"Are you coming, Katsuki? We're going to be late!"

"I'm not quite done here, I'm sorry. You go on ahead. It doesn't matter to me if I'm late."

"Okay, but... fine, here's your ticket. See you afterwards?"

"I'm not sure... thanks, Kitagawa. I'll see you guys there!"

Yuuri watched his coworkers hurry out of the office, not thinking twice about leaving him with unfinished bookkeeping.

"The JSF Invitational Gala Show, huh?" Yuuri put the ticket in his shirt pocket. 15 years ago, he'd been a skater too. With only one good season under his belt, he had quickly been forgotten once he decided to retire. He tried hard not to remember that time of his life. Almost every day.

Living in Tokyo suited him fine. It was easy to blend in, easy to keep oneself occupied. Also, it was easy to go back home, to Hasetsu.

Yuuri sighed when he saw what time it was on his computer. It has started already. He saved his work and decided that he should return to the office once the show was done in order to finish up. He gathered his things, put on his jacket and exited the office.

The rink was very close, within walking distance. Yuuri pushed his glasses further up on the brigde of his nose when he crossed the street and hurried down a couple of blocks.

There it is. No queue, lucky me. Yuuri scanned his ticket and went inside.

His coworkers were in high spirits, motioning him to come over as he walked down the stairs.

"Seats by the player entrance, Katsuki! That's so cool, right? Sit, sit!"

Yuuri sat down. On the ice was a girl from Japan, apparently an audience favorite. Her somersault got a standing ovation. Tricks will always be the highlight of any gala or exhibition, no exceptions there. Male skaters doing power moves, female skaters pushing their athleticism to the limit.

The Japanese skater went off the rink and another skater went in. Male this time. The announcer presented him, Yuuri never caught the name, but heard that he was from France.

"He's paying homage to the routine that made him interested in skating", echoed the voice of the announcer.

Yuuri froze in his seat. The music. An aria sung in Italian by a tenor. A lament about loneliness. About cutting the throats of people singing about love.

"Ueda," Yuuri blurted out to his female coworker sitting next to him, "Excuse me. I'll be back, I just need to..."

Yuuri stood up and continued to walk down the stairs, knowing very well that it was easier to access the restrooms from down below. He had to get there, and quick. He felt his pulse going up, his throat clench, his vision getting blurry.

I knew I shouldn't have come here.

Standing hunched over the basin, gripping the edges with both hands. Almost hyperventilating. Feeling sick.

Breathe. Breathe! Take control!

Yuuri sank to the floor, gripping the basin with one hand and covering his mouth with the other. Why? Why, why, why, why, why?

He'd been disconnected from the world of skating for so long and when he finally gave in to humor his coworkers, he had to be reminded of the past. The irony. The goddamn irony of it all. Memories he thought he'd locked away clawed at him from the inside. Feelings connected to the memories took over.

He sobbed, covering his mouth even harder. Trying to press down whatever wanted to emerge from the deepest, most fragile parts of himself. He really didn't want this. He wanted to forget. Desperately wanted to forget. Needed to forget!

He wasn't sure how long he'd been trying to get a hold of himself. It felt like an eternity, but it could have been mere minutes, too. As he felt the anxiety ebb out, he stood up. Still not letting go of the basin. Not trusting himself.

No way I'm going back out there. I can't.

He took off his glasses and splashed some water on his face. The water evaporated slowly, leaving a cool feeling behind. He felt stupid relishing the sensation, but it was the only thing he had going for him. He grabbed a paper towel and patted the excess water away.

I need to go. I need to get out of here.

He put his glasses back on, and gave himself a brief look in the mirror. "Pathetic," he said to himself.

He opened the door to the restroom slowly, peering out, making sure he was alone. He breathed a sigh of relief. No one there. He checked his watch. Half an hour left of the show. How to get out without going back up... think!

Yuuri started to walk down the corridor, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. It would be mortifying if he showed his face to anyone while being so unstable.

He turned right, knowing that the staircase up ahead would take him to the entrance. It would be easy to slip out once he got up there. Some people came down the stairs, a few paces ahead. He instinctively pressed himself against the wall, letting them pass without acknowledging them.

As he heard their steps grow weaker as they turned around the corner behind him, he dared to look up. No one there. Just go up the stairs and get out. Do it. He took a deep breath, steeled himself and started to walk.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he exclaimed as he bumped into the person coming around the corner to the left. He kept on walking, suddenly noticing that the person he bumped into had stopped a few steps behind him. He looked over his shoulder, just to make sure that everything was okay.

"I'm sorry, are you..."

It can't be. It. Can't. Be.

Yuuri staggered backwards, needing the wall for support. No. No. No! Please, no!

"Yuu...ri?"

Please, don't. Please don't come any closer!

"Yuuri?!"

He couldn't say anything. Barely do anything. His breathing shifted gears, turning into shivering inhales and exhales. He felt his insides tremble. He tried to push his glasses into place, but he couldn't lift his arm.

As if commanded by something, he raised his head, knowing very well what the consequences would be. Yes. It was definitely him. Older. More... dignified? The same blue eyes and silver hair.

He wailed as he sunk to the floor.

"Victor!"

Discarding anything that resembled composure, he wept. Cried. Screamed. He wasn't sure if it was out of fear or longing. His worst nightmare or most pleasant dream coming true. To haunt him or to console him.

He felt him close. Close without touching him. Respectfully keeping his distance. Oh, how he wanted to be touched. Just like before. The sudden hand on his shoulder felt like a vice, even though he was barely touched.

"I..." A hesitation in his voice? Was he as uncomfortable? "Can I... can you stand?" No. There was a warmness to his voice. A warmness with a slight hint of sorrow. "I'm staying nearby. Please... Can I take you there?"

He couldn't remember a single thing. Nothing, whatsoever. When he came to, he found himself sitting on the edge of a bed, holding a paper cup. It was empty, but he couldn't recall if he had anything do drink. His throat felt dry. Shriveled up.

Opposite him, standing on one knee but not touching him was the man he once had considered to be his one true love.

He felt the cup leave his hands. A soft, unintentional touch. He saw him move, just outside his field of view. Realising he was pulling up a chair. Sitting down in front of him. Holding his hands.

He dared to look up at him. Yes. The same blue eyes and silver hair. Only shorter. Some fine lines around his eyes. Other than that, it seemed like time had stood still.

He removed his glasses and put them next to him on the bed, before... Before putting his hand back between his? It felt so natural. So familiar. Tears burned his eyes again.

"Oh..." He saw them land on his hands. So awkward this was. He felt him touch his upper arm. A consoling move, for sure.

"I have been fantasizing about this very moment. Many times. For so long." His voice sounded the same, too. "But... I always thought we would enjoy it more." He sighed a little, and resumed cradling his hands.

"What happened to us, Victor?" Yuuri met his eyes. They seemed calm.

"What happened? We happened to us, I guess."

Victor's phone rang on the desk behind him. He looked at it, contemplating as if he should answer it or not.

"Sorry. I'll be quick." He swiped to answer. "Oui, Julien? Ah, pardon. Oui, c'est correct. Non, allez-y. Okay. Au revoir." He turned the phone off. "Sorry. My student," he said apologetically.

So he's still coaching.

"How is he? Your student?" Ridiculous question.

"He's okay. He's got nerves of steel but he's lazy. He thinks success is something that magically gets handed to you for some reason. I blame his parents." Victor paused. "I've missed you, Yuuri."

His words felt like a gunshot, one that went through and through. He really wanted to answer from the heart, but it felt as if it would bleed out if he allowed himself to. Sadly, his heart had decided to be in charge.

"And I've missed you. Terribly." He covered his face with his hands. This hurts too much. I shouldn't be here. But I want to.

"Yuuri..."

He felt his hands on him. On his arms. On his shoulders. On his back. The embrace was tentative. Carefully executed, with the intent of letting go if any resistance would surface. Yuuri felt dizzy.

Almost hating himself for doing it, he reciprocated. He wanted to forget what they once had. Resting his head against Victor's shoulder made it impossible. Especially since the embrace grew mutually tighter.