A/N: I got sick and watched Yuri on Ice like 3 times (not for the first time), culminating in 17 pages of notes. I love the show, but the pace is so inconsistent and there are so, so many gaps in the story. You can really tell that some 26 episodes got cut down into 12.

When I started getting better, I had to decide what to do with those notes. Do I write an essay, or a fic that fills in the gaps?

I decided to try for the latter, even though my track record for completing long projects isn't perfect. But once I started writing this chapter, I couldn't stop until I finished, and I'm so glad I did.

Victor first took note of Katsuki when he saw him watching Victor skate at the Grand Prix finals. The look on Katsuki's face was one that spoke volumes of admiration. A fan of Victor's, then. It was that that made Victor take note of his scores on the final scoreboard. Dead last—not a score to be ashamed of, but much lower than expected for a finalist.

Victor blinked. That seemed odd. He put it down to inconsistent skating and didn't think about it any further.

He arrived on time to the banquet, so he was there and bored enough to notice when Katsuki and his coach slinked in 30 minutes late. There was a palpable air of reluctance to Katsuki. He positioned himself by the champagne table with a rapidly increasing number of empty glasses beside him, and Victor felt his confidence grow in the gut feeling that Katsuki had only been dragged to the event by his coach.

The tenth time that Victor's eyes strayed over to the younger skater, he had to swallow down a huff of exasperation. The empty champagne glasses next to him were multiplying at an alarming rate. Victor counted 25—they couldn't be all his. Other people must be leaving their empty glasses there, too. But Katsuki was still facing the table, his attention completely focused on the champagne. Maybe Victor should go over and intervene—but no. Victor might have gone around harassing people in his youth under the guise of helpfulness, but he was too old for that now. It wasn't worth the hassle if Katsuki didn't take kindly to it—or worse, if he latched onto Victor like the fanboy that he already suspected he was.

Victor tried to stay focused on the conversation around him, but it was mostly the same boring stuff as usual—sponsors congratulating skaters and asking polite, but often prying questions into their careers, routines and even personal lives. Skaters smack talking each other about the upcoming competitions, and comparing notes about who would be competing where.

Everyone always knew where Victor would be competing without him having to say. And Victor didn't particularly care where anyone else was, with Chris being the only exception. But Chris was across the room right now, and if he were here, they'd probably be having a more interesting conversation, anyway.

Victor's eyes strayed back to Katsuki for the eleventh time, and he wondered at himself.

Katsuki started swaying on his feet—this was it, the alcohol poisoning was setting in. Where was his coach? It was time to call someone.

He'd already pulled out his phone when he realized that it wasn't drunken swaying at all: it was drunken dancing. It was surprisingly graceful for a man so clearly drunk. No, that was uncharitable—it was graceful even for Victor on the ice.

Katsuki was gliding across the dance floor, sways becoming steps and turns becoming twirls. People were starting to draw away, giving him space. Their expressions ranged from horror to disgust, and Victor couldn't believe they couldn't see what he could.

Because Katsuki had consumed so much alcohol that he was clearly not in his right mind. Yet every movement was grace and beauty. There was no music in the banquet hall, but there didn't need to be, because Katsuki was creating it with the movements of his body.

Victor's heart was starting to pound. How was this possible?

Maybe he was romanticizing. After all, he'd expected another boring banquet. Katsuki was making it exciting, and Victor was all about surprise excitement. He tore his eyes from Katsuki to find Chris across the room, hoping to use his friend as a litmus test. Would the other man seem as entranced with Katsuki as Victor was feeling? But Chris hadn't noticed the spectacle yet. His back was turned as he talked to a group of young women, only some of whom were starting to peer over Chris's shoulder at Katsuki's dance.

Katsuki pulled his tie loose, and Victor's heart went into his throat.

Okay, so Katsuki was easy on the eyes, even when he was drunk and out of his mind.

Maybe he needed to get his head checked, Victor reflected as Katsuki tied the tie around his head: Victor's heart was beating ever faster, and he wasn't even able to pretend not to be captivated anymore. Katsuki started twirling around the banquet floor with a champagne bottle in hand. His movements were so unrestrained, so true—oh, why had Victor never watched him skate? How could he have placed last when he could move like this? Was he a terrible jumper? But if so, how could he have made it to the finals?

It didn't make any sense.

"Yuri!" said Katsuki, zeroing in on Victor's fellow Russian Yuri. "Other Yuri! You think there can only be one Yuri in the competition next year?"

Victor's brows rose as his eyes slid over to Yuri, who was scowling.

"You're drunk," spat Yuri with even more vehemence than usual. "You're making a fool of yourself."

"I could still beat you in a dance-off," slurred Katsuki.

"The hell you could," said Yuri.

"Oh, he could definitely give you a run for your money."

Victor didn't even realize he'd spoken aloud until Katsuki and Yuri's attention refocused to him. The Russian was incredulous—incredulity that rapidly edged into anger, then utter rage—and the Japanese skater just looked up at Victor sparkling eyes and a lopsided grin.

"Victor Nikiforov," said Katsuki, like it was a prayer.

Victor had a lot of fans. He'd been propositioned and stalked and admired and praised and adored by all sorts of people from all sorts of walks of life, and he'd never really paid much attention to any one in particular. A mere utterance of his name should have been nothing. Should have been. Victor found himself at a loss for words.

"Oh no you don't," said Yuri. "You're making a fool of yourself, and you decide now's a good time to try to get into the good graces the gold medalist? What the hell's wrong with you?!"

"I didn't say anything," Katsuki replied, miffed.

"You're drunk off your ass," hissed Yuri. "Go back to your room."

"You don't tell me what to do," snapped Katsuki. "Dance-off, Plisetsky!"

"What sort of music?" interjected Chris, who had mysteriously materialized next to Victor. His eyes were sparkling with mirth. When his eyes met Victor's, the grin that crossed their faces was simultaneous.

Not just Victor, then.

"Anything," said Katsuki.

Yuri named a song by a Swedish metal band. Victor's eyebrows rose. Yuri was taking this seriously. Yuri, who was never motivated to practice, who took any competition seriously. Not even the angry kitten was immune to the charms of Katsuki, apparently.

Chris started the music on his phone.

"I don't know this music," said Katsuki.

"Do you concede, then?" demanded Yuri with narrowed eyes.

"I can find something else," said Chris, already scrolling through his playlist.

"No," said Kastuki, eyes narrowed at Yuri. "I can beat you anyway."

And the two Yuris began to dance.

Victor knew in the first ten seconds that Yuri never stood a chance. Katsuki danced with the music infusing his every limb—like he could do anything. It was clear to Victor that he couldn't anticipate the tone of the music, but to the untrained eye, it might have been unnoticeable. He took the music, note by note, and moved with it like they were one, growing more confident as the song went on and he grew more confident in his grasp of the piece. Yuri was following, managing to keep up but only just.

At the 2-minute mark, Katsuki started full-on break dancing, moving gracefully in and out of difficult poses that highlighted his strength and left Yuri practically foaming at the mouth.

Chris and Victor weren't the only ones laughing and cheering the dancers on anymore. The entire banquet hall was watching.

Katsuki's shirt kept slipping up his torso to reveal his beautifully defined abs, and his face was relaxed in a profound sort of peace. It did something to Victor, seeing a beautiful man in a difficult pose, muscles exposed, face lax in bliss.

Victor couldn't refrain from going right up to him to get the best photos possible.

"How are we judging who won?" asked Victor as the music was coming to an end.

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Obviously it's the Japanese kid."

"Well, yes, but-"

"Why don't we just ask the room?"

The song ended and the banquet hall broke into applause.

"Now," announced Chris loudly, "we're asking everyone to help us judge the winner of that dance-off. If you think Yuri Plisetsky was the winner, give a cheer!"

There were a few cheers from around the hall, and a loud round of applause.

"If you think Yuuri Katsuki was the winner, give a-"

A deafening cheer went up in the room, with deafening applause.

Victor snuck a glance at Yuri. The boy was scarlet and shaking. Victor hid a smile. Yuri had never been challenged like this before. He wondered if the effects of this dance-off would change Yuri's attitude on the ice. Perhaps not. Perhaps that was too optimistic. After all, it was just one night. Just one dance.

"That was hardly fair," said Chris, his eyes glinting with something fierce. "Your opponent was a junior skater. I'll take you on. But let's up the stakes."

And so there was a ten-minute hiatus while Chris commandeered the bewildered servers into helping him set up a pole in the middle of the banquet hall. Victor didn't think to ask where in the world the pole had come from, because he soon found himself faced with a fidgeting Yuuri Katsuki.

"I won, Victor," said the skater, almost shyly.

"You did," smiled Victor.

"You believed in me."

"I did."

"They said I won," he repeated.

"Yes, they did," Victor said gently, a trickle of worry coming back.

"But what did you think?"

"Me?" Victor blinked.

"Did you..." Katsuki looked down at his feet like a shy schoolgirl. It shouldn't have looked as adorable as it did. "Did you like my dancing?"

"I loved your dancing," said Victor, and it was nothing but the honest truth. But the way that Katsuki looked up, his face all alight, made Victor want to say more. He opened his mouth to do so.

"Yuuri!" called Chris, and for a moment Victor was confused, forgetting that Katsuki was a Yuuri, too. "Time to strip down a bit, if you want to "Are you ready for this?"

"More than ready," said Katsuki, turning away from Victor and beginning to strip. A thought flickered through Victor's mind: would it be inappropriate if he helped?

Chris started out this time, and certainly put on a good show, complete with a full champagne bottle. He should have trounced Katsuki. After all, Chris had been pole dancing for some 10 years.

But maybe Katsuki had trained in it too, because he was no less entrancing to watch. Chris was graceful. Katsuki was the music. They tangled together in a display that was starting to make some people leave the banquet hall. But Victor couldn't take his eyes off of Katsuki.

The pole dance ended with the intervention of a few members from some of the organizers, who had apparently been notified by concerned servers about the "lewd display." Victor almost sighed in disappointment when the conclusion was reached: the dance-off was acceptable, but clothing needed to remain on.

Katsuki grabbed his shirt and tie, and managed to pull on his shirt. His tie ended up tied to the top of his head.

And then he latched onto Victor, plastering their fronts together without a millimeter to spare. Victor stared. There was no music now, but Katsuki hadn't stopped dancing—his torso was stationary, but his hips rolled against Victor's.

"You'll dance with me next, won't you?" asked Katsuki in a tone that sent Victor's blood rushing downwards. Or maybe that was the grinding. Was this a lapdance? Was it possible to give a lapdance standing up?

"Are you challenging me to another dance off?" asked Victor to distract himself, because the prospect of dancing with this man set his heart racing in the best way.

"Victooooor," Katsuki almost whined, and continued to speak in English more heavily accented than usual—Victor only caught something about if Katsuki won the dance-off, and that his family ran a hot spring hotel. Or maybe it wasn't the accent, but the fact that Victor was more preoccupied with the sparkle of Katsuki's (lovely, lovely) eyes, and the way his hips were still grinding against Victor's thigh.

But the last part landed with devastating clarity as Katsuki threw his arms around Victor's neck and buried his face in his shoulder.

"Be my coach, Victor!"

Victor felt the shift of his world shattering and realigning with Yuuri Katsuki at its center.

And he realized that he was actually considering this proposition, made by a man he'd never even really noticed before today.

"You want me to come to Japan?" asked Victor softly. "To be your coach?"

"I do," groaned Yuuri into his shoulder. "I love you, your skating, you have no idea." And Victor thought his heart might burst.

Victor grinned. He hadn't been this eager to perform this entire season—or maybe even since two seasons ago. Or maybe ever. He turned to Chris to give him a piece to put on. Chris was standing just next to Victor, still in his underwear and smirking at Victor.

"Put your clothes on," said Victor calmly.

"But Yuuri doesn't have to wear pants?"

Sure enough, Yuuri was still in his underwear. Victor saw his pants lying on the floor near the pole, so he went. Yuuri didn't let go. In fact, part way there he jumped up and wrapped his legs around Victor's waist, and Victor just carried him the rest of the way over to his pants.

He thought he'd have to cajole Yuuri off of him once they got there, but he didn't. Yuuri jumped down of his own volition and pulled on his own pants quickly enough. As he finished tucking his shirt back into his pants, Victor pulled the tie from his forehead to fasten it around his neck. Yuuri seemed to melt under his touch.

In other circumstances, Victor might have made a show of it for their audience. But he didn't have it in him. Right here, right now, he let himself be in this small world that was just his and Yuuri's, just for a few moments.

When Yuuri was dressed, Victor grinned, turned to Chris and named his song. Chris, now at least wearing pants, obliged.

They danced like it was what they'd been born to do. Yuuri started off, and Victor followed, but countered with his own additions to Yuuri's moves. Yuuri followed, and made his own modifications again.

Before long, it wasn't even much of a dance-off anymore—they were just dancing together, meeting each other move-for-move. There was no set roles of lead and follow. Yuuri led more often than not, leading Victor through spins and contortions that he followed effortlessly. But when Victor took the lead, he effortlessly followed until he took the lead back.

It was all effortless. Victor and Yuuri smiled and laughed together as they danced, and nothing was more divine than the feeling of Yuuri's hand trailing along Victor's thigh in a hold—or better yet, along Victor's cheek in a warming gesture of affection.

They ended the dance with Victor in a low dip beneath Yuuri, and they stood in place for several moments longer than necessary as applause rang out around them. Victor didn't want to stop touching, and he was sure that Yuuri felt the same.

It was the last dance of the night. Yuuri's coach showed up—where had he gone, anyway?—to drag him to bed. Victor felt something profoundly prophetic in getting to be Yuuri's last dance of the night.

Before Victor went to bed, he googled Yuuri's skating program.

Of course, the videos were a delight to watch. Yuuri's movements were beautiful. He made a lot of mistakes, but at points like the step sequence when he was in his stride, his body seemed to make the music. Sure, he was perhaps more restrained and innocent in his movements than he had been that night, but it didn't matter—he could bring the music to life with sheer magnificence of movement.

Watching the videos of Yuuri's skating, Victor knew that it hadn't been a fluke: Yuuri made Victor's heart beat for skating again as it hadn't in years. His programs weren't always that great—his base score never tended to be very high, his choreography was often predictable, and he was just generally prone to falling at some point during his routines. But Victor was also hyper-aware that this might not be Yuuri himself, but rather the people who instructed him and helped him create his programs. After all, most skaters didn't make their own programs the way Victor did. If Victor were to create Yuuri's programs, he could help him overcome all these. He could help Yuuri be the music on the ice, the way he was meant to be.

Coaching him next season—now, there was a thought. The crowdsourced consensus had been a tie on the dance-offs with Chris and Victor, but they didn't know what they were talking about. Victor knew that Yuuri had won every single dance-off that night, hands down. Victor smiled softly.

The next day, as they were checking out of the hotel, Victor and Yuri crossed paths with Yuuri. It took a moment for Victor to notice, but when he did, Yuuri was unabashedly staring straight at him.

Victor grinned as his heart skipped a beat.

"Want a commemorative photo?" he called. "No problem."

Yuuri didn't even respond. He turned and walked away.

Victor stared after him, and all the wishful imaginings of the previous night popped like the fragile bubble they were.

Of course his life wasn't going to change because of one night and some things said while drunk.

We both got a bit carried away, said Yuuri's dismissal. It didn't mean anything.

Victor stared after Yuuri's retreating back and wondered how he could have so thoroughly misunderstood. Victor smiled ruefully. Oh well—there was still the entire rest of the season to worry about.