Chapter Text
Yuuri
Yuuri go to Skating News RIGHT NOW
That was all Phichit’s message said, a message that Yuuri had received hundreds of times from Phichit. When Seung-Gil landed the loop, when Victor upgraded his triple Lutz to a quad in his free, when Chris broke his personal best yet again.
Phichit always had a melodramatic streak, after all.
Grand Prix Scandal in Barcelona: A Bronze Bought and Paid For?
When people talk about the Grand Prix Final, most of the time the conversation centers around what the rest of the season is going to look like. What quads were landed, what underdogs made names for themselves, what performances will leave the spectators breathless. This year there were bigger questions being asked. Despite his frankly astounding flubs in both short and free programs, how did Jean-Jacques Leroy (Canada) make it onto the podium?There now seems to be an answer. The International Skating Union is investigating reports that large sums of money exchanged hands that helped the Canadian step onto the podium. Gerald and Dorothy Yang, megadonors to Team Canada and the soon-to-be parents-in-law to J.J. have allegedly given substantial gifts to three of the Barcelona…
Yuuri stared at his phone and tried to remember to breathe as he read. Each revelation crashing harder than the next. J.J. Leroy cheated? The judges of the GPF were bribed? The ISU was scrutinizing everyone’s scores now, because J.J.’s fiancée’s family had paid his way onto the podium?
Had Victor seen this yet?
Yuuri scrambled out of bed, ignoring the way the cold of the apartment bit his skin. The kitchen was empty, as was the living room.
“No no no no no no no no…” Yuuri couldn’t breathe; his legs started to wobble and his heart thudded so hard he could hear it.
They are going to figure out I didn’t deserve the silver medal. They are going to know. Then Victor is going to realize that I’m actually a fraud— The room was spinning, and the edges of his vision were going blurry. Yuuri stumbled over to the couch, flopping down before his legs stopped working. They are going to take the medal away and everyone will see how bad I am. Everyone will see all the things I did wrong. Victor will—Victor will leave me.
“Yuuri?” A soft hand started stroking the back of Yuuri’s neck, enough pressure to reassure, but not too much to overwhelm. “I’m here baby, I’m here.”
Artwork commission by sayuri-liu
Yuuri tried to choke out a response—something—but everything caught in his throat and gagged him.
“Shhh. You don’t need to tell me anything. Just breathe baby. In, out.” Victor’s voice had turned as gentle as his touch. “In, out. You’re doing so good.” With each breath, each quiet coo, the icy panic dissipated, and Yuuri could feel himself starting to go lax, held up by Victor’s reassuring arms. “That’s my Yuuri. In, out.”
It was a strange thing for Yuuri, clinging to Victor Nikiforov, his idol, as he tried to walk himself back from the brink. The only person he had once hoped would never see him in this state was the only person who seemed able to quell the storm. Even as his brain shouted he will leave you he will leave you he will leave you, Yuuri did not let go. The choked air was becoming easier to breathe, and the ice had begun to flow into tears.
“Victor…” Yuuri nuzzled into Victor’s neck, inhaling the light scent of sweat. He could speak again; this was good. “Victor, I’m—” The words stopped where they had started, retreating back down Yuuri’s throat, meeting the sobs that were making their way upward. “They’re—they’re going to…”
“Shhhhh, not yet baby,” VIctor whispered, dusting Yuuri’s forehead with kisses. “Breathe first. Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“N-n-no!” It couldn’t wait, not this. The words A Bronze Bought and Paid For? shrieked from Yuuri’s mind. He shoved Victor away. He needed to say this. He needed to say this right now, to rip off the bandage, so that when Victor admitted to wanting to leave him, he was ready for it. Yuuri opened his tear-clouded eyes, meeting Victor’s ocean blue ones, which were wide with surprise and worry. “I—I need to tell you right now.”
“Yuuuuri.” Victor took one of Yuuri’s hands, unwilling to completely let go. He face contorted, possibly ready to protest, before nodding and retraining his face to relaxed reassurance; Yuuri didn’t miss that his hand had started trembling. “What is it that you need to tell me?”
With his free hand, Yuuri picked up his phone and clicked back to the article from Phichit’s text, then handed his phone to Victor, who accepted it (albeit with a look that would make one think Yuuri had just handed him one of Makkachin’s poop bags.)
That was it. Victor was going to read this and look around his St. Petersburg apartment and wonder why Yuuri was even there. There was no escaping the inevitable, when Victor would so certainly know that he had made the biggest mistake of his life coming to Hasetsu and becoming Yuuri’s—
“Oh shit.” Yuuri winced at Victor’s swear word. “I knew something was off about the scoring but—” Victor didn’t continue; he observed Yuuri, as if he was puzzling something out. “Yuuri, baby. Are you worried they will take your silver away from you?”
“Th—they’re going to go over all the scoring for all of us. They will—they will see all the mistakes I made,” Yuuri gasped, making no effort to keep the tears from springing from his eyes. When Victor opened his arms for him, Yuuri hesitated only for a moment before snuggling into them. “And—and you will… you will…”
“I will what, Yuuri?” Yuuri didn’t need to make eye contact to feel the way Victor’s eyes were X-raying him.
“Leave me.”
Yuuri’s words hung in the air between them. Yuuri braced for the truth; he was ready for this. He had known that it was coming since the moment that Victor appeared naked in his family’s onsen.
What he was not expecting was Victor’s lips, kissing his eyelids and his cheeks, working their way to his lips.
“I love you, Yuuri,” Victor punctuated each word with a kiss. “And I will say it as many times as you need me to.” Victor’s hand stroked Yuuri’s hair as he drew the last kiss out, testing the seam of Yuuri’s lips until he finally gave in and opened his mouth, letting his tongue meet Victor’s. Yuuri would never quite understand how Victor did it, but the rest of the doubt and tension left him as he melted into the kiss, as if Victor had sucked the toxins from him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” Yuuri admitted. And logically, he did know. Because every day, he saw it. The Victor Nikiforov who smiled easily and giggled at corny jokes and got upset when his hair did not fall perfectly into place, a Victor alight from the inside, and finally letting the person hidden under the mask beam outward. “Th—thank you. For saying it…”
“Of course,” Victor cooed; he guided them both onto the couch, seating Yuuri into his lap and wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s middle. When Yuuri settled in, Victor inhaled behind him. “Now… do you want me to list all the reasons I love you and will never let you go, or do you want to talk about this article, and what it probably means?”
Yuuri would never understand what tremendous deed he had done in a previous life to be here, as Victor Nikiforov, the only person he ever wanted to be with, soothed him from his panic and expounded upon all the ways that Yuuri made his life better.
His idol, his coach, the love of his life.
The only person he ever wanted to hold onto and never let go.
“I love you,” Yuuri whispered, letting himself melt, knowing that he would be held in place by Victor’s strong arms, but Victor’s warm touch. “And… I think I’m ready to talk about the article.”
Victor
Victor didn’t get angry. There wasn’t space in his persona to be pissed off.
Yes, there was the one time that Yurio had interrupted his “am I ready to retire?” private time, and something about him calling Victor an old man had struck a nerve, but even then, Victor found his composure, calmed by the sea and visions of Hasetsu.
Here, now, reading about the judges who took bribes, who sullied Yuuri’s Grand Prix Final, well… if he had not needed to be there soothing his panic-stricken fiancé he would have put his fist through a wall.
The news was still scarce. Just that money had exchanged hands, and there seemed to be at least one judge who was anonymously speaking to the press.
It meant a trembling Yuuri Katsuki, swallowing down his tears and overanalyzing every single moment of both his short skate and free skate. It meant reassurances that yes, Yuuri did deserve to break Victor’s record with his ethereal free skate, and no, Yuuri had not underrotated the quad flip in his short skate (Victor personally thought that Yuuri had been grossly underscored in his short program, but that was an entirely different matter.)
Victor and Yuuri bathed together that night, so Victor could etch his promise to never leave into Yuuri’s skin. He made gentle love to Yuuri that night, and kissed each and every stretch mark and muscle, leaving not a single inch of his fiancé unworshiped.
But that night, with Yuuri cradled in his arms, Victor let himself feel the rage that he’d locked away while Yuuri needed him. They were ten days from the All-Japan (and the Russian Figure Skating Championships, for that matter). Yuuri was still reliving the ghosts of last year’s collapse, and there was no way for Victor to physically be in Japan for Yuuri’s skate.
And now he was sending Yuuri back to Japan with the weight of this controversy on his shoulders.
Maybe Victor should take the rest of this season off too. It wasn’t like he needed to return for Nationals.
But without Nationals, there would be no European Championships or Worlds that year.
Without Nationals, Victor couldn’t see if the new programmes he’d created, the ones infused with his new life and love, would be able to take back his World Records.
Without Nationals, Victor would have to wait to skate on the same ice as Yuuri.
Fuck Isabella Yang and her family.
Fuck them for taking this away from us.
Victor clenched his fist, then did what he had become so very good at, he swallowed it down. The storm clouds were brewing; tomorrow was going to be a media circus, and it was going to come crashing into all of them. Yuuri was cradled in his arms, his breath finally steady in sleep. Victor leaned down, and brushed the gentlest kiss against Yuuri’s brow.
“I will protect you,” Victor whispered, pulling Yuuri’s body even closer to his own. “I promise.”
“Mr. Katsuki! Mr. Nikiforov! Can you comment on—”
“Victor! In your 20 years skating have you ever—”
“Katsuki-san! How do you feel about the revelation—”
Victor’s grip on Yuuri’s shoulder trembled as they passed through the gauntlet of press, making eye contact with Yakov as they hurried into the arena. Yakov snarled out a warning of some sort to the reporters, then followed the pair in.
“What a goddamned shitshow.” Yakov spoke in English, to make sure that Yuuri understood it. His entire face was stiff, and he looked tired. “Lilia won’t let Yura practice today, because of those vultures.”
“What do you think?” Victor asked Yakov, switching to Russian. He could feel Yuuri’s eyes on him, absolutely understand why he’d switched languages. Victor merely rubbed Yuuri’s shoulders, not enough to reassure, but he wanted Yakov’s honest take without risking another panic attack.
“That it is going to be a mess,” Yakov grumbled. “You are thinking the same as me, I suppose. That there were two skaters who were criminally underscored, and two whose scores were inflated.”
“Yeah.” Victor hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, not without confirmation from Yakov first. But Yakov’s statement was enough to make things clear. “Otabek and Yuuri. Do you think Yura is going to be okay?”
“I don’t know.” Yakov’s growl was getting progressively softer, as if the fight was leaving him as he thought about what this controversy, this scoring controversy, was going to mean to a fifteen year old who just made history.
If the outcome was that the event was to be rescored, would Yuuri even accept the gold medal? Especially if it was a gold that was ripped out of the hands of Yurio?
Absolutely he would not.
But Otabek deserved the bronze. That much was clear from watching the GPF, and that much was clear from the first article.
“Come on Yuuri, let’s get changed to warm up. I want to you to be the first to see my short skate…” Victor put his arm around Yuuri, smiled and nodded at Yakov, and guided them both toward the locker room.
“What did you ask Yakov?” Yuuri rounded on Victor the moment they were alone.
“I asked him to confirm whether he and I had the same impressions of the scoring in the GPF,” Victor answered. As much as he wanted to deflect and kiss Yuuri into comfort, he knew that would make everything worse. Yuuri confronted things head-on, even if he knew they were going to cause a panic, it was often worse when they festered. “It’s going to be a mess. But if they do go back and look at scoring, your score is very probably going to go up.”
Victor had thought it when the score for the short skate came back. There was no way that Yuuri’s hand on the ice made the difference between a score in the hundreds and… 99. Victor had planned on talking through it with Yuuri the night after the short skate, but was too blindsided by Yuuri’s desire to retire to actually discuss it with him. Then they were too busy prepping for the exhibition skate for the conversation to happen. Then Victor was preparing for his comeback and they were moving to St. Petersburg… basically a million reasons to delay sitting down and looking at On Love: Eros critically.
Victor wondered how long he would regret making those excuses.
“Oh.” Yuuri wouldn’t look at him; his eyes moved though like someone who was doing math, internally tallying his own short skate.
Victor reached out and grabbed his forearm to pull his attention back.
“How about this. We will cross-train this morning, then we will go home and take a bath,” Victor purred; both he and Yuuri knew what bath meant (sex. it meant sex.) “And then we will watch your short skate again. Together. Sound good?”
“O—okay,” Yuuri murmured; his cheeks had turned an adorable pink, the pink of a man looking forward to that bath. “But—but you need to be completely honest with me if I messed up!”
“I will be,” Victor answered. He had been there, he had watched Yuuri’s performance live. There were no mess-ups, only questions, which apparently were all answered because money exchanged hands.
In the corner of Victor’s mind, he thought about Yurio too, but at this moment, he only had the mental space for one Yuuri, and that Yuuri needed him more than anyone at the moment.