In Which They Were Young

…o…

It was a beautiful winter morning.

The snow fell lightly, accumulating on the ground like a soft blanket of fluffiness. Victor couldn't help but step in it at every opportunity he got, now and then causing his mother (whose hand he was closing as they walked from the supermarket back home) to trip next to him. She scolded him lightly, but didn't really mean her words. The little silver-haired three-year-old was much too adorable to be mad at.

When they got home, his dad had prepared two mugs of hot chocolate for them to indulge in. The family spent the rest of the day planted on the shabby old couch watching Christmas movies (despite it only being November 29th). They only stood to get a snack or for Victor to run around the apartment to stretch his legs.

Until eight o'clock p.m.

Victor had just started yawning, and his mom stood, prepared to tuck him into bed, before she saw a bit of writing on his arm. She frowned, thinking that Victor had gotten ahold of one of the permanent markers again. She glanced to her husband, but he was fixated on the TV screen. She sighed, before saying:

"Vitya, didn't I tell you not to touch the Sharpies?"

Two bright blue eyes stared up at her, quite obviously confused. "Yes, Mommy. I haven't touched them, I promise."

"Then what's that on your arm?"

He turned his head slightly, before pushing back his sleeve to look at what his mom was talking about. Although he stared at the black writing in confusion, it took his mom only a few seconds to realize what happened.

"Oh—oh. Oh my."

"What's wrong?" Victor's dad asked, finally looking away from the screen after hearing the distress in his wife's voice. Still in a state of shock, she simply picked up Victor's arm and showed his wrist to him. Written on it, in beautiful cursive, were five letters.

Yuuri.

…o…

It wasn't particularly abnormal for a baby to get it's tattoo immediately after it was born, so Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki weren't very concerned when the nurses informed them that their baby had writing on his wrist. Hiroko was rather excited, considering that she herself had Toshiya's name her entire life. However, that excitement dissipated the second she saw the name.

"That's a boy's name."

Hiroko glared at her seven-year-old daughter, Mari, before giving the nurse a look. The nurse took the hint and quickly left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Hiroko—" Toshiya started.

"There is nothing we can do about it," she stated sternly, speaking in her native language – Japanese. "He is our son, and we will love him no matter what gender his soulmate is. But this is Asia. Homophobia is a common trait here. This is not a safe place for Yuuri."

"So what can we do?" Mari asked, poking her new brother's cheek.

"What more can we do than hide the name?" the mother sighed unhappily. Yuuri squirmed in her arms, letting out a little cry.

"We could move countries," Toshiya suggested. "A lot of our friends have been moving to the west and—"

"Then how would we support ourselves?"

"But we must do what's best for Yuuri."

"What's best for Yuuri is for him to grow up in a loving, caring, environment without a care about what people think of him. Our business is dependent on Yu-topia. We cannot move."

"But—"

"Think long-term, Toshiya."

"…Alright. But how will we tell him?"

"That, my love, is something we will decide in the future."

…o…

Eleven-year-old Yuuri watched the television screen in awe, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen despite his mother's numerous attempts to call him for dinner. Even when his father attempted to pick him up to carry him away, his eyes remained glued on the figure displayed on the screen.

Victor Nikiforov – Russian figure skating prodigy, and Yuuri's new idol.

It was no surprise to anyone when Yuuri had started figure skating a few years ago – his best friend, Yuko, skated often and encourage Yuuri to take up the sport. He spent most of his afternoons in Ice Castle Hasestsu, skating the day away.

He wasn't particularly good, considering that he was still young, but he showed promise. His dream was to one day skate in a major competition…perhaps even on the same ice as Victor Nikiforov.

Victor…

His father grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him away from the television. As he did, Yuuri's sleeve slowly rose up and revealed the name emblazoned on it in neat, black, cursive.

Victor

…o…

"This is your second consecutive win on the Grand Prix Final! Congrats, Victor. How do you feel?"

Victor smiled good-naturedly at the interviewer, but on the inside all he wanted to do was get back to the hotel and collapse on the bed. He was normally quite happy and more than willing to speak to the press, but he had been wading through them for nearly an hour, and he just wanted to relax before the banquet. It wasn't like Victor was some super-human who could win a gold without even trying. He was exhausted and his muscles were sore after everything.

A tired Victor was an irritable Victor.

"Thank you! I'm very excited and I'd just like to thank all my fans, friends, and family for all their support!" he responded happily, pretending that he wasn't strangling the woman he was talking to in his head.

"You've always dedicated your performances to your family. But isn't there someone more special in your life, at the age of twenty-three? Someone like a soulmate?" the woman asked, raising her eyebrows and giving him a big grin.

Victor's mind threw her into a lava pit. Of course that was what she wanted to talk about. That was all interviewers wanted to talk about anymore. Most people found their soulmates by this time, even if they didn't settle down together. It hadn't taking the skating world too long to realize that Victor always wore long sleeves and never spoke of his soulmate.

"Perhaps in the future," he said, struggling to keep his positive persona up. Yakov was giving him a look from the side, signaling to him that they had to leave. Victor sighed, before the woman spoke up again.

"Aw, c'mon. Every man needs his special lady—"

"Man."

Silence.

"Excuse me?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think I got that straight—"

"I don't think I'm very straight, either, you see."

…o…

Alright, I couldn't think of anything else as an anniversary gift. I'm sorry, Isa. I tried. I TRIED.

So, welcome to this new fic that I probably shouldn't be starting because I'm supposed to publish a new one in six days, but I published anyway because I think that the conflict in this story is an incredibly important topic that people really need to acknowledge.

Anyways.

Thank you so much for reading! I'll try to update once a week but no promises for the next two weeks as my parents will probably be monitoring my every move on my laptop.

Please review, though! I always appreciate them. They help keep me motivated and help me figure out how to improve the story. :D

…o…