fivetimechamp | 9 - 10 December, 2014

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?

Threaded | Flat

Downstairs in the hotel, fans await with bated breath, hands on signs and phones. If they're patient, they may catch a glimpse of their favorite skater and win the chance to wish them good luck in the upcoming battle.

And among the six qualifiers for the Final, the last one, who made it by a hair's width, is this jet-lagged sleeping beauty, Katsuki Yuri from Japan.

Edited 2018-01-07 16:13 (UTC)

The ice still feels crowded, even with only six of them, but each rival is focused on his own practice. Jumps are perfect, choreography is so ingrained in muscles that many of them now wake up in the middle of the night having dreamt their way through their step sequences and pantomime.

It's been a long few months since the beginning of the Grand Prix, but somehow, it feels like not enough time at all.

There's more to Barcelona than they could ever see in a single afternoon or evening alone, but Yuri said take me sightseeing and he didn't give Victor any kind of limit or caveat, and so Victor does just that.

Photos in front of Sagrada Familia. When they get hungry, it's fresh, steaming hot paella at a little restaurant what feels like a world away from the rink. Wandering around Park Güell. Innumerable photos taken by smiling natives or other tourists, as the amount of bags in their hands grow and grow.

And Yuri, next to him, happy and relaxed in a way Victor isn't sure he's seen since...maybe not ever. Certainly not the day before a competition.

Every step they take along La Rambla feeling one step further from tomorrow.

Edited 2018-03-12 02:54 (UTC)

Back in the other direction, Yurio is also making his way through the city -- but for less pleasant reasons. His footsteps beat a frantic, staccato pulse that echoes off the surrounding buildings, almost loud enough to drown his thudding pulse and quickened breath.

And what is he running from, one might ask?

None other than a ravening pack of fans, all sporting the cat ear headbands that make up their uniform. They've lost sight but not scent of their prey, pausing in their chase to huddle at a street corner, trying to determine which alley he'd ducked down. "Where's Yuratchka?" asks one, peering around a building corner.

"We're about to have a fan meeting!" whines another, dropping to the ground to sniff hopefully for a trail, before catching wind of something familiar. "I can smell Yuratchka! It's coming from over here!"

"Oh!" Another girl sits up, a thin gold wire glinting between her mittened fingers. "This hair is Yuratchka's!"

They're close. It's only a matter of time.

In another part of the city –– despite the gentle twilight softening the sky into pale periwinkles and oranges and deep, deep ceruleans ––

–– despite the happy noise of the Christmas market beginning to bustle under draping fairy lights ––

–– despite the new suit that has been measured and ordered and paid for, ready for the gala at the end of this long, long weekend ––

–– Suddenly, the mood had turned sour!

Is it the fault of the empty wooden bench they'd left hours before? Only time will tell.

Gotta Supercharge It! –– The Finalists Arrive!

Gotta Supercharge It! –– This Jetlagged Sleeping Beauty

Gotta Supercharge It! –– The Day Before the Final

Gotta Supercharge It! -- Shopping with Yuri

Gotta Supercharge It! -- Escape the fans!

Gotta Supercharge It! -- A gift for you