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Yuri is very young, but still old enough that he should probably know better.
It’s vacation, which means a special three-day program for Yuri and the other students from his figure skating lessons: Three days at the big rink, the one Yuri’s seen on TV before, thinking of nothing but skating from eight in the morning until pick-up time at four. Some of the other kids are excited, bouncing around outside the building on the first morning as if this is something fun, a camp or something of that sort. Yuri might be young – he’s one of the smallest kids in the group, actually – but he knows that it’s something far more important than fun. His mind is already focused like a laser on what he knows his future holds, and he stands straight and grips his skates in mittened fists as the teachers work on corralling everyone into order.
Order lasts for about an hour, long enough to get everyone onto the ice, until the sounds of commotion start to grow from outside the building. There’s a big window close to one side of the rink, almost at street-level, and before long all the kids are clustered next to it, despite the best efforts of the teachers to get them focused again.
Yuri sees cars parked outside, and people with cameras – including what Yuri can recognize as some kind of TV crew – and in the center of it all –
“It’s Victor!” some particularly zealous child somewhere to Yuri’s left yells, and excited shrieks echo off the high ceiling of the rink as a round of cameras flash blindingly outside, because yes, a bus full of some of the most famous skaters in Russia has parked outside, and the first one out is Victor Nikiforov. Even from inside the building, Yuri can see the smile on his face as he turns towards the cameras and gives a little wave, before ducking past them into the building.
“You see that?” Mila hisses in Yuri’s ear, pointing at one of the other skaters who’s now stepping into view. “That’s Georgi. He’s my friend.”
Yuri knows exactly who Georgi Popovich is already, because this isn’t the first time Mila’s taken an opportunity to boast about how a real pro skater used to take the same lessons as her – as if Yuri couldn’t have joined them, if he was only a few years older – but he can’t get annoyed about it now. The excitement bubbling around him is much more infectious now than earlier.
The pro skaters are all out of sight, and their followers are starting to disperse. “All right,” says the head teacher firmly. “Let’s get back to practice, everyone. Don’t be silly.”
Electric, thrilling tension is still thick in the air – the kids are all aware that Victor and Georgi and all the others are still somewhere in the building, right now - but little by little, the huddle by the window begins to break up.
Until another adult shows up at the edge of the rink, flagging down the teachers with anapologetic expression that promises some kind of trouble on the horizon. Yuri lets himself glide to a stop, ears perked.
“ – But we’ve got the rink for the next hour, and then again after lunch,” the head teacher is saying. “It’s been planned for practically a year, don’t they know that?”
“They know,” the messenger says apologetically. “They just want space to drill the basics for a little bit. Actually,” he adds, not nearly quiet enough to keep out of earshot of the thirty or so hyped-up children in his vicinity. “They’re interested in joining the kids, I think.”
Chaos reigns.
-
This is how it happens, after about forty minutes are spent calming everyone down and working out an arrangement that appears to cause the head teacher only the smallest possible amount of pain: The pro skaters can have the rink to themselves first, which will double as a demonstration of sorts for the younger skaters. In the afternoon, the two groups will share the ice.
During the lunch break, Yuri and the others are treated to an improvised but deadly serious speech about how this is their chance to show how much they’ve been learning, to show that the future of Russian figure skating is already in good hands. They are to be on their best behavior at all times, and, above all, not to pester the older skaters unless they’re spoken to first.
Some of the kids groan in disappointment at that. (“I can talk to Georgi,” Mila announces to no one in particular. “It’s not pestering. I’m his friend.”) Yuri isn’t disappointed. He understands that the older skaters aren’t here to entertain them, the same way that this program isn’t for fun. Also, he’s already spent an hour in the morning watching Victor Nikiforov skate, and the thought of daring to talk to someone like that is practically unimaginable. Yuri’s still years and years away from his senior debut, and he can already imagine the weight of what he's got to measure up to pressing down on his shoulders. He finishes his sandwich and juice box in solemn silence, readying himself for the afternoon ahead.
The afternoon is unexpectedly subdued, compared to the morning, at least. Everyone becomes shy when they finally find themselves face to face with their heroes – even Mila, though Georgi gives her a nod of recognition when he sees her – and they follow along with the instructions they’re given promptly and eagerly. The pros hang off to the side for a while, watching, but after a while they start to mingle, gliding among the children with expert precision to offer advice or encouragement. The atmosphere becomes relaxed, almost comfortable, and even Yuri’s teachers look pleased with the way things have turned out.
A few of the reporters from before are inside now, and from time to time there’s the flash of a camera, or a question called out to one of the older skaters. (Even at his age, Yuri can sense vaguely that pro athletes and small children together makes for a good photo op.) At one point, purely by chance, Yuri ends up near the edge of the rink, next to where Victor Nikiforov is taking questions good-humoredly from the reporters.
“…And your personal life?” Yuri hears someone ask. “Anyone special in your life these days?”
“Oh…” Victor laughs, friendly and light. Yuri finds himself drifting a little closer, even though they’re supposed to be concentrating on their footwork right now, even though it’s Victor Nikiforov, and Yuri’s only able to be in the same place as him thanks to coincidence and what he knows even at his age is fully undeserved luck.
“I’m so busy these days,” Victor’s saying. “I think the competition is going to be stronger than ever this year, so…”
“But there must be someone, surely? There are rumors that – “
“Ah!” Victor interrupts. His voice is dramatic but he's smiling so broadly that his eyes are almost closed. “You’ve caught me. I’ve been secretly married for a while, in fact.”
“Married?” the reporter laughs.
“I see I can’t hide it anymore.” Victor continues. Before Yuri can even fully process what’s happening, let alone react, Victor ducks down and slings an arm around Yuri’s shoulders, pulling him close.
The person who’s hugged Yuri the most, until now, is his grandfather, and the first thing that pops into Yuri’s head is that Victor is completely different. Victor is much smaller, to begin with, but Yuri can feel his strength all the same, the slim body pressing against him firmly enough that Yuri can’t even wobble on his skates. Victor’s wearing a jacket made of something thin but very soft, nothing like anything Yuri’s grandpa owns. Victor’s body is warm. He smells good.
“I’ve even got a son, see?” Victor beams. “He’s cute isn’t he? My boy.”
Somewhere behind him, Yuri hears one of the other children saying something excitedly, but he barely pays any attention to it, even though he can guess that it’s probably about Victor. Victor and him.
The reporters laugh, and so does Victor, his cheek smooth where it’s pressed against Yuri’s own. Yuri’s breath feels like it's stuck in his throat. Cameras flash, dazzling.
-
Just a couple of seconds later Victor’s letting go, sending Yuri on his way with a wink and a pat on the back. Unmoored, it takes every bit of the control Yuri’s gained from three and a half years of skating lessons to keep from falling down. Yuri lets himself travel back down the rink, hardly bothering to move his feet. He’s got a lot to process.
He tries to study Victor from a distance for the rest of the day, but while Yuri can do a one-foot spin better than any of the other kids, including the ones a year or two older than him, he’s not yet good at being subtle.
“Hello there!” Victor calls, waving. He’s surrounded by a gaggle of Yuri’s classmates, all staring up at him worshipfully. “Will you join us?”
Yuri starts towards him carefully. Victor beams, and grabs Yuri’s hand when he gets close enough. “All right everyone, who wants to play a game?”
-
Yuri’s grandfather’s house is closest to the rink, so Yuri’s staying there for the next two nights, a bonus treat. In the car, Yuri’s grandfather listens to his stories of the day, and sounds appropriately impressed to hear that Yuri and the others had been able to practice with some real stars.
“Ready for more tomorrow?”
“Yeah!” Yuri answers immediately.
His grandfather chuckles. “I’m glad you had fun.”
Yuri huffs. It’s serious, not just fun, but he understands by now that lots of people don’t get it.
Victor definitely gets it, Yuri knows.
-
As he’s brushing his teeth later, Yuri thinks about the day, about Victor. Victor’s ten times cooler in real life than on TV, talented and graceful and…
He’s cute isn’t he? My boy.
People hardly ever talk about Yuri like that, except or maybe his grandfather or his mom, sometimes. Yuri doesn’t want anyone to talk like that, he’s not a baby.
But still…
A thought turns over and over in his mind, and by the time he falls asleep it’s become something a little stronger, more certain.
-
The pro skaters are still there the next day, to the delight of both the children and the reporters. This time, Yuri makes a self-conscious but determined beeline for Victor.
“Good morning!” Victor looks so pleased to see him that it’s a little intimidating. “Shall we skate together again today?”
Victor’s talking like he thinks Yuri’s a lot littler than he actually is, something Yuri can’t stand most of the time. Now, Yuri just nods. Off to the side, someone with a camera coos approvingly. Victor takes Yuri’s hand confidently, and they head off towards the ice.
-
Yuri isn’t a baby, and he isn’t stupid. Part of him, in the back of his mind, is aware that Victor Nikiforov can’t be his actual father. And yet, Victor could be someone’s dad, Yuri’s pretty sure. He’s a grown-up, even though if he’s not the same as Yuri’s grandfather or the teachers. Yuri’s mom doesn’t do any sports, and Yuri’s wondered faintly for a long time whether he’s so good at figure skating (he knows for sure that he’s good, even now) because he gets it from his dad.
And Victor had noticed him, had chosen him out of all the other children. Not just the first time, but over and over during practice, yesterday and this morning as well. It has to mean something, right? What Victor had said yesterday had been kind of a joke for the reporters, Yuri knows, but that doesn’t have to mean that he really isn’t….
Yuri sticks to Victor for the rest of the day, defying the looks that his classmates and teachers give him. Yuri’s still practicing just as diligently as always - not even this could make him forget what his job here is – just now, he does it wherever Victor goes. Victor seems to welcome it, praising Yuri’s skating (“You’re just like me when I was younger!”) and letting him tag along even when they’re off the ice. Yuri eats lunch next to Victor during the break, even daring to lean against him a little as Victor chats with the other older skaters, discussing other skaters and competitions that Yuri only barely understands. This is what’s waiting for me, Yuri thinks, excitement humming inside of him. It’s another world, one that’s going to be his one day. Yuri will make it there, he knows. Victor knows it too, surely.
“We aren’t supposed to sit with you,” one of Yuri’s classmates informs Victor, hovering accusingly near their table.
Yuri glares at her, but to his relief, Victor doesn't put any distance between them. “Oh, but what’s the harm? I can’t say no to little Yuratchka, can I?”
Years of suffering through being the youngest and smallest in almost all of his skating lessons have left Yuri with a very low tolerance for pet names from anyone except for maybe his grandfather. Now, he just huddles closer to Victor’s side, unable to keep from smiling a little, as Victor scoots over on the bench to make room for the girl to sit with them too.
By the afternoon, Victor’s tying Yuri’s skates for him, pausing ever now and then to push an errant strand of long, silver hair back behind his ears. Yuri’s hypnotized by the movement of Victor’s fingers and the look of concentration on his face, not caring in the slightest that Mila’s giggling off to the side, definitely preparing to tease Yuri about it later.
“He can really do that himself,” one of Yuri’s teachers interjects.
“Oh, it’s no problem!” Victor answers cheerily. “There, all done! Let’s go, Yuratchka.”
Yuri lets himself be helped up from the bench where he’s sitting and towards the ice, holding tight to Victor’s hand even though Yuri’s so used to walking with ice skates on that he could do it in his sleep.
-
“Where’s my dad?” Yuri ventures later that evening. Yuri’s sprawled on the couch, waiting to see how long he can make it before his grandfather remembers to tell him to go to bed. His grandfather’s washing dishes in the kitchen, but Yuri can see him a little from where he is, can see the way he pauses at Yuri’s words.
“What?”
“My dad,” Yuri repeats.
Yuri can’t hear his grandfather’s sigh, but he sees his shoulders droop a little.
“We’ve talked about this. You remember, don’t you?”
Yuri makes a noncommittal sound.
“Where’s your father, Yuratchka?”
“What?” Yuri doesn’t ever whine, but he knows that he’s coming close to it now. Why does this have to be difficult? “I asked you.”
“What did we say before?”
Yuri kicks at the sofa, defeated. “He’s far away and he can’t come see me now, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love me and isn’t proud of me,” he recites.
“There you go.” Yuri’s grandfather comes into view, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. He stares down at Yuri for a second, a small, curious frown on his face. Then he sighs again, and ruffles Yuri’s hair with one hand. “You’ve had a long day, Yuratchka. Go put your pajamas on.”
-
On the third day – the last day, though Yuri’s trying not to think about that – things go a little further. When Yuri first arrives, Victor’s nowhere to be seen. None of the pro skaters are around as Yuri and his classmates begin their morning activities, and it’s clear that Yuri’s far from the only one who’s feeling a pang of disappointment sharp in his chest.
“They’re still here,” Mila whispers to him. “Georgi said they would be.”
When the kids get a break in the middle of the morning, no one sees Yuri slip away from the group. After only a little bit of wandering, he hears the sound of laughter that’s unmistakably Victor’s coming faintly from down a hall.
Elevator doors are just starting to close on Victor and a couple of other people as Yuri catches sight of him. Nobody notices Yuri.
“Papa!” Yuri calls out, before he can even think about it.
It gets attention, at least. The doors pause, and everyone turns to look at Yuri.
“Oh!” Victor says, wide-eyed. “You - what are you doing out here?”
“Are you going to skate with us again today?” Yuri demands. He can feel his face turning red.
“Oh,” Victor says again, understanding. The other people in the elevator chuckle a little, but Victor doesn’t, and Yuri knows more strongly than ever that Victor’s special, that he and Yuri must share some kind of bond.
Victor’s walking over to meet him “Some of us were going to come down and join your practice after lunch,” he tells Yuri. “Would you like that?”
Yuri nods without hesitation. One of Victor’s friends brings her hand to her mouth to try to hide her smile.
Victor reaches out and takes Yuri’s hand, the same way he’s done countless times in the two days since they first met. “Let’s go back to the others now. Everyone must be worried about you, Yuratchka.”
“I didn’t know you’d become a father, Vitya.” Yuri hears Victor’s friend say as Victor reenters the elevator with Yuri in tow.
“Well, Yuratchka likes to stick with me, doesn’t he?” Victor asks brightly. Yuri nods again, and holds Victor’s hand as the elevator drops under them.
Yuri lets “Papa” slip a few more times as the day goes on, each time a little less accidentally. A few people give them amused looks – Yuri’s careful never to say it in front of the other kids, he’s not that unconcerned about what they think of him – but Victor just laughs and pats Yuri on the head.
It’s a wonderful day, all the way until the very end, when the earliest parents are just starting to show up to claim Yuri’s classmates.
“Well, Yuri,” Victor says “I’ll see you again in competitions before too long, right?”
Yuri nods happily, too pleased by the praise to think about how Victor’s talking about their impending separation. Victor smiles back at him, then turns to glance over his shoulder.
“Are your parents here yet?” Victor asks him.
Yuri blinks, thrown. Victor hasn’t asked about Yuri’s family before now. (He wouldn’t need to ask, not when he’s…)
“We’ve got to tell them how well you’ve been doing!” Victor continues. “You have to introduce me to your mom and dad when they get here, okay?”
The light, warm, feeling that’s come to fill Yuri during the course of the last few days is fading fast, leaving him small and awkward under Victor’s expectant gaze.
“Yuratchka?”
“I-“ There’s something wrong with Yuri’s voice – it sounds far too quiet. Part of him knows that he shouldn’t be saying anything at all, but it comes out before he can stop it. “But – “
His hand is moving unconsciously for Victor, silently pleading for him to stop asking questions, to go back to smiling and fussing over Yuri like normal.
For once, Victor doesn’t reach out for him. Worse, Yuri can see his brow furrowing. Yuri’s body is frozen. This is all wrong.
“What is it?” Victor asks.
“But you’re – “ Yuri can’t stop talking, but he can’t get the words all the way out either. “I, I want – “ His voice squeaks horribly.
“Is this about earlier?” Victor tries, head tilted in bewilderment. “Is it…a game, or something? I’m sorry, but I don’t – wait, don’t cry, Yuratchka!”
If Yuri were just a little older he could lie successfully, agree that it had all been just a game, just a joke he had been playing with Victor. But Yuri’s still very young, after all, and so he turns from Victor and runs.
He finds the bathroom, and locks himself in a stall for the next forty minutes, until his grandfather comes to get him.
-
On the drive home, Yuri’s grandfather doesn’t try to start a conversation to Yuri’s shameful relief. Yuri’s head hurts, and his eyes still feel swollen and red. The window is cool against the side of his face.
“I talked with your teachers,” his grandfather says at last. To Yuri’s horror, he adds “And Victor Nikiforov.”
Yuri is tense against the side of the car, dreading whatever’s coming next.
“He said he was very impressed,” Yuri’s grandfather continues. “He thinks you’re showing great potential, especially for someone your age. Of course,” he adds. “We know that already.”
Yuri sniffs. “Grandpa.” His voice still sounds strange – thick and scratchy, now – but he finally turns around in his seat.
He gets an approving look for his efforts. “What do you want for dinner, Yuratchka? Should we go out to eat?”
Yuri shrugs, shifting to sit more solidly in his seat. The sun has begun to set, the landscape outside the car fading from red to blue to grey. “I like your food more.”
His grandfather smiles at him, with what Yuri can recognize, even at his age, as a mixture of bemusement and deep fondness. “Sure. Anything for my Yuratchka the figure skating champion.”
“I’m not a champion,” Yuri protests. “Yet.”
He’s smiling by the time they pull into the driveway.