As the first installment of the Paint Your Way to Me series (my contribution to the YuriOnIceReverseBigBang2017), this story occurs BEFORE the Sochi GPF series of canon and is therefore canon divergent only in timeline. There is humor and romance, but there are also mentions of depression (Victor) and anxiety (Yuuri). I hope you enjoy the first installment of this series and please go give the absolutely incredible poot-draws on tumblr or pootdraws on twitter some love on the art which inspired this whole thing!

The ice was cold. The ice was always cold, but on that day, early in the season as the summer began to vacate Detroit and Yuuri's looming performance anxiety began to creep back in, it felt especially cold against his back. The ceiling of the rink taunted him, its intricate patterns of metal beams blurry and unfocused without his glasses. Dots of light burned into his retinas as he laid on the rink, analyzing the cold of the ice and the pattern of the support beams instead of focusing on yet another flubbed jump. Practice had been brutal that day and Yuuri could hear Celestino yelling at him to get up, finding that he didn't particularly care to move at the moment. When Phichit's face appeared in his field of vision, Yuuri waved, knowing he looked pathetic. He let Phichit haul him to his feet, rolling his eyes as his best friend chattered away with words of encouragement. It wasn't worth it, Yuuri decided, skating away while Phichit was still in mid-pep talk.

Celestino was also talking to him, and Yuuri was equal in his level of effort to listen as he had been with Phichit. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears, drowning out the world and letting Yuuri properly propel himself into a panicky downward spiral, screaming "weeeeee" in his head all the way down. His inner monologue had turned away from the constant criticism, preferring now to take on the spirit of a cynical, self-deprecating standup comedian. Finding new and unique ways to kick himself while he was down seemed to be Yuuri's specialty. A specialty far more fine-tuned than his skating or even his school work. He had been practicing his whole life, and if there was one thing Yuuri was good at, it was building a proper panic attack.

A hand slapped him on his back, bringing Yuuri slamming consciously into the locker room, unsure how he even got there in the first place. When he got inside his own head, the world turned off, leaving him functionally blind to external stimuli. It was another finely crafted coping mechanism. Blinking at Celestino, Yuuri was aware that his coach was speaking, unable to make out any of the words. Sinking to the ground, he felt his resolve crack, forced humor disappearing to be replaced by sobs. He was horrible and terrible and should quit right now before anyone had to deal with him. A strong hand remained on his shoulder, no other contact being initiated which Yuuri appreciated. Calming, he accepted his glasses held out by his coach, finally able to focus on the man who was sitting only a foot from his face.

Words. Celestino was speaking words. Concentrating Yuuri heard the familiar ones. Anxiety. Nerves. Overthinking. They weren't criticisms, merely a list of all the things wrong with him. Then came other words that were familiar. Therapy. Medication. Painting. The last one stuck out, making him crinkle his face in confusion and pay closer attention to his coach. Apparently, Celestino had enrolled him in a one week paint course which aimed to decrease the negative symptoms of mental illnesses such as anxiety and depression. Yuuri certainly had at least one of those. He didn't hate painting, or the idea of cutting practice down to once a day to accommodate the class, so he accepted Celestino's suggested schedule with as much enthusiasm that he could muster. When he was left alone in the locker room, Yuuri let his head fall back, wondering how he was ever going to muster up the strength to move again.

Detroit was… unsightly. Victor let his scrutiny wander over the landscape as he stood with Yakov waiting for the car outside of the airport. There were so many people and not enough space, everything appearing hyper fast and commercial to Victor's drowsy mind. True, he was also looking through a thick haze of unhappiness, but who really cared? He didn't want to be in this city anyway, discussing another sponsorship deal with some other random company he didn't even know the name of. More deals, more smiles, for clothes or shoes or glasses or whatever he was required to wear; none of it mattered to him anymore. Life was painted in hues of gray and black, coated in the darkness that Victor allowed to taint everything nowadays. Sighing as he slammed into the back of a cab, he stared out the window, ignoring whatever nonsense Yakov was spouting about in the seat next to him.

Buildings made up the whole of the skyline, a thick fog of pollution snagging on the highest peaks. Maybe it was only clouds, but if Victor wanted to twist it into something uglier in his mind, who was going to stop him? His outside remained pretty, picture perfect at a moment's notice, smile constantly plastered over the lower half of his face. He played his role well, so if he wanted to let his mind be his only escape into the darkness, who could really argue with him. Not that anyone would, because he never told anyone about it. His very own pit of despair, centered in the middle of his mind and always waiting to let him fall into its depths. Recently, the ladder leading back out had disappeared, leaving Victor to either sit at the bottom and stew or claw his way out. He had become exceptionally tired of clawing.

Thick fingers wrapped around his forearm, pulling him from the cab and into the large lobby of the hotel. Victor barely noticed the change in location, the hotel lobby with its large front desk and distinct smell of stale coffee not feeling all that different from his position in the cab. Both held different levels of expectations and Victor made sure his exterior lived up to those needs, while his insides screamed. Following Yakov through the hotel, he was relieved to feel the press of his own room key into his hand, excited to escape into nothingness for a while before the strain of the public was thrust back upon him. Exiting the elevator, Victor located his room, snorting when he realized Yakov had the adjoining one. Freedom, but not too much, as always.

He threw his bag across the room with a defiant huff, tossing his body across the bed without bothering to remove his shoes or jacket. He shouldn't have been surprised by the knock at the internal door, but he cursed anyway, pushing up to open it. Yakov entered the room already expelling words that Victor didn't care to hear.

Talking. Yakov was talking, again, because Yakov was always talking. Resuming his position on the bed, Victor threw his arm over his face willing the angry Russian man away from him. When his name was spoken with more softness than he was used to, Victor peered at his coach from under the crook of his arm. Depression. The word hung between them, one that had only been implied, but never explicitly stated. Victor knew it fit, and felt the tears sting his eyes as Yakov sat down on the bed next to his knees. His coach wasn't throwing the word around lightly, speaking about solutions that they could explore once they returned to Russia, but also offering a temporary solution. A painting class, five days on the local college campus with other people close to his age who were experiencing similar issues. Every afternoon for five days. It didn't sound like the worst idea on the planet, and a hell of a better option than meetings, so Victor accepted the suggestion, relieved when his coach finally left him to sulk alone in his hotel room.

Day 1

Victor was early. Plopping down in his assigned seat, he fiddled with the cup of paint brushes, unimpressed with the smallish room with too many pieces of furniture shoved into it. Students were filing in, and he gave them a pass of mild interest, gritting his teeth against the flirty gestures of a few of the girls. They obviously didn't know who he was or they wouldn't have even bothered. A couple of the guys entering the class gave him a swift nod, sitting down without throwing any words into the mix. Those were Victor's current favorite type of person, quiet, unassuming and nowhere near his personal space. Flicking his eyes over the classroom he noted that all the places were taken except the one directly next to him and he found that there wasn't an ounce of caring in him about this fact. As instructions began to pour from the older woman at the front of the room, Victor absorbed only the bare minimum of what he needed to succeed in the class. The teacher seemed nice enough, but he was having a hard time caring about that too.

Yuuri was late. The class was across campus from his dorm and Yuuri had remained online a little too long, cherishing his early freedom from practice. His jumps had gone better that day, but he was still horrid, and he made sure to remind himself of that as the day progressed. Shooting random animated strangers had helped relieve the tension in his shoulders, and he sulked into the art room with little care as to the impression his lateness would make. Receiving only the briefest of greetings from the instructor, he spotted the only open stool and slammed himself into it, flinching as the other students looked his way. The class had only ten students in it and was positioned in one of the smaller classrooms, making it seem much more crowded than it really was. Dropping his bag on the floor, Yuuri shrugged off his jacket to leave it heaped in the same pile. A huff next to him had Yuuri turning his head.

Yuuri fell off his stool. Cursing himself for his clumsiness, he swatted out at the hands that came to aid him in getting back up. He hadn't cared about his impression when he arrived in the classroom, but that attitude had now vanished as all the eyes in the room were focused on him. Plunking back down on the wooden seat, he waved his hand at the inquiries as to his state of being. Having taken much worse falls on the ice, his body was fine, however, his mind was a disaster. Victor Nikiforov, his idol and source of many, many hours of self-relieved lust, was sitting next to him, regarding him with curious blue eyes. Of course Yuuri's idol would show up in a class that was supposed to help Yuuri lessen his anxiety, this was exactly how his random, and continuously awful luck worked. It didn't even make sense that Victor was in Detroit, let alone sitting next to him, and Yuuri found the unfairness overwhelming. Rolling his eyes to glare at the ceiling, Yuuri took in the rest of instructions in angered silence.

Why couldn't Victor pull his eyes away from this petulant bespectacled boy beside him? The boy had made no efforts to speak to Victor, smacking his hands away when Victor had tried to help him from the floor, but some part of him had Victor fascinated. The other students were boring, blobs of drab color who were barely in focus in Victor's periphery, and the teacher was akin to the teachers of the Peanuts gang. But the grumpy, red-faced boy beside him was none of those things. His hair was messy, in the kind of way that almost looked purposeful, and his blue rimmed glasses only served to highlight his fierce brown eyes, currently tilted toward the ceiling in what appeared to be an angry protest. Victor was intrigued, in a way that he hadn't been in a very long time.

The teacher finally finished talking, giving them the mundane task of painting their favorite flower. Yuuri googled the camellia choosing a bright pink version, which he would probably paint as a deep red or even black. If the teacher was going to psychoanalyze him, he might as well give her something interesting to work with. Hearing another huff of sound, Yuuri managed to look at the man at his side without falling off his stool this time, raising his eyebrow in reaction.

"Hello," Victor said reaching out a hand.

Hesitantly Yuuri reached out his own, trying to breathe through the moment that he touched his idol for the first time. "Hey." There were more clever things he could have said, none of them available for his tongue to use at that moment.

"What's your name and what're you here for?" Victor continued to shake the hand, knowing that the handshake was now going on for an embarrassingly long time.

For a brief second, Yuuri thought he might be joking. He certainly wasn't a remarkable skater like Victor was, but he had crossed paths with him a handful of times during various competitions. Deciding it didn't matter if Victor knew who he was or not, Yuuri withdrew his hand to start crafting his purposefully anxiety-ridden flower. A third huff told Yuuri that Victor wasn't going to move on without an answer. "Yuuri. I'm here because my coach is apparently going bald due to my excessive need to have anxiety attacks at all hours of the day." When Victor chuckled, Yuuri was glad that he hadn't tempered his sarcasm. So many people told him to buck up and be more positive, it seemed Victor wouldn't be one of those people and Yuuri added it to the reasons he idolized him.

"I'm Victor," he paused for a second to try to put together something equally as entertaining as Yuuri's statement, "I'm here because it would be weird if my skating coach hired me a babysitter every time he was tired of dealing with my depressive ass." Yuuri's return chuckle made a warm feeling spread in his chest. "So what's your coach for?" Victor set his brush onto his white canvas, prepared to paint a red rose because he was too lazy to google a flower and a red rose wouldn't have much to offer in the analysis department.

"You mean besides ill-timed pep talks and daily torture?" Yuuri stroked the outline of his flower with dark black lines, being far more aggressive than would ever be needed. "Honestly, nothing important. You?"

"Figure skating," Victor answered easily, realizing he didn't care if the reaction was adverse, "yes I am a male figure skater. I'm also gay and love my dog. That should cover all the stereotypes." When Yuuri snorted with a smirk angling his lips, Victor found himself genuinely smiling for the first time in months.

"Me too," Yuuri flicked paint onto the surface, pausing only to let the instructor pass them by, "in both the gay and the dog loving aspects." He could feel Victor's eyes on him, heart clenching as it flexed with anxiety. If Victor didn't know who he was, it wasn't worth mentioning it. The class was a measly five days and if Victor never realized the truth, then what did it really matter? Maybe it would be easier to talk to him this way, not that Yuuri even qualified as a real competitor in Victor's world, an obvious fact given Victor didn't recognize him. Oddly, Yuuri's opinion was the exact opposite when it came to acknowledging Victor's identity. "The question was a formality, really. I know who you are, Victor Nikiforov," Yuuri flicked his eyes sideways, gauging Victor's reaction, wondering if his tone had been too subtle. He should be terrified to interact in any way with Victor, and at first he was, but Victor didn't know who he was, so he could be whoever he wanted to be.

"Ah so you are a fan," Victor didn't hear any malice in Yuuri's voice and the red on Yuuri's cheeks told him that there might be some flirting going on. Subtle flirting, but potential flirting nonetheless. Victor found it interesting that he didn't hate the idea of flirting with Yuuri and decided to go with it. "Commemorative photo then?"

Air puffing from his chest, Yuuri shook his head into his painting, "ha, you wish." He couldn't believe he was flirtingly snubbing his idol, the fanboy in him screaming to say yes to the picture. Sure, he was slightly crushed to know that his idol couldn't recognize his face, but Yuuri knew he was forgettable. Victor's lack of recognition fed nicely into everything he had already assumed about himself and he was positive that sometime after class, alone in his room, he would feel the sting of reality. Still, Victor had shifted closer to him, idly chattering away as they painted with no sign of the chatter dying down over the three hours of class. If this was going to be how the class was going to go, Yuuri could definitely handle five days of this, returning to his black and red flower with renewed vigor.

Victor smirked, the smirk turning over to a smile that reached his eyes in a feeling that had become completely foreign to him. He could sense his fondness for Yuuri exponentially growing with every second, relishing in the emotions now swimming so close to the surface. Conversation was easy, and it was even easier to pretend that they were alone in the world, isolated in a bubble of sarcasm and awkward flirting. Yakov had a lot of dumb ideas over the years, but this was certainly not one of them.

Day 2

"What the ever living hell in produce?"

Victor heard Yuuri mutter the question under his breath, spitting his water down the front of his shirt when the laughter unintentionally escaped him. Their assignment for the second day of class was to paint their favorite fruit or vegetable. Either Yuuri had something against fruit, or just felt like complaining, either way the sentiment made Victor laugh. Nudging Yuuri with his elbow, Victor pointed a finger to the canvas, "I dare you to draw a rotten fruit."

The smile quirking on Victor's lips encouraged Yuuri to continue the joke. "A rotten watermelon. It can symbolize the writhing mess of goo that is my brain." Yuuri drew a dramatic brown circle on his paper, adding a few strokes of brown to the center with a flick of his wrist.

"Broken carrots," Victor hashed orange lines down his paper, "symbolizing my overworked and underpaid legs." He added a few more strokes for dramatic effect.

"Smashed banana," Yuuri remarked, adding a blob of yellow to his paper, "symbolizes the limp useless way my dick gets when I take the meds they prescribe me." The words escaped before he could clamp his teeth on them, realizing what an embarrassingly level of overshare had just occurred. Smacking his hand over his forehead, he felt fingers immediately prying against his own. He found Victor's smile blinding him as he dared to drop his hand.

"Been there," Victor remarked, a tint of bitterness mingling with the humor, "how about squished grapes? Symbolizing how my nuts feel in my stupid dancer's belt." The sound that escaped Yuuri made Victor jump and then immediately join him in the tear-spurting laughter. Yuuri's laugh was one of the most delightful sounds Victor had ever heard and he found himself never wanting Yuuri to stop. Poking him in the side, Victor noticed the slight softness and reeled in his thoughts of wanting to see it more closely. It had been a long time since Victor had laughed. It had been an even longer time since he had been interested in any sort of sexual stimulation.

Normally, Yuuri would have flailed in defense of anyone touching his stomach, it being the one area of his body that he hated without reserve. Somehow, when Victor did it, it only spurred on Yuuri's laughter, which increased twofold when Victor snorted. His stomach hurt with the flex of humor, and Yuuri rubbed his hand over it to ease the pain. A warning sound from across the room had them both returning to their work, tucking their heads toward each other in another bout of giggles. As the laughter finally subsided, Yuuri tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, gathering his courage. "Hey," he chewed hard on the lip when Victor looked at him, "I know you are not from around here. Would you want to hang out after class? I could show you around or something." There, he said it, now he was ready to be rejected so he could throw himself into the sun.

"I can't," Victor sighed, heart breaking at the way Yuuri tried to keep his face from falling, "I have practice." Cursing Yakov, Victor vowed to ditch out of evening practice for the rest of the week. "How about tomorrow? I'll tell my coach to go jump in Lake Michigan if he has a problem with it."

Yuuri shrugged, the words forming a lump in his throat, "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to." He couldn't bring himself to say anything else, falling silent as he tried to salvage the rotten watermelon on the paper. Yuuri had joked about the gooey mess of his brain, but he wasn't sure it was that far off from the truth.

"Yuuri," Victor put a hesitant hand on his arm, waiting for Yuuri to look at him, "I want to. I really do. Tomorrow, promise?" Those deep brown eyes peered straight into Victor's soul, making him want to beg off his entire skating career and stay wherever Yuuri would be for the rest of his life.

If the teacher, in her profound self-proclaimed wisdom, asked them to paint their favorite color, Yuuri knew he would be searching in vain for a blue as beautiful as Victor's irises. Nodding his head, he felt his arm tingle where Victor squeezed it, the promise of tomorrow burning hot in Yuuri's heart.

Day 3

"A house," Yuuri snorted, leaning onto the table of the pizza place closest to campus, whispering to Victor as if it was some sort of dire secret. They had split a pizza and an entire pitcher of beer, after Victor's declarations regarding diet plans being the work of Satan or his dance teacher (who were potentially one in the same). The beer was long gone and a measly slice of pizza still existed on the round pan, the booth they had taken over was warm from their bodies which had occupied its space for almost five hours. Yuuri was tipsy and pleasantly full, and ready to rant about the insanity that was painting class. "Paint me a house so I can analyze how you feel about your family!" His impression of their teacher was awful and both of them collapsed in laughter. Yuuri knew he had laughed more in the three days that he had known Victor than he had in the last three months. Grateful was a good word for how he was feeling, but there were other words competing for the top spot. Feeling Victor's fingers graze against the top of his hand, a very specific h word came to mind.

"Is that really what she is going to do?" Victor felt the alcohol in his system, righteously declaring a silent defiance against Yakov and Lilia's stupid diet rules. Touching Yuuri was rapidly becoming instinctual as he gave into the urge over the course of the last two days. He marveled at the perfect skin on the back of Yuuri's hands, tracing patterns over it as he waited for his answer.

It was intriguing that Yuuri had no desire to pull away from Victor's touch. Even with Phichit he found himself pulling away at times, but every time Victor touched him, Yuuri only discovered a craving for more. Forgetting to answer, he raised an eyebrow at Victor when he cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, that's what she does," he tried to recall the details from his psych 101 class, "something about how you place your roof, and like your windows? And something about trees and people. I dunno, I can't remember." Yuuri laid his cheek directly on the cold table, his hand still laying in the center with Victor's fingers now playing over his wrist. The warmth was spreading up and through him, making his body react in unexpected places. Remembering what desire felt like was refreshing and Yuuri found himself observing Victor's lips as they formed a response instead of listening to what he was saying.

"Well, I didn't draw people and I think there were a thousand windows on mine," Victor experimentally wrapped his fingers with Yuuri's, grinning when Yuuri squeezed them together. "What does it say that I didn't draw trees, only bushes?"

Yuuri snorted, "that you aren't as gay as you think you are?" He let himself laugh when Victor did, enjoying someone that could follow along with his innuendo. Without his sister around, there was no one he could joke with in that manner. Phichit was learning, but his incredibly sweet roommate was only beginning to be corrupted. It seemed that Victor was already on Yuuri's level of humor.

Lifting their joined hands, Victor grazed Yuuri's knuckles with his lips, loving the blush that spread over all of Yuuri's visible skin. "Trust me, Yuuri, I am not concerned with bushes of any sort." He winked, emphasizing his point by darting his tongue out to lick in between Yuuri's knuckles. Alcohol had definitely been a good idea. From his pocket, Victor's phone began to ring, causing him to curse in Russian as he retrieved it from his jacket. "The warden," he said, rolling his eyes and answering the call. After a solid five minutes of yelling, Victor threw down cash on the table, adamant that Yuuri wasn't allowed to pay and pulled Yuuri outside to wait for a car which would drop them each off at their individual locations. Not thinking much of it, Victor reached for Yuuri's hand, locking their fingers back together.

His body was singing with pent up arousal, the casual touches of his idol on his skin making Yuuri's head feel intoxicated. But Victor was more than that now. They had spent most of their dinner joking and flirting, but as the night had gone on, Victor had revealed why he was really in the class. Yuuri would have never known that Victor was battling depression, fighting against it while trying to hide his struggles. If he thought back on it, he could compare the smiles that Victor had personally graced him with in comparison to the ones that he showed to the media, the differences between the two were now obvious. Victor was a human, not some idolized skater who belonged on a pedestal, and Yuuri was increasingly happier to discover the hidden aspects of Victor. Swinging their hands lightly, Yuuri bit his lip when he felt Victor's other hand lightly brush his cheek. Inhaling deeply, Yuuri dared to look up.

It was a crime, Victor decided. It was a crime for anyone to be as unaware of his beauty as Yuuri seemed to be. Feeling brave, Victor leaned down, capturing Yuuri's lips with his own, letting the sensation crash over him in waves. He hadn't possessed the desire to be intimate with anyone in almost a year, but now that desire was raw and needy, pouring from him as he greedily kissed Yuuri in front of a rundown pizza shop. They separated to climb into the back of the car, resuming their activity until they reached Yuuri's dorm. With a few chasing kisses, Victor let Yuuri loose from his grasp, promising to text him when Victor arrived safe at his hotel.

Walking back to his dorm, Yuuri attempted to wrap his head around the fact that he had made out with Victor Nikiforov. He had made out with the man that he had worshipped for years. He had made out with the man who had made Yuuri laugh when he thought it was no longer possible. He had made out with Victor, and Victor had no idea that Yuuri was his competitor. Yuuri stopped in his tracks, only two words in his mind.

Well, shit.

Day 4

"So…" Victor sat across from Yuuri at what Yuuri claimed to be the best burger place in town, trying to decide how to ask the question that had been bugging him since they left class. It was day four and officially the day that they were charged with drawing what their individual illnesses looked like to them.

Victor had spent the time painting his entire paper black. It had been fairly cathartic to watch as the white disappeared, layers upon layers of black paint completely erasing all brightness from the page. Maybe it was simplifying the explanation, but Victor thought it was a damn good portrayal of the bottom of the hell pit that was his brain.

Yuuri on the other hand had spent the time drawing zig zags of multiple colors, mostly reds and oranges, making his paper look angry and ready to attack. The night before Victor had detailed the swallowing nature of his depression, the way it warped the world around him to block out all that was good and real. In his tipsy state, he was pretty sure he had given Yuuri credit for breaking through some of the darkness, spending a portion of his sleepless night wondering if Yuuri would push him away because of that revelation. He had been happy to receive a squeeze of his hand when Yuuri arrived in class, even happier when Yuuri had accepted his suggestion of another night out together. Now though, he found himself wondering why Yuuri had not taken the chance to elaborate on his own disorder, ready to push the issue if he had to. "Why did you paint all those angry lines on your paper?"

The question was patient, not pushy or demanding, and Yuuri placed his burger on his plate to contemplate the answer. No one had ever asked him to describe his anxiety before, and the painfully jagged lines had been the only thing he could come up with when cornered. Victor's kind expression made him relax, for some reason his level of trust in Victor was already at remarkably high levels. This fact should have been causing Yuuri more alarm than it was, especially knowing that Victor was leaving in two days and that Victor would inevitably stop trusting Yuuri if he couldn't find a way to be honest with him.

Picking his battles, Yuuri decided that describing his anxiety was easier than explaining his position in Victor's profession. Chewing on his bottom lip, Yuuri drummed his fingers on the table looking for the right words. "I guess," he wiggled his nose, "it is like my body is one giant nerve ending. When my anxiety builds, it swells and becomes susceptible to injury. At my worst, even words can feel like a physical assault and a breeze or a harsh look can send me running for my bed, hiding under soft blankets until the feeling passes. Sometimes, I can control it and talk myself off the ledge. Other times, it is like a train flying off the tracks… moving too fast, too out of control, and straight toward destruction."

Wincing, Victor reached over the table for Yuuri's hand, happiness zinging through him as Yuuri took it. He had analyzed his need for Yuuri's touch during his unrestful hours the night before, coming to the conclusion that it didn't matter why he needed and wanted it so much, he just did. "That sounds painful, I'm sure it affects how you interact with your world, right? I know my depression makes everything feel like it is happening behind a veil. I'm there and physically present, but there is a layer between me and reality. Does that make sense?" He stroked his thumb over Yuuri's knuckles before releasing him so they could both finish their respective dinners.

Chewing on his bite, Yuuri marveled at how perfectly Victor described a feeling that he was slowly discovering was mutual between them. They fought different disorders, but some of the barebones feelings were the same. "I feel like that too," Yuuri swallowed his bite before continuing, "sometimes I want to hide. I want to escape from anyone who could see me or want to ask how I am. Is there really a worse question on the planet? That and 'do you want to talk about it.' Like, no you nitwit, if I wanted to talk, I would be talking." Yuuri stabbed a french fry into his ketchup.

"I specifically hate the phrase 'how are you feeling today' because honestly, if someone feels like they have to ask, don't they already know the answer?" Victor had kept this thought to himself for a while and was relieved to see Yuuri nodding his head in agreement.

"I am never going to answer that question, truthfully," Yuuri shook his head to emphasize his point, "I'm fine are my two favorite words, and I use them liberally." Together they mused at their shared realities.

An alarm went off on Yuuri's phone as he was tackling Victor away from the counter so he could pay for their food. Without thinking, Yuuri looked over his shoulder and said, "next date you can pay, you big baby!" Victor lost all will to fight, instead wrapping his body around Yuuri like an octopus. It was a ridiculous state in which to pay their bill, but Yuuri found himself only caring about the warmth on his back and the pressure of the arms around his torso. They had made a scene, and normally Yuuri would have been twitching out of his skin waiting for other people to judge him, but tonight he was ignoring the world, save one person.

Whining when Yuuri said he would walk home, Victor leaned forward to capture Yuuri in another set of kisses. They had walked from class to the restaurant, taking far longer than it should have as they kept pulling each other into each nook and cranny of the buildings to engage in steamy make out sessions. Victor felt alive whenever Yuuri was in his vicinity and he was never going to be eager to let that feeling go. Stalling Yuuri for as long as possible, Victor indulged himself in the joys of public displays of affection.

Finally using all of his willpower, Yuuri pulled away from Victor, holding him at arm's length. He had been trying to tell him all night, to tell him that their time wouldn't be over the next day as Yuuri planned to see Victor again, standing on the podium in Sochi. His phone dinged and he knew that he had to get to the rink, using it as an excuse to let himself chicken out. Kissing Victor one more time, Yuuri ducked away, walking down the block and disappearing toward the ice rink.

Victor reacted to the sound of his phone buzzing in his pocket, realizing that for the last six hours he had completely ignored its existence. His obsession with social media and the instant gratification of each comment and like had consumed his life for years, and it was nice to realize that he had finally found a reason to ignore the insistent beckoning of notifications. Yuuri had been in his life for exactly four days and already he could feel himself changing.

Smiling at the mental image of his dark-haired easel partner, Victor inhaled when he saw the title of the email. Placements had been released for the Grand Prix series. Opening the body of the email, he quickly scanned the text for the link. His name was the first that he searched for, nodding without feeling at the locations where he would compete on his way to Sochi. Next, he scanned the list for Chris's name, noting that his friend wasn't listed to compete against him ahead of the finale.

His thumb froze over the screen, a familiar name appearing directly underneath Chris's on the Skate America list. Victor stopped moving so abruptly that a man collided with him from behind, knocking him forward and causing him to drop his phone. Scurrying to retrieve it from the ground, Victor sank to sit on the cold concrete, once again finding the listing to stare at the name of the man he had spent four days admiring every second he could.

Yuuri Katsuki – Japan

With a shaking finger, Victor clicked on the name, bringing up Yuuri's JSF profile. Not only was Yuuri Katsuki a professional ice skater, he was the top ranked skater in all of his home country. Victor felt all of the air deflate from his lungs as he stared at the handsome face of his newest friend and blossoming romantic interest. Yuuri looked remarkably different without his glasses, his black hair pushed back from his forehead making him look far more serious than the lovable marshmallow of a man that Victor had been flirting with in paint class and kissing at every available moment. Embarrassment flooded onto Victor's cheeks, realizing that he should have known who Yuuri was, with or without glasses, and he was surprised that Yuuri hadn't punched him for not acknowledging him as a fellow competitor.

Yuuri wouldn't have done so though, Victor heaved a sigh dropping his head into his hands. Anxious Yuuri would have bottled up whatever feelings he had about the situation, his nerves keeping him from correcting Victor. The guilt chased Victor's embarrassment, making him groan and startling a woman as she walked passed him. Suddenly realizing that he was sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, Victor pushed himself up, gaining composure to call Chris.

After three rings, his cheerful friend picked up. "Chris!" Victor yelled into the phone hearing his friend laugh.

"What do you think of your placements? Pity we won't see each other until we both reach the finals."

Chris's easy confidence made Victor grin and temporarily derailed him from his need to question. "You are making a lot of assumptions about our various talents, Christophe." He heard Chris chuckle on the other end of the line. Remembering why he called, Victor repositioned the phone, "what do you know about Yuuri Katsuki?"

"As your painting buddy or as our competitor?" Chris sounded only slightly interested in the change of topic.

"Wait," Victor stopped dead in his tracks, causing another stranger to slam into his shoulder. Grunting he rubbed his arm and started walking again. "You knew?"

A confused noise echoed over the phone. "What do you mean I knew? You told me Yuuri was in your class and that you were hanging out." Chris made purring noises, seemingly toward his cat.

"No, the second part," Victor spurted out, glancing back and forth down the street before crossing toward the ice rink.

"Of course," now Chris was paying attention, "wait, you didn't? Victor! You have been training at his home rink! We have been competing against him for at least three years!" Chris's exasperation was not helping Victor's current level of guilt. "You really are oblivious sometimes," disapproving noises tutted through the phone, "I hope you didn't accidentally offend him. He's a sensitive guy."

Victor knew this. He was incredibly painfully aware of how sensitive Yuuri was, the man himself had detailed those sensitivities only hours earlier in the dark booth where Victor had felt his whole world shift. And Victor… Victor didn't even have enough sense to recognize Yuuri for who he was.

He had grown to see Yuuri as an equal when it came to age and experience, respected his differing but still limiting mental illness as of equal influence on Yuuri's life as Victor's was on his, but he didn't know they were also equals on the ice. Competitors. Skaters. Equals.

"Are you dead?' Chris quipped in his ear as Victor pushed through the exterior doors of the rink. Yuuri had told him he had a commitment at 8PM, not specifying where that commitment was being met. Victor's curiosity had led him directly to the rink. Yuuri's rink. The rink where Victor had been practicing at the crack of dawn for five days, isolated and alone every morning because of Yakov's instructions. This was Yuuri's ice, the place where Yuuri practiced, and Victor hadn't even noticed. "Vic, you okay, man?"

He wasn't okay. He wasn't even sure he knew how to speak anymore. Hell, he wasn't sure he could remember how to breathe.

On the ice was the shy man that had quickly captured his heart in only four days. The same man who blushed when the teacher complimented his brush strokes, was gliding over the ice in breathing-taking, eye-catching form. The peaceful smile playing on Yuuri's face was a striking contrast to the nervous lip-biting Victor had grown accustomed to. The many layers of Yuuri Katsuki, Victor swooned to himself, clasping a hand over his mouth to stifle the gasp as Yuuri landed a flawless triple axel. "Chris," Victor heard himself say, his voice floating somewhere outside of his body, "he's beautiful."

"You knew that too," Chris chuckled into the phone, "you have been telling me that for days. So, what are you going to do about it, Nikiforov?"

Ducking from the rink, his heart hurting from losing his view of Yuuri, but knowing that he couldn't risk being accused of scoping out the competition if he was caught, Victor thought hard. "I need a picture of him. Any idea where I can track one down?"

Chris's laughter rang in Victor's ears making him laugh. "I don't have any, but I know someone who will. Give me ten minutes." Saying his goodbyes, Chris disconnected the call leaving Victor alone with his thoughts.

They had one day left together in class, and Victor had only two days left in Detroit. Somehow, he was going to have to convince Yuuri that his oversight of Yuuri's professional status was his own stupidity and not a criticism of Yuuri. He would binge watch all of Yuuri's old programs, remind his ridiculous brain of the man who he should have remembered. He would prove to Yuuri that he was worth remembering. Also, and more importantly, he was going to find a way to keep Yuuri in his life as there was no way Victor could leave behind the light and, dare he say it, love, that he had found in Detroit.

A long night ahead of him, Victor set off at a run toward his hotel room, smile lingering on his face with his renewed hope for tomorrow.

Day 5

Somehow, in only a few short days, Yuuri was finding himself contemplating words like love and forever, hunkering down with Phichit until the early hours of the morning analyzing the difference between those words and lust and desire. Around four a.m. when they were both punchy from lack of sleep, Phichit had declared Yuuri and Victor as the victims of love at first sight, sighing dreamily into his pillow before promptly passing out with loud snores. Yuuri had rolled the concept through his mind, dissecting it, and deciding he didn't necessarily disagree with the thought. He had almost no experience with romantic relationships, but he liked the balance between a budding friendship and a budding relationship. Movies taught him that people had to choose one or the other, and he spent the rest of the hours leading to sunrise appreciating that this entire belief was false. Falling into friendship and falling into love at the same time seemed exciting and real, in a way nothing had really been exciting or real for him in a long time. He wasn't going to ask Victor to marry him or anything crazy, but he wanted to give them a chance to see where this thing between them could go.

Unfortunately, that would also mean telling Victor that he would hopefully be seeing Yuuri again, when they competed against each other in the Grand Prix series final. Yuuri had practically counted himself out of the running, still surprised to see his name appearing on the placements for the season. Now, he was looking forward to the next few months with a renewed force. The only way he could see Victor again would be to make it to the final, their busy schedules and incompatible placements would keep them apart for the competitions leading up to the end. Yuuri would get there. He would train harder than he ever had and he would be there in Sochi to challenge Victor in a real way.

It would be different now though. Victor was no longer an untouchable force, a glittering god existing outside of Yuuri's plane. He was a friend, a confidant, and, maybe if Yuuri was lucky, someone so much more. Yuuri had firmly corrected Phichit when he had teasingly called Victor the cure to his anxiety. Another person couldn't cure him, and anxiety was a part of him, something that he would fight against for the rest of his life. There wasn't a magic pill or a magic person who could suddenly rid him of it. What Victor was, was someone who could listen and for the first time, someone who could relate to what Yuuri was going through. He wasn't scared to talk to Victor about it and he didn't feel judged, that alone being a gift of truly remarkable proportions. Yuuri finally relaxed into sleep, letting his mind drift away from having to reveal himself to Victor, and instead focusing on how beautiful life could be once he did. For the first time, he didn't immediately react to a situation with negativity and fear, his body slipping into beautiful dreams of a loving future.

Except for the first day of class, Yuuri had been uncharacteristically on time for each lesson, his timeliness associated closely with the overwhelming desire to soak up as much time with Victor as possible. His late night analysis with Phichit, however, caused them to both sleep through practice and into the earliest part of the afternoon. Racing through their small shared apartment, Yuuri threw on the first pair of clean jeans he could find, cursing as they stuck against his still damp legs. Pulling a black sweater from a drawer, he threw it on without an undershirt. Yanking one shoe on, he spun on his heel, falling backwards in fright when Phichit came storming through the front door, waving the picture envelope from the university store. Snatching the picture without looking at it, Yuuri sprinted from their apartment, cheeks blazing at the encouraging words Phichit fired at his back.

The classroom was completely empty when Victor had arrived, thirty minutes early and shaking with nerves. It was his plan to surprise Yuuri with his painting that day, a painting that was supposed to focus on the future, where they wanted to be, who they aspired to be like, or what they hoped to see themselves doing. Even if the last part of the description applied in a slightly crude manner, Yuuri was still the answer to all of those questions for him. When he left Detroit, it wasn't his intention to leave Yuuri behind. After four days Victor felt more alive, more open, and happier than he had in years, he couldn't even imagine what four weeks would bring. Or four months. Or four years. Or forever.

Rearranging their easels to be back to back with each other, Victor placed their shared tray between them, resting against the wooden legs. He would have to make sure that Yuuri didn't see his picture before his painting was complete, because that would spoil the surprise and derail Victor's plans for grand declarations. Yuuri had to know he was sorry for not knowing he is a skater, he had to know that Victor's obliviousness was not a reflection of Yuuri's worth, but mostly, Yuuri had to know how Victor felt. These thoughts brought a set of wild butterflies into Victor's stomach and he paused to take a deep breath, humming to himself as he continued to move through his set up.

He had spent his entire night watching every clip he could find of Yuuri on YouTube getting completely lost in the routines, barely hearing the music as he watched Yuuri move. How could he have missed Yuuri being a part of his world for all of these years? He was a breath-taking skater. Even with only one quad in his skillset, Yuuri was easily the most captivating performer he had ever seen. Victor was breathless over the skating, and then he had run into the pole-dancing videos.

Victor had nearly fainted during the first video, watching as his shy Yuuri spun with grace and irresistible desire around the silver pole. HamsterBoy3, the poster of all of Yuuri's pole-dancing prowess, was officially Victor's favorite YouTuber and he had subscribed immediately to his channel. Then he had devoured all of the content that had any mention of Yuuri, watching the dancing and pole-dancing clips an embarrassing number of times. The sun had risen while Victor was still taking in Yuuri's beautiful presence shining through his laptop screen, and Victor blinked innocently at Yakov when his coach asked if he had slept. Sleep wouldn't have been possible anyway, Victor reasoned, dragging himself away from his favorited videos to dress for practice. He had one day left with Yuuri and he was determined to make it count.

It took a bit of maneuvering, but Chris had thankfully sent a picture to be printed at some drugstore near the ice rink, the miracles of the internet letting his friend assist him from the comfort of his couch in Switzerland. Practice had been a fiasco, Victor's exhausted body paired with his overly excited mind causing him to irritate Yakov until his coach was screaming red-faced at Victor from the side of the rink. Practice had ended early and Victor had left on foot, finally locating the drugstore and acquiring all of his listed items. He had showered and changed, leaving him more than enough time to arrive in the classroom and execute part one of his plan.

His fingers twitched over the single red rose as he laid it on Yuuri's stool. There was a white ribbon tied to it which Victor had tied and retied until he deemed it perfect. He wondered if it was too much, then decided that it didn't matter. He only had one shot to get this right and he refused to go small with his gestures. Returning to his own stool, he nervously checked his watch, noting that there were still five minutes before anyone else would show up for class. Nervously cracking his knuckles, his eyes twitched to the picture propped in its envelope on the shelf of his easel. Plucking it up, he broke the seal with one finger, slipping the shiny paper from its holding place.

Russian curses filled the room, startling two students as they entered. He should have known better than to trust Chris, his best friend being a perpetual instigator and never able to define a line between appropriate and inappropriate. The picture he was holding of Yuuri was certainly squarely on the side of inappropriate. Removing his phone from his pocket, he shot Chris a text.

Victor typed furiously, I am supposed to be painting a picture of Yuuri as my future! He scowled at his screen when the three bubbles appeared next to Chris's name, silently daring Chris to make a joke.

And what a bright future it is, came the cheerful response with several eggplant emjois and some sort of splashing water.

It took Victor a second to put together what Chris meant, cheeks flushing a dark red with realization. I want to declare my love, not my desire to… you know… Victor couldn't even bring himself to type the words. He had made sexual jokes before with Chris, somehow though he didn't want to do that when it was about Yuuri.

Tell me he isn't beautiful in that picture. Tell me he doesn't look happy. Tell me you don't want to drag him to the nearest flat surface and bring that silly flush back to his cheeks. Tell me all three things and I'll apologize. Several grinning emjois and blue hearts followed Chris's text, making Victor groan.

Chris was a dead man. He was a dead man who was utterly and ridiculously right. Cursing again in Russian, Victor sent a scowling yellow face back to Chris and threw his phone down on a table. The class was almost full now, with no Yuuri in sight, and Victor was suddenly very, very glad that Yuuri couldn't see his canvas. He was going to paint the picture Chris had sent for him, and beg for an apology later. Setting out to stir together paints to create his needed shade of blue, his ears began to tingle as racing footsteps approached.

Yuuri sprinted into class, mildly winded and thankful that he was mostly in season-form. The picture Phichit had printed for him was tightly grasp in his hands as he weaved through the other students, already hard at work on their final paintings. They were painting the future today, outlining their individual hopes and dreams about where they would be or what they would be like or what they would be doing. During his late night ramblings, Yuuri had determined that all of those things would include Victor in an ideal world. Remarking that he would feel silly taking one of his posters to class with him, he had agreed to let Phichit find a picture online to have printed. This agreement had come in handy when they had both woken up at a ridiculously late hour. Reaching Victor, Yuuri looked worriedly at the new set up, noting that none of the other easels had been rearranged. Anxiety begin to ring through him, convincing him that Victor was sending him a sign to back off when he spotted the single rose resting on top of his stool. Picking it up, he lifted it to his nose, unable to resist running the soft petals across his lips.

Victor's heart and libido were far too needy for Yuuri's current existence. Breathing was already questionable as he tried to sketch the picture of Yuuri attached to his canvas, and it became downright impossible when Yuuri ran the rose over his lips. His grave stone would read "Victor Nikiforov, greatest figure skater that ever lived, brought to death by the paired images of Yuuri Katsuki half-naked and Yuuri Katsuki kissing a rose." He wasn't sure how his brain was functioning enough to allow him to meet Yuuri halfway for a kiss, successfully preventing Yuuri from seeing the beginnings of his work. The whole world felt pleasantly fuzzy and he settled back into his place with a goofy smile parting his face.

Part of his brain registered the cooing noises made by some of their classmates, but most of his brain was buzzing with dancing hearts, singing Victor's name into all of its synapses. Propping his bag against his chair, he unzipped it to place the rose carefully inside, spying the dog shaped flask that Phichit had slipped in. A Vicchan shaped flask wasn't the most ridiculous thing Phichit had ever given him, but it was definitely among the top ten. He wasn't sure why Phichit was convinced he would need it that day, accepting it only because he was running late and didn't have time to argue. Grinning over the top of his easel at Victor as he sat up, Yuuri finally opened the envelope Phichit had pressed into his hands seconds ahead of him sprinting off to class.

Yuuri fell off his stool again. This time, he didn't swat Victor's hands away when he came to help bring Yuuri to his feet. He did, however, hastily hide the picture against his chest, letting it be pressed between them when Victor stole a quick kiss. Returning to his seat, Yuuri gaped at the picture in his hands. How Phichit had acquired a picture of an almost naked Victor Nikiforov modeling a bowl full of food was absolutely beyond Yuuri. He thought he had a copy of every ad Victor had ever posed for, realizing now that he would have to utilize Phichit's skills to scope out any he had missed, because he had clearly missed some, including the masterpiece dangling from his left hand. The flask now made sense, there was no way Yuuri would be able to paint this particular picture without a bit of liquid courage. Leaning down, he slipped it from his bag, confirming his teacher was out of sight and quickly taking a swig. He laughed when long fingers appeared over his easel, palm up, asking to pass his contraband to Victor.

Drinking in paint class, especially this kind of paint class, would probably be frowned upon. Victor found he didn't care and wondered why they hadn't thought of it earlier in the week. The hidden alcohol explained the blush on Yuuri's cheeks and Victor downed his own remarkable amount before passing it back. If their teacher noticed, she didn't say anything, and Victor could feel his courage increasing as the alcohol seeped into his system. Winking at Yuuri over the top of his easel, he settled back and returned to his work.

They crashed from the inside of a shared cab and then crashed through the door of Yuuri's apartment, a tangle of limbs and barely dry paintings. An alarmed Phichit whirled from his place on the couch, almost tossing his hamsters from him in his haste to determine what was stumbling into their home. Bursting out laughing, Phichit stood up, surveying the goofy mess in front of him.

Yuuri's head snapped away from Victor's as he heard the distinct sound of Phichit taking a picture. Separating himself from Victor's arms, Yuuri rounded on his best friend, shaking his painting of Victor. "P, really with this picture?!" Yuuri's voice cracked, a combination of alcohol and too much kissing parching his throat. He squawked when Phichit ripped it from his hands, propping it up against the window.

Rounding on Victor, Phichit snagged his painting of Yuuri, laughter bursting forth and shaking the hamsters still attached to his body. "I can't believe he used this one," Phichit said to himself, placing the painting next to Yuuri's on the window sill. "You two are adorably clueless," Phichit turned to see glaring looks coming from Yuuri and Victor, throwing up his hands in defeat, "only half of it is my fault! I can't wait to meet Chris, by the way."

Victor huffed, pulling Yuuri to his side, feeling the effects of the empty flask swimming around in his head. "Chris is a bastard," Victor declared, winking at Phichit. Moving toward the couch, he felt Yuuri sway against his hip. "Maybe we should eat something?" He glanced to Phichit who was already on the phone ordering pizza and gave him the thumbs up. Landing on the couch, Victor sighed into Yuuri's hair as Yuuri curled into his side. "Our paintings look pretty good together," Victor watched Yuuri as he took in the sight, "it is a shame to separate them."

"I-" Yuuri was cut off when Phichit landed next to him on the couch, holding three wine glasses and an open wine bottle. Changing thoughts, Yuuri shook his head, "I think I have had enough," he pushed the glass away from his lap.

"Wait…" Victor paused halfway through the acceptance of his own glass, eyes narrowing at Phichit, "HamsterBoy3?"

Phichit squealed in acknowledgment as Yuuri groaned. "Did you see my YouTube channel?" Phichit bounded from the couch, replacing his hamsters in their cage before launching himself down next to Yuuri again. "Our little Yuuri is quite the dancer, huh?"

Smacking Phichit in the stomach, Yuuri leaned across him, "on second thought, I need this," snagging the bottle of wine and he drank straight from it.

"Alright, alright, slow down," Victor guided the bottle from Yuuri's hands and pushed it back to Phichit, "it is our last night together in Detroit and I only have a few hours tomorrow, I don't want you passed out and hungover."

"I bet I know how you do want him though," Phichit dodged Yuuri's fist as he leaped over the arm of the couch to answer the door. Diverting into the kitchen, Phichit left them alone in the room.

"Ignore him," Yuuri blushed, covering his face with his hand and tucking his head into Victor's shoulder. All of him felt hot, a combination of being so close to Victor and being under the influence of alcohol.

Victor leaned into Yuuri, wrapping his arm around his waist to pull him almost into Victor's lap. "What if I don't want to?" he whispered, proudly watching the goosebumps raise all over Yuuri's neck and arms. It was good to know he could affect Yuuri as much as Yuuri was affecting him. "Would you do something for me?"

"Anything, probably," Yuuri blushed, realizing it was a little too honest.

Pulling him from the overly soft cushions, Victor pushed him in front of the painting which displayed Yuuri, half naked, dress shirt draped seductively off of his shoulders, blue tie secured on his head like a sweat band. Although the amateur striptease had won him the money to cover rent for two months, Yuuri was going to murder Phichit for keeping the picture and subsequently sharing it with Chris. Standing next to Victor's art, he laughed when Victor propped the poodle shaped flask at the corner, covering his face with his hand and his stomach with the other while Victor snapped away. Seeking revenge, Yuuri shoved Victor in front of his painting, repositioning the flash so it would also appear in Victor's picture. Struggling to steady his phone when Victor winked, posing with a single finger gun aimed at his own mostly naked form, Yuuri finally got a decent picture of him. "What are your fans going to say about this picture?" Yuuri choked on his laughter as he sank back onto the couch.

"I don't know," Victor bit his lip, a habit he undoubtedly had picked up from Yuuri, "what are your fans going to say about yours?"

Silence filled the room like a thick fog. Wetting his own tongue, Yuuri stared wide-eyed at Victor. Playing dumb, he fiddled with his fingers as he inquired, "um, what do you mean?"

Acting on instinct, Victor moved toward Yuuri, kneeling on the ground in front of him to rest his folded arms on Yuuri's lap. "Your skating fans, Yuuri Katsuki. If I post your picture on my Instagram, what are they going to think?"

Yuuri's mouth went from bone dry to filled with salvia the moment Victor had positioned himself in front of Yuuri, leaning heavily onto Yuuri's lap. Swallowing hard, Yuuri tried to analyze Victor's words. Victor did know. He knew and that meant that he knew Yuuri had chosen to omit the truth. He didn't hear anger in Victor's voice, but he was prone to missing key details in social situations. Panic rose in his chest and Yuuri felt himself begin to tense.

His desire had been to be playful, to put himself at a position where Yuuri could look down on him and potentially feel more comfortable in the conversation. Instead, Victor watched as Yuuri's shoulders became rigid, his hands flexing open and shut refusing to touch Victor, and the perspiration appeared on Yuuri's head. Yuuri was upset and it was all Victor's fault. Flying from the floor, he threw himself on the couch and gathered Yuuri into his lap. "I'm so, so sorry, Yuuri. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you," Victor was speaking into his hairline, pleading as much as he was apologizing, "it isn't you, it's me. I know it was the depression that was making me forgetful and unaware of my surroundings. I should have known. But you are beautiful, and talented, and rapidly becoming so very important to me." He felt his own tears building, willing Yuuri to say something, to accept his apology and forgive him for being an idiot. "I spent all night last night watching every video I could find of you. That's how I found the hamster boy videos." Yuuri's shoulders began to shake, and Victor grabbed his face, surprised into shock when he saw tears and laughter mixed together.

"Anxiety and depression are not the best partners for communication, I guess," Yuuri sniffled, swiping his hand under his nose. He thought Victor would be mad at him for lying by omission, never did he think, even for a second, that Victor would be upset for not knowing who Yuuri was. They were kind of a disaster together, but Yuuri couldn't help thinking that they were a beautiful disaster. "I thought you would be mad at me," when Victor made a questioning noise Yuuri shrugged, "you know, for not telling you. I should have told you, that first day of class, but I was scared that you wouldn't talk to me if you thought of me as a competitor. You had never talked to me before, so…" Yuuri shrugged again, this time letting himself wrap his arms around Victor's waist. "I'm sorry too. I didn't know how to tell you, and I thought it wouldn't matter at first, but then it did, because…" Yuuri trailed off, unable to look Victor in the eyes.

"Because you hopefully want to be a part of my life, as much as I want to be a part of yours?" Victor lifted Yuuri's chin with his finger, smiling hopefully into Yuuri's deep brown eyes. Eyes that Victor was sure held all the keys to his happiness. "What are the chances that we can compete and date at the same time?"

Happiness felt like it was going to burst through Yuuri, pressing against him from the inside, threatening to explode through all of his pores. "I would say, chances are pretty good, as long as you are okay losing to your boyfriend." The last word was out of his mouth, making Yuuri squeak at his own forwardness.

"You as my boyfriend means I already won," Victor leaned in to kiss Yuuri's nose, "besides, I already have a whole wall of gold medals, maybe it is time I share the top spot." He laughed when Yuuri pinched his arm.

"Don't go easy on me, Nikiforov," Yuuri rested his forehead on Victor's, challenge radiating from his eyes.

"I won't," Victor's lips twitched, "not this season, not tonight…" he let his sentence trail off as he slid a hand into Yuuri's hair pulling him in for a deep kiss. They would have one night together before distance would separate them, and Victor planned to make the most of it. His world was brighter now, illuminated by the light that was radiating from every part of Yuuri. The depression wouldn't magically evaporate, especially with the struggles of competing and loving Yuuri from a long distance, but it was a less oppressive force now, no longer coating everything in his world. With Yuuri's support and love, he knew that he would find his way out of his own darkness, gaining a new reason to keep clawing until there was no longer a need to do so.

Losing himself in Victor, Yuuri relished in the feeling of being happy. The situation surrounding his lie could have easily turned into an ugly drama. Instead, they had both taken too much responsibility for it, accepting it for what it was and moving on. As he kissed Victor back with everything he had, Yuuri could feel hope growing inside of him. The darkness of anxiety still existed, but it was smaller now, his army of resistance fighting hard to push it back. One person couldn't cure him, although Yuuri was no longer going to dismiss the idea that one person could return his will to fight. Wrapping himself deeper into Victor's embrace, he was ready to face whatever the season threw at him, knowing that even Victor's long distance presence was enough to keep him fighting.

Behind them, munching on a piece of pizza, Phichit snapped a picture. The two kissing skating legends with their indecent paintings highlighted in the background. Posting it to Instagram, Phichit added the caption "coining the ship name #victuuri right now!" He tagged both Yuuri and Victor, along with Chris in the picture, laughing when he heard Yuuri shout his name from the other room.