Resize (Great unknown where feet may fall)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-03-03 05:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Yuri jumps out of the way, seconds too late, with an incoherent sound of surprise, from water flying at him, hitting his body and his neck, the side of his face, and Victor yelling at Maccachin, in that same sing-song, too clear, too happy even while admonishing tone. While Yuri's feet dig into thicker sand and then dryer. Getting everywhere. Clumping between his toes, the arch of his foot, up toward his ankles, caught between skin and sticking pants, shifting at his steps, letting it up and in, in the explosion of the land from the jump.

But even when Yuri is wiping at his face and next, more than half smearing more water from those hands, from that half drenched sweatshirt sleeve, also collecting the chilly wind, the suggestions Victor is throwing out -- excited, always so excited at his own brilliance and new ideas -- ... they don't sound so terrible anymore?

They'll still be training. All the time. Even heavier. Leading up to Nationals to even lead up to the Prix qualifiers.

Even if it's uncertain, that thing inside of him pulls in a breath, because it's not a terrible idea.
"Yeah--" His own voice a little breathless and light even under the wind, and winded, heaviness. "--maybe."

Maybe if it's still like this then? Victor laughing and Maccachin's heaving, tongue lolling, huffing breaths, wiggling his water-laden body and dancing around them, dashing back and forth between them, like he can't even decide who to be with, when he could be helping both of them, still playing, as they divide to get their own socks and shoes from the sand and the shelf.
theglassheart: By Existentially (I uh ... think I can do it now!)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-03-03 11:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Yuri gets help. A tongue licking at fingers trying to tie shoes, until they are buried in Maccachin's heavy wet hair playing with his head for just a second, before he uses a hand to push himself up, with a single "Hai!" at the demand on the end of Victor's comments. The springy readiness to meet it swelling him, almost impertinent to start right now, as he and Maccachin jog the few steps to catch up to where Victor is.

Navigating falling into step, while Maccachin circles closer to Victor than he does.

It's been impossible not to feel affection for Maccachin, who delighted in following him about, but did so without any requirement. The deepest demand he's caused for a moment's attention, to let to be landed on Yuri, or get sleepily pet on the head when somehow shows up on the bed, in the middle of the night, again. He can understand that part, as it plays in his head again. About how Victor never got time to be with him this much, when he was on the ice.

It's been five years (six now) since he'd moved away, and he'd missed Vicchan, but he'd been one of the many necessary sacrifices. He could at least imagine what it might have been like. If he'd never gotten that call. If he'd been here, waiting to greet Yuri when he got home, the same as Maccachin had -- if a little lighter and bit smaller -- when he'd first bounded back into Yu-topia when Yuri opened the door that morning.

Simple things. All the simple things they put away.


(Simple things Yuri isn't entirely certain if he's ever had or understood entirely.

Things translated easier in the slow glide of silver carving ice, a slow turn, with his hand out like the wind, the curve of the earth.)
Edited 2017-03-04 04:53 (UTC)
theglassheart: By Jewelry (Got my flash on its true)

[personal profile] theglassheart 2017-03-05 09:20 pm (UTC)(link)
He doesn't quite laugh at Victor's enthusiasm -- or maybe it's impatience to get out of his wet, and must be now cold, clothes, that are leaving an impressively obviously trail of sea water, from soaked pants and shoes, on the side-walk behind him -- but it does get itself caught up in Yuri's chest, the so subtle curve of his mouth, regardless. A quickness to his step that keeps up with Victor, instead of feeling dragged down by each and every one.

There's a glance, or two, in Victor's direction now and then, as they walked. Something bubbling up slow in that same space. The space of his chest, where it had been tight, and he's not sure he has a name for it yet. It's almost too reliving just not to feel like he's choking, like he's drowning.

Still surreal, not quite steady, to realize it's like he somehow isn't. Everything is dry and flat. Nothing is over.

Some anxiety to it. A need to get on everything right this second, like the pendulum has swung diametrically opposite. But there's still time before anything will start. Time for Victor to find clothes, or even take a bath if he wanted. Time, again, for Yuri to put himself down in front of the paper, to try again capturing the mood and meaning into the music he'd been trying to detail into a list for a while now.

"Maybe she'll still have leftovers from breakfast out, when we get back." Food. He could eat food. Food sounds amazing suddenly.

He might even make his bed, if he went back to that paper. Start over today. Not erase it as though it hadn't been. He did want to remember the last little bit of it. The last half hour. But maybe he could restart everything else. Maybe it could all be a little different today everywhere, maybe he could.
Edited 2017-03-05 21:20 (UTC)