So my writing style improved.

AN: I do not own Yuri! On Ice

Hello, my loves! I changed a lot of aspects of this story and completely trashed others. It's the same premise, just with a different ending and the content is now actually enjoyable and easy to read. It was actually super cringey, going back and rereading the old version, but I think it was worth it. Hope you guys enjoy!

CH1- Cutting Rose Petals

Victor landed a triple axel heavily yet gracefully, his skates slamming into the sharp ice with enough force to send shards that sparkled like glass flying up to his tense jaw. His arms were not the slender, arching swan necks that the world was familiar with. They'd become rigid and inflexible like steel rods of cold hard metal. He didn't have the light, flirtatious air about him, or the positive, friendly mood.

Victor was pissed.

Yuri was late. Again. Like always, for the past few months. Without any legitimate reason. Plus, the young student was also hiding something. He avoided eye contact all the time, he suddenly didn't have time to spend with Victor, and he was acting weird.

It was irritating Victor to no end. A good coach knows his students. He knows their pasts, their goals, their secrets, their fears, their hopes and dreams and everything in between. For a coach to not know the secret that a student of said coach was so stubbornly hiding… it was just unacceptable.

Also, Yurio was constantly bugging him about it and expecting him to answers. This only further frustrated Victor by reminding him that he had no idea what was going on with his student. It grated on his already mostly raw nerves.

And the cherry on top of the frustration sundae was the all the adoring fans. They were becoming increasingly relentless in trying to get either Victor's or Yuri's attention, signatures, personal possessions, advice. Victor was as kind and charming as he could be, but he irrationally kind of hated the people who treated him like a golden god instead of a human being. It bothered him even more when they dragged his bumbling, anxious student into the picture.

Victor sighed heavily through his nose and came to a screeching halt, showering slivers of ice into a small pile in front of him. He glared at the tops of his ebony skates, long bangs fluttered to cover his sharp eyes.

"Late," he spat darkly, his already poor mood deepening exponentially.

Victor grimaced at just how pathetic his mental pity-party was and slammed a fist onto the plastic siding of the rink like a hammer against a nail. The echo created by the blast was sharp and explosive in the empty building, and Victor relished rather moodily in its tone.

He had been waiting over forty-five minutes, hoping that his pupil had simply lost track of time during his early morning jog, or maybe woke up late and was rushing to practice, about to burst right through that door any minute with a red face, babbling apologies and his head bowed low to the ground.

Victor looked up, half expecting the door to actually fly open to reveal his student gasping, out of breath and sweating fiercely from his sprinting but, alas, no one was to be found. Victor groaned, massaging his temples as he leaned against the blue and white plastic siding.

Where.

Was.

Yuri.

Also, why was his student's now constant tardiness so distressing, and irritating, and enraging, and infuriating, and aggravating, and… and… and…

It was unreal just how much trouble Yuri could be sometimes. From random emotional outbursts to being ridiculously cute and distracting, it was a wonder that Victor was still sane.

Well. Partially sane, anyways.

Victor pulled himself upright, determination glinting like lightening in his bright eyes. He was going to find Yuri and drag him onto the rink, if he had to. He'd practice a good scolding to make Yuri feel guilty and never miss or be late to practice again. Victor sighed, sagging with defeat. In all reality, Yuri had probably just slept in, which probably wasn't on purpose.

Unless he was just relaxing in bed, enjoying the warmth and softness of his blankets and would rather be there than join Victor on the ice. Victor straightened back up and skated off the ice with purpose, plopping down on a bench where he began untying his laces. He checked his phone for the millionth time, hoping that he had just missed a text or a call saying that maybe Yuri was sick or otherwise unable to come.

Victor froze, one skate dangling by its strings in his fist, the other resting on the floor peacefully while his phone suffering from a slow death of suffocation by his own fingers.

What if Yuri was sick?

What if he had been in an accident?

Victor suddenly felt ill as guilt hit him like a big ugly, eighteen-wheeled, shipping truck.

He was wasting time complaining about Yuri's laziness while the kid could be lying somewhere bleeding out. Or struggling to open the door to his home because his fever-weakened arms trembled too much. Or hunched over a bucket, tossing up his insides, all alone in his bedroom, crying in pain.

Victor dropped his phone, not bothering to catch it as it clattered loudly to the floor along with his skates. His heart was raced and beat like a drum in his ears. His hands trembled as adrenaline flowed through his veins.

Wait.

What was he doing? His Yuri could be bleeding out on the streets or deathly ill in his bathroom for all he knew. He had to find Yuri and figure out what happened, not sit at the rink and waste time stressing and pitying himself.

Giving himself a mental shake, Victor tugged his sneakers on quickly, leaving his skates in a pile on the floor, even thought they could easily be taken by anyone who used the rink. He then flew out the door, not bothering to even throw a coat on to protect himself from the sharp cold.

As he sprinted along Yuri's usual route, Victor searched for ambulances and fallen dark-haired boys, his ears listening intently for sirens and shouts and cries of dismay or alarm or pain.

He ran faster.

Victor got weird looks from pedestrians, who he could tell were whispering about him, but he didn't care. All his focus was set on one thing— one person, really. His feet pounded on the concrete beneath him and the cold air chilled him to the core.

He found himself gasping for breath at the top of the hill where Yuri's home sat in front of a slowly wakening sky. Victor paused to catch his breath, holding himself up with his hands braced on his thighs. He slightly regretted leaving his jacket.

Straightening up, he speed walked to the hot springs building, trying to look relatively natural and calm anyone that might have seen his hasty entrance.

"Victor, dear, how are you?" Yuri's mother asked kindly.

Her soft, round face lit up in a bright beaming smile. Victor nodded politely, saying a quick "good morning" as he slipped past her, socked feet almost flying out from under him.

Mrs. Katsuki chuckled at him, saying "boys will be boys," before continuing down the hall. Victor was a grown man. A responsible, respectable, well-rounded, grown man. He was not a boy.

On that note, the ever-graceful grown man found himself faceplanting on his way down the hall of Yuri's bedroom. His feet went flying out from under him and he slid on his bottom past the bedrooms, skidding to a stop just in front of the bathroom.

Cursing in his native tongue, Victor clambered to his knees, using the wall as an aid to get off the floor. He was about to keep going down the hall towards Yuri's room when he heard a sound that made him freeze.

It was like a soft sob. It was a heartbroken, lost, snot-dripping, ugly kind of crying that was desperately hushed, probably for the fear of being found. And it was coming from the bathroom.

Victor's head snapped towards the direction of the room and he noticed that the sliding door was partly open. Intrigue and dread peaking, Victor scooted across the floor on hands and knees, trying to be as quiet as he could.

Once he reached the door that separated the hallway from the bathroom, he slid as close as he dared, trying to breath quieter and strain his ears to hear the voice coming from the bathroom.

The voice whispering along with the teary cries was shaking with emotion and sounded incredibly raw, like the owner of the voice had been crying or yelling for a while. That was when Victor realized that he recognized those whispering stutters and sniffles.

Victor slowly turned his head to peek through the crack between the door and the wall. His eyes struggled to adjust to the bright light that filtered through the window from the early morning sun.

At first, he didn't see anyone, just a fluttering white curtain and deep green bushes from outside the windows set above the sink. He saw a clean, fresh bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then he saw a line of red paint oozing across the white tiled floor, coming from somewhere outside his field of vision. His first thought was that none of the Katsuki's painted, so it was pretty unusual for paint to be around. Then he realized that the red paint was a bit too runny to be paint.

A hunched body came into view. Victor could make out pale skin and dark hair. And a rumpled white sleep shirt?

Victor's muddled mind slowly started knitting together the pieces of information in front of him, but he didn't really understand what was going on until he raised himself up in order to peer over the person's shoulder to discover what their attention was so fixed on. Then he saw that it was Yuri.

And then he saw Yuri's arm.

More specifically, a long blade gleaming ferally against skin that reddened and puckered in response. Thin lines of red quickly dripping out of the severed veins. Victor's eyes widened and his heart thundered in his chest like a bird wishing to break free.

Victor blinked uncomprehendingly at first. Then the darkness of reality slapped him in the face like a barbed metal baseball bat. He saw stars. Victor slumped to the ground, legs giving up on supporting him. He clawed a hand through his hair and gripped it.

This couldn't be happening.

"Why?" a hesitant, emotion-ragged voice whispered loud enough for Victor to hear.

Victor blinked in confusion, thinking for a second that the voice was talking to him.

"Why?" the voice—Yuri—repeated.

"Why. I shouldn't… so useless, I— why am I … don't deserve…"

Even though Victor only caught snippets, he felt he caught the gist.

His jaw tensed, eyes going hard. How dare they. How dare anyone tell this… gift of a human being, that he wasn't worth something, that he didn't deserve something. He wanted to know who told Yuri he was worthless. He clenched his fist, biting hard on his lip in disgust. Some people were just so…

Then it really hit him.

Yuri was doing it. Now. Like, rightnow.

Victor stared at the floor with a stunned expression. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? Bust the door down like a cop from a cheesy action movie and scare the ever-loving crap out of his roommate-of-sorts? Should he leave him alone and address the problem later? Was that even an option?

Hearing a pained gasp, Victor's attention immediately grasped onto the image of a boy marking his skin, painting the floor in red.

"Okay, that's it," Victor decided, throwing tact and grace to the wind as he slammed into the door, belatedly remembering that doors in Japan slide to open.

Victor barreled headfirst into the door, bouncing off the hard surface with a bang. Recovering quickly, he jerked the thin door to the side so hard, it rattled on its frame. For a moment, he stood still, arms bracing against the doorway to hold himself up and his eyes burning with anger.

"Stop, stop, во имя Бога стоп!" he demanded after catching his breath, wildly throwing himself on the smaller figure in front of him.

Yuri hit the deck with a strangled yelp and Victor ripped the stained knife out of the smaller hands, sending it hurtling across the room. Both winced at the clatter it made when it slammed into the wall.

"What are you doing? ты в своем уме?! Я не понимаю!" Victor's face felt hot and his eyes were becoming wet.

Yuri stared up at Victor in awe from an awkwardly suggestive position under his coach.

"You kn-know I have no idea wh-what you're saying…." Yuri stuttered softly, still able to blush like a rose despite what he'd been doing to himself only seconds before.

Victor, who had been sitting on Yuri and throwing his arms around in the air while ranting in Russian, immediately froze in place, realizing he was probably terrifying his best friend.

"Oh God. I-I'm sorry…. I…I…" Victor struggled to breath.

He scrambled off of Yuri, falling backwards on his bottom and awkwardly scuttling backwards until his back hit the shower stall with a thud.

"I didn't mean to... I was just trying to… I…." Victor trailed off, his gaze snagging on the wrists that were much redder than they should be.

He felt disoriented and out of place. Yuri sat up, shoulders hunched up to his ears defensively. It broke Victor's heart to think that he was the reason Yuri was so drawn in and nervous.

"I-it's okay," Yuri stuttered, not meeting his coach's eyes.

Yuri pulled his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs and buried his face into his kneecaps. Victor felt his heart shatter at the image.

"Yuri…." he said quietly.

Victor practically threw himself on Yuri, who squawked, arms rushing up to catch Victor before he faceplanted onto the floor. Victor clutched Yuri close to his chest, burying his nose into the fluffy hair, memorizing its clean smell.

"Why?" Victor whispered, voice cracking.

Yuri looked up in confusion. Victor held on tighter.

"Why would you… why? It's like cutting rose petals… why would you want do that?"

Yuri didn't answer. He sighed contentedly into Victor's neck, his shorter arms wrapping around the taller man's torso and dragging bright red stains along wherever he touched.

"Who told you those things?" Victor asked, his voice catching in his throat, unable to speak those words, even if they were only use in quotation.

Yuri pulled back, staring with soft eyes up at Victor.

"Wh-who said what things? What are you t-trying to say?" he asked patiently, switching from comfortee to comforter.

Victor let out a bitter laugh at the switch of roles and dropped his forehead to Yuri's thinly clothed shoulder, reveling in the warmth.

"Who told you that you're worthless?" he asked so quietly, he thought Yuri might not have heard him.

The tensed muscles and stuttering breath told Victor otherwise.

"I… no one in particular…" Yuri trailed off, fiddling with the ends of Victor's silky hair.

Victor reached up to gently grasp Yuri's wrists.

"Who?" his rough voice begged.

"Seriously, I don't even remember their names…. I- I just…. They were dumb schoolyard bullies, people online— it d-doesn't matter who said it or what they said. It just sticks, you know? It s-sticks. And I guess with all the things I've been losing... I don't handle loss well. Or failure. Or anything negative really. And you and-and everyone else are just s-so good while I… I can't do anything…" Yuri shook his head.

"Why does it stick? Who cares what they think?" Victor released Yuri's wrists immediately when Yuri winced at the tightness of his grip.

Yuri placed his small palms over Victor's lips to stop the ceaseless questions, blushing when Victor boldly kissed his hands.

"It's okay, really it's fine I-I don't care what they think, not really." Yuri looked down, dropping his hand onto his lap. He flinched when Victor held the side of his face and raised his head. Dark chocolate met skyline blue.

"Don't look down. Don't… don't. Don't be ashamed."

Yuri opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Victor silenced him with one raised finger.

"You did something that's... not great. Something that breaks my heart, but you've done nothing that you should be embarrassed over. Are you listening?" Victor demanded, tapping Yuri's cheek when the boy's gaze drifted to the side.

Yuri gave a sharp nod, snapping to attention.

"You don't believe me," Victor realized sadly, hands dropping to Yuri's shoulders.

Yuri shook his head quickly, arms waving defensively in front of him.

"O-of course I believe you, Victor! Wha-what do you mean—"

"Yuri don't lie, I can tell when you're lying."

Yuri's sad smile drooped, and his dried wrists rested on the floor. A moment of silence passed between them, giving Victor the chance to wonder just where Yuri's parents were. From all the shouting and falling and thudding that had happened in the bathroom, it would have been reasonable to believe that parents would come running. Unless they thought…

Victor's face glowed red.

"Hey…Yuri…"

Yuri looked up expectantly and Victor was once again taken by the boy's soft features.

"I was wondering…" Victor trailed off, swallowing hard. "You know you're... important…right?"

Yuri's eyes widened.

"I... what?"

"I heard some of the things you were saying when you… when you were doing that, and you said… well it sounded like you didn't think you mattered," Victor explained.

He felt flustered and couldn't find the right words, which was an unnatural for him. Yuri stared up at him with the awe and wonder that seemed more fit for angels and gods, than a babbling, blushing skating coach. Victor flinched when Yuri threw his arms around him, practically crawling into his lap.

"Without you so much would change. You can't do something like that. You can't just eject yourself like that. Why… why would you want to?" Victor asked, his arms falling naturally around Yuri's waist.

"I… I mean, no one really…" Yuri had his face pressed into Victor's red stained shirt, his words muffled into oblivion.

"What was that?" Yuri sighed in response, turning his head sideways so he could be heard.

"Ugh, it— it sounds so stupid…" Yuri said, wrapping his arms around himself in a pseudo-hug.

"No reason to do this is stupid," Victor argued sternly.

Yuri sighed and tried again to convey his reasoning.

"No one— God, this is so stupid, seriously I'm going to sound like a teenager. No one needs me, you know? I guess that's... I-I mean, it's true that I don't actually do much—"

"Yuri," Victor pulled Yuri as close as he possibly could.

"See?" Yuri said flatly, mistaking the purpose behind his coach's actions. "Pretty pathetic."

"No, it's not. You mean so much to a lot of people. How could you—" Victor placed his hands on either side of Yuri's face and lifted the boy's head, staring into his eyes with fierce passion. "This isn't pathetic. And it's not stupid. You do so much for people. They'd notice if you were gone."

Victor felt warm wetness sliding down his hands. His eyes widened when he realized that the warmth was Yuri's tears cascading down his fingers.

"Oh God! What did I— did I do something wrong?" Victor asked in a panic, only to be interrupted by shaky laughter.

He looked up to see Yuri, eyes shining, tears pouring and still, he had the energy to laugh.

"No, no, you- you did nothing wrong," Yuri said, patting Victor shoulders comfortingly.

"Yuri. I did everything wrong," Victor chastised himself, squeezing Yuri close, his face pressed into the front of Yuri's white shirt.

"Wh-what—"

"You spent how long believing that you weren't worth anything? And I didn't notice? What kind of coach— what kind of friend am I—" something like velvet was covering Victor's lips again for half a second.

But this time it wasn't Yuri's hands. How completely and wonderfully eros, of Yuri.

"You did… nothing wrong." Yuri said when he pulled away.

Victor looked down at the little tornado that had planted itself on his lap.

"But I should have—"

"What? Should have— have followed me all over the place, like— like some kind of lost puppy or something?" Yuri demanded angrily.

Victor blinked, surprised by the outburst.

"Should you have watched me? S-stalked me?" Yuri's voice seemed to be rising in both pitch and volume.

"Wha— no! I didn't mean it like that—" Victor scoffed, only to be cut off.

"Good. Normal p-people don't stalk their friends," Yuri said, a slight smirk settling on his face.

Victor grinned, pressing his face into Yuri's hair.

"Still, I should have noticed—"

"Did I act much differently?" Yuri interrupted; voice suddenly bold.

"…sorry?" Victor pulled back in confusion.

"I said, d-did I act any differently? Have you noticed me acting differently? Have you noticed me acting any different than how I was when we met?" Yuri clarified while simultaneously confusing Victor even further.

"I…. I don't…. No," Victor said.

"And can you guess why that is?" Yuri whispered, fiddling with the hem of Victor's shirt.

Victor looked down at his lap, blatant confusion written across his sharp features. He bit his lip, brow furrowed and shook his head, He had no idea why that was.

"It means that I've b-been like this since before I knew you. That means there is n-no way you could have figured out something was going on. There was no way for you t-to know that this isn't how I normally act," Yuri said softly, forcing Victor to look at him, holding the other's face between his small hands.

"It's not your fault," Yuri said, tightening his arms around his coach.

"I guess."

"Vic…?" Yuri started with concern, and Victor realized he was shaking.

"This is a bit backwards, isn't it? Aren't I supposed to be comforting you?" Victor muttered, his arms wrapping around Yuri's waist. Yuri grinned in response.

"Maybe," Yuri said. "B-but sometimes… it's better to do things together, right?" Yuri chuckled nervously, lying his head on Victor's chest.

Victor marveled at how perfectly they fit together and how Yuri was like a warm blanket, compared to the cold floor of the bathroom they still sat in. Victor shuddered as he realized that he could have been to be losing this person.