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fivetimechamp) wrote2017-03-05 04:45 pm
fivetimechamp) wrote2017-03-05 04:45 pm
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Let's get hotpot! 6 November, 2014 - Shanghai, China
Probably he should be more bothered by what Yakov said –
– 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?"
(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?"
no subject
But one foot goes down and the next, and he's standing. Starting to walk to the bathroom as Victor's bouncing off another question, and it's too fast, the way he looks over his shoulder, hearing the question, even as some part of him is certain Victor has changed his mind about letting him up, which makes him react too fast.
"Downstairs," exploding out of his mouth with too much force,
when even comparing the idea of out of this room and being stuck in it longer.
Which just combines to make him vanish behind that bathroom door. The door hitting the jam, and Yuri's back the door, and he's clenching his eyes at his absolute stupidity. He lets his head fall back against it, eyes on the ceiling, unseeing, before he's groping for where he vaguely remembers that light switch was. Not wanting more darkness. Not liking the way it makes something in him sieze even more. Tightening the skin on the base of his neck, until light takes it all
Making him push off the door, and look at himself in the mirror.
He's a mess. He needs to start getting ready. Brush his teeth. Take his shower. He looks like a mess. Eyes dark, and hair everywhere, and -- are those circles under his eyes? No? Yes? Yuri squinted at himself, and leaned closer to the mirror, pushing his glasses up into his hair. Then, sighed. Outside the small room, Victor was doing whatever Victor was doing, looking like he'd already spent however long it took to look like that, except like he just woke up that way. And Yuri looked like a train had run over him in his sleep. Lack of sleep. Whichever.
(A train with a far too perfect face. Who.
Yuri cringed, forehead and nose wrinkling, and turned away from the mess of his reflection to the shower. He needed to focus. He needed to focus. Focus. Direction. A list. Shower. Teeth. Hair styled back. Breakfast. China. (China, China.) The name catching in his teeth. He only had a few hours. Only a few hours and then it would be up to him. To show everyone he belonged here. He was a different person than the one that crashed into the ice two years ago.