They kissed.

They definitely kissed.

On live TV.

With millions of people watching.

What the actual hell.

Were they crazy? What were they thinking? Were they even?

The tabloids had blown up with rumours that were getting incrementally more ridiculous.

"Yuuri Katsuki's Hidden Theme."

"Forbidden Love on Ice."

"The Rostelecom Cup: Passionate Nights Await in Moscow."

The ambiguous shot showed up on 2-page spreads in every sports magazine available. Any spectators who had caught the incident on their mobiles were highly encouraged to upload and submit their content to their local newsrooms. Just imagine all the wild stories the journalists could spin with the incoming flood of not-at-all-questionable sources.

Sports channels held at-length discussion segments, trying—but failing—to piece together an accurate depiction of the relationship between the Japanese skater and the Russian coach. Stories from both Victor's and Yuuri's junior skating days were dug up and meticulously reviewed for similarities that would lend further evidence to the type of relationship they were purported to have.

Then there was the issue of Victor's Unofficial Fan Club, where a full blown civil war had broken out with fan reactions ranging from vehement death threats – directed towards Yuuri – to sexually explicit fan-made art and fiction portraying the skater and coach in highly compromising positions.

Fuck. Were they stupid? How could they not have anticipated this? Did they think the press would just leave them alone? Would just abandon such a scrumptious, rare opportunity to pry into the personal lives of two of the most internationally celebrated athletes? An opportunity that Yuuri and Victor themselves had instigated?!

What was wrong with them? Weren't they bothered by all the rumours, all the attention? How could they expect to go anywhere without being harassed even more so than they already were for being famous?

"Hey Lana, are you listening?" Yuri's sharp tone cut through my aggravating thoughts.

"Huh?" I replied. The confusion and slight annoyance in my voice gave me away.

We were currently making our way towards the Star Hotel, the designated lodging for the Rostelecom Cup's figure skaters. After disappearing from the airport, Yuri had spent the remainder of the afternoon with his grandfather. He had been on his way back to the hotel when he had spotted me on the street. I, on the other hand, had just been returning from a walk to clear my head (counterproductive, now that the source of my turmoil was here). Claiming it was less conspicuous to walk than drive, Yuri had hastily jumped out of the vehicle to accompany me, waving goodbye to his grandfather in the process.

The Russian Yankee now paused for a second, studying my expression. He frowned.

"What the hell's been up with you lately?"

"What do you mean? I'm fine." I took care not to meet his gaze. He could always tell when I was lying.

"You've been spacing out all week. Yakov chewed you out this morning for not skating in time with the music. Rookie mistake. You don't make those, Lana."

I chanced a glance at my long-term rink mate.

Rookie mistake.

His stupidly turquoise eyes stared right back at me, and I felt my legs go weak. I faltered mid-step.

Fuck.

"Maybe I do," I muttered.

"Hah?" Judging by the look on his face, he hadn't heard what I said.

"I'm just tired," I diverted instead.

He seemed to contemplate my answer, but I didn't give him a chance to find fault with it.

"What did you do with your grandfather today?"

At this, Yuri's expression immediately brightened.

"He brought me pirozhkis. It's so different from the ones Yakov makes. So much better. You have to try it sometime, Lana. Yakov puts too much onions in his and not enough cabbage. I should get grandpa to write the recipe down next time, so I can make it back in Saint Petersburg. It'll be a thousand times better than Yakov's, you'll see."

It was endearing how enthusiastic Yuri became when he talked about his grandfather.

I tried. Believe me, I really did. But when he smiled like that, all I wanted to do was fall into his orbit.

Falling for Yuri Plisetsky.

That was another rookie mistake, if not the biggest.

We arrived at the hotel to see a swarm of reporters crowding the lobby.

I stifled a groan when I realized they were surrounding the familiar, silver-haired, five-time figure skating world champion whose recent, daring actions had been plaguing half of my thoughts.

"Right now, I see a lot of potential in Katsuki Yuuri's skating. I'd like you all to focus on Yuuri at the Rostelecom Cup."

The Russian Ice Tiger tensed beside me. I knew his pride was wounded. Victor's words may had been genuine, but they were insensitive. The coach had inadvertently insulted Yuri's abilities and capabilities as a competitive skater. And now, the tiger was itching for a fight.

I gently took Yuri's hand and tugged lightly.

"Ignore him. He doesn't know what he's saying. Let's go."

Before I could pull the blond skater away, Victor gave a shout of surprise.

"Hey, it's Yurio and Lana!"

I cursed, silently.

The swarm of reporters turned and pointed their flashing lights towards us. I was suddenly highly conscious of my hands in Yuri's. I made to slip my fingers out of his grasp, but Yuri held tight.

"Yuri, what are your thoughts on Victor's ambiguous relationship with Japanese Yuuri?"

"Lana, can you comment on your current feelings about going up against your rink mate, Mila Babicheva, at tomorrow's tournament?"

"Wait, are you two holding hands?!"

At this, a collective gasp of shock and excitement rose through the masses. This was immediately followed by another reinvigorated set of related questions.

"Is it possible that you guys are also dating?"

"How long have you two known each other?"

"When did you first realize you both had feelings for one another?"

"How far along have you gone in your relationship?"

"Can we be expecting pair skating in the future?"

I felt overwhelmingly dizzy.

In the span of 10 seconds, the rumours had inflated despite neither of us having said anything. I wondered why Yuri wasn't taking immediate action to rectify the situation. I tried to catch his gaze, but his eyes stayed fixated on Victor. He was clearly still upset about the coach's previous conjecture.

I tried again to wiggle my fingers from Yuri's grasp. No luck. His grip was cast iron. By the way he was glaring at Victor, I was willing to bet he didn't hear a single word the reporters had said.

But I did.

And I was highly concerned.

Not because I didn't want it to be true. But because I knew it couldn't be.

Yuri's fan base rivalled that of Victor's, and—thanks to the latter's not-so-subtle actions the other day—I had formed a pretty good idea of what the public response would be if Yuri Plisetsky ever got into a relationship. And it wasn't pretty.

First would be the press. There would never be a moment of peace until they got every last detail of the skater's relationship. From the how to the why to the 10-year future plan. Any distinguished, mutual acquaintances of the two would be sought after and questioned for their honest thoughts on the new couple. Date nights would be entirely impossible without legitimate disguises, and any PDA had to be kept on the down low, big time—if not, strictly forbidden.

Then there was the issue with his fans. It wasn't a secret that Yuri's Angels was one of the most rabid fan bases out there. Any death threats they issued would need to be taken a tad more seriously than as simply being mere words. Additionally, any failures to avoid run-ins with them could quickly turn fatal, for all parties involved. On the other side of the spectrum, the Angels would certainly not be beyond stalking to gain a few good snap shots of their new favourite ship.

Life and style preservation aside, there was another more pressing concern with a publicized relationship; something that would greatly affect Yuri's confidence in his own career.

If he messed up on a program, it would be easy for people, especially bitter fans, to pin the blame on the ultimate distraction – his significant other. Personally speaking, I knew better than to believe those rumours, and to an extent, so did Yuri.

To an extent.

Yuri may act like he didn't care what the world had to say about him. But he did. Whether he admitted it or not… whether he realized it or not… he did. His pride would never let him live it down if his actions were perceived to be contingent on the mere status of his relationship. It would be the ultimate insult to him as a competitive skater, not to mention completely unfair to his significant other.

Public opinion was not the truth, but if enough people believed it, it may as well be. Because subjective truths were always more powerful than objective ones. Figure skaters didn't win competitions because they were the best. They won competitions because others thought they were. Public opinion. It swayed many things.

So, for Yuri's sake, whether he saw it or not, whatever it was that we had—that we could have—couldn't be made public.

The reporters were restless for a response. By this point, they were practically salivating. If we didn't say anything, they would no doubt tell the world their own twisted tales. And I couldn't have that. For all the reasons above, I couldn't.

I smiled easily, and laughed.

"No. Yuri and I are just friends."

Like the words to a spell, Yuri froze. His eyes were no longer on Victor but were turned rather heatedly towards me.

I caught his gaze.

Rookie mistake.

I suddenly found myself drowning in his blue-green orbs. The blatant emotions that flashed behind them had me struggling for air. Anger, surprise, hurt, confusion. They hit me like deduction points to a missed jump or a faltered landing. I immediately wanted to take back my words, to redo my routine. But there were no second chances in a competition. And despite how I felt, I knew I had the upper hand.

I had thrown his guard completely. It wasn't a chance I often got, but, despite my current feelings, I made sure to take full of advantage of it.

Easing my hands from his stunned frame, I widened my smile to the point where my cheeks began to ache.

"We're rink mates. We've known each other since before our junior days. I'm sure you all know our coach Yakov. He's trained countless figure skating legends—like Victor, here. I honestly couldn't have asked for a more dedicated and supportive troupe. So, please do make sure to cheer for Team Yakov at the competition tomorrow. We're counting on you!"

It was an unremarkable attempt to deflect the press's attention away from our private lives and towards our more public ones.

The cameras flashed, and I struggled to school my expression into something more genuine. But it was hard. It was so hard. Because the truth was, I didn't want us—Yuri and I—to just be friends. I didn't want us to just be rink mates. I didn't want us to just be affiliates of Team Yakov.

I wanted us.

Just us.

Fuck.

I was never good at hiding my true feelings, so before the press could pick up on my lie, I ducked and darted lightning quick towards the elevators.

Catching sight of my expression, Yuri made to follow but was abruptly stopped by Victor who enthusiastically swung an arm around the shorter male. If looks could kill, Yuri would be spending the rest of his life in prison.

The coach's eager chittering about the short program he choreographed for the Ice Fairy faded as I rounded the corner.

Finally out of the limelight, I expelled a sigh of relief. Only to be met with a new kind of a chaos.

"What did you say?!"

"Hey! How dare you speak that way to Sala!"

I turned to see Sala, Michele, and Seung Gil fighting by an open elevator. Proper competition etiquette dictated that I should go and say hi. But their loud, stacked voices had me shrinking away in hesitance.

I groaned inwardly. What does it take to get some peace and quiet around here?

"Lana?"

I turned to see Japanese Yuuri standing by another set of elevators.

"Yuuri!" I eagerly made my way towards him, thankful for the out. "Good to see you."

"You too, Lana. Congratulations on placing second in Skate America," Yuuri cheered.

"Oh, never mind me, can we talk about that quadruple flip you attempted at the end of your free skate?! That was amazing. I am so jealous of your stamina."

Yuuri blushed, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"That was nothing. I didn't even land it properly."

"I'll bet Victor was thoroughly surprised."

Yuuri's blush darkened.

"Yeah… he was."

Before I could tease him some more, the elevator doors slid open.

As I stepped into the lift, I heard a sudden commotion coming from the lobby. An image of a certain hot-headed skater popped into mind. I could still feel his warm, solid grip encasing my hand. The security of it, the belonging, the rightness. It was like slipping on a pair of familiar skates. I longed to hold those hands forever, to hold him forever.

Oh God, I needed to feel something different.

"What floor?" I inquired.

"8, please."

The plastic buttons did little to erase Yuri's imprint.

Just as the doors were sliding shut, a lone black sneaker suddenly jammed them back open.

Yuri Plisetsky appeared in the doorway.

My breath caught as I met his intense turquoise orbs.

"What are you doing sneaking around?"

I knew the question was meant for me, but Japanese Yuuri responded as if he were guilty.

"Yurio, long time no see."

"Oi Katsudon, what was that sad ass quadruple flip you did at the end of your free skate? I thought I taught you to land better than that."

Always with the arrogance.

"That would be your pride talking, I assume. Do you really not have anything nicer to say?" I chided.

"No Lana, it's okay. Yurio is right, I still have a long way to go. Let's all do our best at the Rostelecom Cup."

Yuri's eyes narrowed viciously at that.

"Hah? Don't get the wrong idea. You'll suffer a miserable defeat here in Moscow. I'm going to have Victor stay in Russia."

I rolled my eyes.

"Right, as if you could make Victor do anything."

Yuri practically growled.

"Stay out of it, Lana. Don't think I'm done with you either. What the hell was that back there?"

"What the hell was what?" I feigned ignorance.

"Don't play dumb."

"No, that would be you."

"Svetlana."

I froze at that. He almost never used my full name. And I rarely used his. It was almost like our safe word. Like we really meant whatever we said next.

"What was that?" He reiterated.

Yuuri looked back and forth between the two of us, clearly at a loss.

"I…" I began.

The elevator doors slid open, saving me from answering.

The Japanese skater stepped forward.

"I'm not sure what happened between the two of you, but in my experience, you can never go wrong with sincerity."

Yuuri smiled, and with a backwards wave, exited the elevator.

"HAH? Who asked you?!" The blond skater shouted after him before the doors shut firmly, leaving Yuri and me in a delicate silence.

Just like his brash personality, he broke the ice first.

"So? What's your excuse?"

"Excuse? I was trying to save both our asses from being grilled, no thanks to you."

"What? What the fuck did I do?" Yuri sounded incredulous.

His tone of voice caused anger to blind my vision.

"Are you kidding me right now? You're the one who wouldn't let go of my hand. Do you even know the position you're in. If they sold that kind of a story, it'd be the end of your career."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The press, Yuri. If you haven't noticed, you're kind of a hot topic right now. If the public catches wind of who you're dating, or even if you were… Do you even know what could happen?"

"What the hell, Lana. You should know by now that I don't give a shit about what those losers have to say."

I paused.

I knew that. I just didn't agree.

"Well you should."

The elevator doors slid open again. We arrived on our floor.

I swiftly exited the lift before Yuri could process what I had said.

"Hah?!"

Extracting myself from his vicinity did not deter him from coming after me.

"Why the fuck should I care?"

He was loud. I knew that. But in this long, fancy hallway decked with its lush, burgundy carpet, his voice seemed even more unwarranted than usual.

"Because their opinions can dictate your whole career. It doesn't matter whether it's right or wrong. It's how people see you. And you can't give them an opportunity to see you like that. I won't be that person, Yuri. I won't be the one who brings you down."

I was vaguely aware that the Russian ice skater was staring at me as if I had lost my marbles. And to be honest, I think had. I had been working myself into a frenzy over Victor and Yuuri's latest on-ice romantic escapade ever since it had happened. And I finally understood why I was so livid about it all.

Jealousy.

Not because I wanted to date either one of them, but because I wanted what they had. I wanted their courage, their devil may care attitude, their ignorance of everything around them, all just to chase their happiness. And I wanted it with Yuri Plisetsky.

"What the hell. Why is it that I can't even remotely follow what you're saying?" Yuri asked earnestly. He stared at me, definitely confused, and just slightly wary, wondering who in the world was this crazy chick that had replaced his friend.

He didn't deserve this. I shouldn't be taking my frustrations out on him. After all, it wasn't his fault we couldn't be together.

I stopped walking then. We had reached my room.

"Never mind, just forget I said anything," I mumbled. "Sorry for going off the rails like that."

I turned and stepped into the shallow alcove, fingers poised to insert my key, but Yuri slammed his palm against the solid oak door, effectively halting my actions.

"No. You don't get to blow up on me like that and then go pretending everything's alright. Damn it Lana, you've been acting strange all week. Tell me what the fuck's actually going on with you."

Dropping my hand with the key card, I turned to face the angry Russian. With my back against the door and his hand by my head, I was trapped. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to turn, nowhere to look, but towards him.

In this position, with his frame bearing down on me, it was easy to see that he was nearly a full head taller than me. That wasn't always the case. I remembered during our junior days I used to poke fun at his height. I was two years older than him, and naturally, 10 cm taller. Then he hit his growth spurt. Shame, I couldn't use his head as an armrest anymore.

I let out a shuddering breath. His bright turquoise orbs bore heatedly into my own, as if he dared me to challenge him. His proximity was suffocating; it made me forget how to breathe. My breath hitched.

"Yuri…"

I reached out my hand, wanting to touch his face, to caress it. But I caught myself halfway. This was inappropriate. We were rink mates for God's sake. Friends. Professionals. Lines had to be drawn, and images had to be maintained. That was the cost of fame.

I placed my hand on his shoulder instead, hanging my head so he wouldn't see the longing in them.

I stayed silent for a while, wondering how I should answer, wondering how I should put into words all that I was feeling.

"What would you do if I said I wanted to be your girlfriend?"

My voice was barely a whisper. Yet the question seemed to shatter every semblance of quiet in the hotel corridor.

Yuri's eyes widened.

His aquamarine irises constricted.

His pupils dilated.

Emotions ran rampant, just beneath the surface.

He swallowed, but didn't respond.

I continued my assault.

"Would you say yes? Would you say no? Would you let the whole world know? Or would you keep it a secret? Would you let me kiss you in public? Would you kiss me? Would your fans hate me? Would your fans hate us? Would the press leave us be? Would they smother us? Would us mean the end of you? Would it mean the end of me? Would public opinion force us to pair skate? Would our careers suffer because of us? Because of me? Because I love you? Because I want to be with you? Would you suffer?"

My grip on his shirt tightened.

Yuri still hadn't said anything, and I couldn't take his silence any longer.

"Yuratchka," I breathed.

Gathering my courage, I lifted my stare to meet his.

"What would you do if I said I loved you?"

He stared back. For once, I couldn't decipher the look in his eyes. They were glowing though. Glowing with an intensity I'd never witnessed before. It was like the look he got right before he went out to do a program. But not quite. It was like the look he got when he knew he had successfully managed to surprise the spectators with his skating. But not quite. It was like the look he got when he asked for something he knew he would get; like a hot-blooded tiger going in for the kill. Yeah. That was it.

Before I knew it, he had erased whatever space was between us, and his mouth was suddenly on mine. I made a noise of surprise. His lips were soft and he tasted like winter, like melting snowflakes and window frost [1]. His mouth wasn't cold though, far from it. It was hot. Scalding hot. So hot, that I was careening into his touch, wanting desperately to feel more, to taste more.

I brought my hands up around his neck, pressing myself against him, and angling my head to kiss him better. His hands found my waist as he pulled me closer. Ever closer. I was being swallowed up by him, by his essence, by his overbearing, sewage-marinated personality.

I was aware that if anyone chose to walk by at this moment, we'd be completely busted. But kissing him felt so good that I never wanted to stop. Was this what it was like for Yuuri and Victor? Was this why they could act as rashly as they did, all consequences be damned?

For some reason, the warmth of Yuuri's chest seemed to melt away all the worries that had swirled and swelled inside of me for the past couple of weeks. As he drew me against him, I was filled instead with a sudden fearlessness. One dangerous thought seized my mind: we could do this. If he were with me, we could do anything. If he were with me, we were invincible.

The incessant press, the negative fan reactions, the failed routines, the mounting expectations, all of it could just burn. Hell, the entire world could burn for all I cared. Because the simple truth of the matter was that, together, Yuuri and I burned infinitely brighter than them all combined. I had been worried and jealous for no reason. Because the answer was standing right in front of me all along. I just hadn't realized it.

As Yuuri felt my body finally begin to relax, he gently pulled away from the kiss, while leaning his forehead against mine.

"Jesus, woman. Just where the hell does your mind go," Yuuri muttered.

"Shut up. If I knew it'd feel this good, I wouldn't have agonized over it so much."

Yuri shook his head.

"You care too much about what other people think," he chastised.

"You don't care enough," I shot back.

"I don't need to. They don't matter. None of it matters."

He paused, then regarded me.

"I know where my priorities are, Lana, do you?"

I smiled lightly.

"I'm starting to… I'm just going to need someone to pull me back when my mind decides it wants to go wandering off on its own again. Think you're up for the task?"

"I don't know. Seems like a crap ton of work."

I punched him lightly on the arm.

"You're an asshole."

A beat.

"Do you want to come in?"

He chuckled.

"Do you make it a habit, inviting assholes into your room?"

I laughed.

"Just the ones I like."

"Like a lot of assholes, do you?"

I groaned.

"No. Just you. Now, are you going to stand here flirting with me all day?"

"Maybe just until the press catches us."

"Yuri!"

"Kidding."

A pause.

I looked at him earnestly then. He stared right back. His aquamarine orbs burned intensely.

"Are we going to go public?" I gave voice to the question that lingered between the two of us.

"I have nothing to hide," he said easily.

"That doesn't necessarily mean you want everything publicized."

"Then we won't confirm anything. Let them think what they want. Let's just do us."

I beamed.

"Okay."

I relaxed into the doorframe, and wrapped my hands around his neck. For once, I didn't feel anxious. For once, I didn't feel inhibited. For once, I didn't feel any form of desperation, longing, or regret.

For once, I gave into my desires; fully, consciously, and whole-heartedly.

He leaned in.

"Yuratchka," I murmured. Our mouths were centimeters apart.

"Hmm?" The space between us shrank to millimetres.

"I love you."

He didn't respond. But the way he kissed me told me everything I needed to know.

Author's Note:

Inspired by the song "Secret Love Song" by Little Mix.

[1] Right, because Lana has definitely licked windows before…