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By the time he’s sixteen, Viktor has had three boyfriends. The longest relationship lasts three months; all three of them dump him when they realize he’s serious about not going further than kissing.
Maybe it’s silly, to want to wait for a soulmate who may never come, but on top of that, Viktor just has better things to do than have sex with boys who don’t deserve the privilege. He’s not winning yet, but he knows he will be soon enough—Yakov says so, and anyway Viktor knows, deep in his bones and his blood, that someday he’ll be on top, and he’ll stay there.
He kind of likes the idea of packaging up his gold medals, with his virginity on top like a bow, and handing them to his soulmate, as if to say, here, these are for you, these are me. I hope they’re enough. I hope I’m enough.
After the third breakup, Viktor decides that’s enough; no more romance. He has skating, and Chris for when the urge for touch grows too distracting—Chris found his soulmate early, but he and Mat are deliberately not getting serious about each other until they’re older, so Chris is always down for a stolen makeout session in one of their hotel rooms, whenever they happen to be in the same place. He’s warm and funny and kind, and genuinely seems to care about Viktor as a person, so Viktor could do a lot worse, in a friend and a kiss partner.
It’s after one extended makeout session the night before the Cup of China free programs, four years after Viktor’s last breakup, that Chris asks Viktor for a favor. He’s in the bathroom in Viktor’s hotel room, rearranging his hair, and he says, “Would you mind if I introduced you to a friend of mine? It’s his first season on the circuit, and he’s a big fan of yours.”
“Sure,” Viktor says, from his position lounging on the bed where Chris has left him. His own hair is newly shorn, and he runs his fingers through it, still getting used to the lack of length and weight. “Who is it?”
“Katsuki Yuuri,” Chris reports, coming out of the bathroom in a state of only deliberate disorderliness.
“Name sounds familiar,” Viktor says vaguely, still wrapped in endorphins and not really thinking too hard about it. “Bring him around before I skate tomorrow.”
“Sure,” Chris says. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“You too,” Viktor says lazily. Chris winks at him and leaves Viktor to his basking.
Viktor forgets all about it, until he’s warming up the next day before his group is called to the ice and Chris approaches him, a gangly youth in tow, and Viktor remembers and smiles his Fan Smile.
Viktor has seen this boy before, now that he thinks of it; he made quite a splash in his last year in Juniors, and his short program two days prior was a little trite, to music that doesn’t quite suit him, but surprisingly well-performed for all that. “Viktor, this is Katsuki Yuuri,” Chris says, presenting him. “Yuuri, this is Viktor.”
Viktor holds out his hand, the trembling Yuuri takes it, and the world turns over.
Viktor has a single breathless heartbeat to be excited, yes yes yes it’s happening I get this too, and then Yuuri’s face falls and he breathes a clearly disappointed, “Oh, no,” and then the moment is over, shattered like so much ice.
Viktor yanks his hand back and stalks away without hearing what he says in response. Of course, he thinks bitterly, as Chris catches up to him and tries to say something. Of course I’m not even good enough for my actual, God-given soulmate.
He wins the competition—the first gold medal of what turns out to be a very, very long streak.
When Yuuri approaches him at Worlds, five months later, Viktor forces himself to look through him, the way Yakov looks through Viktor when Viktor has disappointed him, and the boy gives it up and walks away. Viktor shakes away the burn of regret at the dejected slump of Yuuri’s shoulders. It’s for the best.
He never quite gets the knack of ignoring Yuuri entirely, though. Through the twisted whims of fate, they share at least one Grand Prix event for the next five years, and Viktor can always see him in his periphery: in the warm-up area, at the boards while he skates, at the banquets after he wins yet another gold medal. Yuuri orbits him like a planet he can’t knock out of place, no matter how hard Viktor tries to set him aside.
What’s worse is that Yuuri is clearly good, and clearly underutilized. His programs, year after year, are uninspired, almost boring, as though whoever’s choreographing for him couldn’t care less if he wins. And yet, he’s good enough that despite the clearly lackluster coaching he’s paying for, he climbs steadily up the rankings. Five years after taking Viktor’s hand and breaking his heart, Yuuri misses the Grand Prix Final by inches, and Viktor’s had enough.
If he can’t have Yuuri as a soulmate, he can at least have him as a proper competitor.
At the banquet after the Trophee de France, Viktor schmoozes until Yakov is content, and then slips away to find the wild-haired Celestino Cialdini. Cialdini gives him a polite nod, and Viktor pastes on his best smile. “Can I make a suggestion?” he asks sweetly. Cialdini blinks at him, and Viktor plows on, “Yuuri has real potential, but he won’t get anywhere major with soft programs like he’s had for the past few years. Who’s his choreographer?”
“I am,” Cialdini grits out.
Oops. “They’re great,” Viktor lies through his teeth, “but I always want to see him backload his jumps more, you know? He’s clearly got the stamina for it, and it would net him more points.”
Cialdini smiles back, equally fake. “I think I know better than you what Yuuri is capable of. He’s risen steadily throughout the years with the programs I’ve designed for him. I don’t see any need for unnecessary risks.”
“All skaters take risks,” Viktor points out, baffled and trying to hide it. “I don’t understand why you won’t take advantage of his clear natural ability and really push him.”
Cialdini’s eyes flash. “Again, Skater Nikiforov,” he says through tight teeth, “I know Yuuri. I’ve been his coach for six years. I know better than anyone what he’s capable of.”
“I don’t think you do,” Viktor says, losing control of his ability to play nice in the face of such stubborn wrongness. “I’ve been watching him—”
“I bet you have,” Cialdini almost sneers. “And I’ve been watching you, Nikiforov. I suggest you stay in your lane before I inform your coach you’re trying to interfere with your competitors.”
Viktor throws his hands into the air and walks away before he starts shouting at the man. Out of the corner of his eye, as always, he sees Yuuri; the skater approaches his coach and they start arguing. Viktor tries to put it out of his mind.
Interestingly, when Viktor watches the stream of the Four Continents, both of Yuuri’s programs are backloaded. Viktor watches them settle the gold medal around his neck and tries not to smirk too smugly. Worlds is going to be interesting.
Three things of interest happen in Germany. The first is that, for the first time, Chris turns Viktor down when he leans in. “I talked to Mat,” he says awkwardly. “We’re going to try, with us. For real.”
Jealousy sprouts behind Viktor’s head, like a great green dragon. “That’s great,” he says warmly, putting a hand on Chris’ shoulder instead and giving it a squeeze. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks,” Chris says, grinning helplessly, like he can’t see the dragon at all through his haze of happiness.
The second interesting thing is that Yuuri talks to him. Just a few words on the podium, but it’s enough to crack the ice that Viktor has set between them. For the first time, Viktor sees Yuuri as a person, another skater just like him. It’s unsettling, but in a good way.
The third is that Cialdini apologizes to him. Viktor smiles and waves away the offense like an airy nothing, his mind racing. The apology must be Yuuri’s doing; he clearly doesn’t hold Viktor’s coldness over the past few years against him. Things between them are thawing, condensing as they melt. Viktor isn’t used to it—he knows ice, cold and hard and impervious—but he’s never quite forgotten the rush of hope the first time Yuuri took his hand.
Yakov clearly disapproves of the programs Viktor puts together over the off-season, but he doesn’t say anything about them, because both of them know Viktor can win with them. It’s a different sort of practice he falls into, emotion over technicality, but he thinks it’ll be worth it.
If Yuuri wants to start bridging the distance between them, the least Viktor can do is take a step or two in his direction too.
Yuuri’s programs, too, are a departure, Viktor learns when he watches Skate America online. Yes, he thinks to himself, scrubbing the video back to watch Yuuri’s short program again. This is what he’s capable of, Cialdini.
They’re at the Rostelecom Cup together, and Viktor makes himself approach Yuuri. He’s spent too long thinking of one broken expression and whispered disappointment; he wants to see what the actual Yuuri is like.
He’s funny, it turns out. Many skaters have looked at Viktor like they were wishing his legs would shatter on sight, but only Yuuri is bold enough to say it, and his visible wince afterward is enough to startle Viktor into laughter. It lights Yuuri up like a beacon, which sets Viktor’s heart hammering.
His only consolation through the first half of the banquet is that Yuuri is clearly looking at him, and it makes Viktor preen. He breezes through his sponsor meetings and then leans against the wall, affecting boredom.
It works. Yuuri approaches him, clearly a little tipsy for bravery, and says, “Do you want to get out of here?”
That wasn’t what Viktor was expecting. “What?” he blurts out, gaping at Yuuri.
“Do you want to get out of here,” Yuuri repeats. His big, dark eyes are fixed on Viktor, and it’s remarkably captivating to be pinned beneath his gaze. “I’m bored,” he goes on. “I was thinking we could go out to the hotel pool and, I dunno, talk?”
Viktor thinks about it for a moment. “You know what, sure,” he says finally, deciding to chase the hot sparking feeling in his chest. “Let’s get out of here.”
They talk, and it’s surprisingly easy. Champagne and stress combined make Viktor tactless, but Yuuri doesn’t take offense when he insults Cialdini, just sighs and makes excuses for his terrible coach. “It’s true he doesn’t... push me,” Yuuri allows after a few minutes’ conversation. “But he’s good for me in other ways.”
“He better be,” Viktor mumbles. “That’s a lot to make up for.”
A beat passes, and then Yuuri turns his head to look at Viktor. “You sound like you’ve been watching me,” he says, and oh, this is why Viktor hesitated before leaving with him. The more of Yuuri he learns, the more interested in him Viktor finds himself, and it’s so dangerous to start to like him when Yuuri has made it clear what he thinks of their connection.
Or maybe... Maybe it’s just what he thought of their connection.
“I have,” he says, and he means it to sound like an accusation, but instead his words come out soft. “You know why.”
“I do,” Yuuri says, and Viktor has a single breathless heartbeat to wonder what his breath is like before Yuuri has his mouth.
The few minutes they spend kissing out by the pool that night turns everything Viktor thought he knew about Katsuki Yuuri on his head. Viktor learns what it’s like to be cherished in that kiss, Yuuri’s hands on his arms, Yuuri’s warm back under Viktor’s hand as he kisses him like Viktor is important, like Viktor is special. Like Viktor is his soulmate.
Cialdini breaks them up, and Viktor thinks Yuuri will leave without another word, but he’s wrong. He gets another kiss, tender and sweet, and a murmured, “See you at the Final,” and Yuuri stays long enough for Viktor to nod back at him before he leaves.
Viktor spends another hour in the pool chair, rubbing his finger over his lips and thinking. When Yakov appears to collar him into bed, he sends a text to Chris. I need Katsuki Yuuri’s phone number.
Chris sends it to him without a single question, for which Viktor can only be pathetically grateful.
He spends another hour tucked up in bed thinking about what to send, and settles on, I don’t understand how you can kiss me like you did when you looked so disappointed to be my soulmate.
Viktor doesn’t expect to sleep at all that night, but he must, because he wakes to find Yuuri’s response. I wasn’t disappointed IN you. I was disappointed FOR you.
What on earth could that mean?
Clearly text isn’t the medium for this conversation. Viktor sets the message aside and waits until he can talk to Yuuri in person again. And maybe, he hopes in the back of his heart, he’ll get another of those astonishing kisses.
Yuuri must have the same idea, because Viktor gets a text the day they both arrive in Toronto. Viktor sends him his room number, and spends the intervening time pacing frantically around his room, his finger pressed to his lips, trying to predict what is going to happen.
It’s Yuuri, of course, so he can’t. The very first thing Yuuri does upon entering his room is tilt his face up, his deep eyes blinking up at Viktor like he’s wanted this kiss as much as Viktor has.
The sweetness of Yuuri’s lips gets Viktor through ordering dinner, and they settle on the bed. Viktor pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he starts. “You were disappointed for me? You thought I’d be disappointed to have you as a soulmate?”
Next to him, Yuuri looks at his hands like he’s embarrassed. “I don’t... always like myself that much,” he murmurs. “I thought you wouldn’t either.”
Viktor thinks carefully about what to say to that. “I mean, I know I don’t know you that well,” he says slowly, “but from what I hear of you, you seem like a nice guy.” It’s a remarkable understatement, but it’s a starting point, anyway.
“Hell,” Yuuri says on a huffed laugh, “I try to be. But that’s all I am, you know? Nice. I’m not exceptional in any way, not like you,” he adds, blinking at Viktor again. “I’m not especially kind, or talented, or funny. I’m just... nice.”
“Maybe I want a nice guy,” Viktor says. He’s certainly never had one before. “I don’t know many nice guys. And anyway,” he adds, growing warmer, “you are exceptional. You’re hands-down the best performer in the Final this year, no question.” Yuuri blushes. “And you medaled at Worlds last year, that’s exceptional.”
“Thanks to you,” Yuuri says stubbornly.
Viktor has to fight not to roll his eyes. “Not having the right coach doesn’t make you not exceptional, Yuuri,” he says patiently. Yuuri acknowledges this with a little nod, and Viktor recedes and says, “And like I said, I like nice.” He pauses, thinks, and then, to really drive the point home, adds, “I’ve never been a nice guy’s boyfriend before.”
Yuuri looks sidelong at him, like he knows exactly what Viktor’s doing. Viktor just meets his gaze, waiting to see if Yuuri is about to change his life again.
It’s Yuuri. Of course he is. “You could be my boyfriend.”
Viktor’s heart starts hammering. “You’d want that?” he asks, suddenly, pathetically, needing to be sure.”
“So, so much,” Yuuri says, sounding like he’d swear on a stack of Bibles if they happened to be at hand. “Viktor, so much.”
Viktor can feel his face heat, and he smiles. “I’d like that too, I think.” Yuuri smiles too, and when Viktor tentatively reaches out to take his hand, he leans in, and the look on his face when they’re interrupted by the arrival of their dinner is enough to spark Viktor into laughter again.
He thinks he’ll be laughing a lot more, as Yuuri’s boyfriend.
They do kiss that night, after they eat, stretched out on their sides with their mouths pressed together. Yuuri tastes like badly-seasoned chicken, and he kisses Viktor like the too-vinegary dressing on Viktor’s tongue is the best thing he’s ever experienced. He rests one hand on Viktor’s hip and tucks the other below Viktor’s cheek, and kisses him like he’s going to win a gold medal in the art.
“You should know,” Viktor murmurs when they break apart for air. Yuuri gathers up Viktor’s hand in his and waits while Viktor hesitates. “I’ve never... I’ve never done more than kissing.” Yuuri’s eyes widen a little. “I guess I was waiting for... Well.” Viktor laughs at himself. “For you.”
Yuuri lifts Viktor’s hand to press his mouth against his fingers. “I have,” he admits, wincing. “I wanted to wait for my soulmate too, but then I messed it up, with you, and just, didn’t keep waiting. I gave up hope. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Viktor says, and he means it. “I don’t mind.” Yuuri smiles at him, shy and adoring, and then there’s more kissing. Yuuri pulls Viktor on top of him and runs his hand through his hair and doesn’t push for an inch more than that. “I’m really looking forward to being in love with you,” Viktor says in a hushed whisper, into the space between their lips.
Below him, Yuuri smiles. “Me too,” he says. They’re still smiling into their next kiss, and their next, and the one after that too.