The reigning world champion had missed a jump.

He had fallen in his last jump. It would cost him a few points, but the short program had been so beautiful, that surely that couldn't matter?

That didn't help. Yuuri Katsuki heard the slap the skater received as soon as he stepped off the ice. He saw it too, how the short man in the thick black coat raised his hand, how the soviet skater curled together before the struck his cheek, the force so powerful that the skater's head moved. His coach had yelled something at him in Russian and threw the blade covers down next to him. The coach continued to yell at his skater, but moved away from him, rubbing his forehead.

Yuuri swallowed, and his head snapped back towards the ice. He shouldn't think about the other skater. The man was a world champion, if slaps was what worked for him, it was. But still, it had been a hard slap. And Yuuri's coached had never laid a hand on him with ill-intent. The skater also looked absolutely miserable. Yuuri's dark brown eyes dared themselves back to the skater who had leaned over, struggling with getting his blade covers on, his hair falling into his face, hiding the humiliation he had to feel.

Yuuri knew that he shouldn't do anything, that it was between the skater and his coach. But, it was soon his time to go on, and perhaps he was brave because of that? He felt that he had to help the man. Yuuri walked over to him, and grabbed his shoulder. The skater looked up at him, for a moment Yuuri thought that he looked scared, probably thinking it was his coach. Yuuri smiled kindly at him and the skater managed a faint smile, leaning himself towards Yuuri as he got the covers on.

He was blonde, very blonde, and very, very handsome. Yuuri quickly pushed those thoughts away, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand. The skater, known as Viktor Nikiforov, stood up. His cheek was slightly red from the impactful strike, and his forehead completely covered in sweat drops. "Thank you," his English was broken and through the cracks a heavy Russian accent slipped past.

The soviet man extended his hand towards the Japanese skater. Yuuri looked down on it, and then back on the blue eyes, before he reached out and shook it. They stood like that for a moment, before the Soviet coach yelled at Nikiforov again who then moved away, smiling, and gesturing towards the ice. "Good luck!" he said before turning around, moving towards his coach.

Yuuri tried to smile towards him as well, and after a few seconds, his coach patted his back and made him step out on the ice. "You shouldn't have done that," Sasaki said. He took Yuuri's glasses from him. "He's from Soviet, you should just leave them alone."

"But he needed help."

"That whole country need help, are you going to move there?" Sasaki smiled at his young skater. He was too nervous to be on this level. Yuuri was a good skater, but he had problems with his nerves. Sasaki didn't have any high hopes for him. Yuuri knew that, but he hoped that he would be able to qualify for the final.

Yuuri was pleased with his performance. He had not landed the planned triple axel, but the scores he had received was still good enough to let him skate again. It thrilled him, but of course he didn't let it show. Sasaki pointed out all the faults to him as they made it back to the hotel, and Yuuri listened carefully. "You have a chance at doing really well, Yuuri, and I want you to focus completely at the task ahead of you."

"It's my first world championship." Yuuri spoke silently in the back of the taxi even though the American driver obviously did not speak Japanese.

Sasuki laughed. "It's the Soviet Union's second chance and Nikiforov doesn't seem to let that bring him down. In fact, he is doing exceptionally well. It's like he doesn't feel any concerns." Yuuri hummed and looked back on his hands.

The car stopped in front of the grand hotel. Yuuri had thought it looked like a castle when he had seen it, with its towers, the stone façade. Yuuri had never been outside Japan before, and he had marvelled over the hotel which was so different from anything he had seen himself. Hotels in Tokyo were taller, more modern, but this place felt like a hunting lodge for a European king. All skaters lived at the hotel, but most of them kept to themselves. The Europeans talked with each other, and so did the Americans but with the English. It mostly sounded like mindless chatter. Perhaps some flirting.

The rooms were different too. Yuuri's parents managed an onsen back in Japan, so he was used to inns and the hospitality business, but this place was very different. The bed wasn't half as comfortable, and the room was slightly cold. It was decorated in a very western taste and Yuuri wasn't sure why there were so many different types of lamps in the room.

Another thing that had struck Yuuri about the new country was how orange everything around them were when the sun had risen the next morning. The mountains were not growing from a carpet of green trees, but instead they seemed to take shapes of the sandy rock below them. At least they were capped with familiar snow.

"You should try and be less nervous, Yuuri," his coach said when they got into the hotel's lobby.

Yuuri was only 20 years old, and while he was a very good figure skater, especially in Japan, he was very nervous. In fact, Yuuri was almost always nervous.

Sasuki made him see a doctor, a man who sat in an armchair and stared at Yuuri as the boy tried to explain what was wrong with him. It had not helped one bit, but only made Yuuri feel deeply ashamed of having to go and see a doctor because he was nervous. His mother sometimes asked him where he had been when he returned home, but he never answered her truthfully. What would she say if her son was seeing a psychiatrist?

"Anxiety," the doctor had said and prescribed him medication, but Yuuri didn't like them, they made him feel odd. So, he didn't take them. Either way, how was pills going to help his mind? He wasn't ill, his body wasn't infected, there was no virus that could make his brain nervous. He was just nervous because he had to perform. In school with his studies, on practice and at competitions.

There was something much greater that pressured Yuuri's mind, something that made him feel lay awake in the evening.

His heart fluttered when he saw beautiful men.

Not women. Men.

He had never kissed a girl, nor had he been very interested and while he had lived a few happy years of his childhood in unaware bliss, it had been shattered when he stupidly confessed his love for a boy in his class as a nine-year-old. They, the teachers, his parents, had laughed, saying that it was childish jokes and that he would grow out of being such a little prankster.

And that was how Yuuri had learnt how wrong it was.

But even if it was wrong, Yuuri couldn't help his feelings. He couldn't help it. When he closed his eyes and his hands slipped under his sheets he didn't think about soft shapes and long hair smelling like peaches, but rather the elegant curves of defined muscles, slight stubble and a hoarse, kind voice. He couldn't help it.

He tried to. Desperately he tried to think of something else, but it didn't work. So, he let himself have that small pleasure, the pleasure of satisfying himself with his eyes closed, where his thoughts were safe from the rest of the world. If he could have those moments, he could manage, he would get married and he would have children. He wouldn't let anyone down.

When Yuuri crawled into bed that evening, he had one very specific person in mind. Was that bad? Did he sully him? Yuuri remembered how his fingers had dug into the palm of his hand earlier that day. Viktor Nikiforov was handsome, he was tall but still did magnificent jumps. He was different from anyone that Yuuri had fantasised before, with his blonde, almost white hair, and the beautiful blue eyes. Yuuri took his time, stroking himself leisurely as he thought about how their eyes had met, how Nikiforov had smiled against him.

He thought about the Soviet man's body leaning towards his thigh, how hard his handshake had been. Yuuri's breath grew shakier as his hand moved faster and faster.

He thought of his thighs, how they flexed under his pants as he skated. Yuuri wondered how he looked without his clothes, he imagined the fit, strong man next to him, he imagined that it was his hand that moved over his cock, and not Yuuri's own. He buried his head into the pillow, wanting it to be the man's neck.

He came.

Slightly sweaty, and slightly uneasy, he had to clean up. He splashed water on his face, staring at himself in the mirror. How depraved could a man be?

He went to bed, this time with the intention of sleeping. He had allowed himself this moment, but that was all, tomorrow he wouldn't let himself be that weak. Yuuri would just practice, and he would do good.

Sasuki sat opposite of the young skater. Yuuri had not been so sure about the food at the hotel when they had first arrived, but the American food had grown on him and he was especially fond of the pancakes, which was what he had ordered that day, together with two fried eggs. His coach stuck to eating eggs, and while he questioned if it was wise to eat new cuisine, he let Yuuri be.

Yuuri glanced over to the Soviet table, were Nikiforov sat, eating silently as the coach was talking. He wondered what he was eating? "Yuuri, today I think you should rest. We'll practice the program with music this afternoon."

Yuuri nodded slowly and smiled back at his coach. He wanted to do well, he wanted to prove to the world that Japan was a skating nation. He knew he wouldn't win, but he wanted to come top ten. It was the third time Japan had entered the World Championship, and it had not gone that well for them so far. This year, Yuuri was the only skater. No woman had qualified.

Perhaps Yuuri was watching the Soviet table too much, because he noticed when something began to stir in the corner of is eye. He heard someone laugh, and a rather angry (but he honestly couldn't tell if it was angry or if he was just imagining it as Russian was such a harsh language) voice speaking. He looked back towards the table, and Sasuki looked back into the book he had brought with him. He saw Nikiforov. It was him who had laughed, and his coach was busy talking his stern words. Yuuri thought about yesterday evening and he felt his face growing warmer.

It was fine though, it was all in his head. No one knew what he had done.

He saw how the skater stood up. He was holding a newspaper. Yuuri looked at him, wondering where he was going until he realised that the man was coming towards him. He quickly looked back down at his plate, but that didn't seem to stop the skater who soon cleared his throat, standing right next to their table. The sun was shining in through the window, not being hindered by any mountain or building, and instead illuminating the scene that was being played out. "Good morning!" the voice was much more cheerful than it had been yesterday. Yuuri felt his cheeks blossoming into a deep, red shade.

"Good morning," he squeaked back. His English was also paired with a heavy accent. Sasuki didn't speak English, but he understood the basic phrase and glared up at the Soviet skater, who stood there with slightly messy hair and a simple, short sleeved shirt on. Both Yuuri and Sasuki had combed their hair and wore shirts and jackets, as if they were businessmen. There was something youthful over how Viktor dressed, over how he stood.

Viktor held up the newspaper, showing Yuuri the front page. "I thought you would find this fun," Viktor smiled happily. Yuuri looked at his arms, his wrists and he beautiful hands, before his eyes reached the paper.

The front page of the daily paper in Colorado sported a picture of the two of them shaking hands. They were standing close to each other, both in their suits that they performed in. Even though the picture was in black and white, one could see how blonde Viktor was. One could see that his eyes were blue. Yuuri looked determined, he looked stoic. It was a good picture.

It made Yuuri's heart beat a little bit harder and he reached out for the paper, which Viktor gladly gave to him. "Can I sit down?" he asked. Yuuri looked at him. Was that wise? Sure, the Soviet man probably knew more of what was fine to do than he did.

But… no.

Yuuri's heart wanted to say yes. "Please do." Viktor smiled widely at the man and sat down next to Sasuki, who gave the man a curt smile. They nodded at each other for a greeting. "Read the article, they're writing about us." Yuuri smiled, lowering his eyes to read the text underneath the picture. "Thank you for your help, comrade Katsuki."

The word comrade sounded so strange, yet it filled Yuuri with happiness to hear his name being spilled over the man's lips. "It was nothing, I was glad to help you. Your coach doesn't seem like the most helpful kind."

Viktor laughed when Yuuri said that, looking back over his shoulder. "He can get angry sometimes, he has a short temper. What I do affect him too after all." Viktor looked into Yuuri's eyes, but the Japanese man quickly looked away. "I was wondering, do you want to go for a run later? Together? I…" Viktor interrupted himself and looked at Sasuki who was studying him closely, even if he didn't understand anything. "I don't want to be in a foreign country and only come back with stories about Mila."

Yuuri sat silent for a short moment. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't.

He felt Viktor's foot under the table. There was a long table cloth hanging over the table, but Yuuri still imagined that someone saw as Viktor stroked his foot against his ankle. It didn't really come as a surprise to Yuuri, other than the fact that the skater was indeed from Soviet.

The shoe stroked his sock. Viktor continued to smile at him.

This had happened to Yuuri before. In Japan. He wasn't sure how they knew, or why he didn't know how he was so sure that he was interpretation things right. But the last time a man had stroked him under a table, he had ended up in an alley, expecting things he had not even imagined existed, things one couldn't read about in books.

"I'd love too." The words were clearer, and he kept his foot still, looking into Viktor's eyes.

Viktor smiled, still stroking his ankle. "Great, shall we meet outside within an hour?" Viktor stood up again, pulling at the chair he had been sitting on. "Keep the newspaper, Katsuki," he said and once more smiled towards Sasuki before he moved back to his own table, waving good bye.

"What was that all about?" Sasuki asked and grabbed the paper from Yuuri. "What does it say? Translate it for me!"

JAPANESE AND SOVIET BONDS STRENGHTENING THROUGH SPORT?

March 1958

FIGURE SKATING WORLD CHAMPION Viktor NIKIFOROV from U.S.S.S.R. completed his short program yesterday with a very good score of 824.2. Afterwards the program, the Soviet skater was assisted in taking on his skate covers by the Japanese national Yuuri KATSUKI before the latter stepped onto the ice. They were seen sharing a handshake in the great spirit of sportsmanship that penetrates the World Championships in Colorado Springs. page. 8.