I See Red

(and we connect)

"He's also crushed the free skating event! It will be the fifth consecutive Grand Prix Final victory for Russia's Living Legend, Victor Nikiforov! Nikiforov is now 27 years old, so there's been some speculation about his retirement this season, but his masterful performance has definitely blown those rumors away."

It's the fifth time in a row that Victor has gold hanging from his neck after the Grand Prix Final. For some reason, the metal itself isn't as exciting as it once was. Yakov's already yelling at him and Yuri won't listen to his comments about his lousy step sequences. Something feels dull and grey about this, and it shouldn't. When had he lost it, the passion, the fire that kept him warm and alive atop the ice?

He feels eyes on him. It's a feeling he's used to after being in the spotlight for so long. He turns to find a boy, Asian (Chinese? Korean? Japanese? Victor's never been able to tell), black hair, glasses, short and slender, big eyes –not close enough to discern their color-. He looks young, not a day older than 20, but Cao Bin's 28 and some days he looks like he could be Yuri's age, so Victor's long given up on trying to guess people's ages. Victor recognizes the Japanese reporter behind the boy –can't remember the name, but has seen him around enough- which gives him a possible clue of his nationality. Maybe he's with the media, maybe this is his first event. There's awe and wonder in his big eyes (really big. Pretty, even), so regardless of whether he's media or not, he's a fan for sure.

The boy's eyes meet his and he flinches, as if ashamed to be caught staring. Victor isn't fazed. The room's almost empty and Victor's bored, might as well.

"A commemorative photo? Sure."

Victor feels an odd pull at his heart and an even weirder one at his right pinky finger, but he pays it no mind.

The boy inhales sharply and his eyebrows pinch, something that looks like hurt flashing through his eyes (they're a rich, warm brown, Victor can tell now). And then he turns his back on Victor and walks away.

The tug at his heart is sharper, and his pinky finger is numb. When he looks down, there's a red string tied to it. Victor's confused. He pulls on the thread and feels it tense, as if it's tied to something else on its other end. His eyes follow the red string and find it disappearing around the (possibly) Japanese boy's hand. Victor doesn't understand anything at all and he can't do much but watch as the boy walks away.

"Oi, that was rude, even for you."

"Eh?"

Yuri's brow is scrunched in a frown. "He's the loser that bombed hard and placed last in singles. Geez, at least know who you're competing against."

Victor is still very confused, but when he looks back up, the boy is gone.

The red string is still tied on his finger.

Victor wakes up the next day and looks at his hand, convinced there'll be nothing there.

There is. It's red and soft, about two millimeters thick, and Victor might be losing his mind after all.

Last night he discovered that Yakov can't see it. Yuri can't see it. Mila can't see it. Chris can't see it. Only Victor can. He's tried rubbing his eyes, tried closing them one at a time to see if maybe it was some bizarre defect on his retina or something. But of course it isn't because he can touch it, feel it. At his wit's end, he tried to tie it around Yuri's forearm and tug, see if that worked. He got a scowl and a "did you finally lose it, old man?" for all his trouble, as Yuri's arm slipped through the red string as if it weren't there.

Afterwards he'd spent hours trying to untie it, but there is no visible bow to be pulled loose, it's like it was forged around his finger. He pulled it like a fishing line to see what it was at the other end that kept the thread constantly tense, but gave up once he had about five meters (give or take) tangled over his bedsheets. Then he tried to follow it, but had only gotten as far as the hotel door before realizing how ridiculous it was. He even tried cutting it, but when he did, he felt excruciating pain in his chest. And it didn't make sense at all, that using scissors to cut through this phantom red string would make him feel like his heart was being squeezed into dust, but he decided not to try that again and convinced himself that it was because it hadn't worked anyway.

In the meantime, he'd looked into the boy –Yuuri Katsuki, his mind supplies- that somehow had started all of this. Japan's top figure skater in the senior male division, first time at the Grand Prix Final, recently turned 23 years old (not a boy after all), trained in Detroit. Youtube provided him with videos of his performances: enchanting step sequences and beautiful spins –the form of his camel spin was particularly lovely- but there was tenseness to his figure that had him fail most, if not all of his jumps. Ended dead last, and by a wide margin. Victor stayed up late looking for videos of his previous Grand Prix Series competitions and was surprised to find how much more confident he'd looked back then. What went wrong at the Final then? Victor finds himself intrigued to say the least.

What's even more intriguing is that he can see a red thread on Yuuri Katsuki's videos too. Of course, between the speed of his moves and the low quality of the videos, it's not very clear where exactly it's coming from, but he sees it twist and loop around his body when he spins (how are his spins so good, how did he do so poorly when he exudes music on the ice), yet never getting in his way. It's definitely there, but no one comments on it at all. He googles on it a little too: "red string + yuuri katsuki" plus some other variations, but nothing comes up. In this day and age, getting the "no search results" screen is a rarity, and yet here he is.

He briefly considers going to the man himself to ask because this is driving him mad. He is Victor Nikiforov after all, he could surely get the receptionist to give him Yuuri's room number with a well-placed wink and a flip of his hair. But he decides against it, because really, how is he supposed to ask? "Hey, can you see this red thing on my finger that magically appeared when you ignored me yesterday?" Maybe he'll ask if he'd used some secret Japanese ninja technique to tie this phantom string to Victor's finger… for some reason. Maybe that sounds just a teeny-tiny bit racist, so maybe it was a better idea not to ask at all.

Hours go by in between watching Yuuri Katsuki's videos, as old as he can find them, to confirm that yes, the string is indeed there, even in the grainiest footage, and experimenting with his own string. If he puts it under water it does get wet, but it dries within seconds. He briefly considers trying to burn it, but his experience with the scissors discourages him, and he discards any experiment that might seem an attempt to destroy it. Since he can't untie it, he tries to slide it off his finger, but it's fruitless, it really is as if it's been weaved into his skin. He pulls on it once more until he gets enough on his hands to loop around his arm, seeing if it'll cut his blood flow (why he's trying this is anyone's guess, and he hopes no one catches him doing this because he definitely feels like a mad man at this point), but strangely, no matter how tight he holds it around his flesh, it never quite hurts. Yet, he feels it, soft and even warm, almost comforting.

Mad, he's definitely gone mad.

Yakov finds him still in his underwear, trying to see if he can trip himself with the string, and gives him the strangest of looks before hollering about how the gala starts in fifteen minutes and how he's lucky he goes last.

Yuuri Katsuki does not attend the gala and Victor is mildly affronted. On second thought, he can understand why, his performance yesterday was truly disastrous, it's natural that he doesn't want to come near the ice and relive the experience. But now that Victor has seen him and what he can do, he wishes to give some words of encouragement (he did make it to the top six of the entire world after all) and apologize for not recognizing him (in his defense, he barely knows the kid who was to his left on the podium, and he remembers the name because it's two letters only and the kid won't stop yelling it and making silly poses. Youngsters these days). And most importantly, he wants to confirm what is this demonic string that's literally testing the limits of his sanity and whether it is truly connected to Yuuri.

When changing into his costume, Victor notices he has no problem sliding his arms into the sleeves, the string doesn't tangle or get caught anywhere. And even more surprisingly, it doesn't get in his way at all during his exhibition. He was mildly scared he would trip over it, injure himself and find a tragic end to his career, and for that, his first few steps are shamefully hesitant, almost clumsy. But once he gets into the spins, he sees the string twirling around him, always giving him complete freedom of movement, and before he knows it he's doing a spontaneous quad loop (Yakov's going to chew on him for this later, he was supposed to wait until next season to unveil it), the string wrapping around his body, as if trying to protect him (he's gone mad, completely mad, invisible inanimate objects do not have independent wills, get a grip Nikiforov).

Victor isn't too excited to attend the post-event banquet party, but he goes without resistance because Yakov won't stop yapping at him about sponsors and whatnot.

He tells himself he's only slightly disappointed to find Yuuri Katsuki isn't there either, even though he's arrived fashionably late. He'll have to wait for Worlds after all. Hopefully he'll have shaken off the disappointment of this loss by then. At least that gives him something to look forward to for—

"What's wrong, Yuuri? You look so glum. Have you had anything to drink yet?"

It's only Victor's most primal sense of dignity that keeps him from whipping his head around at the sound of the heavy Italian accent. Instead, he peeks over his shoulder as discreetly as possible to see Yuuri Katsuki slumped over, looking as gloomy as ever, wearing the ugliest necktie Victor has ever laid eyes on, coach Celestino Cialdini's arm draped around his shoulders.

Now that he has the opportunity to get a good eye on him, Victor feels a little less guilty about not recognizing him yesterday. He's like a completely different person off the ice. Big glasses making his downcast eyes look bigger, bangs falling in disarray over his forehead, and the body language of someone who wishes to disappear into the ground. He's cute, Victor decides, would be moreso if he didn't make such a pitiful picture of self-deprecation.

There's a tug on his finger, which reminds Victor of the (initial) source of his interest in Yuuri Katsuki. He quickly follows the strand of red with his eyes and finds it, indeed, ending somewhere around Yuuri's right hand. Given his state of obsession with it, Victor's surprised he doesn't jump at Yuuri on the spot to try and unveil the mystery. No, he holds himself back and waits for Celestino to give Yuuri some space, for Yuuri to mingle a little and get into the spirit of the party before assaulting him with what might be the strangest hallucination anyone's ever heard of.

Unfortunately he gets tangled in formalities with ISO representatives and by the time he manages to step away from their boorish conversation, the only thing Yuuri has mingled with is champagne. A lot of champagne. Victor does not presume to know Yuuri's alcoholic tolerance, but it's also barely been an hour and there are already fourteen, no fifteen empty flutes in Yuuri's vicinity and this does not bode well at all.

But Victor discards that concern when he gets a clear view of Yuuri's right hand (holding the sixteenth flute, jesus) and the way the red string unmistakably curls around his pinky finger. His curiosity overrules his caution and he shuts his eyes for a moment to go over what he's going to say 'Hey, Yuuri Katsuki, right? I was horribly rude to you yesterday, my deepest apologies. Now would you happen to know what this thing in our fingers is?' Yes, that sounds perfect, and it only took him three speedy mental rehearsals to get rid of the 'ninja magic' part of the question.

He snaps his fingers and takes a step to where Yuuri is probably nursing the seventeen—

"Y'think y're so greeeaaat ev'ryone wants a photo with you, huh?"

Victor did not, in fact, expect Yuuri to approach him first, especially not with that defiant look in his eyes (where did his glasses go), slurring words in half English, half something else (Japanese, is Victor's educated guess), his offensively ugly necktie rumpled inside his jacket pocket rather than hanging from his neck, thank god, the first button of his shirt undone.

"Uh…"

"Th' great Veeector Niki..nilifor… ugh… can't bother knowin' th' com'tition? No one's competition for ye's what y'saying?"

"I'm sorr—"

"I'mma show the great Victor some comp'tition alrigh'."

And with that he's gone, staggering, pouring champagne into his mouth straight from the bottle (oh god), yelling for the Russian Punk and something about "wanna' see me retire, dontcha, brat."

It will forever remain a mystery to him how his plan to apologize to Yuuri and ask about this red string on his finger had somehow ended with him taking photos of drunk Yuuri breakdancing with Yuri -who's clearly way more into it than his failed attempt to escape would've indicated- in the middle of the banquet hall, to the mild horror of the fancy people and the amusement of the younger guests (Mila looked positively ecstatic). And Victor honestly doesn't care about the how because he's having the time of his life.

Seeing Yuuri Katsuki dance like this –improvised, uncoordinated, his shirt riding up his stomach when he spins upside down on the floor-, feels like the first breath of fresh air he's had in ages. He's intense and so alive that Victor soon finds himself ditching the camera and just jumping and pumping his fist in the air. His face almost hurts from the wide, excited grin that pulls at his cheeks.

The red string dances with Yuuri, like the ribbons of a rhythmic gymnast, making beautiful curves and shapes, twirling to the beat of the music. Victor almost feels it pull at his finger, as if trying to invite him to join them.

Before he can make a decision about it, the song ends and Yuri crashes, exhausted, clothes disheveled, and admits his defeat (expected, he's young and doesn't have the stamina). Victor is mildly disappointed that the show has ended, but at least now he can talk to Yuuri who has hopefully sobere—

"Where's the silver medal? Giacometti!"

Oh boy.

Victor wishes to revise his previous statement. Yuuri Katsuki isn't cute (okay, he is, especially when he's smiling). But Victor's fairly certain that the word 'cute' can't be applied to a man hanging from a stripper pole (he wishes he was innocent enough to wonder where that came from, but he knows Chris too well), 85% naked save for his socks and his briefs (and that necktie that will now haunt Victor's dreams), pouring champagne over his and Chris's toned sweating bodies.

So, revising, his sober cuteness nonwithstanding, Yuuri Katsuki is handsome, gorgeous, stunning, absolutely captivating, with burning eyes that command the entire room's attention, as well as the nicest butt (and it's a bit of a cliché for figure skaters to have prominent behinds, but Yuuri truly takes it to the next level) and a pair of hard trained thighs that are taking Victor's mind to places it shouldn't be going. And even if Chris is clearly the most proficient on the pole, Victor's eyes are completely fixated on Yuuri as he stretches, spins, wraps his legs around the pole, holds all of Chris's weight on his one arm and dips him while suspended from the pole (why is this of all things in life that makes Victor jealous of Chris for the first time in ten years?).

The fact that the red string has chosen this performance to wrap around Yuuri's naked limbs, bright scarlet against soft milky flesh, just adds an extra layer of sinful eroticism, at which point Victor is done worrying about whether the thing is a hallucination because if it is, it's the best hallucination ever and he doesn't want it to disappear.

Another thing Yuuri Katsuki has is apparently endless stamina, because he's managed to outdance Chris too. And he also apparently has a high retention of alcohol, because even after all that exercise he's still inebriated off his mind, insisting on shedding his own clothes no matter how hard others have tried to coax him back to decency.

He's now wearing only his shirt –his pants nowhere to be found since he danced Yuri to the ground- and that offending necktie that somehow refuses to disappear from Victor's sight, now going as far as finding its way atop Yuuri's head.

Not that Victor has much time to ponder on the issue because next time he blinks, Yuuri's arms are wrapped around his midsection, hands clutching tight at the back of his designer jacket (and he's warm, no, hot from all that dancing, and Victor burns), his hips wiggling against Victor's thigh, and babbling in what's definitely Japanese, of which Victor cannot understand a single word. It doesn't matter though, because Yuuri then looks up at him, big brown eyes now shielded behind glasses again (the logistics of Yuuri's dressing and undressing are as mystifying as his dancing talents), shining with excitement and innocent hope that doesn't match the sultry seduction he displayed on the pole, a wide smile on his lips and Victor feels it there, the sharp tug at his finger and his heart, the tightest yet, but it doesn't hurt at all, it's beautiful and intense and it makes him float.

"Be my coach, Victor!"

Yuuri flings his arms around his neck and Victor's breathe catches, his face grows warm, his soul sings.

This.

This is it.

Not waiting for Victor's answer, Yuuri staggers back to the dance floor and starts dancing again, not as wild as the pole or the breakdancing, more traditional steps and glides to a beat only he can hear because some party-pooper bigwig turned off the music after Chris had collapsed off the pole.

Victor watches Yuuri, mesmerized. Just like when he skates, there's a musicality to the way he dances that almost makes melodies erupt in Victor's mind just from watching him. The red string seems to be hearing the music too, and it moves and twizzles accordingly, a perfect harmony with Yuuri's body.

Yuuri shoots a glance at him then and quirks an eyebrow, ever so defiant and there's something absolutely delicious about it.

"How long are you planning to keep that kid waiting? I'm sure he's earned the right to challenge you at least?"

Victor turns to look briefly at Chris, who's still in his underwear, although he looks re-energized by the champagne in his hand.

"Huh?" His eyes are back on Yuuri immediately, on the perfect line of his body and the rhythmic clapping of his hands, his fiery eyes magnetic.

"He wants you to join him, you silly. And you've been dying to do just that all night, do everyone here a favor and enjoy yourself for once."

Before he can clarify what exactly that means, Chris has shoved him to the dance floor too, and for the first time in his life, standing a few steps behind Yuuri, he feels awkward. Yuuri is just so natural, his moves uncalculated but confident and beautiful. It's not rehearsed but there's also no hesitation in any sway of his hips or any step or turn, just a perfect, effortless flow of energy and vitality.

Victor does the best he can and tries to follow those moves, let himself be taken by the music that comes from the instrument that is Yuuri's body. It's harder than it looks and he stutters in his first steps, but then Yuuri notices him and his expression lights up, grinning wide and it's like the whole room brightens.

I found it.

Victor isn't quite sure what exactly it is just yet, but he knows by the fluttering of his heart that Yuuri Katsuki has it.

The next moment he's being roped into something that feels like a flamenco, and the next one he's bowing his head as if pleading Yuuri to grant him this dance, and the next one he's a matador and his 88,000 ruble jacket is a muleta blood red like the string that links him to Yuuri who's a fierce fighting bull and Victor's never felt more ridiculous but he's also never been so alive.

And Yuuri's holding him, leading him, sweeping him off his feet, dipping him down and the rest of the world has ceased to exist, it's just the two of them encased by the scarlet string, growing closer with every turn, laughing, completely lost to each other and a song that no one else can hear. It's perfect and it's magical and Victor never wants this dance to end.

He doesn't know how he's lived all these years without this passion, this unbridled joy, but god is he happy that he won't have to anymore.

Yuuri Katsuki is gone like the wind the next morning. Chris tells him so when he meets him on the hotel's hallway, where he's been knocking at Yuuri's door for fifteen minutes now (he did help Yuuri's coach carry him back here last night after all).

"But how could he leave like that without telling me?"he whines. Surely Yuuri felt their connection last night, didn't he? How could he up and disappear after experiencing something so earth-shattering?

"Maybe he didn't want to wake you, he had a very early flight. And he looked like he had the worst hangover."

Victor isn't satisfied with that explanation, but what can he do? He ignores the sense of unease dampening his mood and convinces himself Yuuri will call (Victor was mindful of giving him his number, neatly written on a napkin and tucked inside his jacket pocket) and that they'll meet again at Worlds and pick their dance up from where they'd left off and everything would be perfect.

The string on his finger feels eerily still. Victor completely forgot to ask Yuuri about it.

Yuuri doesn't contact him at all in the two weeks before the inevitable overlap of Russian and Japanese Nationals. Victor consoles himself with his phone's camera roll and the photos he's collected from every guest of the party that could have them, every possible angle of Yuuri on the pole, Yuuri breakdancing, Yuuri pulling the rug from under Victor's feet and turning his world upside down, and he almost doesn't recognize himself in the man smiling bright and happy in the pictures. He tells himself Yuuri must be focused training to prevent a repeat of the disaster at the Grand Prix Final, and ignores the way the red string tightens on his pinky.

Victor takes gold at Russian Nationals with relative ease, not that anyone was doubting he would. Commentators gush about how his programs feel different this time, like a new spark has been lit in him, like the longing in his free skate has become more hopeful than lonely. He deflects reporters with playful winks and secretive smiles. He's excited to win for the first time in what feels like an eternity because this victory means he's pretty much guaranteed to see Yuuri in March and that thought appeases the quiet worry that's been coiling around him in these two weeks of silence.

When he's back home, he hops on the couch and immediately turns the TV on. Makkachin plops on his lap almost immediately and Victor pets him absentmindedly while he finds his programmed recording of Japanese Nationals (he'd paid a very significant amount just to get the network that would air the event). He's been avoiding any news on the subject, wanting to see it with his own eyes. Surely now, in his home turf, Yuuri would rise to the name of Japan's ace and pick himself up from his loss at the Grand Prix, and he'd become the beautiful, confident artist Victor had been dreaming about for the past two weeks.

Yuuri's the first to take the ice for the short program. That's good because then Victor won't have to pretend to be a good sport and watch the other skaters perform first (surely some of them are talented, but he's so eager to see Yuuri again that waiting even one more minute might kill him). The sight of him on the 52 inch screen is a definite improvement to those tiny low resolution videos he's been getting on his phone.

Yuuri has a hand down on the first jump. He looks unsteady. He lands the triple axel, but barely. His step sequences and spins are enchanting, but subdued, like he doesn't believe he can do them. And then he falls hard on the combination jump, losing the second part.

He lands 6th and Victor frantically tells himself that it's okay while he skips forward to the next day, that he'll recover in the Free, but he's not even half convinced about it when he sees Yuuri's defeated stance as he takes the ice. He doesn't want to watch this, but he does anyway, powers through, with a knot at the base of his throat as Yuuri stops three-quarters through his program after six truly awful looking falls and leaves the rink and collapses on himself the moment he reaches the kiss and cry. The camera doesn't zoom on him, but even from afar Victor can see the red on his eyes and the tears on his face, how he trembles with the effort to hold himself steady only to give in before the scores even come out. Yuuri buries his face in his knees, his body shaking, while his coach tries to comfort him. Victor can't watch anymore and he turns off the TV, his finger numb from the tightness of the string, his cheeks wet and cold.

The next morning, he wakes up thinking last night was a dream, and he goes to his phone to confirm the obviously more beautiful reality, only to find the official scores and Yuuri's name all the way down to eleventh place. And then it hits him.

Worlds.

Yuuri isn't coming to Worlds.

And if Yuuri isn't coming to Worlds, it means Victor won't get to see him at all.

He shakes the thought off his head. No way. So what if he underperformed a little in Nationals, he still made the Grand Prix Final, the top six of the world! Surely his federation will give him a chance, right? Victor has no idea of how the JSF works, but surely they can be a little lenient, everybody has a bad showing or two, he'll recover by March, definitely.

He curses under his breath, hating fate's design that had made Yuuri forget his phone that night in Sochi. If he hadn't, Victor would have his number and he'd be able to call him, say some words of encouragement, maybe even hop on a plane and pay him a visit in Detroit (he has time before Euros after all), remind him how amazing he is (Victor knows he is, he's watched his videos so many times already) and how he shouldn't give up, how he's dying to compete with him again.

As it is, though, he's left waiting for Yuuri to call him, and he doesn't imagine that's going to be happening soon.

It'll be okay, he tells himself, Yuuri will call when he feels better. He'll call and I'll have his number and then we'll meet at Worlds and everything will be perfect, like it was in Sochi, and with that comforting thought, he picks up a course on Japanese for Beginners online.

Yuuri doesn't call.

The year ends, January comes and goes with Euros, which Victor takes half-heartedly, securing his spot in the Worlds team to no-one's surprise. Chris pats his back and says "I'm sorry about your Cinderella." Victor asks him about finding Yuuri's contact information, but Chris shakes his head apologetically.

Victor wonders if he was the only one who felt that their dance in Sochi was special.

In an outburst of madness (he's been having many of them since this red string appeared on his finger) Victor calls the Detroit Skating Center and tries to get a grasp of Yuuri or his coach, but the receptionist is horribly unhelpful, saying coach Cialdini's overseas and apparently not even knowing who Yuuri is.

Preposterous, Yuuri's unforgettable.

After the failure, he curls on his bed, hugging Makkachin to his chest and fighting the sting of tears on the corners of his eyes.

Yuuri's not coming to Worlds.

Victor's gone over the list a dozen times. He scans over Team Japan over and over and over. A mistake, it has to be a mistake. He's one of the most talented skaters Victor's ever seen, there's no way he wasn't chosen. The Japanese Federation must have gotten some papers mixed in. They wouldn't just decide not to send their top skater just because he was hitting a small slump.

He's spent the last few weeks hunting through figure skating fan forums, even some in Japanese that he surfs with google translate, trying to find a clue, news of a sighting, anything really that will let him know where to find Yuuri, but it's fruitless. His social media accounts are quiet and no one seems to know where Yuuri Katsuki is, like he's vanished from the face of the Earth.

Victor sulks through February and March. His fingers often find the red string and stroke it absentmindedly while he withstands Yakov's constant complaints about how he's half-assing it and that he'll screw it if he doesn't focus. He only pays half an ear to Yuri who mocks him for being a 'pathetic lovesick puppy'.

"You met him for like two hours, fucking Christ, snap out of it already.

Victor's never been good at doing what other people want.

He makes it to Worlds with the conviction that Yuuri will come find him. It's his home country and he's been almost in the dark for three months now, he's had plenty of time to recover and come find Victor.

He tugs at his string and feels that tenseness at the other end, where Yuuri is, and tells himself that it feels a little tighter which must mean Yuuri's closer, not an ocean away but here, waiting to see Victor do his last great performance of the season before making good on that promise made over a magical dance.

(a part of him he loathes knows he's fooling himself).

He's too preoccupied looking for Yuuri in the crowd and half-asses his Short because of that. Still ends with a sizable lead at the top spot. He's bored, bored, bored and not sure why he's bothering at this point. Not even Chris can compete with him anymore. And Yuuri didn't come, has probably forgotten about him already. Maybe giving Victor the best night of his life and then vanishing to leave him alone and miserable was his twisted revenge for not recognizing him after the Final.

The red string's been coiling around his arm since Yuuri's disaster at Japanese Nationals. Victor didn't pay it much mind at first, thought it was just normal to wake up and find it tangled over his fingers, he knew he moved a lot in his sleep. But as the days turned to weeks, he noticed it was progressing. The day of the short program at Euros, it was entangled in his five fingers and had gone on to bind his hand down to his wrist. And no matter how many times Victor tried to undo it, to make it hang loosely from one finger like before, it somehow ended going back without his noticing.

Eventually he'd stopped fighting it, and by now the coil reaches his bicep. It doesn't restrict his movements, but it's just tight enough to be on the edge of hurting, to constantly remind Victor of its presence and of the man that was out there, somewhere, with the other end of the string tied to his finger.

He performs his free program and barely feels anything through it. He's known since day one that there was something missing in this Aria, but rather than getting close to an answer, the program feels more and more incomplete every time. It's also not the first time he feels shackled by one of his programs, but it's the first time the thrill of his blades scratching the ice isn't good enough to make the chains lighter. Today he goes through the motions without much of anything, not even the drive to win, and rather than dance with him like it did with Yuuri, the red string hangs limp by his side, as if channeling Victor's suffocating apathy.

For some reason, the judges like his performance enough to give him yet another gold medal that makes him wonder why he even wanted it to begin with.

"What do you have in mind for next season?"

Anything to do away with this emptiness, his mind responds, but he's long learned the importance of filtering his thoughts before opening his mouth, especially in front of the press. Next season? Does he even want a next season? What for?

"Be my coach, Victor!"

For the first time in many years, his perfect mask falls off his face and he has no smile to give to the excited reporter. He's been avoiding this question all through the season, and he'd glimmered something that felt like an answer that night in Sochi, but now he feels he's lost something he never even had.

He struggles to get back on the ice once they return to St. Petersburg. He moves mostly on autopilot as he tries to think of something for next season, because what else is he supposed to do. At moments, he flashes back to Sochi, and finds himself creating steps and moves to mimic those of Yuuri on the dance floor, trying to recreate the beautiful music, his natural eroticism, how effortlessly he owned the entire room with the alluring sway of his hips.

"Be my coach, Victor!"

As hard as it feels to perform this new choreography, it's ridiculously easy to imagine Yuuri doing it instead. He knows he's not doing himself any favors by continuing to think of Yuuri, but he can't help it, it's just so easy. He sees Yuuri inside his mind, even hears Spanish guitars and a violin –picking a song turns out to be insanely easy-and the string that connects them hugs his body following the melody.

On the rare times that he manages to push Yuuri out of his mind, he tries to focus on his love for his own art, how his heart used to pound every time he stepped on the rink, how he fed from the crowd's excitement. He thinks of all the blades and boots he's gone through, in his thirst for glory. He brings his hands together as if in prayer and tries to capture that feeling, the 20 years of his life he's devoted to the ice, and the love he's gotten in return.

Neither program feels entirely right, like there's something missing in both of them, and Victor keeps crashing into a wall trying to figure out what that is.

Victor Nikiforov has always been a hopeless romantic. He believes in love at first sight and fated meetings, and for years he's consoled his lonely heart with the idea that there's someone out there waiting for him, just like he's waiting for them. Everyone who knows him beyond his practiced-for-camera perfection knows this too. Chris never misses the chance to tease him about it. ('so you don't think ours was a fated meeting? You wound me.')

After dancing the night away in Yuuri Katsuki's arms, Victor had been convinced that he'd finally had his very own once-in-a-lifetime encounter. The appearance of this red string that connected him to the man that had brought such a wonderful spark of joy to his life only seemed to confirm that.

Four months of silence later, Victor's mostly convinced he's been played, by the universe or Yuuri Katsuki or both. The conviction doesn't ease the pain in his heart.

Today he decides to skip practice, tells Yakov he needs a little break and stays home, hoping it'll help him clear his head off Eros and Yuuri Katsuki that showed him a glimpse of something he couldn't have, so he can focus on Agape and the ice that has given him so much.

He's unwinding on the couch, Makkachin spread comfortably on his lap when he gets the text from Chris. "You need to see this", and a Youtube link. He clicks on it, and glances at the title waiting for the video to load. Apart from the letters FS in the middle, it's written in Japanese, and although he did try and learn a little, back when he was still excited about meeting Yuuri again, eager to do anything that would bring him closer to the man at the other end of his red string, he dropped it after Euros, when his heart had grown tired of waiting for that call. Languages are too easy to forget if you don't use them.

The video is dated from a few nights ago, the day after Worlds, and yet it has already garnered over a hundred thousand views.

Hushed childlike voices alert him to the fact that the video's begun, so he scrolls back up, curious.

It's Yuuri.

His chest clenches with longing, the red thread tightening around his arm (it's up to his shoulder now).

Yuuri stands on an empty ice rink, eyes closed, wearing training gear. The video is eerily quiet, like he's the only one there. Victor doesn't get enough time to ponder on it for long, because Yuuri starts moving, and when he does, Victor knows.

Just like that night, he feels it in his bones.

This is it.

The thing that was lacking in his free program, that he's been chasing for months and months without success. It's right here, in the way Yuuri bares his emotions raw on the ice, so fragile, so vulnerable, so innocent. It's beautiful and painfully human. The red string dances with him like it always seems to do, enhancing the curves in his body, adding dramatic flares to his spins, as if it has a will of its own that wants nothing but to make Yuuri beautiful. And Yuuri is so, so beautiful and he skates with his heart on his sleeve, and his body visibly aches with longing.

Longing for what?

For who?

Victor's breathe catches.

Suddenly his heart feels very warm.

His soul sings again like it did in Sochi, his fingers clutching his red string as it uncoils from his flesh, and he clings to it like a lifeline.

It was a meeting of fate after all.

After rewatching the video twelve more times, a part of him feels he should be at the very least offended. Four months without so much as a smoke signal, and suddenly Yuuri Katsuki has the gall to cause a storm on the internet using Victor's gold winning program –and even if he's downgraded most of the quads to triples, his rendition is so much better than Victor's ever was, which only adds insult to injury. But even through the grainy quality of the video, Yuuri embodies beautiful melodies, not needing any background music to guide his steps, so he can't even bring himself to feel upset, too busy being mesmerized.

The part of him that's been skating and watching other people skate for 20 years nags at the back of his mind. The Yuuri on the video seems like a completely different skater from the man that had failed every single jump in his last two competitions and Victor is so terribly confused.

Why wasn't he like this in Sochi? In his home country's Nationals? He could've medaled in both with ease if he'd shown half the vulnerable beauty he has in this video. He could've made it to Worlds, give Victor a reason to be excited to compete, and then they could dance again and-

He shakes his head and focuses again on Yuuri's truly gorgeous camel spin. It's hard to reconcile this Yuuri to the one he'd seen at Japanese Nationals. Was something going on with his coach? Victor knew of Celestino Cialdini, the man has been in the business for a very long time, has brought multiple students to top class competitions, a good number of them have crowned themselves with medals. He even vaguely remembers speaking to an American skater, long retired now, who'd sung praises of his coach's flexibility and supportive personality.

So why was a knowledgeable coach like Cialdini unable to draw out the potential of someone so vastly talented as Yuuri Katsuki? What was holding Yuuri back?

His mind drifts back to the banquet in Sochi, to Yuuri's unrestrained dancing, and to the Eros music he's been toying with whenever thoughts of Yuuri take his attention away. If he could create a high difficulty program that exploited Yuuri's natural musicality, how would that look on the ice? Would he become as free and lively as he was on the dance floor?

"Be my coach, Victor!"

Victor sucks in a breathe. He knows what he wants to do now.

Yakov is, predictably, displeased to hear of Victor's decision.

Maybe 'displeased' is an understatement, if the way his hollering can be heard over the whole rink is anything to go by.

Victor tries to explain himself, he really does. He's growing stagnant, he needs to try something new, he has a feeling about this and he'll forever regret it if he doesn't follow his heart now. Yakov goes through three of the five stages at a disorderly record speed: Anger ("Are you completely out of your mind?!"), denial ("Right, whatever you say, you'll come back begging in three days time"), anger ("This isn't funny, it's your career we're talking about!"), bargaining ("look, Vitya, you can take some time off, get some rest, stay home with Makkachin") and also more anger ("The only way I'm letting you do something so stupid is after I break both of your legs!").

"Vitya, don't go away, stay here! If you leave now, you won't be able to come back."

Having Yakov almost pleading does make Victor feel guilty, but he tells himself that Yakov too will understand in time, when he sees how beautifully Yuuri can perform next season after Victor has figured out what is it that's keeping him from blossoming. So he says a silent apology and kisses Yakov's cheek, murmuring "Dasvidanya" before heading for the boarding gate, only vaguely hearing Yakov bellowing at his back.

Victor's been used to traveling for over half of his life, but can't bring himself to enjoy sitting on a plane for fifteen hours straight, no matter how comfortable his executive class seat may be. The constant thought of Makkachin, sedated somewhere in the baggage cabin doesn't make it any easier. He reckons that having his old friend make such long travels is riskier than he'd like, but he absolutely can't leave Makkachin behind if he's planning on coaching Yuuri for the season. He consulted with the vet, who reassured him that Makkachin was extremely healthy and lively for his age and that there should be no problem if proper precautions were taken.

Still, Victor worries. He wishes he could be allowed into the baggage cabin, just to watch his friend sleep and put his heart at ease, but apparently things like arriving on time and making exceptions for a national hero aren't part of Aeroflot's guidelines.

He soothes himself watching Yuuri's video, and it makes his heart thump with anticipation. What will Yuuri say when they finally meet again? Will he have an explanation for not calling back in all this time? Is he as eager to meet again as Victor is? (he has to be, what else would that video mean).

After those thoughts cross his mind, it's hard to taper his excitement and sleep, but he tells himself he doesn't want to look exhausted and ruined for his anticipated reunion with Yuuri.

Finding where Yuuri actually was became notoriously easy after that video was posted. He just had to browse through sukeota3shimai's other social media (which was run by three little girls, and Victor briefly worried about how that would look in his browsing history) until he found a picture with a location tag: Hasetsu, Saga prefecture, Kyushu. There was not much he could find about this small fisher's town in the far south of Japan, but by browsing through a few hipster traveler's blogs he found that there was an inn called Yutopia Katsuki, which couldn't be a coincidence. They have a website, but it's all in Japanese (and Victor's picked up his studies again these past few days, he wants to impress Yuuri after all, but the sight of an entire page full of foreign symbols is intimidating), and from what he can surmise through google translate, they don't offer online bookings. They do have a phone, but Victor isn't confident enough in his incipient Japanese to hold a conversation without the infallible tourist trick of "pointing at the thing I want".

The moment he steps off the train in Hasetsu, his eyes go to the endless rows of posters showing Yuuri Katsuki wearing his Team Japan tracksuit, reaching out to the distance, with what looks like a samurai castle and cherry blossom trees in the background. He looks so pretty and Victor wonders if it's weird to want one of those posters for himself. Or all of them.

His heart throbs with excitement. He's truly, finally here, only minutes away from finding Yuuri again.

Makkachin's fully awake and jittering by the time they reach the main entrance of Yutopia Katsuki. The sun's barely out and it's snowing today. Victor's surprised, he didn't know it snowed in Japan in April.

He leaves Makkachin outside for a moment, knowing he should at the very least ask if they'd take him and his dog for now. A kind looking middle-aged man greets him at the entrance, introduces himself as Toshiya Katsuki and after fumbling through the language barrier for a few minutes, the man says there's no problem with Makkachin. Victor tries to ask about Yuuri, but the most he gets through their stunted communication is the man pointing enthusiastically at a poster of Yuuri (which looks exactly like the one Victor has safely stored in his suitcase) next to a bowl of very realistic looking plastic food. It's clear as day that this town is proud as can be of Yuuri, and the thought makes Victor smile. At least there are other people who can see and appreciate Yuuri's talents.

Victor tries to casually wave his right hand and gauge if there is any reaction to the red string, but if Mr. Katsuki sees it, he doesn't give any indication about it. He won't directly ask people if they see it, but he's still hoping someone will, just to prove that all of this: the string, Yuuri Katsuki, their magical dance in Sochi, Victor's months and months of waiting for a call that never came, dropping his career to chase after a hunch, wasn't just a massive mistake product of his deranged mind.

The kind man suggests he unleashes the tension of the long trip in their hot springs while they figure out which room he can use. Victor gladly takes him on the offer having no qualms in shedding all his clothes in a room full of strangers. He's never had the opportunity to try this, even if he's been to Japan multiple times, and he's very eager about it.

The steaming water of the outdoor bath immediately soothes the pain and soreness of his muscles, not only from the trip, but any remaining ache from recent practice sessions. Victor feels himself melt into the heat, even releasing a soft moan of satisfaction as his body sinks further into the water.

It hasn't been longer than fifteen minutes when he hears disconcerted yelps and agitated thrashing coming from the indoor baths. At first he thinks of ignoring it in favor of enjoying this wonderful warmth, but that thought vanishes from his mind the moment the glass wall is slammed open. There's a sharp tug on his red string, and Victor knows, before he even looks up that Yuuri Katsuki has just stumbled his way outside.

Victor's heart skips a beat.

It feels it's been ages since he last saw Yuuri. He's gained a little weight, which will be a problem for the whole coaching thing, but he has to admit he doesn't mind the softness in those cheeks. It's cute. Sometimes he gets so enthralled by Yuuri's videos and memories of his riveting dancing that he forgets Yuuri can be cute too.

He wonder if Yuuri's happy to see him, if he'll be so overcome with excitement he'll leap into Victor's arms, dismissing the rules about clothes in the bath, if he'll drag Victor out into another dance. (when can they dance again? God, Victor's dying to dance with him again). Yuuri doesn't look quite happy though, more like shocked, his big eyes blown wider, mouth slightly agape.

"V-Victor?"

He tells himself it's normal to be surprised at first -Victor does live from the thrill of surprising people- and that once the surprise is passed Yuuri will surely smile and-

"What are you doing here?"

That… wasn't quite what he had in mind.

To be continued.

This is for day 6 of Victuuri week "Bonds", the AU prompt "Soulmates". I was supposed to put this up on Saturday so it wouldn't be the millionth red string of fate fic that was posted this weekend, but I was away over the weekend, dragging my older sister into YOI hell (complete success) so here we are *shrug*

I've been wanting to try my hand at a soulmate AU thing since I'm very weak for them and have had this idea on my mind for a while. Now that Kubo has officially canonized them as literal soulmates, I had to put it up.

Fair warning though, I'm going through a lowkey creative slump, and also I want to finish my Kurobas fics already, so I can't promise consistent updates. I already have drafts for half of the chapters, so I'll definitely keep working on it, but I don't know how long it'll take.

In this ignoramus's eye, Yuuri has the prettiest camel spin out of the YOI cast, but who the hell knows if it's actually considered pretty in the eyes of people who actually know about figure skating.

The only thing we actually know about Victor's EX of last year is that he did a quad loop (the only quad he didn't use in Stammi Vicino). I know no one else cares about this but I'm a sucker for worthless details.

I am very firmly opposed to bullfighting but what am I supposed to do when the goddesses give us such nonsense as bullfighting dancing. Also yes, Victor Niliforv lives on in Yuuri's slurred drunk speaking.

The shot of Yuuri folded into himself and crying at the kiss and cry while Celestino tries to console him breaks my heart in a million pieces.

Aaaanyway I hope you enjoy this. Of course I couldn't help myself and ended writing even more hopelessly pining Victor, I'm no good for anything else really. I'll look forward to your comments!