The Russian isn't important (it's most likely wrong), so I didn't put a translation. Yuuri and Victor are the same age, somewhere in college!

His hands were a little chapped from the general chill of the ice rink; he'd forgotten his gloves yet again, but it didn't keep him from handling each pair of skates that came into contact with his fingers. The reddened, rough patches between his fingers were nothing more than a lesser degree of an occupational hazard. Yuuri gingerly swiped the microfiber clothe over the entirety of the boot, carefully sliding them back into their respectively sized shelves once they were cleaned, before taking out the next pair. He didn't wear much other than a face frozen in thought, much like the tips of his fingers.

Beautifully soft, well kept hands were expressing themselves on the ice, carried by legs that moved over in intricate swirls, spins, through eager steps, and jumps. His expression always succumbed to the bliss of his art, lips perpetually caught in a silent grin. Whereas someone worked to shroud themselves in concentration, concentration worked to encompass him. Victor was an idea, a spirit who refused to be caught. His movements were less careful and less predictable, the type that could captivate a million. The world was his audience.

However, his coach was not one of the millions that heedlessly loved him. "Не импровизировать..." The harsh sounding, foreign language quickly snapped Yuuri's gaze up from his work. "придерживаться программы!" the older man's shouts echoed from within the vast room's open acoustics, slowing Victor's movements.

Yuuri slowly let his eyes fall back down toward the skates in his lap, his finger rubbing the clothe over the harder to reach places. Even with the double doors separating the front entrance from the rink area itself, Yuuri heard nearly everything.

You son of a Matryoshka... you better not shit on my ice!

He had no idea what this clearly Russian coach was saying, but Yuuri didn't have to be bilingual to know that the coach was yelling whatever he said, and he didn't look happy about it. The glasses clad male had been present for so many of these figure skating practices, where there seemed to be more yelling than skating, that Yuuri had amused himself with silly mad-libs. The guy on the receiving end of these imagined insults didn't look very interested in what his coach had to say, and seemed to make the same mistakes judging from the words Yuuri recognized once the coach started shouting again. And again.

Yuuri knew now that both the coach and his pupil were very famous. It'd taken his manager/ex-crush, Yuuko, about five times to really ingrain that into him.

"Victor Nikiforov. Like the Victor, skating at our rink." He remembered how each part of her body seemed excited, and how quickly angry she got when he disinterestedly asked who Wikutoru Nikiforofu was to her face.

"I told you like five times already! What kind of guy works at an ice skating rink and doesn't know Victor Nikiforov? I could have you fired for this." She couldn't, but she used this threat often anyway.

"I just got Netflix." Yuuri lamented as if it was a valid excuse, his shoulders dropping in resignation of the impending lecture he was about to receive for the sixth time. He should've just kept it to himself that he'd already forgotten about the skater.

"He's breezed through every competition, gold metal after gold metal, won his first big worldwide competition at sixteen?" Yuuri had this dumb look on his face that didn't go away after she spoke. "No? Still not ringing a bell? Super hot Victor?- you know what, you're a lost cause."

Yuuri didn't remember this supposedly famous figure skater, but he did remember how long her last rant was, and he was secretly grateful that she'd given up on him.

After that conversation, when that particular shift ended and he'd returned to his dorm room, he had the thought to research this skating celebrity but it was quickly drowned out with 'homework', which was really him binge-watching some new show and stressing about the homework he should've really been doing. Needless to say, there was not even one googled 'Victor Nikiforov' in his entire search history. When Victor arrived for his first day of practice at the new rink, Yuuri felt a little nervous because he didn't know anything about the guy, and for some reason he was scared he'd get quizzed about him. Yuuko, Yuuri's manager, had ditched her Friday morning class just to give Victor and his coach a personal tour. The coach already knew his way around the rink; despite being very clearly Russian, his home of residency had been in this very clearly Japanese city, and supposedly Victor had hunted and chased him down just to be taught by him. Yuuri still didn't get why he had to be here when Yuuko was here, awkwardly introducing himself when Yuuko elbowed him hard enough, forcing him to step forward.

It was with one look that Yuuri realized they lived in totally different worlds. Victor's smile was angelic, everything about the sparkle in his eyes to the way he carried himself rang with the kind of confidence that'd come when you'd look good your whole life, and planned to look good for the rest of it. His silver hair was pulled back in what looked like a messy bun on the top of his head, which Yuuri was pretty sure that nothing messy belonged on this new foreign stranger in his life. He wore some kind of sports jersey jacket, some shorts below that, and thick, black tights that spanned over long, toned legs. Victor was taller than Yuuri, but only by a little, and it was such a small height difference that it pissed off Yuuri a little into thinking that maybe, if he believed in himself a little more, he could outgrow the distance. That way they could be equal in something.

"I'm... Katsuki, Yuuri. I work here. Part-time."

The shorter of the two males was the poster child for the averagely unkempt college student. He'd hid his messy black hair and his red ears in a beanie. His glasses were getting more and more steamed from the contrast of cool glass and his heated cheeks. Yuuri was in no way unhealthily overweight, but he wore that baggy sweater for a reason. His face didn't show it, but his tummy was soft around the edges with baby fat, which he was in college now so he couldn't use that excuse, and Yuuko squeezed his love handles whenever she could catch him off guard. Some collected at his thighs too, but he doubted she'd be squeezing those any time soon. He'd learned quickly to wear his warmer pants to work, and a simple pair of sneakers underneath that were nothing as graceful as Victor's demure looking flats. Yuuri's eyes floated on down in a shy nod of his head, before Yuuko not to slyly shoved him again, and he remembered what she'd made him memorize the night before. Nice to meet you... in Russian. Good luck, me. "Pr-Priyato... nouu... pozunakomitsu... ya?" Japassian. Russapan? It was an undesirable mix of the two languages, and Yuuri managed to make it sound like a question. He expected a slap on the face from everyone in the room as a favor to him.

But Victor looked amazed, and something in Yuuri went warm and soft. "приятно познакомиться!" Victor's voice was pleasantly big for someone with such soft facial features, his hand grabbing ahold of Yuuri's for a strong, steady shake that the latter wasn't entirely prepared for. "Thank you, Yuuri. I am Victor. It's nice to meet you, too." Yes, Victor's Japanese was much better than Yuuri's attempt at Russian. There was a noticeable accent, but Victor was fluent to the point where Yuuri's shoulders started to relax.

"To start fresh, there's no better place than the ice, yes?" Victor released Yuuri's hand and smiled between the couple of Japanese. "May I try out the rink?" the stunning male politely asked, earning a strange new giggle out of Yuuko that Yuuri was sure she'd practiced just for the foreigner. "Of course! ... Can we watch?"

Oh no. Yuuri's eyes widened, and he was leaning in toward the brunette woman. "I've- -uhh- -gotta get the rentals ready though, take stock n' stuff," he nervously reminded her, earning a roll of her eyes as she walked off, leading Victor and his coach out of the entrance. Victor might've looked back and over his shoulder, but Yuuri's attention had since diverted back to last night's latest episode of Black Mirror, and that quiz he had coming up on Monday.

From then on, interaction was brief and little. Yuuri only opened on Thursdays and Fridays, then opened and closed on weekends with Yuuko. Each morning Thursday through Sunday, Victor would enthusiastically greet him. Every Saturday and Sunday afternoon, he'd brightly bid farewell no matter how grueling and long practices seemed to be for him. Supposedly, Victor now attended the same college, but Yuuri never saw him on campus, or out on the town. Even if Yuuri wasn't seeing him all the time, he got enough flack about him from Yuuko and other girls at his college asking about it.

"получить голову из облаков!"

No borscht for you tonight if you don't get your ass in gear!

Yuuri snorted to himself, replacing the last pair of skates on the rack before standing up at the counter, his chin relaxing on an open palm, elbows on the countertop. That last outburst sounded angrier than the last, and with a sharp burst through the door, Victor's coach was walking out. He called out a "Good bye" in Russian-tinged Japanese, for Yuuri's sake as he always did, and the part-timer settled back into his comfortable position. That was his usual mode of exit, so Yuuri was reassured that Victor's coach hadn't quit on him. He wasn't even sure why he worried in the first place.

He'd wait for Victor to come through those double doors, give him an obligatorily half-assed smile on Victor's way out, and then he'd feel that same rush of relief that came with Victor's presence. It definitely wasn't the skater's fault; but Yuuri was definitely intimidated by his godlike existence. Yuuko revered Victor as a god, so it was hard for Yuuri not to at least be a little wary of him.

The doors opened much more quietly this time, and Victor's body slid right through the opening, just as smooth off the ice as he was on it, Yuuri guessed. Skates were missing from their usual spot on Victor's shoulder, and he wasn't carrying his duffel bag. His lithe hips seemed to cock to one side as his hands glided up through his hair, gently tugging the ponytail holder, until his silver tresses were spilling over his shoulder. Yuuri's throat went dry, seeing the Russian star advance toward the counter, making Yuuri anxiously back off of it as he stood up, wondering what this meant. Victor never approached the counter. His pretty blue eyes were focused on the board hanging on the wall above the columns of skates, displaying prices for group skating, rentals, and the like.

"I made the arrangements with Yuuko last night," Victor's tone was light, airy, as he answered the question asked by Yuuri's face. Arrangements? Last night? Victor's smile turned more playful, and now his elbows were on the counter, his body leaning forward. "My new friends from the college are coming to skate. So, I need about..." Victor slipped one hand below the counter, fiddling before he brought back a credit card, sliding it over the table. "Twenty pairs."

"That's a lot of friends," Yuuri blurted, honestly not trying to be funny or talkative or anything as he brought out the planner and set it over the counter space that Victor's sleeve covered arms weren't currently occupying. Victor laughed, and Yuuri grinned despite himself, opening the planner. His finger pushed up his glasses as he nosed through to that day's date, scanning the entry that had the rink completely booked for two hours. He felt something brush against his forehead, his eyes flickering up and widening once he saw how close Victor's face had become, their foreheads barely brushing as Victor revealed just how little he cared for personal space.

Yuuri slowly pulled his face back, his head swerving in the way of the cash register with Victor's card in tow. "I can ring up those skates for you. Probably don't have the sizes yet, huh?"

"I don't, I apologize. Ah, make that twenty-one skates."

Yuuri gave a simple smile to the register. "... 's no problem. You think of someone else to add in?

"Yes! You." Once the words had sunk in long enough to notice, the dark haired male looked up at that heart shaped smile that seemed to breathe 'You're welcome you filthy mortal'.

The smile turned apologetic, and very very nervous, because he was dead sure Yuuko would find some way to fire him for turning down the God of Ice. "S-Sorry, I have to stay out here and watch the entrance," Yuuri excused, a little flattered that the chance was offered to him, even if it seemed condescending. "I don't skate, either."

The first excuse Victor might have bought, but the other one had him raising a perfectly thin eyebrow in suspicion. "You don't skate? Or you can't?"

He tugged both sides of his beanie downward, feeling the heat in his cheeks bloom down his neck when Victor said it out loud. "I should go clear the ice," he mumbled, earning too sweet of a good-natured laugh out of Victor, who clearly was put on this Earth to skate and fill Yuuri's ears with his laughter. Yuuri ignored him and headed back through the double doors, going for the zamboni parked around the rink, setting things up for a proper renewal of the ice Victor and his friends would skate on. The more he worked, the more he noticed Victor was close behind, watching with wholehearted interest.

"It's just a zamboni," Yuuri breathed in slight irritation when Victor hovered over his shoulder. The silver haired male caught the hint, backing up a little as Yuuri climbed up the tall vehicle, and sat in the single seat. "I know, but... I've never ridden in one!" He clapped his thin gloved hands together, as if begging in a very Japanese way, his tongue playfully sticking out. "Please let me ride with you~"

It was a one-seater. There wasn't really another place for Victor to stand or sit, and Yuuri looked increasingly troubled. Before he could complain, Victor was already hoisting himself up the steps, his feet shuffling over the little space they had on the floor, before he dropped himself sideways onto Yuuri's lap. This forced Yuuri to grasp onto him with the suddenness of all, instinctively afraid Victor would fall off. The Russian student's arms casually draped around Yuuri's shoulders, connecting behind his neck, and Yuuri wasn't really sure when it'd be appropriate to retrieve his hands from the skater's legs and the small of his back.

Victor's ass was on Yuuri's lap. The ass that Yuuri had become very familiar with every day as he watched it walk out the doors of the rink when he thought Victor would never notice. "Uh... uhh. It's really not that... safe? Like this. I mean, I've never..." Yuuri murmured, strangely moved by the childish determination that shone in Victor's face, which neared his own. Victor's expression softened and one hand slipped from Yuuri's shoulder, taking hold of the skating-virgin's hand, bringing it to the steering wheel. He then adjusted the other hand's grip, more or less forcing Yuuri to hold Victor with more assurance, indefinitely keeping him in place on Yuuri's lap.

He replaced his hand over Yuuri's shoulder, his voice praising the part-time worker with every syllable. "You can drive with one hand, yes?" He looked up at the other from underneath long, light eyelashes, and Yuuri felt his beanie start to slip from his head. Victor had started pulling off the hat until Yuuri could feel the cool of the air prickling at his scalp. He didn't mind the loss of heat as he watched Victor mischievously stuff it onto his own head, with a breathtaking grin on his lips.

Defeated, Yuuri reached around Victor's back to start the engine, the corner of his lips twitching upward as Victor happily exclaimed something in Russian. Yuuri reached up to tug the beanie further around Victor's head, until it fit properly, before backing the vehicle onto the ice. He felt Victor's arms tighten around him, and in response his hand squeezed the bottom of Victor's thigh, his hands uncannily close to his ass cheek. He couldn't bring himself to touch further up.

Yuuri managed to do an okay job, considering that he was going one-handed, and Victor's ass wiggled on top of his lap each time the zamboni shook. Granted, Victor was also asking a multitude of questions which Yuuri claimed he couldn't hear through the noise of the engine, which had Victor cupping his hand around Yuuri's ear just to exaggeratedly enunciate the repeat question.

"If you can't skate, why do they let you work here?" It wasn't meant to be accusatory, or mean spirited, but any chance of Yuuri being offended quickly left the rink as he felt the warm buzz of lips against his earlobe. Victor laughed heartily and all but pressed his ear into Yuuri's lips, watching ice as they moved past it. "Not sure!" Yuuri spoke, guiding them around in slow, steady circles to smooth over every inch of ice. "I just applied, and... well, as you can see, 'm making up for it with the zamboni."

"And the skates!" Victor quipped back, his lips incidentally close enough to Yuuri's, able to feel his excited huffs ghost hotly over his lips. "They always look very pristine."

"Pristine." Yuuri tried on his lips, laughing when the world held none of the magic for him that it seemed to hold for Victor. "Thank you, thank you. I, a- -haha- -work hard." Yuuri kept his eyes on the ice, occasionally looking toward Victor's close features as he beamed from where he sat on his lap. Victor looked for all the world like it was the greatest adventure of his young life, which had to end eventually.

He pulled the vehicle into the storage room, carefully parking it and turning off the engine, feeling Victor's body settle against his again. "Well, it's not really working hard," Yuuri added, taking his feet off the pedals and resting them on the floor, his hands releasing his grip on the skater. "I mean, you're doing all this training, and you've won a lot of competitions." They'd just had such a fun time, and Yuuri was rambling. Was he just destined to kill every fun opportunity that came his way? "Compared to all that, I'm not really doing anything, so." Yuuri had already resigned to himself that this bit of fun would end sourly, looking emphatically toward the ground to get Victor moving off him.

Instead, he received a very cool, calm gaze. Those blue eyes were analyzing Yuuri's face, and soon Victor's hands were joining them, pulling lightly at the base of his neck. "There's nothing wrong with having pride in what you do, no matter how big or small it may seem," Victor encourage, his forehead dipping into Yuuri's, until he felt comfort in the sensation of his own beanie pressing into his skin. A god convincing an ant that he was important. It seemed highly unlikely.

"... But there is something wrong with you not being able to skate." Victor teased, glowing with pride once he earned the return of a smile on Yuuri's lips. His nimble fingers worked on returning the beanie to its rightful owner, pulling the edges down over Yuuri's ears, smoothing it over with his palm. "Let me teach you sometime! You can impress Yuuko, and then she won't be able to resist."

Yuuri's smile disappeared into a frown straightaway, which had Victor full of even more mirth, in some way. How did this little player find out about Yuuri's stale crush?

Victor answered, again, without Yuuri having to ask. "I see the way you look at her. I think it's very sweet, working here for her." Spooky. How had Victor been able to guess that in the first month he was here? Yuuri hadn't told anyone.

But still, for some weird reason, Yuuri felt the need to defend himself. "No, I- -whatever that was when I started working here, it's gone." Yuuri tried to make himself clear, wincing when Victor's eyes darted between his. "I don't like her anymore, so I wouldn't be trying to impress her." He finally spat out, watching Victor process. Then Victor was leaning in closer, his hands now on the front of the ravenette's sweater.

"I do not impress easily." Victor sounded stern, but nothing like his coach. Yuuri knew exactly what he was alluding to, and part of the challenge was not freaking out or getting even more red. He was already failing that.

So what if he kind of surrendered his heart to Victor?

"You're on," it left the Japanese male in a breath, before he was remembering where they were and where he had to be. "Now get off."