im in figure skating hell
There’s nothing that unsettles Victor more than unknown variables.
People generally assume that athletes (and especially athletes that are related to art, because prejudice is that nice) aren’t smart, that they give up their whole life to their profession, and become a sports-only focused mind, leaving everything else behind. They usually see Victor as nothing more than a pretty face with some flexibility and sparkling pink suits that catch their attention when he’s moving around the rink.
They say words like “ pretty ” or “ nice, I guess ” or even “ he looks kinda…you know. ”
But Victor studied,he went to college while he skated professionally, and finished his Mathematics degree, graduating and hurrying to the next figure skating competition in the same day, quickly packing his diploma and then running to catch a plane.
He’s always been fascinated by numbers, almost as much as he’s been captivated by the feeling of his feet sliding on the ice, hearing the way the blades scratch and dig into its surface, breaking and tearing apart but never managing to beat it. Victor’s fueled by passion and instinct, of course, but his movements and quads have all been timed, and he follows a personal formula for his choreographies, one that his first coach took a look at and requested a transfer.
He hates not knowing things. He absolutely cannot stand when people don’t react the way they’re supposed to, they way they’re meant to. He winks, and the crowd goes wild. He lands his quads, and the audience claps, enthusiastic. Victor comes home to his parents, and they all very cheerfully pretend that he isn’t a flamboyant gay figure skater, and ask him when he’s going to marry a nice girl.
They never ask about his trophies.
And the moment that he sees that boy (Asian, probably Japanese, but Victor can’t be sure, still despairs over the fact that he couldn’t memorize all the skaters’ names before he came to the Grand Prix, like he usually does, because charisma is his greatest weapon), he can see he’s a fan. The boy looks like they all do, awed and cowed and slightly terrified, his dark eyes wide in realization. Victor plasters on his usual smile, leans just 30º to the right, and says, “A commemorative photo?” Pause for effect . “Sure.”
But the boy…he doesn’t blush and look away and then shyly step forward, as is the norm. The boy startles, and looks like someone just killed his puppy and then decided to declare communism in Japa. His lips quiver and his shoulders shake minutely, unsteady, and then he sets his lips in a firm line and walks away, never looking back, grip on his suitcase white-knuckled and so tight it must hurt.
He knows the coach is saying something, probably some commentary about their performance that is actually useful and will help him in the future, if he doesn’t retire immediately, but he’s not listening. He’s aware that his face has probably dropped, his smile washed away, and he must look dejected, but he can’t quite assimilate what just happened. He lets his arm fall to his side.
What’s wrong with the boy? Does he…not like Victor?
But no. He clearly was a fan, if nothing else. Victor knows how fans look. He’s used to identifying them.
You thought you knew how fans reacted , a tiny voice in his mind says, and he shuts it down before he can think about it more. No. This boy has no impact on his life, if he doesn’t know the skater’s name already, and torturing himself about it will only bring more anxiety to his trip home.
Victor lets his eyes flutter shut, swallowing hard.
It’s the boy ( Yuuri Katsuki ) and he’s skating Victor’s program.
And it’s absolutely mesmerizing .
Yuuri Katsuki moves like he could win any competition in the world, fluid and fast, with a unique step that makes him stand out. He’s simplydifferent , his own style resonating in every slide of the blades against the hard, unrelenting ice. His eyes are closed for a great deal of the program, and it almost seems like he’s known it by heart longer than Victor himself. He looks…reverent.
But…he refused the picture. And yet…he looks like he’s soaking up Victor’s essence, bathing in it, flowing and being consumed by it.
Victor just doesn’t know what’s up with Yuuri. He’s confused and maybe a little curious, too. He’s intrigued , for god’s sake. He wants to learn Japanese, to ask him what the heck the kid is doing. Hell, maybe he doesn’t know any English, and that’s why he was so miserable at the Grand Prix.
After a few minutes, he realizes he’s biting his lip so hard it’s started to bleed.
Victor books a one-way ticket to Japan, pets his dog, and starts packing.
SO YEAH. read it on ao3 if you wanna :3 im trash
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