Juniors may not attract the same crowds as Seniors, but the audience still claps loudly enough to fill the rink, louder than the last fading notes of The Lilac Fairy.

Out on the ice, Victor wobbles but stays upright, taking his bows with enthusiasm. Next to Yakov, Lilia wipes tears away and goes looking for her handkerchief to dab at her eyes. Yakov might be a little misty-eyed himself. Just a little.

Then Victor turns. Normally, he likes to take his time coming over to the boards, enjoying every second of attention he can get, stopping to pick up flowers. Today, however, he races across the ice, straight for Yakov, and practically leaps at him. Yakov catches him before he really makes it off the ice.

"I did good, right?" Victor asks, breathless, laughing. Yakov can't stop his smile as he pats Victor's back and lets him have a hug.

"Get your skate guards on," he says, and it takes some nudging to get Victor to let go to do so. He plucks a bundle of flowers from the arms of one of the sweepers and smiles over the blooms. His eyes are bright and shining, and no wonder. There's no question of who's going to take gold, not after that performance.

Not that they don't have critique. But neither of them bothers with it at the moment – Victor isn't going to listen at all when he's like this. So they let him enjoy his moment, sitting with him in the kiss-and-cry and making him drink a few sips of water. Victor is grinning so widely it looks like it must hurt, and Lilia keeps trying to smooth down the hairs that have worked their way free of his ponytail. "You were lovely out there," she says, and somehow Victor's grin widens.

It doesn't fade any until the announcer asks for the scores. There's a moment of quiet and anticipation – there's no anxiety to be had over the numbers today, but how high will they go?

When the scores show up, Victor's mouth drops. So do his flowers, bouncing onto the floor. Lilia's the one to pick them up, because Victor is too busy gaping at his new world record, and Yakov is too busy pulling him into his side and squeezing an arm around his shoulders. And then the meaning of his scores hits Victor, and he goes back to grinning. He puts his hands on Yakov's shoulders and laughs.

He's gotten too big to really lift up in celebration any more, but Yakov swings him up anyway to see the look of pure joy that erupts on his face.

"I'm very proud of you," he murmurs, too low for anyone but Victor to hear. Victor beams, then takes his flowers so they can leave the kiss-and-cry.

They get a few minutes backstage while the medal ceremony is set up. A reporter comes by to ask Victor the usual kinds of questions. Yakov's heard these a million times with his other students, and he doesn't pay much attention to what she's saying. Victor can handle how does it feel to set a world record and please tell us your feelings on winning Junior Worlds by himself.

There's more questions at the press conference, afterward – Victor talks about his plans for next season, how he wants to go to the Olympics if he can. Of course he does. He very well might. Younger than Yakov was – too young, almost, but at least they would be there to help keep an eye on him.

Victor handles everything perfectly, just as he's been taught. Even when yet another reporter comes up to them afterward, even though he clearly wants to go rest and celebrate, he turns to her and says yes, he can answer a few last questions for the Russian fans.

Yakov, distracted by Lilia making a suggestion for where to have dinner, doesn't hear the first couple of questions and answers, but he does hear, "What do you think your real parents would say if they saw your skating today?"

His head snaps up. Lilia's lip curls on one side. But Victor keeps smiling. "My real parents were at the side of the rink. I'm sure they watched very closely. And they'll probably have the most criticism for me." He gives a little laugh. "Ah, if you meant to ask about my birth parents, I don't have any comment." He smiles. Smiles. The reporter gets a slightly confused, slightly glazed look to her eye that Yakov recognizes. She thanks him for his time, and then she goes away.

Victor waits until there are no more cameras around to let his smile fall. He makes a face. This sort of thing is why nobody outside their family was supposed to know.

But it was Victor himself who let it slip, last year, talking for some fluff piece. He'd been asked about various aspects of what it was like to train with his parents – if they were harder on him or easier, the separation between training and home life, things like that. "I don't think they're harder or easier on me than on anyone else they work with," he'd said. "Maybe I can get away with more, but that also makes them mad and they yell at me, so I think it evens out... and at home, naturally, we talk about my training situation, but I think that happens for any family of any athlete. It's not like it's the central topic 24/7, and they're not forcing me to skate. I have chores and homework, too, and we do other things together. Really, I'm incredibly lucky to have parents who can coach me and who I'm also very close with. I'm so glad that I was chosen by them."

The person interviewing him had faltered. "Sorry – chosen?"

"Yes, I was adopted." Victor had smiled sweetly. "Did you have any other questions?" And when he'd seen them afterward, he'd huffed and said, "You can't tell me that there's nothing wrong with being adopted and that maybe I shouldn't tell anyone at the same time. People won't understand unless they're told about it."

He'd had something of a point. Anyway, it's not like they can stop him from being open about it. Especially not Victor, who sometimes seems to be trying to learn how to out-stubborn the two of them.

"Did you use your magic on her?" Lilia asks.

"Just a little. To make her think that maybe she should be done asking questions. That's all." Victor glances at her as they exit the building. "That much is okay, right?"

Yakov's not going to complain. They pile into a taxi, and Victor leans into his shoulder and plays with his phone until something makes him sit upright. He puts the phone to his ear. "Auntie! Ahaha, thank you. I didn't know you were watching – oh, I see. What, really?" He pulls it away and tells Yakov, "Auntie says that you cried when I skated. Is that true?" He looks delighted.

Yakov snatches the phone from him so he can tell Irina himself, "I was not crying over him. What are you saying?"

"There were definitely tears in your eyes," she says. "Now give his phone back and let me finish congratulating him. I'm not paying international rates to talk to you."

"You totally were," Victor whispers, and he chatters to Irina for a couple more minutes before finishing the call. Whatever grumpiness he had earlier is now gone; Victor gets on well with most of the family members he's met. He asks if Yakov's parents have written any further about their possible plans to visit Russia in the summer – they haven't – and Yakov gets a few minutes to relax while Victor and Lilia talk about what else they might do when Victor's on summer break. When he's not practicing quads more heavily, at least, now that Yakov will let him use them in competition next year.

At the hotel, Victor collapses into his bed with a sigh, tucking his face into the pillow. "Don't fall asleep yet. We're going out to have dinner," Yakov tells him. Victor sighs, but he loves food, so he sits up, then rolls to his feet to rifle through his suitcase for something better to wear.

Dinner is quiet. Victor may be the most exhausted of them, but it's been a long day for all three of them. At least he seems to enjoy the meal, and when the waiter comes by asking if they want dessert, he perks up when Yakov asks if he wants something.

"Can I?"

"I think the beautiful young man who broke the world record may have some chocolate if he wishes," Lilia says.

Victor doesn't complain about his meal plan that often, and they're not nearly as neurotic about it as they could be, but sweets are a rare treat for him during the season. It's a little painful to watch how carefully Victor scrapes his plate clean with his fork. It'll be summer soon, though, and no doubt he'll gorge himself on ice cream, his very favorite sweet of all, and nobody will notice how Victor's portion never seems to melt like everyone else's.

Before that, though, there's the gala, where Victor dazzles again, and then the flight home, which he spends asleep on Yakov's shoulder. Victor brightens when they enter their building and Yakov tells him to go ahead, they'll take care of the suitcases. They can hear him laughing from down the hall as they pull the luggage up to the apartment.

"Makkachin," Victor is cooing, sing-song, half on the ground as Makkachin licks his face, his hands when he tries to fend her off. "Makkachin, come on, let me get up – see, there we go. Did you miss me? I missed you soooo much," and then he slips into his ice fairy language for a few words before he returns to baby-talking in Russian.

Irina had worn such a told-you-so face when she learned that Victor had talked them into getting a dog a couple of years ago. No magic necessary, even. Yakov still isn't a dog person, but Makkachin doesn't shed and rarely barks, and Victor adores her so much that his taking care of her has never been an issue.

(Not that Yakov has ever said so out loud, but as far as big dogs go, she's fairly cute. And there's something to the way that Victor falls asleep with her on the couch at times that makes it impossible for either him or Lilia to disturb them.)

"Put your things away," Lilia says. Victor nods, absently, busy playing with Makkachin's ears, but Yakov does see him taking his suitcase to his room a few minutes later, still chatting with his dog. Afterward, he comes to help with dinner without being told. He's quieter than normal as he blows ice crystals into his drink and stares at them, or maybe he's just gotten all of the excitement out of his system now that the competition is over.

Victor takes Makkachin out after the meal, and Yakov is happy to relax in the silence with Lilia. Well, relax, and check his schedule. There's still Worlds for his older skaters, though thankfully that's just a short trip to Moscow. Victor will no doubt be whining for the next week about how they aren't taking him along – it's too much school for him to miss just to cheer on his rink mates and go to the ballet Lilia wants to see. He misses enough as it is.

He's old enough to handle himself for a week. He'll probably text them fifty times a day as an expression of how much he misses them, but he'll be fine. The other people he works with at the rink know to check on him in case he needs anything. Yakov is even looking forward to having a break from him – Victor as a teenager is much easier to handle than Victor as a five-year-old was, but it will be nice to have some time alone with Lilia again. A few days with just her is different than the occasional evening out with Victor left behind.

Yakov isn't even a little worried. Not at all. Nothing is going to happen.

...maybe he should remind Victor to tell them if anything does go awry. The last time they left him, Victor lost Makkachin for half a day, and Yakov only found out because one of the assistant coaches had mentioned Victor coming into practice crying about her after searching for hours. It's nice that he's growing up and wants to be independent, but he doesn't have to rush.

Victor returns home humming, and Yakov goes into his office for a while. The next time he comes out, Victor and Makkachin have taken over the couch, and Lilia is nowhere to be seen. In bed, maybe. It's not that late, but it's been a long week.

He pauses while coming around the back of the couch. Victor's staring off into space, only very absently petting Makkachin's head. It's unusual to see him like that. He's always doing something – skating, scrolling through social media, playing with Makkachin. He should be doing schoolwork right now, but that can probably wait until tomorrow.

After a moment, Victor twists to look up with him and smiles. "Hi."

"You're thinking about something very important, I see. Next season's programs? How you should listen to your coaches more, I hope?"

Victor laughs, but then it fades. "No," he says, sitting up, moving with care so as not to dislodge Makkachin. He reaches over the couch to hug Yakov around the waist, tight, his head resting against his chest.

Yakov pats his head, puzzled. Goodness knows Victor isn't a stranger to physical affection with the two of them – that hasn't abated in the least since he was a child. But something feels off here. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Victor adjusts his head to make it easier to speak. "It's just." His words start to come out in a rush. "I'm really really happy that it was you who found me. I wasn't joking when I said I was lucky to that reporter, I am, and it's not just because of the ballet or the skating or anything, it's – I'm really happy here."

"Where's this coming from?" Victor can't be that distressed about not coming to Worlds with them.

Victor doesn't let go. "I dreamed about Mama on the plane."

Oh. They haven't talked about Victor's mother in years. There isn't much to talk about, really. He was so young when she left him that he doesn't remember much, from what he's said. It's been eleven years, and she has yet to step back into his life. If she's even still out there.

Yakov puts a hand on Victor's head. Victor keeps talking. "I dreamed that she was at the door. And she looked just like I remembered, and she was so pretty, but something about her scared me. I think she wanted me to come with her. So I was screaming for you and Lilia, but you didn't come – maybe you weren't home – but I woke up." He squeezes tighter. "So I was thinking about that. And I know you didn't want me at first until I magicked you into it, and I know I make you angry sometimes, but—"

It takes some work, but he manages to pull away from Victor. "What are you saying such idiotic things for? We haven't kept you for all this time because of your magic, and it's the nature of children to cause trouble for their parents." Certainly he got lectured enough in his childhood, and Irina even more so. "We didn't adopt you for the gold medals, either, before you start thinking that next."

Victor blinks at him with those wide eyes of his, then folds his arms on the back of the couch and grins. "I love you, too."

"Yes, yes." He ruffles Victor's hair. Sometimes, it still makes him laugh; this time, though, it makes him squawk.

"Yakov! Stop, you're messing up my hair!" Victor tries to smooth it down. It's what he gets for wearing it loose all the time. The light strands that please Lilia so much also tangle too easily for that. Victor runs his fingers through his hair a few times, works out a tangle, and Yakov is about to move on – although he can't remember what he meant to do before talking to Victor – when he speaks up again. "I was also thinking – how much did I ever tell you about her? I don't remember."

"You told us what she looked like. A couple of stories. About the night she left you. I thought you couldn't remember much about her."

"Well, no." Victor's hands let go of his hair, and he leans further into the back of the couch, his gaze going distant again. "But right now, I remembered that she liked humans a lot. Maybe that's why she left me in a human city? We didn't see a lot of others like us. But once or – actually, I think it was twice – we went to some rural house and the people there gave us a few baskets with things. Food, yarn, things like that. Only, I don't think they just did it. I didn't understand it back then, but even though she shape-shifted to look human then, she couldn't speak human languages, and she never talked around them. I mean, maybe they were just superstitious people. But the things I remember she said about them..." Victor shrugs. "She was really nice to me. That's why I was so sad when she never came back. But I don't think she was a very good person. Or is." His mouth twists.

Yakov thinks that at this point, the kinder possibility might be that she can't come back. Here he is, definitely not worried about leaving a much-older Victor for a week, a phone call away and with other adults on hand. To think of leaving him for years, let alone permanently, is too cruel. "Was that why your dream scared you?"

"Maybe. I... if she did show up for real, I... I think I'd want to talk to her. Sometimes I wish she would show up. Even if I don't remember her that well, it still kind of hurts that she never came back, that I never got to show her how happy I am here. Even though I have real parents and even if she's a bad person, I still want to see her again." He peers up at Yakov. "Is that weird?"

"Why should it be? She's your mother." But Victor's eyes have gone a little shiny, so Yakov sighs and opens his arms again. This time, Victor clambers over the couch in order to hug him properly and bury his head in his shoulder. "You're allowed to want to see her, Vitya. Whether it's because you miss her or because you want her to answer all those questions we never figured out. It doesn't have anything to do with us. We already know who has been doing their best to try and raise you properly."

"Even if I mess it up sometimes," Victor jokes. Then his voice goes lower. "I really am happy that she left me where she did, though. If I'd lived with her for forever, or if anyone else had found me, I wouldn't have gotten to know you, or about skating and ballet, or what ice cream tastes like, or ever gone sea-bathing, or gone to so many places. Or gotten Makkachin!" He bursts away from Yakov. "Yakov, can you imagine? Ice fairies don't keep dogs! I'd have been dog-less forever."

"What a tragedy."

"Almost as much of one as you two leaving me behind." He huffs, crossing his arms with an exaggerated movement. "For a whole week! You're going to see Giselle without me. How could you?"

"We're going to be working most of that week," Yakov reminds him. "As should you. Did you get any of your schoolwork done when we were in Sofia?"

"Well..." At Yakov's look, he rocks back on his heels and smiles. "I got my English homework done!"

Victor shouldn't even have English homework. It's a waste of time; his French is at least as good as Lilia's, and his English is better than either of theirs. Possibly better than his teacher's. "Get the rest of it done tomorrow, then."

"Okay," Victor sighs. He leans over the back of the couch. "Makkachin, what are we going to do without them? I know, maybe we can find an old video of Lilia dancing. Or maybe Yakov's old programs are on the internet somewhere! Wouldn't that be fun to watch?"

"Do as you like," he says. He finally continues on to the kitchen. Right, he'd wanted to get some water. He fills a glass and eyes the window. Snow is falling, but only lightly, and it will probably be warm enough tomorrow for the sun to melt it. It's nothing like the storm from that one year. Thank goodness. And thank goodness that Victor has never figured out the trick to it, either, even with his worst full-blown meltdowns and arguments. He can make pretty pieces of ice, and that's it.

He's making them right now, in fact, as Yakov sees when he re-emerges into the living room. He's turning a shiny crystal between his hands, back to cuddling with Makkachin. "I know it's not that late," says Yakov, "but if you go to bed now and get up early enough, we can work on your quads tomorrow."

Victor gasps and jumps up. "Really? Yakov, you're the best dad ever." He crunches the oversized snowflake between his teeth. Yakov winces; he's never gotten used to Victor's ice-eating habit. "Makkachin, let's go to bed." She's a well-trained dog; she hops off the couch and trots down the hallway. Victor pauses on the way to give him one last hug. "That's still okay, right?" he asks.

"What?"

"Calling you Yakov and Lilia. Instead of mom and dad."

Now that's a question Yakov hasn't heard in years. Not since Victor first noticed that other children didn't call their parents by their names. "Do as you like," he says again. "What you call us doesn't change the reality of the situation."

Victor smiles. "Okay," he says. "Good night!" And then he's down the hall, telling a waiting Makkachin all about how he's going to have a good time perfecting his quad toe loop tomorrow.

Yakov turns off the light and goes to get ready for bed himself. Around him, the apartment is quiet and still, but it's the good kind of quiet, the kind that has people sleeping undisturbed in it, and not the lonely kind. Victor is in his bed, and Lilia is in theirs.

In the morning, Victor has already made breakfast by the time Yakov tears himself from Lilia's arms. He's made coffee, too. And ice ferns on the window, beyond which the sun is shining.

"Don't get too impatient," says Yakov.

"I want to win the Olympics," says Victor.

Yakov blinks at him. Victor may not be Lilia's natural child, but he gets the same determined look in his eyes when he truly wants something. "I just said not to get impatient. Let's get you a gold at Nationals, first." And just as Victor has deflated, he adds, "Then you can have your shot at the Olympics," which brings the pleased expression back to Victor's face.

At seventeen? Crazy child. The ladies can do it, but that's so young for a men's skater.

Well. He is Victor. Being an ice fairy may not give him any special advantage when it comes to dancing on blades, but he does have Yakov and Lilia behind him, and his own stubbornness and talent. They'll see how far all of that can take him.