{ The China Cup GPF Qualifier, SP } November 7-8, 2014 - Shanghai, China

[theglassheart]

It takes Yuri all of about two minutes to realize that down might have been just as bad an option as up.

That downstairs in the hotel, at the buffet, involved a world of national jackets. Dozens and dozens of men and women, in various states of dress around and under and without those jackets, some picture perfect and some all but in pajamas and bare feet still, in various states of awake and asleep. Still on their feet, putting food on plates, sitting on their own and others, carrying them back upstairs. Not to mention those fans who could afford to stay here, watching from nearby tables and occasionally thrusting one of their own with a pen and napkin at some skater's table.

There are so many more of them here. There hadn't been this many last time.

(But, by last time, he means in October.

There were totally this many last time
- this time, two years ago.
A sea of people.)

His body snags back and forth between the urge to clutch his plate full of food to his chest, and gulp each bite down, while dragging it under the table with him, and just to slide under the table, without it or someone else, especially Victor, noticing he's vacated his seat and relocated there.

It doesn't help he can't quite seem to focus right. To hear what Victor is saying. To know what to say when he can. When he can't seem to more than flit his gaze that way and away. (That he was an absolute idiot, and jumped like he'd been hit, or expected to be, the first time Victor threw an arm around his shoulder headed to the elevator to come down here. Even though Victor's been nothing but sane and sober and normal since they woke up.)

People keep laughing and talking. Nails on the chalkboard inside his skull. His jacket feels odd at the edges of his shoulders. The booth is too big. The room is too small. He watches the clock. Time is slipping away already. Practice, then performance. Practice, then performance. Breakfast ends. Uncertain if he ate too much. Trying to counter that he didn't eat enough last night. (Or maybe sleep enough. And what if he crashes on the ice because he didn't take care of both of those?

What if he's ruined it all because he couldn't even manage his first twenty hours in the Prix Qualifier even?)

They leave when they have to. Early enough to look at everything. Early enough to make sure everything is ready for practice, and practice is practice. He's so in his head. He can't stop watching the people around him as they practice their routines. His skin prickles at just the bite of the air on it. He can't outrun the itch in the back of his head.

It's like a wall in front of him, always two inches in front, no matter how fast or how slow. Goading him to run, with sharp prods, but staying two inches away. Always two inches away. Never closer. Never in reach. His feet are a hiss on the ice, jumps a little too sharp, and his mind still won't stop tossing up and out, in front of his skates, all the things that don't belong out here.

Comments

[theglassheart]

His water bottle is in his hands. He's not entirely positive when that got passed off. Probably with his jacket. It's nice and solid in his hands, while the world cheers and the Victor is tilting toward him again. Hmm. Or maybe not tilting. But look at him, while the world continues to ebb and flow, dropping him back and back.

The chill of the air on the sweat dripping and drying on his skin, while Victor asks that question and it echoes inside his head. Had he been thinking about how it felt? Had he thought about that at all out there? What it felt like while it was happening?

He'd thought. He'd thought ...

He's too disjointed to blush at the first thoughts to show up.
The brazenness unapologetic -- almost arrogance? -- of them.

It does keep him from looking over immediately to Victor. Certain it'll be all over his face, even if he can't entirely tell what his own expression is at the moment. Can't entirely feel his face, even if he can feel his skin. Beyond that thought, and because of that, mixed up in the rush of whatever it took, whatever path or phrase or words or feelings it became once you were out there. He'd wanted the rest of them to know, didn't he.

How that felt. How it had changed him. How Victor had.
(Having Victor had, at the cost of them all having him.)

"Well--" Cobbles itself together. His first words, the soreness as his ribs expand and his voice vibrates his chest, even without any force behind it. "I was hoping everyone else felt great watching me."

Or the opposite. Or both. It all blurred together, in the rush. It felt like pieces of it were falling out from under his mind and memory. No flaws he could remember. No falling. No lecture from Victor. Yet? But it felt like the Eros he just finished was rooms and rooms away, only seconds of time and years ago, but both beyond his fingers. There'd be videos later. But the score would tell him what it really was.

[fivetimechamp]

It's not long to wait, because no sooner has Yuri finished speaking than Victor catches the change of the screen out of the corner of his eye and turns to see the scores:

Yuri KATSUKI

Technical Elements 58.91
Presentation 47.93

SP SCORE 106.84 PB
RANK 1

He feels like a suddenly filled balloon, hands fisting and elbows thrusting back in triumph, while his smile goes from expectant to incandescent and his palms feel numb from clapping. 106.84 –– a personal best for Yuri, demolishing his previous scores and skyrocketing him into first place.

He knew it. That high technical score could only be brought to life through Yuri's skill. That high presentation score could only come from Yuri's ability to express himself, andhe can no longer containt himself, throws himself at Yuri in a bliss of ecstasy, arms squeezing around his shoulders, temple pressing into his damp hair, the bridge of his nose against Yuri's cheek. "Yuri!"

He did it. They did it. With style, grace, precision, and that particular element that is only Yuri.

He's the only one who could ever skate that program this way.

[theglassheart]

The colors change, from a reflection of them sitting there, into red's and golds, and the audience goes crazy, again. Victor is already moving suddenly beside him, but Yuri still has to squint at the far screen. Leaning forward, elbows dropping onto his thighs, just short of his knees, water hanging between them as disoriented confusion meets with a need greater than it, and the faintest, familiar tendril of dread that springs in through concrete and slowly settling reality.

He really only has time for it to shift mostly into focus -- not really even time to process; he's in first? His. He scored a -- before Victor all but plows into him from the side. Arms circling Yuri tight, from over one shoulder to just below the other, Victor's head meeting his head, cheek, and temple and ear, and he's shouting Yuri's name with the kind of excitement Yuri thinks he's only really heard Victor use to describe food or to talk to Maccachin.

Except it's not that. It's even better than that. It's more somehow.

[fivetimechamp]

Against him, Yuri is nearly limp, still staring at the screen like he thinks the numbers on it are going to dissolve into a laughing face, but Victor doesn't know why he's so surprised. He was superlative, extraordinary, a devil of seduction both passionate and playful. His technical elements were perfect. His performance was sublime.

Of course the judges noticed, and rewarded him. How could they not? How could anyone be anything but swept away? "Of course they'd feel great, watching a performance like that."

There's no room for doubt in any cell of his body, and there shouldn't be in Yuri's, either, but he can't stop smiling and he can't let go of Yuri and he can't douse the thrill of excitement at being in the lead, the only place he knows how to be. And Yuri ––

Yuri has brought them both here. Fought hard, trained well, learned everything he could, and made it his own. It's all overwhelming, dumping bucket after bucket of happiness over Victor's head, making him give Yuri another squeeze. "You're the best student."

Tipping his head against Yuri's, he grins at the cameras in front of them without letting go, gratification in every centimeter of his smile's curve. "You've earned half a katsudon tonight, anyway. You can get the rest tomorrow."

[theglassheart]

He's not sure how he gets there, from one helium balloon to another, without really ever fully touching down to the ground. He's in First Place. He's in First Place. It's not the same as last time. Everything is different here. The level. The skaters. His score is over ten points higher than the last time it jumped. And Victor is still holding on, whispering just beside his ear without touching it, as the crowd goes on, and Yuri stares, trying to even hold it all still.

First. (But there are still three more people to go.

But, Phichit had -- First.)

While Victor calls him the best student, and Yuri's sure some of his blood is remembering how to find his face, even under the wear and tear that makes it feel like his face hasn't given it up entirely, ever, not with the level of the exertion from the routine. But those words. Victor saying all of them near his ear, not letting go. The tuck into the numbers stamping themselves suddenly on the walls of his brain.

It's all fighting up, bubbling, against and under it. Surprise and shock and something tremulously and tremendously bright, like triumph. He did it. He did it. Victor's words about the katsudon, about tomorrow, and what's next, are against realizing their faces are up there again. Every earlier second, a handful he lost to shock, and Victor didn't in the slightest. Victor pressed to him, up there, smiling pure radiant illumination against Yuri's cheek, and he's staring at that, at him, at them, before suddenly realizing he should do ... something.

Freeing up a hand from his bottle, and waving at the camera, even without detaching Victor from over it.
His own smile looks small, even as it breaks, like a laugh at the lateness of itself, while he waves.

A personal best over 100. First. First for -- at least the next while?

He lets his hand drop from its wave onto Victor's arm. "There's still the second group."

[fivetimechamp]

Whatever possessed Yuri to grab his hand and demand his attention in front of all the crowd here and those watching at home seems to have departed and left no trace of itself, but that's all right. It served its purpose, he supposes, pushed Yuri into his best performance yet, and the boy left next to him is the one he knows better, even if it's the one he came to know later. Uncertain of his own ability, even after proving it without a doubt, and worried about the next three skaters to come.

None of whom are likely to be a real threat for the short program, even if Victor bases his assessment on the possible technical scores alone. Of the three, Chris is the only real threat, and he almost never peaks with his short program, preferring to put his best foot forward in the free skate. Added to his usual slow start at the beginning of the season, and Victor would be surprised if he knocked Yuri out of first place tonight.

As for Leo de Iglesia and Georgi ... their programs don't have the technical components to compare to Eros, and neither of them are likely to get anywhere near Yuri's level of PCS points. "I'm not worried about them tonight."

No: Yuri's in first place, and he's likely to stay there, and Victor couldn't be more pleased, but the reporters are clamoring, and they'll have to go answer questions if they want to be able to watch the rest of the performances, so he gets up, hand dropping to Yuri's arm, and tips his head towards the waiting cameras. "We can watch them in the back with the others, but first, I think some people would like to congratulate you on your new personal best."

[theglassheart]

Victor isn't worried, even if Yuri's mind is remembering to, and Victor's right about needing keep moving, there being more to do, and somehow there's nothing under that. Nothing pinches somewhere under his skin, somewhere inside his head. He can just hear it, watch the words roll through his head, and look in the direction Victor's head is pointing him.

It's simple, straightforward, like the sun rising in the morning and setting at night, like snow coming at winter, and plants bursting green in the spring. Just truth. He might be exhausted, as wear settles like an elephant, or twelve, on his body, joints beginning to bloom into an ache everywhere bones are attached to other bones, but he's not done yet.

He needs to go smile for those cameras, as well, and this time to say things.

Yuri passes the water bottle and his new sushi plushie to Victor, before using his hands to lever himself off the bench. He's in First. First, First, First. It's bouncing around his skull. He finally did what Victor wanted, what Victor had been crestfallen about at the Championships. Over 100. And First. It's clouding up his chest.

He doesn't stumble on his way there, but it's hard to say whether he stumbles or not when the questions are being slingshotted at him and the camera light is in his eyes, and his brain won't stop saying first, first, first, while congratulations are first given and then easily left behind, like a party greeting.

Replaced with asking how is feeling now that he's won first by a landslide, and scored a personal best in his first skate at his first Grand Prix Finale qualifier and if he's just as confident the power of his love will carry him through the free skate tomorrow to the gold and does he credit his amazing win to his new coaching from five-time Grand Prix and World Champion Victor Nikiforov?

(The answer is . . . )

(The answer is even more . . .)

(The answer is of course, he does.)

He's not positive any of the answers from his mouth are anywhere as clear. Except the last one.

The relief is palpable when the attention turns to the cueing up of the second group, and Yuri is given the heads up to go on. Even though he's pretty positive the guy holding the camera is giving him an expression Yuri can't entirely parse, something that is confusion and sympathy and something else. Still, two steps away and he's out from under their gaze, and the light of the camera, stepping back to Victor who is waiting.

[fivetimechamp]

He hangs back to let Yuri get the spotlight, as he should, and just watches with a smile on his face and his arms full of the onigiri plushie, the poodle tissue box, and Yuri's water bottle, and it's a little bit of a strange feeling, honestly, but he thinks it's a good one, watching someone else answer questions and blink against the photographer's flashes.

Besides, Yuri is doing fine. He's obviously too tired to think clearly, but he answers politely and modestly, exactly the way he should when there are still three other skaters to come. Even if everyone knows it would take a miracle to bump him from first place tonight. Even if it would seem like the height of vanity to say so.

But he looks relieved when the next group finishes their warm-up, and Georgi is being announced, so he can squirm his way out from under their peering eye, and Victor sidles between him and the reporters and interviewers, smiling and waving and brushing off their questions with the ease of long practice.

Is he proud of Yuri's performance today? Absolutely, he was as blown away as everyone else who saw it was.

Does he think the competition that's left is stiff enough to steal Yuri's current first-place position? They're all excellent skaters, he's looking forward to watching them do their best, just as Yuri did.

This program was such a departure from Katsuki's usual style, where did the inspiration for it come from? Well, he's seen great potential in Yuri's skating to go far beyond what he had attempted before, and between the two of them they had created a program to maximize his strengths and show off his technical ability as well as his artistry.

Which is the last question he answers before he ushers Yuri into the waiting room where Phichit and Guang-hong are watching Georgi's Carabosse routine, but splits off, briefly, to set their things down and move over to chat quiet with Celestino, who gives him a grin and a pat on the shoulder that Victor returns.

They've done all they can do, today, and tomorrow isn't here yet: might as well congratulate each other on a brilliant start.

[theglassheart]

Yuri flounders for a few seconds when he's looking at the other two and Victor peels away, all decisive stride and light steps still. Back toward Celestino, and the night before flickers for a second, but it doesn't come up far.

It's an uncertain floating feel between his head and his legs, but he drifts over to the two watching the skate. Maybe he's expecting more, but even when they look up, and Phichit grins unchecked and Guang-Hong looks a touch crestfallen, neither look long, and it only takes a second to realize why.

Georgi on the screen is a sight that even he can't look away from once he spots it. There's ... Yuri isn't even sure about what the words are. It's flamboyant. Almost to the edge of mania. All fast movements, that are technically clean, but the expressions. They're ---

It's Phichit who whispers, "Is he crying?" and they all peer closer.

Guang-Hong voice almost a lament saying, "He's really into his theme."

There's a moment searching his memory, but Yuri can't remember what that theme was, but there's something painful about watching the routine on the screen coming to an end. Something painful, something desperate and sad.

[fivetimechamp]

There's some chatter from the skaters clustered around the tv about first Georgi's and then Leo's short programs, but Victor only needs to glance at the scores to know he was right and neither of them are going to be offering up a challenge today. Tomorrow will be a different story, but that's tomorrow: right now, he waves to Celestino (who seems to be a little off-kilter today, himself, and keeps shooting Victor annoyed looks) and wanders over to join Yuri and the others as Chris takes the ice.

Chris. No shrinking violet, in his shimmering catsuit, with choreography that looks as if it was taken directly out of a strip club, and Victor's amused as he leans in to wrap his right arm around Yuri's waist, left hand cupping the inside of his shoulder so Victor can settle his chin on Yuri's shoulder and rest his cheek against the side of Yuri's head, while on the screen, Chris' quad turns into a triple. His laugh is a quiet huff of amusement: Chris is good, and he's widely regarded as a sex symbol among their community, and Victor can't say it doesn't have its appeal, but he prefers the fiery, playful passion of the skater he's currently using as a full-sized body pillow to Chris' overt sensuality.

On the television, Chris recovers, and Victor snorts a breath of fond laughter. "He said he wasn't finding motivation, but Chris never goes into a major slump." Which is what he'd said before, earlier. Even when he was competing, Chris never started the season off as strongly as he ended it. "He's a slow starter, so he doesn't try to peak in the main event."

Amused, as Chris sweeps about the ice to a throbbing, sultry song: "But today he's really going all out on sex appeal."

Not that it matters. A totally different animal from Eros, where the chase is part of the point, and passion's fickle nature is both highlighted and criticized. Chris lays it all out there for anyone to see or have, there's no subtlety to it anywhere, and he can't agree when Yuri says Chris won the day's sex appeal award, though he pats Yuri's shoulder encouragingly. It doesn't matter: he was right. Nothing those three did was enough, and now?

Now they'll fight their way to the top.

[theglassheart]

Victor is very suddenly very much everywhere.

There's an arm lopping his waist. Another catching his shoulder. Victor's chin on his shoulder. Yuri knows he should jump. Any other time he'd jump. He was shaking last night. The thought is almost academic there, but the idea of moving toward it, jumping, is exhausting even. He's not entirely sure he can feel his body, and it's not all that different from Victor throwing himself around his shoulders a few minutes ago on camera.

It's almost orienting more than the disorientation he expects. Weight in his toes, on his shoulders. It doesn't entirely stop that his cheeks flush a little, the very tops of themselves when Victor's cheek brushes his as he settles. Yuri's eyes only shifting over enough to catch the pale of his skin and silver-grey of his hair, before he shifts back to watching Chris Giacometti, missing the two pairs of eyes lingering on them first.

Chris' outfit is more aggressive and sexier than Yuri could even dream of having the confidence to wear. It's shimmers everywhere, every time he moves, drawing the eyes to every part and angle of his body that catches the light. The whole thing makes his stomach coil tighter and even as it makes him want to curl in, he leans back slightly, into the weight of Victor, watching the comparison of what he'd done at a completely different level.

One he wasn't positive he could ever touch, no less pretend he could be.

It doesn't matter that the elements are downgrading from expected, Chris has set the audience and the ice on fire. The flush of his cheeks and the sensuous movements of his body above and beyond that. There's no way everyone watching that wasn't moved. Even he was. Phichit looks in shock, Guang-Hong's hands are at his mouth, and Victor might only be commenting on his elements, but that can't be the only thing he sees either.

Not Victor who has been skating beside Chris since Chris joined the senior division.
There's absolutely no way that Victor can't feel it, like all of them here, all the audience out there.

"I guess today's sex appeal award goes to Chris," Yuri says glumly, while Victor's hand is patting his far shoulder. "Even the ice looks soaking wet."

They stand there, waiting. The four of them, as Chris and his coach appear in the kiss-and-cry next, and then the screen bars finally blink into place. Yuri staring for what feels like an insanely, confused moment at the Rank 5, especially as Chris is on his feet playing to the adoring crowd like it's the exact opposite of that number.

All of it startles a soft sound of true surprise from Yuri's mouth, "Huh?"

Chris didn't displace him, and if Chris didn't --

"Then, am I--" First? He was still in First?

[fivetimechamp]

As the roar from the crowd goes up at the realization, Victor gives Yuri a squeeze, grinning into his cheek, saying "I knew you could do it!" before letting go to run interference with the reporters and cameras until Yuri is ready to talk to them.

Hearing Phichit say he's gunning to pass Yuri tomorrow in the free skate, and walking past a determined-looking Leo de Iglesia and his coach, there's a sea of tossed congratulations and an exuberant feeling of accomplishment saturating the air. No one is going to feel like they're out of the running after the short program, with the much higher possible scores of the free skate to come, so the skaters are effervescent and optimistic, congratulating each other and posing for selfies before heading out to talk to the cameras waiting outside.

For his part, Victor can't stop smiling, even if he tries to make it look like he knew this would be the result all along. Is he surprised that Yuri is currently in first place? No, he is not: he's always known Yuri had the ability to do as well as he had today. Does their success in the short program make him pleased with his decision to turn to coaching? Well, he'd already been pleased with it, but this is nice, too. Is being back at the rink during a competition enough to make him want to come back as a competitor himself? It's good to be back, and interesting to be on the other side of the wall during the perfomances, and, look! Here's Yuri! Please focus on him, after that outstanding performance.

Stepping to the side, alight with pride, as Yuri stammers through his answers, steadily gaining steam and confidence, even if his voice shakes a little when he declares they'll win together tomorrow with the power of love, making Victor step into frame, beaming genially and tossing up victory symbols. "Win, win!"