LA RONDE LUNAIRE

Synopsis: Grand Prix Finale. Yuuri should've been happy to come so far, but one careless sentence from the lips of his mentor turns everything on its head.

Shout Out: Well. Instead of my should-have research on King of Fighters and whatnot, I was dragged, kicking and screaming, into writing out this little snippet. But hell if I am writing skating choreo once again. Once was enough, thank you very much. You can blame the aforementioned King of Fighters crossover that kicked me into watching this particular anime series. And yeah, from then on, it snowballed down courtesy of Origa and her song La Ronde Lunaire. Because of Russian laws concerning LGBT I took a little different approach to the dilemma, thus this little story turnout.

Translation:

vilenya - fairy

bozhe mili – dear god

nebesa - heavens

**Yuuri's POV**

I never thought I would've fallen in love with him.

I adored him, sure, but it was a puppy love towards the idol and later on master, so to speak. And then, when he came to me, because he saw something in me, something that inclined him to take me as his pupil, I was both terrified, disbelieving and tentatively hopeful. Because who wouldn't have wanted to have the world-famous five times ice-skating champion and their long-time idol as their coach?

I had lucked out, when I had been on the verge of letting everything go, because of my failure at the Grand Prix. I had thought to ice-skate only once more - for Yuuko, to give her my thanks, before finally throwing the ice skates into the corner - competition-wise - and then move on with my pathetic life. However, it wasn't meant to be, courtesy of three little devils under the guise of her children filming my poor copy of his routine and posting it up on the internet without permission.

Which gave me almost a heart-attack - who am I kidding, I definitely felt my heart stop in my chest for a moment, and then, I really got a heart attack when my mother announced to me that the dog I had mistaken for a Vicchan was in fact owned by a handsome stranger that just came into our onsen. It could've been anyone, but it wasn't a coincidence – it couldn't have been, what with Makkachin here - and where was Makachin, then his owner wasn't far away either... and I knew Makkachin's owner very well... at least from afar.

When I have envisioned him as a kind and gentle person, he was anything but. Air-headed – he even forgot that he promised his protégé that he would train him – thick-headed, oblivious, and so, so rude. He had made me feel mortified almost every step we took - from his questions about my personal affairs to his offers about being my—whatever I wanted him to be, to his thoughtless agreement to the triplets' crazy idea of competing with my Russian namesake and his brazen choice of assigning us different themes.

I still remember this little choreography. It's engraved into my very bones, what with the amount of times I've skated it, no matter the others I've eventually mastered and performed on the ice. But this one – my heart had tied itself in painful, throbbing knots of anxiety when I had seen it performed by him for the first time. Say about his personal faults whatever you want, I could and would probably agree with you, but as a skater, Viktor Nikiforov is undoubtedly a cut above the rest, a blazing sun on the midnight sky, eclipsing the darkness with his light so much that you are left blind to any other stars trying to outshine him.

I wanted to believe that he was truly interested in me, despite my best efforts on the contrary. I know, only too well, that I am a mediocre skater at best, and what's worse, almost at the end of the skating career. Falls and harsh landings on the ice are inevitable tribute of any ice skater worth their salt if they want to succeed, and more often than not, after finishing the training, I felt more like broken matryoshka, never to be put together again, than a bruise-filled human being. Despite it's deceptive smoothness, ice is an unforgivable to the mistakes made on it's surface, causing us to pay the tributes to it day in and day out in the pursuit of our dreams. And with my 23 years of age, I was already pushing the limits. I was selfish to want one last miracle, to reach for the shiny stage of Grand Prix once more... and I was punished by my selfishness.

'Eh? He's just a whim of mine.'

Those careless words still echo in my mind. I didn't meant to listen to his talk with Yakov, I really didn't, but I heard my name being mentioned, and fool as I had been, I couldn't help but come closer to find out what they had been talking about. But as the old adage goes, eavesdroppers don't ever hear anything good about themselves, I got my due.

And It hurt. It hurt that despite everything, I was still just a whim to him. It hurt as I had been finally ready to confess to him - wholly and truly - my feelings - and they would probably be humored like ones of a little puppy's because I was just a whim to him, a toy to amuse him while he gathered his inspiration out of my pitiful efforts.

All those long months, the kind glances the encouragement... they were all fake, weren't they? Because of course, my life is that kind of cluster fuck.

I was fool to gamble my happiness on his feelings. I was a fool to go so far so blindly, because he said he could. I was - am - thrice the fool because despite of all that, I am still in love with him, damn that whimsical nature of his.

But no matter. It's time to skate now and strangely, I feel calm.

It's the last time - truly the last one. One last surprise for him and the audience…

He called for me, but I disregarded him, skating out on the ice, feeling cold and hollow and somehow at peace.

**Viktor's POV**

"Yuuri?" I called after him, confused. "Yuuri!" But it was as if Yuuri wasn't listening to me, already in his own world.

This wasn't like him. Usually, Yuuri never disregarded me like this, I made sure for him not to, but the last week he had become quieter and more distant- Something was bothering him, and as much as I tried to talk it out of him, he clamped down like particularly stubborn oyster. At first I had thought it was the nerves, but he skated as good as usual if not better.

As a coach, I should've been happy. Happy because this unpolished diamond was finally coming into his own, to shine with the colors that had been dimmed under the dirt and crust of the nervousness, countless defeats and self-deprecation. It was a testament to my skills to make someone like Yuuri to come so far. Instead of that, I felt only unease and concern rolling in my gut, along with a good dose of helplessness. If that was what Yakov felt every time I was out on the ice in competition, I can't help but respect the old bear for being patient with my antics.

Yuuri looked resplendent in his costume of black trousers with dark blue loose sheer shirt entwined with silver and a tiny smatter of golden glitter on his shoulder, showing off his throat hold and a small bit of his chest. It wasn't what I would've chosen for him for this piece, but Yuri had uncharacteristically insisted on getting this one. He had finally convinced me saying that it would surprise the crowd, though looking back to this scene, I can't help but feel duped for some reason. He didn't bother with his hair, let it fall around his head in a messy disarray, causing me to frown and my fingers to itch for a comb. Even if it was unusual, I had to reluctantly admit it suited him.

[And the last competitor is Katsuki Yuri from Japan, with the - ]

The announcer was cut off, along with the most of the light in arena, leaving only one to shine where Yuuri was standing.

The crowds shifted, startled by the loss of the light. I frowned. This was unusual.

"What's going on?" Yurio growled from my right side.

I blinked. "A fallout, most likely. " That wasn't good. If Yuuri lost the concentration here -

There was buzzing and crackling, before the radio finally came online again. [Ahem. We are very sorry for the interruption, it seems that we had a minor fallout in the system. We apologize for the inconvenience, but most of the lights are out. Still, it's Katsuki's turn - ]

My blood chilled. It couldn't be. They intended to throw him into a hot water. Usually, when something that happened, the competition was halted for the duration of the repairs, but it seemed that this time, they wanted to keep going despite the handicap. This was not happening –

[ - with La Ronde Lunaire by Origa]

No. This was not supposed to happen. It has to be a mistake. It has to be. I turned around to march into the music booth to have some strong word with the DJ's stationed here, because surely, this had to be some kind of a horrible mixup –

-But the first strands of the music already escaped from the speakers into the air that suddenly seemed unforgivingly thin and colder than ever.

The notes unfurled, slow and mellow and for some reason, carried out a foreboding feeling.

Ot ulybki odin shag do toski

Yuuri's silohuette on the ice was motionless for a moment, turned with his back to me, his spine both supple and made out of steel, as if he was standing under the waterfall of moonlight, the stardust glittering on his shoulders.

But still, this one verse….

It's only one step from a smile to anguish.

Something was wrong. Wrong to the extent Yuuri had thought to switch the programs from the routine he had been working for three months to an unknown one and bozhe mili, it was a disaster in the making –

Leleyala luna lunnyi svet
Svoih svechei hranya teplo
V vodovorote vod malen'kii ruchei
By lot luny tak daleko

The beginning was slow, gentle, like Agape, only Yuuri did a slow spin, hugging himself, as if in a mocking rendition of his conclusion to Eros. And then, he flew.

This Yuuri - I've never knew him.

I've saw small particles of him - in that unintended video when he mimicked my choreography, and then, a little bit more in Eros, but this was like vilenya dancing on the frozen lake, blessed with starlight. The steps flowed from one to another, reminding me of a brook under the ice, slow and gentle, fluid despite of its frozen surroundings.

But it was his face that just about killed my heart.

Despite his skill on the ice, it was his face that expressed the most, so terribly human and lonely and pained and resigned - I've never saw Yuuri like that, not even when he was at his lowest, when he was about to give up, give in - but he always came back, back to me and said that he would try one more time-

Only this time, there was a definite feeling of this last time, of giving up, in the tips of fingers, and the bow of his back when he executed the camel, launching himself into a lazy spin.

Ah, eto vechnaya drama
Drug ot druga oni, kak i my, daleki
Ah, eto vechnaya drama
Ot ulybki odin shag do toski
Odin shag do toski
Odin shag do toski...

Yuuri's body wasn't following the rhythm - it was the rhythm, seemingly dragging out the notes out of the speakers, and weaving magic around the skating rink and to think… that he wasn't even a quarter in his program….

My hand clutched on my chest, and even if I could look back from him, I couldn't. Half of my brain was screaming at him that he was absolutely irresponsible to change the choreography on a whim in the last second and not notify me of changes and when did he find time to make this one? I was sure we were together like two peas in a pod, constantly, but looking back, Yuuri began behaving strangely some time back, maybe – no, it was definitely then when –

Ot ulybki odin shag do toski
Ot ulybki odin shag do toski...

He executed the perfect quadruple salchow with a triple toe loop right after and I just about choked on it. Belatedly, I heard Yurio curse beside me vehemently, and I couldn't help but agree with him.

Katsuki Yuuri was a monster.

And to make things worse, he had been a monster way before I deigned to take his reins, interested in polishing him to a shine. If he had been like this before, at his first Championship, I didn't doubt that he would dethrone me in an instant.

He may not have had talent like Yurio or one of his international friends like Phichit, but lacking it didn't stop him in trying to reach their level.

And yet, it hurt to look at him like that.

Why did it hurt like so?

I should have been happy for him, proud that I helped him to overcome his insecurities and surpass his weaker self –

Because he was shining out there, weaving his spell over anyone who bothered to watch him.

Laskali liliyu vody pruda
Obeschaya pokoi na spokoinom dne
No lyubov'svoyu otdala ruch'yu
I sebya obrekla na stradaniya i smert'

I jerked at the words of the song.

Guilty. Guilty because I've dragged Yuuri out of his little corner, promising him so many things, but maybe, in the retrospective, it wasn't the best thing to do.

'For whom? You or Yuuri?' My mind mocked me, causing me to frown as I tried to find any fails in Yuuri's skating. He was rough - both rough and smooth, and nebesa, what wouldn't I have given to have only quarter of his expressions on the ice –

I've promised him so many things, teasing him and beckoning him with the promises of being close to me, closer than any human being had ever been, a sun beckoning the flower to unfurl their bud for its pleasure…..

'I could be your father. Your friend. Or your lover.'

'No! No, no, I just want you to be Viktor!'

And then, my talk with Yakov.

I can't help but think that my old coach was kind of disappointed with me for my reply to him, even as flamboyant as it was. Strange, but true, even if what I thought of Yuuri was an exact opposite.

Ah, eto vechnaya drama
Drug ot druga oni, kak i my, daleki
Ah, eto vechnaya drama
Ot ulybki odin shag do toski

Why then, did he skate like he didn't know this, like he had his heart broken….

And then, my spine felt as if it was dropped into a liquid nitrogen and broken into million little shards embedding themselves into m while body as a result.

He heard us. It was the only possible reason for this - for his distance from me, for the change of the choreography for everathing since that disastrous evening when I spoke out this lie of mine.

He heard me talking to Yakov.

'Eh? He's just a whim of mine.'

I've never regretted any words more than those.

One step from a smile to anguish, indeed.

Odin shag do toski
Odin shag do toski...

I would've rather had clumsy, trustful, and most importantly, happy Yuuri than one who was right now skating on the ice, so perfectly, but with such a heartbroken, yet resigned expression like he was doing right now.

Ot ulybki odin shag do toski
Ot ulybki odin shag do toski...

The rhythm was like a heartbeat, fragile yet merciless as he entered the last steps of his choreography, dark hair glinting with swat under the lone light, chin up as if looking longingly at the light/moon, and I wanted it to stop.

Ot ulybki odin shag do toski
Ot ulybki odin shag do toski...

Because this was wrong. This wasn't Yuuri. I didn't mean to break him.

I only wanted to protect him.
What a funny thought.

Viktor Nikiforov, five times Grand Prix Champion, trying to protect someone from his dubious reputation.

My eyesight blurred, blending the lines of blue and silver and pale white of ice with the black of his costume and hair.

But if nothing else, I deserved it. Whatever may come out of this, I deserved it.

My eyes stayed wide open, even if my sight was less than perfect with the tears lining them, watching both my greatest victory and failure dancing on the ice.

I'm sorry, Yuuri.

"Viktor?" Yurio's voice floated to me, bewildered, but I didn't look at him, even when he tugged my sleeve.

'I'm sorry.'

Ot ulybki odin shag do toski
Ot ulybki odin shag do toski
Odin shag do toski...

The last notes tinkled out in the frozen air, and the hall exploded with cheers.