Chapter Text
“I’m retiring after this season.”
They’re almost done warming up for their first session of the day, skating faster and faster laps around the rink after rolling out, warming up, stretching and a little bit of off-ice work. The usual routine. The movements are familiar, akin to walking for them after countless hours spent drilling the change of weight, change of edge, gliding atop the ice with minimal movement. The rink lights are blinding and the ice is still relatively smooth; they’re one of the first out this morning. It’s too early in his opinion but he’s long grown used to the early hour. He’s still foggy enough for the news to take a handful of seconds to compute in his brain, the slow trickle of ice cold water down his back is decidedly phantom but the chill still pervades his bones and drives the breath from his lungs (but that may be the exercise).
Perhaps it’s Yuuko’s, or maybe he’s trying to pretend she hadn’t just told him that she’s planning to retire. It’s so casual that he almost wishes she sounded more emotional about it – he can work with erstwhile emotions better than this smooth slate of nothingness. He stumbles, clean lines broken and jagged as his head snaps towards Yuuko. They continue their laps, her eyes set in front of her, awake and avoiding his own. “Retiring…?” is all he manages to croak. She nods.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” she says, the silence settling itself upon their shoulders, the heavy weight of a boa constrictor settling, twisting around to skate backwards, eyes peering over her shoulder — to watch out for their rinkmates or to avoid looking at him, he’s not sure — and she pauses. One breath passes, then two. “Skating’s been rough on my body and I miss home and-” she hesitates for a moment. “I’m not getting any younger, Yuuri,” she says, just loud enough for him to hear over their skates carving crisp lines in the ice. “We agreed we’d get married and settle down when I felt like retiring and I-” They’ve reached the exit to the rink now. She finally turns to look at him. “I want kids, Yuuri.”
He hugs her.
They’re still on the ice, right by the exit, and it’s pure luck that nobody else is trying to get onto the rink because he doesn’t think he could let go if he wanted to. Yuuko’s hands clench the back of his training jacket and god , it’s still weird that he’s taller than her when he thinks about it too long, that he has to bend down to lean against her now. Familiar and weird. She’s turning nineteen next month and the season is set to start the month after and his mind wants to bombard him with all the issues that need to be sorted and organised before then. He’s already mentally drawing up to-do lists and his heart starts to thump harder and faster for reasons other than exercise this time and-
“Breathe, Yuuri.”
“I’ll miss you, when you’re gone,” he sighs against her head, pulling away to look at her properly. He doesn’t notice anything different about her but she seems… lighter. Less tense, more like the Yuuko he grew up with, fearless and painfully optimistic in the face of his overwhelming anxiety. “We should go talk to Celestino, now.” He doesn’t know what else to say to her admission because it’s still before seven in the morning and they aren’t the only skaters loitering about. He can see Celestino flicking through something on his iPad already, glancing up at them periodically before turning back to his device. Yuuko must’ve told him already. Maybe she’d consulted him, as someone she’s comfortable with but doesn’t hold any lingering ties to. A part of him wants to feel resentful that she hadn’t asked for his opinion but it quickly withers and falls away. It wasn’t a choice that he wanted to influence. He can’t fault either of them — doesn’t want to fault either of them.
He slides his skate guards on and half-waddles-half-walks over to Celestino, Yuuko following behind him, and he pushes the prodding fingers of anxiety into the background. He’ll have time to be swallowed by the pits later. He doesn’t want to drop Yuuko or throw her wrong and-
Stop. Later.
***
“We’re still going for the throw triple axel, right?”
“Obviously, I said I was retiring after this season, not now.”
“...And the quad toe?”
“You aren’t doubting me right?”
Silence.
“Right?”
An audible thump – a fist makes contact with a shoulder. A whine.
“Since you’re doubting me, we definitely have to put the throw triple axel and the synced triple axel jump in.”
“No- Yuuko, stop it!” Giggles drifts further away, heavier footsteps following immediately. “Yuuko, don’t you dare tell Celestino, you know he’ll make us do it for real!”
***
It’s not long before he’s pulled aside by one of the assistant coaches – Mira, or was it Myra? Definitely Myra. – and shepherded into one of the few conference rooms the university rink contains.
A man and a woman (both Japanese he notes, his brain yanking him back into the proper headspace) both stand when he enters and he offers them a polite bow and greeting. There are a few scenarios he can see unfolding with the Japanese Skating Federation and none of them are particularly good. Not at all. Myra sits next to him, despite the conversation being held primarily in Japanese, acting as a neutral third party – and witness – to this exchange. He tentatively starts attempting to translate and negotiate with the duo as he wonders whether Yuuko is going to join them. It really shouldn’t matter if she is there or not – this meeting seems to be hell-bent on ironing out his plans for the next two seasons. It’s serious but also not as formal as he’d anticipated, they don’t seem like they’re going to crush his dreams and passive-aggressively force him to retire with Yuuko but he realistically doesn’t know what they plan to do with him. He doesn’t know what he plans to do with himself after this season.
Should he get a new partner?
Should he retire?
Maybe he could coach novice skaters?
…On second thought, maybe not.
“Katsuki-san, if you’re not willing to find another partner – we understand your hesitance – the Federation has a… unique offer for you.”
Instantly, he’s apprehensive; ‘unique offer’, what the hell does that mean? “What would this… offer entail?”
“We’ve reviewed your individual performances and would like to see you transition back to compete as a singles skater.” Fumi-san translates for Myra and it’s oddly comforting when her jaw also goes a bit slack. So, definitely not normal. He’s heard stories about singles skaters being recruited to become pair skaters but it’s the first time he’s heard about the opposite occurring.
‘Unique’ is an understatement. ‘Mind boggling’ is a more accurate description.
What is the federation trying to achieve here?
***
If he thought moving to Detroit with Yuuko as a bumbling fifteen-year-old was a cacophony of chaos, all the English and Japanese slurring together into a tangled mess of syllables, little Yuuri was very naive and should never underestimate the efforts of those around him. For days, it felt like he was either preoccupied with discussing contracts and future plans, calling his parents and double- no, triple checking that “you’re really alright with this right?” and “you don’t think I should retire with Yuuko?” to overwhelming support from his mother, understated yet supportive words from his father and his sister teasing him for wanting to retire before he’s eighteen.
Celestino didn’t seem put out, despite the JSF breathing down his neck – a testimony to his years of experience in skating politics. He’d agreed readily to coach him in singles, dumping him – expression just a tad too gleeful – with his other junior skaters to ‘make friends and bond’ or something; he doesn’t remember much over the sheer panic of forced socialisation. It’s not like he’s been a total social-hermit since he arrived in Detroit two years prior. He just has a… healthy appreciation for being alone. Yep. Healthy appreciation. A lot of appreciation.
Yuuko seemed to be more busy outside of their allocated training sessions – it couldn’t be school work as she’d graduated high school during the season prior… Unless she’d enrolled at Wayne State University without him knowing…
That’d be awkward.
She isn’t leaving the rink so it can’t be anything like a job. It isn’t until he walks past the novice session that is regularly held in the afternoon that he figures it out: she’s learning how to coach. It’s… sort of funny to watch how hesitant she is, whether it be from nerves or fear of messing up, but she’s focused enough that he skirts by unnoticed; maybe it’s- not a good thing she’s retiring but she goes after what she wants. If that’s to have a family, coach aspiring skaters, avoid life-long injury, she’ll do it. And he can see it. It's rough on the body – especially for the ladies. Every professional skater knows that there’s an expiry date to their career, whether that's through premature injury or age. It's a fact of life for competitive skaters.
So, back up plans are always in the works. Now more so than ever before. She and Celestino often spend time chatting whenever they’re both rinkside, Yuuko curious and focused on every word and gesture as Celestino enters ‘sensei-mode’. God knows Yuuko could be ultra critical of their own work – between starting early and finishing late, most of their rinkmates were intimately familiar with Yuuko’s work ethic but were now acquainting themselves with the beast that is nit-picky Miyamoto Yuuko. He’s never received more pitying looks in his life. Whenever they’re on the ice receiving feedback and criticism after running through lifts, jumps or step sequences, he’ll undoubtedly catch someone's eye – if it isn’t Phichit, one of the junior singles skaters who walks around with his beloved smartphone in hand, taking pictures, texting or using this thing called Instagram, then it’s Celestino’s other pair team, Andrea and Nikita, an American pair several years their seniors. Occasionally it's the other singles skaters he’s barely talked to, usually when they're running overtime or behind for some reason or another.
That’s a lot more eye contact than he’s truly comfortable with but, he tells himself, at least they don’t try to approach him… often, anyways.
There’s nothing quite like a grilling session at the hands of Yuuko. It’s unreasonably comforting now, all things considered, but it’s still a little bit embarrassing – Yuuko is terribly short compared to the American skaters and he’s seen them looking far too amused whenever she starts critiquing their work. Nosy, nosy skaters.
To be honest, it’s probably the main reason they’ve made such leaps and jumps in rankings. He can’t imagine the struggle it would be to compete on his own, stuck in his own anxiety-riddled mind – frightening, probably. Yuuko was grounding in the way she told him exactly what she needed him to do, what to change and improve on for the next run through: “I need you to throw me higher so I have more time to get the rotations in,” or “Yuuri, we were out of time on the jumps, what music cue are you listening for?” or his personal favourite, “JUST YEET ME AS HIGH AS YOU CAN, YUURI, I’LL STICK THE LANDING!” Equal parts frightening and exhilarating.
To say they’ve got a bit of a reputation at the rink would be an understatement at this point.
It does make it easier hanging around Phichit whenever he’s thrown into a drill session with the single skaters; what can he say, quiet people tend to attract loud people like opposing poles on magnets. The unrelenting support and feedback is appreciated, but it isn’t the same as Yuuko. But maybe that’s a good thing.
Maybe.
The plans for his singles debut are shaping up to be… interesting .
“You- you want me to compete in Juniors for a year before potentially moving to Seniors?”
“Yes, that’s the plan. Since you’re still under the maximum age for Junior competitions and you’ve never competed in a Senior singles competition, it would be a good entry point for you. Get some competition experience on your own.” The official, Minako, pauses, shuffling her papers about before sliding a sheet towards him. “We’ve secured you three Junior Grand Prix placements as you’ve competed before in pairs. The dates shouldn’t clash with your other competitions, however, let me know if any problems arise sooner rather than later.” He nods, eyes tracing the kanji, hiragana and katakana on the sheet.
Slovakia. Poland. Austria. All before his pair skating events.
Lovely.
“Are there any other Japanese competitors attending these competitions?” Maybe Phichit was also assigned to the same events – he’ll have to ask him when he sees him next.
“Ah.” Suddenly, Satou-san has that look; just a glance, and he can already tell what the answer is going to be. “Unfortunately, we are only able to send one competitor per competition. There are two other junior skaters – Minami-kun and Shoji-kun – but they are only competing in one or two events each.” That familiar sensation begins to creep up his chest, slowly crushing his trachea the longer he sits there. He wants to counter the implication that he’s somehow better than these other two skaters; he wants to question her, ask her if this is the right decision? What if he’s taking competitions away from other, more talented, younger skaters? Oh god, he must look like an event-stealing douchebag!
Satou-san says a couple more things – he wasn’t paying attention enough to remember any details – before standing, offering a small nod and farewell as he gathers his belongings. Oh. The fog lifts a little bit, enough for him to politely farewell Satou-san, enough for him to float back to the rinkside. His attention falls to the scuffed ice – divots litter the cloudy surface, between the thin shavings of ice and the crisp erratic lines. It hurts to breathe. The phantom rope around his neck begins to tighten and he buries his face into his forearm. Hopefully they think he’s just stretching his back, or watching the other skaters. Hopefully they don’t think he’s crying. Because he’s not. He’s not crying.
He’s not.
***
It’s not long before he’s alone on the ice, free to do more than carve figures into the ice, etch the lines deeper and deeper only for them to be covered by the morning, pristine and faultless once more. His feet ache something fierce, hips thrumming from a hard fall in training, yet he continues. Over and over. Again and again.
The pressure continues to mount the longer he stays on the ice. He has to prove that he’s worthy of the opportunities given to him, prove to the JSF that he truly deserved three placements. Prove to himself that he deserved them.
The thoughts don’t want to stop. He rushes over to the stereo, turns the volume up just that little bit more – that’ll drown out the thoughts, surely?
Wrong.
He’d searched up his fellow competitors after the initial tears had waned. He’s the oldest of the three, the only one who’d competed at an international level already, and yet the doubt, the guilt, the anxiety refused to stop. Who was he to take away competitions from these young skaters? He’s a pair skater, has been for years now. His days of singles were over. It’s a fluke he was even being offered this opportunity.
A mistake, perhaps.
The music stops. It’s painfully silent now.
“Yuuri.” A pause. “That’s enough for today.” He can’t bring himself to skate to the music anymore – can’t sell anymore of himself to the ice today.
It’s silent as he skates to the rinkside, silent as he trades skates for trainers, mechanically moving through the routine of putting away his skates – wipe the ice off the blade, dry it with the towel in his bag, put the soft blade covers on before putting them back into his locker. All the while, Yuuko waits patiently, another essential part of the routine.
God, what’s he going to do without her?
The walk home is silent yet comfortable. Pleasant. Warm. Familiar.