Chapter Text
CHAPTER SEVEN HUNDRED THIRTY TWO
The ice was slick, and the subtle give where blade-edges carved into it sent coarse vibrations up Yurio’s thin legs. Every tiny, imperceptible ridge in the way the water froze, lifting him up by mere millimeters, could be felt and heard with every new meter he glided. The air felt crisp, and colder than normal, as every eye in the arena followed his every move. Yurio looked up and around, and found his friends and family in the viewing-box at the northwest corner; it seemed like they were clapping in slow-motion.
Black Revolution blades took him to the middle of the rink, and the Russian Tiger – briefly wondering to himself if Canadian Tiger would sound half as cool – found his spot. Toe-picks dug in, eyes closed, and the teen drew in one last breath. The crowd hushed itself, until the only sound that could still be heard was the gentle flapping of a few dozen Russian flags.
['Feelings' - Il Divo] (0:10-1:55)
Prima c'eri, ora no
He didn’t even open his eyes as he started to lift his hands. They came up like oil rising under water, fluid and smooth, until they clasped over his heart.
Prima amavi ogni mio respire
Blades left their mooring, and lines were left on what remained of that virgin ice. A small circle at first, then widening, until he straightened into reverse and bent slowly with the curve of the rink-wall. Right hand lifted high, palm facing the ceiling, and he finally opened his eyes, looking up into that imagined sky.
Spiegami come i brividi ora sono
His body coiled like a spring, and he lifted his right leg for the wind-up. A quick jut down, followed by a twist, and he vaulted through three forward-entry twizzled, bobbing and spinning in a line across the frost.
Le spine, di un amore alla fine
Yuri leaned in closer against his partner’s arm, savoring that soothing feeling of Victor’s thumb rubbing gently across his leg. Fingers curled down and around the inner side of that shimmering silver thigh, thumb-tip teasing the edge of one of those many tiger-stripe windows in the fabric. Both pairs of eyes watched that outside spread-eagle, and the next wind-up as Yurio leveled-out and swung his right leg hard.
Boots didn’t smack each other that time, and the clown-shoes the teen imagined before seemed conspicuously absent. Blades slipped by one another smoothly, and Yurio launched for that triple Axel.
Mi baciavi, ora no
[Skater Yuri is taking the safe-bet. No bells or whistles on that Axel, just a clean execution.] Oda described, and Yurio landed with nary a wobble.
Mi parlavi fino a tarda note, tra di noi c'era tutto ora niente
[Step sequence coming up…Yuri is making good use of that rink.] Morooka added, gaze following those twists and turns, [Focus on the right blade, keeping balance and fluidity…connecting move with that 3-turn into a Waltz jump, now focusing on the left.]
O Feelings, sto parlando di feelings,
Yurio glided low, dragging his knee across the cold, feeling the frost melt into the black fabric covering his skin. His thin figure twisted and turned, pivoted and shimmied, until he flipped his whole body heels-over-head in a rotating single-palm hand-stand.
Dove si va se non c'è, feelings…
Blades cracked onto the ice as he righted himself upward again, and slid out backwards. His right back outside edge became his focus, and his knees bent over it.
“C’mon Yura…” Nikki was on the edge of her seat, hands halfway up already.
Sn’kt
“Triple…” Otabek watched carefully, eyes unblinking, “…Loop, connecting Toe, and…double Salchow…”
Come si fa per tenerlo con sé
“Wasn’t that supposed to be a quad?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, bummer…”
As the blonde flung his leg around for the stars, and the forward-entry camel spin, Mila looked down at the back of the Kazakh’s head from the row behind. Eyes wandered between that slicked-back black hair, to the silver hidden under that home-made winter hat, and she leaned towards Sara on her left side, “…Do you think they’re going out?”
“Hah?”
Dimmi se, dimmi che forse credere si può
Mila quietly pulled her phone out, looking around inconspicuously to see if anyone was looking her way. Thumb clicked the activation button, and the Android phone lit-up. With a few more clicks, she pulled up Instagram, and found a particular private account.
O feelings, dove si va se non c'è.
Yurio ended the spin with his back-breaking full Biellmann. With the release, he flexed back out again, and drifted away through a Mohawk.
È un dolore che orami
“I guess he didn’t think to remove me after we broke up…” Mila said, leaning against her girlfriend’s shoulder as she showed-off the special friend photo, “…What do you suppose he means by this?”
Sara squinted her eyes at it, then at the pair immediately ahead of herself, but shrugged and sat normally again, “Just a guy who’s friends with a kid, acting like a big brother?”
“You really think so?”
Sara just gave a coy look, “You jealous you were replaced by a younger woman?”
“Pffff! As if! She’s too young!”
“She’s also Victor’s cousin. Probably means everyone in that group pays extra-close attention to her.”
“Whatcha guys talkin ‘bout?” Victor teased as he leaned over in Mila’s direction, “Can I be part of the whisper party?”
Tu lo sai, è per noi una lama gelida…
Yurio lowered in reverse, hydroblading with both hands drawing slick lines into the frost-glazed surface of the ice.
Mila blanched and cut the phone off, hiding it beside her leg quickly, “N-nothing!”
“Looks an awful lot like something,” Victor mused, giving that knowing look, “Perchance a photo might have caught mine eye.”
“Ah jeeze…” Mila’s face went a bit red, “It’s nothing, it just…looks a bit suspicious?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Victor reached his left hand over to pet the lady skater’s knee a few times, “It’s all well under control.”
Under control? The redhead thought, What’s that supposed to mean?
Yurio weaved across the arena floor, I gotta keep this quad…I can’t screw this one up…! He leaned onto his left foot, and tilted slightly onto the inside edge. Right leg went out behind himself, and he jammed that toe-pick down as hard as he could.
Sorridevo, ora piango, O feelings, sto parlando di feelings (1:55)
Shh’kft!
A small office with two pairs of particular Canadian eyes watched the television screen.
(2:35) Dove si va se non c'è, feelings…!
Kashhhhh…
“He landed it!” The NBC broadcaster called, “That’s the quad Flip! Second-half 10% bonus points and all!”
The teen rushed out on that right outside edge, and the crowd roared with excitement.
Come si far per tenerlo con sé, dimmi se, dimmi che forse credere si può
Legs kicked-up in a scissor maneuver, and he landed with a sharp click, descended to a sit, directly into a swift rotation. Right leg jutted forward for several spins before he pulled his limb in and leaned over the ball his frame now made.
“This kid is on fire! That’s two levels…three…aaaaannnnd four! He’s up again! One more spin to go before he’s done!”
O feelings, dove si va se non c'è-è!
The triplets were practically mobbing the common-room television, “Come on, Yurioooo~!” They called-out in unison, watching the blur go by on the screen as he lined-up for the last maneuver.
Come si fa per tenerlo con sé
He flew around the short-end of the rink, giving himself a moment to breathe and shake the dizziness. His legs burned, and the heat of his strain contrasted sharply with the cold arena air, sweat chilled on his skin.
Dimmi se, dimmi che forse credere si può,
That Death Drop took every bit of stamina the teen had left, but jump he did, and blades carved the start of that little circle into the ice. What started as a shoot-the-duck pose morphed into a rotating A-frame, golden hair spinning around him in a damp mess.
O feelings, dove si va se non c'è
He lowered back down and pulled his free leg around for the sit-pancake, and finally let himself rise up to his full height, ending the spin in a scratch with his arms straight-up above his head.
Dove si va se non c'è
The music’s lyrics faded into a whisper, and Yurio slowed his rotation. Arms lowered and spread out to the side, and a toe-pick went down to lull himself into a stop. Heaves for breath faded into the cacophony of the crowd’s cheers.
.
Cameras clicked and flashed in a kaleidoscope of brilliant light. It was chaotic and crowded, but one of the officials finally managed to find a microphone, and a young man carrying a covered tray was ushered up as well.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming,” The official started, speaking with a slight French accent. She was backgrounded by a small stage with a long-table, and a wall of Olympic sponsor logos. On the left side of the stage was a projection screen, though nothing yet was being displayed, “First, I would like to express to the skaters how much we appreciate their beautiful shows. All of you have been thrilling to watch, and it’s been a pleasure to see so many of you returning after the last Games, as well as all the new faces. You all do your nations proud. Next…we would like to award the small medals for the category of Men’s Short Program… Please welcome the referee, Mister Jeremy Strigoff, and the Technical Controller, Miss Igritte Hondo.”
The room-full of press, athletes, and coaches clapped.
“First, and winner of the PyeongChang Winter Olympics small gold medal in Category: Men’s Short Program…Victor Nikiforov, with 116.78…”
Victor stood up from his spot and took those few steps forward, turned around, and stood patiently with his back towards the stage. The referee moved ahead of him towards the young man with the tray, uncovered it, and lifted from it what looked like just a lanyard. Hanging from the bottom of it was the tiniest little golden dongle, no bigger than a coin. Hands were shaken, a few words spoken, and the lanyard was slipped over Victor’s head, then proudly adjusted to lay flat against the man’s chest.
“Next, and winner of the small silver medal…Yuri Nikiforov, with 111.94.”
Yuri stepped over to take his place next to his spouse, and the process repeated again.
“And finally, the winner of the small bronze medal…Yuri Plisetsky, with 109.73.”
.
Yurio practically broke the conference-room door down to get out once it was finally over. It was late, he was tired, and most of all, “Those meetings are so boring.”
“There they are,” Minako waved, drawing attention across the hall to where she and the other peasants were waiting, “Finally done? What’s the damage?”
“Tenth.” The blonde answered, then thumbed at Yuri as the man came up behind him, “Eighth, and Victor’s dead-last.”
“Well, the Free is gonna end with a bang then, won’t it?” Mikhail supposed, and nudged his nephew’s arm with the side of his hand, “Congrats.”
Victor just mini-clapped his hands together, “Ohoho…how exciting~!”
Yuri yawned, and looked down to his security pup, “I’m super ready for bed. How about you? You’re probably hungry, too.” He looked over at the group, “Lemee take him to potty real quick and I’ll meet you at the pick-up area?”
“Make that ‘we.’” Victor noted, and pulled his heavy jacket up over his arms.
“So you’ll be back in thirty?” The elder co*cked a brow.
Victor guffawed, “Maybe ten.”
“If it’s more than fifteen, you’re walking back!”
Yuri laughed and waved as they went on, and swapped the leash to his partner so he could put his own jacket on as well. It wasn’t a terribly-long jaunt that semi-secret totally-public back hallway, and the glass walls and doors that lead to the snow-covered hill. So, it wasn’t particularly surprising when they noticed that someone else had beaten them there.
The figure’s posture seemed familiar, but so too did the shock of bleach-blonde hair that sprouted above the popped-collar of that heavy jacket.
Victor lifted his head up slightly, eyeballing the man’s stature, but then side-eyed his partner, “Might be a trap.”
“Probably is.” Yuri agreed, “Ready to spring it when you are.”
“And lo, into the mouth of madness we go…”
.
With nothing more to do but wait, the rest of the clan meandered back towards the Skaters’ Lounge for last-minute hot chocolate and snacks. Mikhail nudged his head towards the door to leave again though, and held the door open so everyone could get through. It was a casual procession towards the side-exit, and Yurio thumbed at his phone, looking at all the new photos uploaded to Instagram. Nikki glanced at the screen as she walked beside him, and realized her brother was looking at the Yuri’s Angels page, and the film-like sequence of still-frames that catalogued his required elements.
“For a guy who doesn’t like hanging out with them, you sure do follow their page closely,” She commented, only to get a look in return, “What?”
“They may be crazy, but I can’t deny that they post the best galleries of my shows,” He explained, analyzing each image to the wind-up for his should’ve-been-quad Loop, “One of them always takes really high-quality photos, and I can see the flaws in my technique easier than rewatching the videos.”
“Do you see what went wrong here? Or did anything go wrong at all?”
He grit his teeth and puffed a sigh, but…just before he could open his mouth to go into a long diatribe about the catastrophic failure of his launch, he paused. He clicked his phone off and looked forward with a bit more focus.
“What’s the matter?” Nikki wondered, “You just stopped.”
Yurio turned his head slightly towards the younger teen, but kept his eyes straight, “Drama brewing on your two o’clock.”
“Eh?” Nikki looked through the thinning crowd, but eventually spotted the problem. Otabek and Mila were talking to one another, close to one of the glass walls, “…Oh. Looks serious.”
“Does it though?”
“…I say again, eh?”
“I say we ruin the moment.” Yurio suggested, “Mila likes stirring up trouble sometimes, on the guise of being helpful. Otabek probably needs us to do him a solid and get him out of it.”
“What are you thinking?”
“You ever heard of Soyjak?”
