Chapter 4

The audience cheered and clapped their gloved hands in applause as the 23 -year-old Japanese figure skater. Yuri Katsuki had performed a fairly eloquent short programme. The judges muttered among themselves, as Yuri skated out of the rink and stumbled over to the kiss and cry. Celestino's stern eyes upon one of his better students. As he added curtly; "You deviated Yuri! When did you plan on telling me you wanted to switch to that triple Salchow? I thought we agreed on having a double lutz in the second half?" Yuri abashedly, he did follow what Celestino told him. But after having seen a pair of remarkable blue eyes watching his short. At least Yuri was 99% certain it had been none other than Viktor Nikiforov, watching him from the askew door to the rink. The black haired Japanese skater absently made a shy gesture of tapping his cheek. While trying to appease his coach; "I am truly sorry Celestino, I just…erm…wanted to see if I could do it."

Celestino raised his hairline at such a statement; it was so unlike Yuri to take chances like this. And especially during something as big as during his short programme for the duration of the Grand Prix Final. The two took a seat and gazed at the screen counting up the scores as Celestino muttered the score Yuri sighed. It could have been much worse; the judges had been impressed with his near perfect triple salchow. Celestino patted his student on the back as he intended to make his point across. "You could have gotten hurt, damage with a triple Salchow might have ended your skating career." Yuri pursed his lips and sighed as they left the kiss and cry. The background noise of Michele Crispino's short programme, thrumming along the walls. He knew his coach was right about this, but Yuri also knew he had felt a sudden tumble of courage crashing into his very heart.

When his brown eyes had met with those of Russian blue, belonging to Viktor. Yuri shook his head out of the dream-like state; he could not think like this now. When he had finally reached the same competitive rink as his number one idol. "…80 is not that bad of a score for your short skate. But you were 5 points below what you did get during the Japanese championship last season, you see Yuri that triple salchow did cost you." Said Celestino, his eyes watching with caution if someone might have switched his Japanese skater for a complete stranger. Celestino held up the younger man's water bottle, taking it without merely nodded as he sipped on water from his bottle. Yuri was well aware that Celestino was right, he had taken a chance but still lost an entire 5 points. Suddenly a familiar smartphone swayed in front of the Japanese skater Yuri snatched his smartphone back. And absently glowered accusingly over at his coach, Celestino shrugged his shoulders and gave a small smile. As the half Italian – half American muttered a few select phrases of how the younger generations, had too much dependency within the social networking communities. Not to mention all the vivid news articles Yuri had a habit of browsing through when he did poorly during competitions. Celestino had picked up a few Japanese phrases over the past five years, but when it came to all those confusing alphabets. No, wait Yuri had called them something else, hirakana and kanja…was it?

Celestino frowned in thought and was unaware that he had fully forgotten to observe his students competition. Yuri is intent on reading the Japanese news articles regarding his short programme. Well aware that Celestino couldn't read a single character aside from Yuri's name. The hallways of the large ice hall in Sochi was vacant. Most had taken their seats, except for one Viktor Nikiforov. Under the watchful eye of Yakov Feltsman, finding it in only logical to help Viktor. Keep up with the warm ups so no injuries would occur while on the ice, not to mention that Viktor's body was getting weary with the approaching twenty years, of dutiful focus on figure skating. Pale lips pursed in thought as Yakov repeated his final warm-ups. Muscles in his arms straining lightly, between familiar stretches. Viktor Nikiforov one could say at the peak of, his career was feeling at a loss of what to do. Something had been missing for awhile, though Viktor could not name it exactly. That was until he had strayed closer to the half opened rink door, and his blue eyes had locked onto a familiar but much older Japanese Veela. So very closely to the breath he lost nine years ago. When Viktor first saw the veela boy from the commentator's box, in a fairly sized rink in Japan.

Embers had erupted into flames reaching out of their stagnant state; it had been nine years. And the experience of finding an equal so young. The inspiration and lack of knowledge concerning the boy. Viktor had never been able to learn the boy's name, and Georgi had made certain to jibe a few comments about that over the years. Viktor had firmly decided not to follow the attempted mind games. But now he was so close to his Japanese Veela; Viktor looked down at his hands. His blue eyes are widening with amazement; they were convulsing, quivering with excitement; "My Veela, you appeared before me again. When I thought your enchantment had left me for good, you cast it again…and I feel." Viktor's thoughts or so he believed, had become louder than expected and filtered into familiar Russian. Nevertheless, Yakov may be nearing 70 that did not make him weak of hearing. Fully capable of picking up Viktor's louder thoughts, trying to get through the light trance; "…if you only stopped thinking of that Veela…that boy from all those years ago cannot possibly be here…"

"Vitya! Are you listening to me!?" Yakov closely screeched near Viktor's ear; the veteran coach had narrowed his dark eyes. Watching one of his most prized prodigy skaters, suddenly get quivering hands akin to a novice during their first competition. Viktor frowned toward Yakov's persisting screech, his right ear thrumming at the sudden lack of activity. Viktor absently rubbed his tender ear, as he gave one of his more genuine smiles. Yakov's eyes softened for a few seconds, the worries slowly disappearing. If Viktor were able to smile like that, there would be no need for more concerns on his part.

Excepting for that rare cold and searing fire encircling within Viktor's irises. How many years had it been since Yakov last saw that; ^Could it have been after Vitya returned from Japan? Or would it be that small shimmer when Viktor, started on working on his free programme?But then it is that something is missing from Vitya's skating. Even if his eyes try to portray some of it, his body is unable to express it. ^ Yakov and Viktor soon enough trailed back to the rink; Viktor was next in line for performing his short programme. Yuri Katsuki's brown eyes gazed on the older monitor watching his fellow competitors; Cao Bin had been the first one out than it had been that Swiss figure skater Christophe Giacometti, Yuri had done his short programme right after Giacometti, then it was the Italian Michele Crispino.

At the end of Jean – Jacques Leroy's short programme, a rather confident and skilled Canadian skater. The last in the lineup was currently none other than Viktor Nikiforov, gliding onto the ice. So very poised and what one may call a sense of sorcery descended upon the captivated audience. Yuri's deep brown eyes shimmered in awe, as his idol entered the ice. Each sequence, the quad jumps marking its scars over the weary ice. It seemed like Michele and Sala Crispino, had decided to join him by the monitor. "Woah look at that Sala! That is Viktor Nikiforov.." Sala snickered at her brothers, simplified explanation. Albeit the two siblings, became quiet and decided to allow the quiet tendrils of absolute focus on Viktor's performance. Sala turned to her left to see a rather intensified gaze marring Yuri Katsuki's features. She could have sworn that her brother Mickey, had made a note of the Japanese Skaters notorious gentle and nervous nature. But that look was something else…

That seemed to confirm the scores of the short programmes for today. Viktor Nikiforov won the short with ease, Leroy and Giacometti tied on their scores. It seemed like they would have to skate it out tomorrow, Cao Bin from China had an even score for his short programme. Lastly, Yuri noticed he would need to fight the Italian Michele Crispino for a chance at climbing closer to Viktor. A comforting hand on his shoulder notified Yuri it was time to get changed and return to the hotel.

It was during a stable dinner inside the hotel that Yuri's smartphone began to vibrate against his pocket. The Japanese Skater gave an apologetic bow toward his coach, as he excused himself from the table. His hand drawing out the smartphone, brown eyes looking down at the caller id *Kaasan* ^It is rare for her to call this early from Japan, I wonder what she wants?^ the habit of using his thumb to slide the call to be answered.

Went without trouble, holding the phone to his ear Yuri said; "Ah Hi mum, why are you calling? Shouldn't you be asleep?" …"Oh, Yu-chan im so sorry to tell you this now that you have gotten this far…but well you see…" His mother's voice was quivering with sadness. Yuri could hear that much, and then he heard light sobbing in the background. Which suspiciously sounded like his older sister Mari, but Yuri knew she rarely ever shed a tear. Always cool, carefree and composed. A sense of death enshrined Yuri Katsuki, making him frozen to the spot. Were he stood between the dining hall and the elevators going up to the many guestrooms of the hotel.

The distant sobbing seemed to come closer.."He.. " "Oh Mari-nee, what is happening back home?" Yuri's nerves were on edge; this was not normal behaviour from his usual cheerful and supportive family. His ears heard the choked sob in the back, from his mother. He thought and the comforting murmurs from his father. But then there was the shaky voice of his older sister "Im so very sorry, there was nothing we could do…he, Vicchan just…stopped moving. Vicchan was cold when…when dad found him.."

Yuri's hold on his smartphone tightened, his hand curled within a draining white. His breath hitched, nervous, panic, sadness, denial. Yuri's these emotions sped through the constant miniature movie clips of memories. Swiftly playing across his mind's eye Yuri's poodle was dead. "Ma…Mari-neechan..this is not funny. Especially not right before the Grand Prix final tomorrow…" Yuri gave a weak chuckle as if it would be one of her old pranks. When they were much younger, but the telltale giggle never came in return from Mari. She was quiet, her breath shallow. Lacking air, missing the brown curly bundle that had warmed his way into the hearts of the Katsuki family in Hasetsu. Mari cleared her throat; "Yu-chan, Vicchan he died. Vicchan is completely cold; his breath is not warm anymore."

The hollowed chill entered Yuri's body; he choked back a sob, eyes cast down against the hotel carpet. His hand clutching the smartphone tightly; "Tha…thank..you for calling to tell me Mari – neechan, I'll call you guys tomorrow. I should get to bed." The other line quickly ended after a few goodbyes. Yuri was no longer hungry he really should get back up to his hotel room. He would text Celestino later, yes that would do. Head kept low, as his right hand nimbly clicked on the down arrow. Slithering warm droplets trailed cautiously down Yuri's hidden features. His body stiff and automatic one foot shakily in front of the other, as Yuri stepped into the elevator. He could sense another occupant in the elevator. But his vision was blurry; Yuri had quickly removed his glasses. Dampened glasses was never a good idea; a low sniffle gave some air back to Yuri's weary and strained lungs. Blue eyes glanced toward the distraught young man, the face of this many had that one peculiar shade of silvery blonde strands.

A quarter of his bangs covering one eye, this man was never good with people that cried. But this silvery blonde felt closely compelled. As if a spell had been thrown on him, a light cough. As the silvery blonde asked in a gruff accented English; "Why…you be so sad? My Veela, should not shed tears." The last comment ended up in pure Russian. Yuri was at a loss why a stranger would ask of his wellbeing. Yuri had barely been able to speak English without an accent not until three years ago, but this man beside him. Had a rough and just enough to allow the other occupant to make himself more understood. And such a voice certainly belonged to a man. "Ah…my dog died." Yuri surprised himself with that kind of honesty, and especially toward a stranger…

AN: Oh help the most recent episodes completely messed up my old plans for this story. But not to worry I was lastly able to find another way. Let me know if you want to ask me in either a pm or a review. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.