9 - 10 December, 2014 - Barcelona

[fivetimechamp]

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?

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[theglassheart]

He told Victor to take him see sighting. Told, not asked. It lingers in his head over and over. Especially in the seconds when there are people packing every space, and every shop, and every corner, and every square. When Victor is a whirl of momentum and smiles, from him and for everyone he sees, talks to, asks something of, buys something from, dragging Yuri out of each of those thoughts, which each new smile, with each new suggestion and place he drags Yuri into, evincing a smile and a laugh out of him.

It's perfect -- even when it's overwhelming and the not-so-quiet exhaustion builds at the edges.
But Victor smiles, and Yuri can't help it, trailing like the tail of a kite, a flower tipped toward the brilliance of it.

More than once almost making him want to reach out and touch it. Or feel the too turbulent flutter of the impossible, improper, urge to let his hand find Victors. He only flushes a little, embarrassment or chagrin at it, at himself, all of it matching the same shade of half of Victor's teasing, or suddenly inches away nearness. The bags pile up and Yuri notices, carrying more and more of them, not certain whether Victor notices or Victor just doesn't care. He only gets brighter the longer this goes.

Even if he tries not to Yuri still ends up dropping on a bench, probably an hour, maybe two after it becomes impossible not to realize the words that have been building and being put off are refusing to be put off anymore. Victor is rambling, voice high and so excited, like he was often at the beginning of his time in Japan, but Yuri's still trying to convince him lungs to take in air between the last shop and Victor's endless lit voice. "Let me take a breather."

[fivetimechamp]

"Yay!"

Bags drop to the sidewalk, and to the bench beside Yuri, while he stretches his arms and twirls, feeling more renewed than he has in weeks. He's still not sure this was the best move for Yuri, but it's done him a world of good. "I haven't gone shopping in ages. This is fun!"

The shopping. Trying on new clothes, and seeking out new treasures. The time spent with Yuri, like this really is a vacation, and later on they'll go back to their room and Victor can have Yuri try on a series of new clothes and enjoy removing them just as much.

Like it's a date. Like they have room for that, this week, here, in this city where Yuri will prove himself a champion.

...Yuri, who is currently panting on a bench, asking for a breath, but not to stop, which only makes Victor's smile grow. "I would have liked to shop when the Euro was weaker, though."

Not that it matters. It hasn't for years. And he's had a good time finding these newest items, but: "You don't want anything, Yuri?"

He doesn't think Yuri's spent so much as a cent yet.

[theglassheart]

Victor is turning in circles, maybe even more like a delighted child than a swept away tourist, and Yuri found it hard not to stare at him. It was a tear of reactions in one, both, the semi-exhausting however it was Victor found the energy to do all of this and still be this bright -- no, brighter even for it, than when they began, that each step and each stop before the next -- and the one where it was impossible not to see it.

The way the brilliance of it made him lighter.
The way the happiness shone off of him more than the sun.

Victor turning his absorbed glee toward Yuri, with a question, had Yuri fumbling a quick, "Oh...no."

He isn't sure it doesn't come out as a question. Or an expelled rush at even the idea of being able to spend a single fifth of the prices Victor hadn't entirely even seen to look at, no less notice adding up across places. Yuri couldn't do that. Not on any sort of normal day, and certainly not with the fees and bills coming after this weekend for the year behind him. Them.


He, also, isn't entirely, one hundred percent, sure it isn't a lie. There is ... something.
Maybe. Or maybe not. He can't decide. He's been trying to decide for days.
Whether it's stupid. Sentimental. Desperate. Reaching.

Which makes him look away from Victor. To the building reaching into the sky right beyond the bench. Then, as if his eyes had more will that his not-knowing, than his complicating doubts, to the windows of the stores under it, to the right, and the left of it, too, and those as well.

[fivetimechamp]

Not only has Yuri not bought anything, but he hasn't been pulling Victor in any one direction, either. He'd asked Victor to take him sight-seeing, but didn't have a particular place he wanted to see in mind, and he'd gone shopping along with Victor, but hadn't been drawn to anything in particular.

Perhaps he just wanted to get outside and not think about the competition or his short program for a while. Every competitor has a different way of winding down –– it's unusual for Yuri to suggest sightseeing, but not unheard of in Victor's experience.

If he wants to be so far from the rink, and skating, and his program, it might just mean he's that much more nervous this time around.

Well, okay. If Yuri wants a distraction... "Yuri!"

Followed by Victor grabbing his wrist, and hauling him off the bench and away from any chance of getting lost in thought. "I'll buy you a suit for your birthday!"

That's almost here, just like his is. And, anyway: "I think you should burn that suit and tie you wore for your press conference."

They were terrible.

[theglassheart]

Yuri isn't expecting the sudden circle of fingers, in a strong grip, on his wrist, or the hoist of his body from the bench by it, and as such it sends his hands scrambling for the handles of the bags he'd let his grip loosen from, while his body was already leaps and bounds ahead of him, catching himself with balance ingrained from all the hours of all the weeks and months behind them. Even as Victor seemed to be at not aim for just pulling him up, already dragging him suddenly in another direction through the crowded street.

The why seemed to catch up even louder post the flailing, catching, and figuring a way to get his feet to follow after Victor at some level higher than a stumble, and closer to a short, unfocused, sort of jog. Sputtering behind Victor at the sudden overexagerated comment of burning his suit and his tie. "Wait, you don't have to!"

It was an outlandish thing to consider.
And the one he had was one he'd barely afforded then.

The only one he really had. That he was attached to, and needed.
And it was far too much to ask of anyone. No less as a present. Now, or ever.

"I kind of like that suit," called out a little frantic, louder than needed, at Victor in front of him not slowing.