Chapter Text
Contrary to popular belief, Viktor Nikiforov isn't an airhead. He's pretty smart for someone who only has brains for figure skating. Of course it's a given that, in order to achieve the feats Viktor has achieved, one should be smart enough to know how to achieve it.
So, no, he isn't an airhead. He has all his senses to realize that Ilya Rozanov is in love with Shane Hollander, and isn't that a fact so delightful that it makes him giddy. He sees it when Montreal vs Boston is on the television and Rozanov would look at Hollander with an obnoxious smirk but a warm glint in his eyes. He sees it when Hollander tries to hide the blush that's warming his ears when the two best hockey players are pitted against each other. He sees it like a mirror, a parallel to his demise and freedom.
A Russian man falling in love with an Asian man? He's heard that before; rather, he's living it already. The difference is that Ilya Rozanov is on the road to removing himself entirely from the motherland, while Viktor is stuck with having the Russian flag taped to his back like a brand. He wants to runaway, he has runaway, because fuck Russia and their hate crimes and homophobia. Yuuri Katsuki skates like there are wings carrying him and all Viktor wants is to chase it for the rest of his life.
All he wants is to forget that he is chained to a country that is hateful to people like him, and Yuri Plisetsky is making it difficult by following him to Japan to reel Viktor back.
He doesn't want to leave the quiet of Hasetsu, the delicious food, the freedom to walk on the beach barefoot, and Yuuri's gorgeous blush and shy smile.
So he suggests Hotsprings On Ice; he places so much trust on Yuuri's ability to surprise and captivate the audience. He suggests it because he knows in his heart Yuuri will win, banking on it even, because he doesn't want to leave with Yuri, back to that godforsaken country that makes him slip back to that dark place he doesn't want to touch. As much as Viktor wants to confess to Yuri that Russia makes him miserable, he doesn't want the protege to know that the legendary Viktor Nikiforov's biggest weakness is his scrambled brain chemistry. He knows that Yuri wouldn't fault him for running away from what makes him miserable; knows that Yuri, even if he looked like he was always on the verge of blowing up in anger, will understand him. Yuri's walking the same path as Viktor, of course he's bound to understand him.
Ilya and Shane stay for the show, and between the days of when they reunited and the performance date, the hockey players are inseparable. Who would have thought that the two biggest rivals of this era of hockey are in a secret relationship?
They can't seem to get enough of each other, always breathing the same air, hands wandering in places only lovers can linger, a kiss on the brow then on the cheek before someone giggles between them which resulted to that laugh being swallowed by lips that just couldn't help themselves but devour every inch of their life.
It should be nauseating for Viktor to watch but he knows that this was the only time that Hollander and Rozanov could genuinely be themselves without being watched by prying eyes. The easy acceptance of the Katsuki family is a breath of fresh air and a blessing, both for Viktor's growing affection for Yuuri, but also for the hockey couple. He thinks that this is what Ilya and Shane deserve; a place where they could love as loudly as they want and be celebrated for it.
But as optimistic Viktor is, he knows that the couple will have a more difficult road ahead. Maybe they need a little push in the right direction.
The direction being coming out.
Viktor knows, distantly, that a certain New York Admirals player has kissed his boyfriend in front of everyone and everyone's grandmother. But it isn't enough. Tolerance is a safe option, but never enough as being a safe space.
And Rozanov needs the push to remove himself entirely from their motherland.
And Nikiforov isn't indispensable to Russia.
Hmm.
New game plan (addendum to his Making Yuuri Katsuki Swoon plan): be the reason why Rozanov can finally be with Hollander, outside of the closet.
Or: Smash The Fucking Closet plan.
It was late at night and Viktor just couldn't sleep. As much as he wants to drag Yuuri to the rink, the performance is tomorrow and he wants to give Yuuri as much rest as possible.
He's doing circles around the rink, meditative. The rink is bathed in blue, the moon casting shadows while light reflects from the ice like a spotlight. Tonight, Viktor feels raw, like his mind hasn't decided between merely existing or going bat shit crazy. His hands refused to shake from anxiety and all it gave him was the growing ache in his chest, a vice and a grip and chains that weighed it down.
Viktor knows he's in a much better place than before, happier and calm even, but his messed up brain chemistry has made itself a home in his bones that it jumps out of him at the most inconvenient of times. The ever so jumpy and happy-go-lucky Viktor Nikiforov finds himself beaten down by his own brain that all he wants to do is to catch himself slicing through the ice with his blades, imagining it as marks on his skin, and isn't that a concerning thought to have.
Viktor sighs, but never with a whole heart, and his breath catches on his throat; never enough to relieve him, but always enough to be known. At the corner of his eyes he knows he's not alone. Someone has been with him for god knows how long, but Viktor doesn't have the energy to even acknowledge their presence. He picks at the skin of his finger nails and he knows it's bleeding from how he's been trying to gnaw at him; it hurts but not enough. Never enough.
“Nikiforov,” someone calls out to him, but he hears static in his ears and the tears are threatening to fall from his eyes.
Distantly, the figure skates closer to him, but he doesn't hear the familiar touch of blades on the ice.
He only ever startles when a hand braces on his shoulder, and then he's being twisted around, stopped on his tracks, and faced with a concerned Rozanov in front of him.
“O-oh. Hi, Ilya!” Viktor tries his best to sound like he's happy to see the other Russian skater, but his mouth is dry and his eyes are wet, and when Rozanov's concern shifts to a sad smile of understanding, the dam breaks and he's sobbing like a baby.
He's engulfed by strong arms, Ilya's body basically covering him like a blanket, and the last time he was embraced like this was back when his mother was still alive, her body still soft and warm and cancer hasn't touched her like it did before she withered away. Then his father died shortly after her, plagued by heartache, guilty for having abandoned his son, and he has been left to hug himself since then.
But tonight he doesn't need to hold himself up, doesn't need to hold himself together with frailed ropes and desperation. He exists in another man's arms who he thinks as a brother, who's seen the same things he's seen, has the same fucked up brain chemistry, who's been run ragged and chased away by a home that never really knew their worth outside of what they could give them.
(A medal, a trophy, a title that only a god can reach.)
“You are okay, Vitya,” Ilya says, and the name makes something ache inside him.
He doesn't feel like believing in Rozanov, but he knows Ilya will believe in it for the both of them until Viktor is ready to do so.
His whole back is wet, his hair too, but he doesn't care enough to stand and have a breakdown at the bleachers.
Ilya has pulled him down the ice when his knees got too weak, and now they're left to lie down on it, Rozanov indulging Viktor's whims. The ice cold feeling on his back feels somewhat like home anyways, and he's the most comfortable in the rink than anywhere else. Except maybe in Yuuri's arms, but he isn't here, so this will make do.
“Ready to talk, Nikiforov?” Ilya broke the silence first, which Viktor was thankful for, because if it were up to him, he'll be quiet for the rest of his life.
“It is just…” Viktor swallows the lump in his throat, “it will always be there, yeah? I sit with this… this sadness like a shadow that never wants to leave, and sometimes it takes over my body. I try to shove it down, but, you know…”
“It never wants to leave,” Ilya finishes for him, and of course he gets it. “Why now? What happened?”
So Viktor spills his guts out; about Russia, his career, the pressure, Yuri coming to Japan to drag him back to that one place he doesn't want to look back to. Ilya nods, agrees, hums, because they're born from the same cloth but sewn into different fates. Ilya gets it, knows it tenderly, torturously, so vivid that it wakes them up at night with a grasping breath.
A dead mother, a dead-to-them-and-dead-anyways father, a sport that only mattered to them because that's the only thing they're good at and doing anything else means stripping them of their worth. It used to be easier to accept them as facts, but now that they've both found something worth more than the sport they assumed they loved, it just looks pathetic to have lived most of their lives in agony masked with acceptance.
They've migrated towards the bleachers eventually, when Viktor's eyes have dried and Ilya has complained about frostbite, but they don't move to take their skates off, putting their skate guards and slumping on the cold metallic bleachers.
Viktor is lying down on it while Ilya is sitting, his elbows on his knees, eyes staring blankly towards the ice. He doesn't even care what time it is, but he knows that he won't be able to go back to sleep at this hour.
“Thank you, Ilya,” he says, solemn but grateful nonetheless. “I know it is hard for you too, but… you are like family. Brother, even.”
Ilya sniffs, then hums, “yes, unfortunately, even without blood, you are brother to me, too.” Ilya says it like he was about to cry, his throat closing up in between, but it leaves something warm in Viktor's chest.
Ilya and Shane don't step out of the inn during the whole event; there are too many spectators who are watching, too many cameras and reporters lingering around the rink. They'll be watching from the comfort of their room as it livestreams online.
Before they left for the rink, Shane grabs Yuuri for a hug, a whispered good luck at his ear, while Yuuri flails and hugs the Canadian back with gentle ferocity. Viktor doesn't know when they got close, but knowing Yuuri has made a new, amazing even, friend has made Viktor want to thank the universe for crossing their fates.
Viktor can still feel the dread that's held their ground in his stomach, the sadness that he didn't get to sleep on, but he ignores the concerned stares of the Katsuki family and even Yuri, who stares at the dark circles under all the make up Viktor tried to cover with.
The triplets out did themselves, but of course it's expected from rambunctious children who love the sports more than they love their parents.
Because of their dedication, the rink is packed to the brim with fans and locals. Viktor just hopes Yuuri could see how loved he is.
Ilya: Congratulations. You outdid yourself with the choreography.
Ilya: Tell Yuuri he did amazing. And you better make him win or I smack your face first on my skates.
If Viktor could just kiss this man, he would.
Yuuri's hips truly don't lie, and whatever Minako has taught him in the span of a whole night deserves a fucking standing ovulation... ovation. Whatever.
Who would have thought that touching on Yuuri's feminine qualities would change his confidence so much?
And all the dirty thoughts Viktor thinks of makes him deserve the fucking gutter. He has enough self control; he doesn't smother Yuuri on frontnof everyone... Yet.
They'll get there eventually.
—
Yuriohohoh: don't bother finding me. My flight already left.
Yuriohohoh: you better take piggy to the grand prix or else 👊🤬
Yuriohohoh: thank you for the choreography. I'm sorry for forcing you to come back to Russia.
Yuriohohoh: old woman mila told me that you might not like it back home. makes you very sad. I get it. I won't ask again.
Yuriohohoh: come back when you're ready.
Viktor: what's this????? The precious angry kitten cares????? 💘💙🩷♥️💞💛💝💕
Yuriohohoh: SHUT THR FUCK UP!!!!!
—
Figure Skating News ✔️ @FSNews
It's official! Russian skating legend Viktor Nikiforov will be coaching Japanese skater Yuuri Katsuki.
See full article here: [Link]
395🗨️ 6k⟲ 13k♡
⟲ retweeted by Mamanayo, ViktorStepOnMe, and 6k others
Baby mo baby ka ba niya @awtsuboy
No Viktor Nikiforov for this season of the grand prix??????? It aint worth watching anymore 😒
Laura @barbaraLS
Palitan mo muna pangalan mo boi 😭 hugot ka teh nakakainis gets na namin!
Julessss @juliemmnnhh
DID YALL SEE THAT SHIT ???!!?!?!?! THE WAY KATSUKI GRABS VIKTOR???? THE WAY VIKTOR HUGS KATSUKI??????? GAY GAY GAY GAY #Vikturi
18🗨️ 107⟲ 241♡
⟲ retweeted by phichipichi, ganyu rerun [WHEN], and 107 others
Angie M @GieMunoz
Ohmygod stfu its like PHAN all over again. STOP SHIPPING REAL PEOPLE. its delusional and disgusting and parasocial. PLUS Viktor is russian. Do u think a man like that would be gay?
phichipichi @TKTSgayestfan
RIGHT??!!!?!?!?!?! h8ers just keep h8ing, we know a queer when we see one 🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈🏳️🌈 #Vikturi