Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There were times Yuuri just couldn’t stop worrying.

On the way to a competition, he was generally fine. He slept a lot. He looked out the plane’s window.

He was fine when they checked in to the hotel, too. It had become routine by now. I meant Yuuri could get a good night’s sleep after the tiring travel.

The pillows were always the softest then.

The Worlds that year were no different. Viktor was his coach now, of course— a fact he couldn’t get over. Now he could card his fingers through Viktor’s hair over and over as he slept on his shoulder, marvelling at the locks’ softness.

That didn’t change much, however. He still crashed on the hotel room’s bed as soon as he could. Still, he slept a dreamless sleep.

But there were times Yuuri just couldn’t stop worrying. Couldn’t stop something from twisting in his gut. Couldn’t stop his hands from trembling and his heart from fluttering.

It always happened the moment they stepped out of the cab to get to the first morning practice in a city stranger to Yuuri’s eyes. It always happened when he finally saw the ice rink that would host the competition— the very place that would see his glory…

Or his failure.

Every time he froze, eyes glued to the building. Sometimes it was long and modern— with stainless steel and soft curves. Sometimes it was all grey concrete and sharp edges, sometimes it was transparent with floor-to-ceiling windows that let you see inside.

And every time, his heart skipped a beat. Every time, it stopped for a second before going on a roller coaster steepest descent: faster and faster until he felt it would be thrown out its tracks with the slightest curve.

Before, it was Celestino who pulled him out of his breathless terror. Or Phichit. A hand on his shoulder, or on his hip. A soft “Smile!” in his ear. It didn’t really matter.

He just needed to be pulled out of his own mind.

And somehow, they always knew just how. They always knew how to bring his heart rate back to normal, just how to make his muscles relax enough for him to follow them inside.

Things always happened the same after that. Practice went horribly. And so did the one after that, and the one just before he was out on the ice. His mind would shut down, leaving him in a jittery haze.

Sometimes he would give a decent performance. He never landed much of jumps, however. The stress always got the better of him.

What if I fall?

What if I come last?

What if—

But now it was Viktor’s hand in his, Viktor’s smile that kept him grounded.

And maybe it’s what love does to people, but the fear melted away this time.

For the first time in forever, the sinking feeling that had always made his throat dry and his heart spin was… gone.

The storm of what if’s was still raging, but this time, he could answer.

What if I fall— what if I don’t?

What if I come last— what if I come first? Or second, or third?

What if—

What if Viktor kisses me again?

And that was all Yuuri needed. A kiss, a smile. A kiss, a smile that made him turn and turn in the air. One, two, three, four times.

And again.

Again.

Suddenly he wasn’t sinking anymore. He was flying.

Chapter Text

The whole world knew about Yuuri’s first kiss. Not that they knew it was his first… They’ve just all seen it.

Probably a million times.

Really, in other circumstances, it would have unsettled him. Yuuri was private about his personal life, private about his thoughts and feelings.

He was private about his crushes, his loves.

Most of the time, people’s thoughts about his love life deeply unsettled him. He knew an international figure skater’s life wasn’t without its share of theories and… ships . Ships. That’s how they call it.

Those were half the reason Yuuri had been banned from social media.

No, “unsettled” wasn’t the right word. Yuuri just couldn’t take it. All sorts of thoughts spiralled in his head every time he learned who the Internet saw him with.

First, it was Phichit. The Thai skater had been his friend forever, and they knew all sorts of weird things about each other. Like roommates. Like best friends.

Like lovers.

What Yuuri never understood was— how did they even know he was gay? How did they know Phichit was gay too?

Or maybe it was just some speculation. Phichit's fans didn't discriminate. They had paired him up with a lot of different skaters over the years, some male, some female.

But somehow Yuuri was unanimously accepted as homosexual, or maybe asexual— and long before he even realized he was queer.

It was unsettling, really. How well the whole world saw through him when he was battling with his own feelings.

Phichuuri trended on social media for years. Then the fans' next victim was Chris. It's almost funny to Yuuri now, how they came to ship Christophe Giacometti and Katsuki Yuuri. Because Chris sometimes does things with strange consequences. He's well-known for his numerous controversies, and so is Yuuri. The Swiss skater is famous for his sex appeal, and Yuuri, for his artistry. From the first glance, they wouldn't get well together, but the Internet seemed to like odd pairs like that. And what a strange couple they would have made!

Yuuri definitely did not consider it.

(Fine, he did!)

After a while, though, the bubble popped and Yuuri realized he was raving. He'd been so caught up on Viktor, Viktor, Viktor all his life, knowing full well the Russian was out of his league, that he'd started doing the thing people with desperate crushes do: he went to look elsewhere.

It's stupid, really. He wanted someone to take care of him, and Chris was the first that came to mind. They'd been friends for a long while, and he just... couldn't stand most of the other skaters. Michele was too dramatic, Seung Gil, too detached, Otabek, too serious, Leo, too close a friend... Not to mention most of the others were straight as iron bars.

Christophe Giacometti was the only option, really. The only one Yuuri was even mildly attracted to.

He snapped out of it quickly enough, though. All he needed was to take one look at Viktor to know without the shadow of a doubt he'd die alone... or married to him.

Ah, Viktor. Yuuri was lovesick, head-over-heels, knock out in love.

Surprising how nobody on the Internet had picked up on that. It was pretty obvious, after all...

Viktuuri started trending the second Viktor posted his first photo of Hasetsu. It could have been a simple coincidence, but Viktor wouldn't leave. And the fans started speculating, bickering.

It was quite obvious something was up, and it got everyone all excited— in the bad or the good way, Yuuri wasn’t so sure anymore.

His anxiety returned in full force. He'd been fine. Almost nameless, just a boy with a shattered dream. Healing.

But that stupid, stupid dream wouldn't let him go anymore. He was obsessed with the ice, with Viktor, and when he learned he could get both... he couldn't resist the too sweet temptation.

It wasn't a bad thing.

Just terrifying. Yuuri was afraid of what Viktor's fans (and his own) would think.

And then, after hours upon hours, days upon days of push and pull, after staring at each other until they went mad, after reaching out and pulling away like the ocean and the moon in a timid pas de deux , it all went crashing down to a perfect, simple conclusion. It was a mutual understanding. Barely any words needed.

They were made for each other, and they both knew it.

And when Viktor crashed into his arms that day in the chaos of the rink, under the sharp, unblinking eyes of the cameras, Yuuri was at peace again. The ice was cold under him, but Viktor’s mouth was soft, his eyes shiny, and nothing else mattered.

Yes, a skater’s life was filled with gossip, threaded with careful lies and half-truths, but Yuuri’s feelings for the Russian were genuine. And he knew Viktor’s own were too. He knew because he’d been one of these conspicuous fans watching his every move, every twitch in his wide, heart-shaped smile, in search of something , anything. He’d analyzed Viktor more than anyone, knew him better than Viktor knew himself. It was love he recognized in his eyes when his coach, his fiancé turned towards him. It was love in Viktor’s eyes, love like he’d never granted anyone else, and it made Yuuri melt.

Could that first kiss be any less than perfect? No. It was clumsy and stupid, but it was just the way Yuuri wanted it. He’d fantasized about Viktor kissing him for a long, long time, but it’d never been quite as vivid as the real thing.

Yes, people had imagined Yuuri kissing Chris, Yuuri kissing Phichit, but the Japanese skater himself had never imagined himself kissing anyone else than Viktor Nikiforov.

Somehow he just knew he wouldn’t need to.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Yuuri learned pretty quickly about Viktor, it was that the Russian was good at playing dumb and giving him the time to open up about his feelings... until he would catch Yuuri crying into his pillow. Then Viktor got into 'nag until I get answers' mode.

Not that Yuuri was complaining.

It was just that... sometimes he just wasn't ready to talk about it, not ready to think about it when he simply could not.

In times like this, all he needed was to skate skate skate, eat, and sleep. Nothing else. No discussions under the stars, no goodnight kisses, no new choreographic sequences, no cuddles with Makkachin. And that said a lot because he was absolutely in love with her.

No, sometimes Yuuri wanted— needed— to isolate himself. He needed to be alone for a while, but neither Viktor nor Makkachin would take no for an answer.

It happened pretty rarely, thankfully. But one time, Yuuri just needed a breather after his crushing defeat a week ago. Viktor had been as encouraging as he could, knowing full well Yuuri needed someone who believed in him, but that time it just didn’t do the trick.

They’d been back home for a bit over three days now, and he wanted to escape the storm of questions he knew was coming.

So Yuuri plugged in his headphones and went out for a long, long walk.

He took the long way up to the Hasetsu Castle, straying along a winding path, breathing in the ocean’s fresh air, all bundled up in a warm coat with his favourite scarf. He looked up at the sky, grey with an upcoming storm, the blossoming cherry trees’ branches dancing with the wind.

It cleared his mind.

But when he had finally made it up there, his chest felt heavy with a thousand different emotions, battling inside of him. It was overwhelming.

He watched the panorama with wide eyes. He could see the whole bay from up here, the dark waters agitated and matching the beating drums of the music filling his headphones. Storm clouds loomed in the sky, darkening the scene. It fitted. It fitted with Yuuri’s quickening heartbeat and the dramatic escalation of the music in his ears.

He turned around, eyes searching. For what, he wasn’t sure. He looked down at the town now sprawled out before him, and his thoughts snapped back to his fall a few days earlier. The whole world had seen it, he knew it, but suddenly it didn’t matter anymore.

With a gasp, he set off running back down the stone stairway.

He was out of breath when he finally got back to his family’ onsen, but it didn’t matter. He hurriedly took off his shoes and coat, his hair a bit damp from getting caught in the rain. Then he promptly ran to the living room, hoping to find Viktor there.

He was greeted by Makkachin almost throwing herself at him and licking his face in welcome. Laughing softly, he sat down on the floor to give her some attention, hugging her tightly.

“I see how it is…” a heavily accented voice called out. “Even my dog loves me less than you.”

Yuuri promptly turned around to see Viktor stepping out of the kitchen, his shirt and face lightly dusted with flour. “Viktor!” He smiled brightly, leaning up towards him a little. “Well I love you. Come here, you idiot.”

The Russian’s face lit up and he sat down next to him, gently pecking his lips. “Good.”

Yuuri giggled softly and laid his head on his shoulder.

“Have you sorted out your thoughts, or should we talk about it?” Viktor asked after a moment, gently scratching behind Makkachin’s ear. The poodle had decided to rest her head on Yuuri’s thigh.

He looked up at Viktor with wide eyes, then a soft smile slowly graced his lips. “Mhm, no, I’m fine. And I— I decided on my short program’s music.”

Viktor stared at him for a few seconds, surprised by his sudden change of heart, but eventually broke into airy laughter, leaning in for another kiss.

There was something else Yuuri had decided on up there by Hasetsu Castle. But he wasn’t going to tell Viktor, not yet. It was something he needed more time to get out; the words would not come right away. Not for that kind of thing.

He couldn’t just tell Viktor he was going to marry him. It required time. But eventually...

Chapter Text

It was unbelievable. It was impossible.

Yuuri couldn’t shake the feeling of not belonging. The feeling of not being supposed to be there, of being a fake.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, the light harsh on his face. A thousand eyes watched him, a thousand mouths cheered for him. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to realize it, to understand it. It all felt like a dream, a sweet dream he wouldn’t want to wake up from. The rational part of his mind knew it was impossible. There was no way he— the boy from nowhere who kept dreaming for nothing— could have achieved that. There was no way he could have made it this far.

But he was there. On that very spot on the ice, under the blinding lights. And the cheers were directed at him. At him and at him only. Every voice, every face. He managed a smile, even waved around and the cheers grew in volume— if that was possible.

He didn’t skate a lap to greet the audience, though. Most skaters did, but Yuuri couldn’t. He didn’t have their confidence. Instead, he got into position, arms raised and hands crossed in front of his eyes. The crowd immediately fell silent, a thousand breaths held in anticipation. Yuuri had assumed this starting position before, two years ago. He was terrified then, his arms trembling, his legs stiff and rigid. Swan Lake was the music, but his performance had been anything but graceful.

That wouldn't happen this time. He’d promised himself. He was starting anew, and he would prove it right here and now.

The music started. Yuuri whirled around, flinging his arms out, gaze fixed on a point on the ice.

He willed himself to relax, to ease into the familiar movements he’d been practicing since forever. The step sequence was relatively easy at first. Forward. Turn around. Backwards. He felt his heartbeat quicken to match the music, rising and rising, louder, stronger. His body moved by itself, the routine easily remembered. Faster, faster, faster, until the lights blurred into shiny trails.

Faster.

Slow down. You need momentum, not a catapult effect!

The programme led him into a combination spin. He let himself turn and turn and turn until he was dizzy. Then more footwork, until the world stopped being so blurry.

After that… he wasn’t sure. He supposed he had blacked out again. It happened sometimes, as he was too busy pouring his soul into the performance to bother with what he was even doing anymore. His body would move by itself, his muscles working on memory alone.

He came back to his senses as the music rose to a crescendo. He started gaining speed. One, two crossovers. He reached the other end of the rink, his heart pounding against his chest. He then turned around, digging his toe pick into the ice, launching himself into the air. He pressed his legs together, his fists firmly clenched, arms crossed over his chest. He could barely realize what was happening that already his blade was hitting the ice. He pulled his free leg and arms out as an automatism. The sound of applause filled the arena.

Then the beat dropped. Gracefully, Yuuri eased himself into a flying camel, free leg raised impossibly high, chest tight with emotion. He could feel the judges’ gazes on him.

That was simple, but what was to come after was not.

He followed with a jump combination as the music regained force, perfectly in sync with the rhythm. The music grew louder and louder as he finished his routine with a spin. Then it stopped abruptly. He stood there, panting.

After a few seconds of shell-shocked awe, the crowd exploded into cheering.

He took the time to acknowledge the audience but eventually, his eyes riveted back to the spot by the side of the ice, where his coach was standing. Their gazes met and Viktor waved at him, smiling. Yuuri skated over to him and got off the ice, putting on his guards.

He almost threw himself into his fiancé’s arms. Instead, he calmly hugged him, burying his face in the Russian man’s jacket for comfort.

Viktor laughed softly and wrapped his own arms around Yuuri. “You made it!”

Tears filled Yuuri’s eyes. He could barely muffle his sobs as he cried into Viktor’s clothes. All he managed to say was a broken “I know.”

Viktor buried his face in his lover’s hair, pressing a kiss there. “Come on, let’s see your score.”

Yuuri took Viktor’s hand in his with a soft nod, and together they walked over to the Kiss and Cry.

Yuuri’s score was announced as they sat down, and his eyes widened in surprise. He turned to Viktor, mouth hanging open. It was high, higher than the Japanese skater had ever scored. What in the world had he done? He knew that Viktor’s coaching had helped accomplish true technical prowess, but… he thought his performance hadn’t been that good.

Guess it had.

Viktor didn’t give him the time to think too much about it, however. He leaned over and kissed him, lips on lips.

Yuuri’s surprise quickly faded, replaced by the fuzzy sensation of being complete.

He could get used to those gold medal kisses…

Chapter Text

Yuuri's love for Viktor was like a mosaic, insignificant little shards that made a bigger picture, a beautiful, complex thing. Every moment held its special place, and only if you put it all together was it complete. Some shards were bigger, some were smaller, and out of all these larger pieces, Yuuri could name specific moments that changed his life in all the right ways.

Beautiful moments that meant everything to him.

And that mosaic in his heart was so much like the one he was staring at now, as he stood dressed in the prettiest white suit he’d ever seen, a deep red rose in his front pocket.

It felt wrong. And it felt so right . His shoes were polished black and shining, and the suit was just a tiny bit too constricting, just a tiny bit too clean. It was so different from the fluid costumes he was used to, the spandex and mesh and Swarovski.

He lifted his head and turned around to look at himself in the mirror, eyes widening in surprise. He looked like some model, with his hair slicked back and the suit fitting him like a glove (Viktor had insisted for custom-made). And yet, he liked that Yuuri staring back at him, a prince out of a fairy tale, a man about to get married.

His gaze fell back down to his hands, clasped in front of him, his engagement ring catching in the stream of sunlight seeping through the window. He bit his lip, hesitating for a second, then slowly slid it off, setting it on the dresser. He glanced at himself once more, then picked it up again, pocketing it. There. He’ll need to put it in his suitcase once they got back to the hotel. But for now, it could wait.

A glance at the clock. 18:47. Calm down, Yuuri!

Breathe in, breathe out. He was well too aware of the weight of the suit on his shoulders, the presence of the bowtie around his neck. What if he messed up? What if he got a stain on his suit? What if Viktor called off the wedding at the last moment? What if Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to say ‘I do’? What if—

Shut up. His hands formed fists and he forced himself to look away from the mirror, from the too-perfect image. Back to the ceramic. Yes— that was a good idea. Stare at the ceramic.

And just like that, all the fear, all the stress was gone.

Yuuri inhaled deeply, staring at the soft pastels of the floor. Pink, blue, yellow… they were all there. Polished perfection, soft colours that made Yuuri think back to his own little mosaic, his own assembled pieces. And just like the uneven shards of painted marble under his feet, the small shards of his memories were most beautiful all pieced together.

Yes, there were the kisses. Each one meant something special to him, something he could never translate into words. But there were all the smaller pieces around them, too. Phichit’s hamsters, Yuuko’s smile, the long hours spent on the ice or in front of the TV, the shorter and shorter moments spent with his family and Vicchan, the lazy morning just like the ones spent falling over and over on the cold, hard ice. Yuuri’s life hadn’t always been easy— and he knew it was a bit his fault for choosing the steepest path— but if this was the outcome, if this was his story, then he was happy with it. And he’d keep on making memories, good and bad.

As long as he was with Viktor, it didn’t matter.

He was more determined than ever when Phichit came to check on him a few minutes later. There was a coldness in his eyes, an almost calculating gleam, but his smile was the softest, the sweetest. He took his best friend’s hand and almost dragged him out the sliding door.

Tossa De Mar Beach really was the perfect spot. Despite Viktor’s thirst for something grand, they’d decided only to invite their closest friends and family. The guest’s chairs were set in a circle, with the alley separating it in two halves and the officiant in the middle. It was Toshiya who led Yuuri up the narrow, tiled alley, and Yakov who did it for Viktor. Yuuri walked with his head held high, smiling softly at his soon-to-be husband.

And Viktor. Wasn’t he stunning… He stood tall, his now longer silver hair shining orange, pink, and red in the setting sun, braided back prettily. He was wearing a suit similar to Yuuri’s own, but it fit him in a completely different way, accentuating his thin waist and broad shoulders. He looked like a prince, an extremely handsome prince.

What was Yuuri’s thing with fairy tales?

They reached the officiant, a man in his fifties, his black hair already turning grey. He smiled kindly at the both of them, then the ceremony started. It was simple, unsophisticated. The man only pronounced a short string of words in Catalan, then looked up expectantly at Phichit and Chris, both standing a bit off to the side. He took Yuuri’s and Viktor’s hands gently, holding them together carefully as their friends brought over the golden wedding bands.

Yuuri looked down at their hands, warmth spreading in his chest. Was it now? Was it the moment?

The man switched to English, his accent making the words sound softer as he pronounced them slowly, robotically, “Viktor Nikiforov, do you take this man as your husband? Do you vow to cherish him and love him till death do you part?”

The Japanese skater looked back up to see Viktor staring at him in wonder, his gaze searching. “I do,” he finally said.

“Yuuri Katsuki, do you as well?”

Yuuri’s eyes welled up with tears he couldn’t control, couldn’t understand. He was so happy his voice felt too cracky, too quiet. “I do,” he echoed, leaning in before the officiant could say anything else.

He kissed Viktor, the Russian’s warm lips parting slightly in surprise. It was soft and passionate all at once, and maybe a bit messy as well. After a few seconds, Viktor kissed back just as gently, carefully cupping Yuuri’s face in his hands.

And wasn’t it just perfect? It was as if breaking a large piece off a stone, tiny bits flying off in all directions.

Out of all the shards in his mosaic, this one would probably be the largest.

Chapter Text

There was one cherished moment Viktor wanted to remember forever.

That one was dark and crumpled around the edges, like a piece of paper ravaged by the flames. It held melancholy in its core, and that made it the brightest of all. It wasn’t what one would call a happy memory, but to Viktor, that was exactly what it was.

It was one he couldn’t forget, just like Yuuri had promised it would be.

Katsuki Yuuri was retiring.

For good.

It was the kind of decision he only took after weeks, months, years of reflexion. Viktor had noticed how distant he’d been the whole summer, spending more and more time away from him.

He’d even refused to come to the festival, surprisingly.

And Viktor asked him many times if he had something on his mind, always met with a dismissive “I’m fine.” But Yuuri wasn’t fine. The Russian could see it in his eyes, in the way he pouted softly whenever he turned away, in the frown marring his brow when he stood in position during practice, ready to deliver yet another heartfelt performance; in all the sunny mornings he spent curled up next to Makkachin.

Viktor, quite stupidly, thought it was his fault. He thought he did something wrong, he thought maybe Yuuri considered divorce . It was a stupid idea, obviously, because the Japanese skater never once snapped at him. No matter how irritated he was, it never seemed to be because of Viktor.

But he did look sad, resigned even, when on a chilly October morning he finally decided to tell Viktor what he’d been thinking about. Dawn had barely broken out, soft streaks of gold, scarlet, and periwinkle mixing with the grey of the sky in the horizon. It was a beautiful landscape, and a vivid contrast to the dull tone of Yuuri’s voice. They were sat at the table for breakfast when he spoke up.

“I’m going to quit.”

Viktor couldn’t remember what he had answered with.

Just that something had settled in him, making him feel hollow. His tongue was as heavy as lead.

Yuuri had looked down at his mug of tea, licking his lips nervously. For how long? For how long had he been thinking about it? How long had it been since he’d taken a decision, for how long had he been mustering up the courage to tell him?

Skating was everything to Yuuri. This decision was nothing but an easy one.

But Viktor was there for him, so it’d be alright, wouldn’t it?

In the next few months, he showered Yuuri with love and care. He wanted for his husband to know he was there, ready to help.

And it did help.

Even with Yuuri’s constant worry, they were happy. They shared so many things during that year. Endless walks along the seashore, travels all over the world, hours upon hours spent at the rink to practice, practice, practice… Yuuri wanted a winning program. He would leave with a bang, his last skate  carved into everyone’s memories forever.

No less was expected from the man who stole Viktor’s heart and interrupted the Russian’s career like a whirlwind.

(Not the bad kind, though.)

Maybe it was all planned, too. Yuuri had gone for something outright hardcore as soon as he’d realized Viktor would follow him to space if he asked. If the first piece of music he had ever chosen was a definition of himself, his latest one was a hymn to strength.

Everything would go down with that program. It was the last, the end. Yuuri was getting too old for competitive skating.

It was a fickle world; and figure skating, a man-eater of a sport. The top athletes had five years of glory, maybe ten if they were lucky enough. But it was Yuuri and Viktor’s whole life, the only thing they’d ever known.

Viktor had been too attached to leave yet. But now that Yuuri was leaving too, what would they both do? What would they become once they had severed all their ties with the skating world? Coaches? For whom? Invest in an ice rink? Get a job as reporters? Or maybe make a new life for themselves.

They hadn’t talked about it yet.

They were still so young, but already well past their prime on the ice. Muscles aching. Always shorter on breath. All because they’d spent a few years racing for gold, fighting their way through competition after competition, in order to stand on the very top of the podium.

There was one thing Viktor was sure of, though.

The future didn’t matter. All that he needed to do was watch and remember, savouring each moment like he did every kiss.