You Are Unstoppable

By: TG

Summary: The first several weeks under Miyuki's tutelage are both paradise and hell, in turns, because Miyuki is a sadistic bastard who seems to enjoy getting under Eijun's skin.

Disclaimer: I don't own daiya or yuri on ice

Warnings: alternate universe -yuri on ice, pre-relationship

AN: decided to continue this au! it will follow the bones of the yuri on ice series but tailored to fit the daiya characters. pls expect ten more chapters!

Leaving his home rink behind isn't as difficult as he'd expected.

He doesn't bother to say goodbye to his rinkmates –not because he doesn't want to, but because his mind is full of Sawamura and his eyes are pinned to the unseen future. The first few days after watching that youtube video –after watching Sawamura occupy the space that had once belonged only to Miyuki, and own it in a way that still makes his heartbeat speed up even now- are full of preparations and packing and quiet conversations with Kataoka and Takashima behind closed doors. Then he buys his plane ticket, and makes arrangements to have his things sent over, and then –

And then he's gone, and it's only a two hour flight and a short taxi trip between him and the person who'd made him want to leave it all behind in the first place.

He's never been one for sentimentality anyway.

Kuramochi calls him while he's waiting for his luggage, tells him with quiet words how Maezono and Furuya had reacted when Kataoka told them of Kazuya's departure. He ends the call with a meaningful "take care of yourself," which leaves Kazuya staring at the 'call ended' screen until it turns white, and then black again, confused and trying to figure out what he meant.

The first several weeks under Miyuki's tutelage are both paradise and hell, in turns, because Miyuki is a sadistic bastard who seems to enjoy getting under Eijun's skin.

Its weeks before he's allowed on the ice at all, and Eijun finds himself missing the sounds and the smells of it almost desperately. Miyuki makes him run, makes him go to the gym. Doesn't have to make him go to ballet training with Chris-senpai though, that's the one thing besides being alone in a semi-dark rink in which he can find peace. Chris-senpai's voice calling out instruction and his gentle hands correcting his posture are familiar and warm, and he helps him stretch out his stiff muscles and ligaments. He's been unsure about everything except that he wants to keep moving forward, so he takes his renewed vigor and his desperation and puts it into building himself back up.

Eijun's not out of shape by any means, but once he's finally (finally) allowed back in the rink Miyuki still eyes him and finds his body lacking. He can't forget the way that penetrating stare had pinned him in place and made his knees wobble, or the way Miyuki's mouth had pulled down at the corners like he'd been hoping for something more than what he'd been given. Shame and irritation take up residence inside him, fueling every part and parcel of him as he grits his teeth and slogs through the ridiculous training menu he'd been given.

And Miyuki himself is a bit of a mystery -one moment he's all inscrutable stares and infuriating smirks that seem just this side of impersonal, and the next he's got his arm slung around Eijun's neck and a shit-eating grin pressed against the shell of Eijun's ear, and all Eijun can think in those moments is too close, too close -

And sometimes not close enough.

But there's something about having Miyuki's gaze fastened to him, pretty eyes always assessing, sometimes appreciative, never satisfied. It's a heady feeling, commanding that sort of attention from someone so all-encompassing in the sport. Miyuki practically defines figure skating; if Eijun were to open the dictionary he's pretty sure Miyuki's name would be listed there.

Figure skater. Noun. 1. An individual, pair, or group which dances on rinks made of ice. 2. Miyuki Kazuya.

Sometimes when Eijun's blades leave the ice on a jump he thinks he can fly supported on the unfurling wings of Miyuki's attention alone.

So he gets through it. He claws his way up with determination and grit and not a small amount of icy hot on sore muscles, through blood and sweat and bruises and a mire of failures, and Miyuki's gaze grows into something that holds warmth and light, slowly, like the turning of the leaves in autumn.

Somewhere between the weeks of teasing and perspiration and harsh critiques Eijun finds the fondness in Miyuki's smile and resolves to hold it with gentle hands.

"I noticed this earlier, but his form is a little sloppy, isn't it?" Kazuya muses, eyes following Sawamura around the rink as he runs through his warm ups. It's in the small details -the free leg that's a little too loose coming out of his jumps, the awkward positioning in some of his combination spins. He makes up for it with decent PC scores, because Sawamura is an emotional roller coaster of a skater, but with Kazuya at his back he can go even higher.

"He didn't have a coach," his friend steps up to the boards next to him and rests her small hands on the ledge. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, not judging so much as assessing his reaction. He's surprised -he is surprised, not just because Sawamura is an international athlete of caliber but because Sawamura isn't lacking.

Kazuya thinks of Sawamura practicing alone, lights dimmed and rink silent but for the scraping of his blades and his own harsh breaths. No one but himself and his friends to encourage him to keep trying, no one but himself and his friends to tell him what he did wrong and how to fix his mistakes. Kazuya's a bit of a loner but even he knows the value of a guiding hand, and he knows his ballet instructor won't be enough.

He glances down at his side at Sawamura's friend -at Wakana- and smiles. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her pretty mouth pulled down into an impressive frown. She looks like she is cataloguing all of Sawamura's mistakes, sharing in his frustration and his chase for perfection. Even without a coach Sawamura's done pretty well for himself it seems.

"He must have a strong will," he murmurs. His eyes are back on the rink by the time Wakana looks up at him, her face surprised. "And some good friends."

"He is the strongest person I know, but he puts a lot of pressure on himself, " she says quietly. "Nobu and I used to be his rinkmates, but he was always, I don't know, above and beyond I guess. He worked the hardest, trained the longest. Nobu and I had to quit, we both knew we couldn't go further, not like Eijun. I wonder if -"

"If?"

Wakana stays silent, thinking, but Kazuya doesn't really need her to finish her sentence. He's seen, both first-hand and through the eyes of his friends, what kind of person Sawamura is. He's loud and obnoxious and uncontainable -but he's also dedicated and diligent, a force of nature. He's loyal to a fault, fierce, and unafraid of challenge. Kazuya can already see the skeleton of a program forming, the bare bones of jumps and spins running through his mind.

"Well," he says lightly, "now he has me."

If he had idolized Miyuki before, Eijun is quickly coming to learn that Miyuki the living legend is wildly different from Miyuki the human being. But it's not a bad thing, and he's learning to let go of the expectation of perfection and embrace him as a flawed (very flawed) person.

On the ice Miyuki is a monster of a coach, nitpicking and making him run through exercises until he wonders if his socks will be crusty with blood by the time he's allowed to pry off his skates. It's no wonder Miyuki made his way to the top like this, because he's as dedicated as they come, hard-working and fully in love with the ice. He spends hours each day pushing and pushing and pushing, but Eijun answers his call with determination and a feral grin because all he's known are hours and hours of work and sweat and blistering skin. Miyuki makes him want to exceed.

Miyuki off the ice is infuriating and charming in turns. He spends a solid seventy percent of his time teasing Eijun into fits of near-hysteria for his own diabolical amusement. Sometimes Eijun wonders if having a five-time national champion for a coach is worth his mental health (or, on his darker days, if it's worth the potential cost in bail because sometimes Eijun just wants to wring his coach's neck). But then he'll catch Miyuki looking at him with that lopsided, genuine smile he wears when he thinks Eijun isn't paying attention and all of the tension shutters away, because despite what Wakana might think Eijun does know how to read between the lines.

Eijun finds himself wanting to show Miyuki around –to show him the sites of Eijun's childhood memories. He'd taken him to Zenkoji and Togakure Ninpo (and Kids Ninja Village, which the bastard makes fun of him for but he doesn't care because he beat Miyuki at throwing star shooting; he takes pictures of the humiliating defeat and posts them to instagram just because) and to his favorite ramen shop, and he'd watched as Miyuki slowly shed his mask of indifference.

There's something strange and sort of thrilling about letting his idol into his life in such an intimate way, and something equally strange and thrilling about getting to know Miyuki in return. That he's able to distinguish between Miyuki's smiles and laughs, that he can see that little wrinkle in the center of his brown and know instantly what he's thinking –it's a beautiful side effect of Miyuki always being at his side.

"Hey Miyuki, have you ever had katsudon?" He asks. His elbows are braced against the rink boards, toe pick digging into the ice. His mind isn't on his quad loops or Ina Bauers but on the look on Miyuki's face when Eijun had thrust the plush poodle he'd won at Kids Ninja Village into his hands.

"I have," his coach responds.

"Well, you haven't tried my mother's!"

The corner of Miyuki's lips quirk. "No, I guess I haven't."

Eijun hums in approval and pushes back onto the ice with renewed vigor. As annoying as Miyuki is, he knows that he wants to hold onto that feeling as long as possible.

As soon as Satoru sees the Instagram post he's on the shinkansen to Nagano.

When he arrives he realizes he has no idea where he is or how to start finding his wayward senpai, who has obviously made a mistake. Miyuki-senpai was supposed to help him choreograph his routine for this coming season, but has instead decided to run off on a whim to coach the guy who bombed the Grand Prix, and if that doesn't ignite the flame of competition in Satoru's chest –

Miyuki-senpai leaving without a word is unacceptable, not even senpais are allowed to go back on their promises.

He willfully ignores the fact that he has done the same thing, and when Kataoka and Takashima find out where he's gone and why he knows he's going to be given lots of running as punishment. The thought puts him out, but he's determined.

Satoru is brought out of his thoughts when he catches something out of the corner of his eye. There, hanging in in the opening of a street clothing stall is a black hoodie with a polar bear printed across the chest. It is possibly the coolest thing he's ever seen ever. He's amazed and delighted that Nagano has cool things like this, and he paws at his own jeans pockets for his wallet because he is going to buy it and everyone back in Tokyo is going to be jealous of his cool hoodie.

Pun totally intended.

A kindly old man smiles and takes his money and his picture in his new hoodie. He posts it on Instagram because how could he not, and for about ten minutes all is well until his phone rings and Kataoka's frighteningly quiet voice spills out of its speakers and he remembers why he is there.

He presses one hand to the polar bear on his hoodie, hoping that the animal's innate strength and wisdom and survival skills flow into him through osmosis, cups his free hand around his mouth, and calls for his senpai.

(He doesn't realize until a few minutes later that he'd just hung up on his coach and not even his new hoodie can stop the shiver of fear making its way down his spine).

Satoru needs a nap.

When Satoru finally finds the rink –because where else would Miyuki-senpai be if not there- he's nearly run over by a panting, out of breath, sweaty boy he vaguely recognizes as the one who caused his senpai to leave. He's still pretty tired from wandering around town all day dragging his luggage but perks up when he hears the boy muttering something about 'that four-eyes bastard.'

"Hey," he says. "You're the one who came in last at the Grand Prix Finals."

This appears to immediately grab the boy's attention, because his head shoots up and whips around and Satoru is treated to a furious golden glare and a snarling mouth.

"What did you just say?!"

"You came in last at –"

"I heard you the first time!" He shouts. "I mean what do you want? Are you here to spy on me? Gonna try to steal my program? Well I don't have one yet! So go away!"

"Noisy."

The boy balks. "Listen here –"

"What's taking so long, Sawamura? Did you get lost?" Miyuki-senpai pokes his head out, looking somehow both annoyed and amused simultaneously. His eyes land first on the boy who is apparently Sawamura and his expression softens just the slightest bit, but then his eyes are focusing on Satoru.

Satoru is kind of disappointed that he doesn't look the least bit surprised to see him there.

"I've come to bring you back, Miyuki-senpai," he says.

"WHAT?! No! You can't have him! He's mine!" Sawamura whines.

"Ahaha! I'm yours huh," Miyuki-senpai teases. Sawamura's face explodes in a blush. Satoru shifts his weight a bit, uncomfortable. Miyuki-senpai looks like he's become comfortable here –comfortable with Sawamura. But Satoru isn't one to give up so easily.

"Senpai, you promised to choreograph my routine," he reminds.

Miyuki-senpai's mind is lightning quick. He's good at cycling through possibilities and analyzing information; it's partly why he's so good at skating. His ability to put together routinely difficult and complex routines and adjusting for situational unknowns is one of the reasons Satoru moved from his home rink in Hokkaido to Tokyo –Miyuki-senpai is one of the best, and there's a lot to be gained from the benefit of his presence. Satoru isn't about to give up now.

"Ah, I did, didn't I." It's not a question, so Satoru waits. Sawamura windmills his arms and takes up more and more space beside him, angry and flustered. Miyuki-senpai is quiet while he contemplates the situation. A wolfish grin steals across his face when he hits on an idea he likes.

"I've got two programs I've been working on for next season. Obviously I won't be using those for myself, so what if we hold a little friendly competition? Winner gets to use me how he wants."

Sawamura's screech of indignation is background to Satoru's pleased hum. He's practically glowing beneath Miyuki-senpai's feral grin.

He's going to win.

an: follow trumpet-geek or katsukifatale on tumblr for more soft weebing.