Chapter 1 – Love is Hard

Cold, biting wind raced across Yuuri's face as he rotated in the air weightlessly, arms tucked closely into his body as he hoped for the best. He knew he was too hopeful, but a man can dream. With a small huff, he kicked his leg out to balance himself as he returned to the ice. Unfortunately, his landing was unbalanced, he fell on his side out of the triple salchow.

For a moment, Yuuri lied there on the ice staring at the ceiling. He couldn't help but feel frustrated at the growing number of failures he kept experiencing. The entire day, he gradually started failing more and more of the simplest things he could, on a normal day, easily do.

Today was not a normal day.

His heart raced, nerves burned under his skin. Today was the last day he could have a decent practice because tomorrow, he was off to the Japanese nationals. It seemed like, the older he got, the more he saw and, therefore, the more anxious he'd get. The Japanese national figure skating event would open so many doors for Yuuri—so his coach said—and it was imperative that he make an impressive, excellent impression. His thoughts spiraled down deeper into the darkness. He didn't want the pressure of the stakes to overwhelm him, but it seemed out of his control at this point. He was stumbling even simple spins. The burn of his muscles saved him temporarily from his out-of-control spiraling, but when he recovered and tried to continue practice, his anxieties came back at full force to keep Yuuri from focusing.

He let out a groan of irritation and kicked once at the ice. He knew he couldn't keep practicing with this mindset. He mentally noted he'd have to make a visit to Minako's ballet studio after school and gave up practice that morning.

Honestly, it was hard to cope. Yuuri knew exactly how he was supposed to—how he wanted to perform his skate, but it never seemed to come together properly. He didn't want to say he hated himself, but he hated quite a bit about himself, and that included his anxieties. He wasn't sure he'd ever be enough.

"I wonder how Viktor does it…" He muttered under his breath.

Despite his self-hatred, Yuuri knew the power Viktor Nikiforov held over him. He knew it and he allowed himself to be motivated by Viktor's skating on more than one occasion. If he ever felt confused, scared, lonely, angry, depressed or helpless, he could always count on Viktor to bring up his spirits.

Losing himself in thoughts about his idol, Viktor Nikiforov, he imitated a step sequence he saw Viktor perform in his senior debut.

Viktor's silvery long, flowing hair came to mind, bringing a serene smile to Yuuri's face. The silver snowflake prickled against his chest, but Yuuri pushed it to the back of his mind as he skated.

It was moments like these Yuuri appreciated so much. Viktor—the beautiful ice god. He stole his breath away when he first saw him. After getting a taste of the ice, he could never get enough. The ice changed the way Yuuri saw Viktor. Viktor was no longer a fantastical, other-worldly creature that stunned all with his beauty. Rather, Yuuri admired his abilities, his devotion to skating, and the passion he truly saw in the man. His looks were a bonus, of course, but he knew that wasn't all there was to the man.

When Yuuri thought of Viktor, he couldn't help but be happy. He didn't know what to make of it, but Viktor was special, so he clung to that feeling in the way he knew best. He danced on the ice.

Thirty minutes of skating Viktor's routine had Yuuri losing track of time in the real world.

"Yuuri-kun, we're going to be late for school! Hurry up and go change!" Yuuko shouted from the edge of the rink.

With a start, Yuuri came back to reality.

Ashamed that he allowed himself to get lost in thoughts of Viktor, he shook his head as he hurried off the ice and quickly changed for school in the locker room.

"Yuu-chan, you don't have to go with me everyday if you don't want to." He offered a polite smile as they walked out of the rink.

She huffed and berated Yuuri, "What kind of friend would that make me?" She playfully punched Yuuri's arm, and added, "But honestly, I've got to watch out for you. Nishigori won't bully you if I'm with you."

Yuuri gave a small, tight smile, a little irritated at the insinuation that he was weak. "I can handle myself." With a pause, Yuuri's shifted his bag and realized he mistakenly grabbed the wrong one. "Yuu-chan, maybe you should go by yourself. I just remembered I meant to leave my gear in the locker room and I brought it with me by habit."

Yuuko's smile dropped slightly, but she sighed and went on her way. "See you at school Yuuri-kun."

Yuuri ran back to rink and swapped his school bag for his skating bag. Remembering what Yuuko said, Yuuri ran to school hoping Nishigori wouldn't be waiting at school like a cliché bully.

Of course he was wrong.

The minute he made it through the school gates, he was pulled aside by a few delinquents led by Nishigori, who apparently didn't mind missing class to abuse Yuuri.

"Hey fatso!" Nishigori jeered.

That day, the bullying was just as violent verbally as it was physically. Usually, Yuuri got punched, kicked—the usual rough-up he got from the lot of rebellious kids. That, Yuuri had gotten accustomed to. That day, however, Nishigori tore into his soul with the words that would last a lot longer than a few bruises and scratches.

"Soulmate or not, no one'll ever want a fatso like you."

Yes. All of the physical abuse that followed those words didn't matter, because Nishigori hit a spot that Yuuri thought he'd never be able to recover from. He'd solidified the fear Yuuri had held with him all those years, engraving them on his heart so he'd never forget.

No matter who was on the other end, they'd never love him. Yuuri knew that without them telling him. He would never deserve the love of another person. Because Yuuri would never be enough.

Wet tears covered Viktor's face as he shakily rang the bell to Yakov's residence. He couldn't help the small hiccups that escaped his throat as he tried to reel in his sobbing.

Yakov grumbled irritably in Russian, "Coming. Vitya, I swear if you've gotten into trouble agai-"

He stopped short of what he was saying when he saw, not only was it indeed Viktor, but it was also a sobbing Viktor with a crazed, lost look on his face. Yakov froze for a second and melted into action quickly.

"Vitya, what's wrong?"

He waited patiently for the 18-year-old man to breathe a little. After a moment, Viktor finally looked up to meet the hard, concerned gaze of his coach through his glistening orbs brimming with more unshed tears.

"Yakov..." his voice cracked a little as Viktor hugged the man, eliciting a soft gasp from Yakov before could help himself. Instead of rejecting the hug, he closed his previously gaping mouth, waiting for the boy to explain himself.

"They did it Yakov..." he whispered into Yakov's chest. He took a few stabilizing breathes and looked up at Yakov's face.

Viktor's face was puffy and wet, and his eyes visibly looked like they burned from how red they were.

"My parents," he started again, bringing Yakov to full attention. His pupil did not have a good relationship with his parents, and he worried what would come of such a rocky relationship.

"They disowned me Yakov." He sobbed as he finished his coach's name.

Yakov looked down at Viktor schooling an expression of shock. He did not think his parents would so blatantly abandon their child. Even though Viktor could be difficult, he was a good boy who tried very hard to please others, so much that he would hurt himself in the process. Then, his muscles tensed in anger at Viktor's parents. The poor boy should not have to endure this. He was not only talented, but he genuinely cared about what people thought, making him a sweet albeit mischievous person.

He felt anger at Viktor's parents for failing to love their child and he felt shock at what this man had to have been going through.

Yakov gently guided Viktor inside and led him to the living room.

"Breathe Vitya. It's going to be okay. How about you stay with me till you are willing and able to live on your own?" Yakov suggested with an uncharacteristically soft tone.

Even though Yakov didn't like to admit it, he'd grown lonely after Lilia left him and, knowing that he saw Viktor as his own son, he didn't mind watching over him like he was now. The poor boy, no matter how irritating, truly did not deserve the treatment he received from his parents every day. For being a figure skater, for having long hair, for being gay—he never got a break from them. Everything he liked about himself, his parents hated. It finally had reached a breaking point, and that's what led Viktor to Yakov's house. He had nowhere else to go.

After a few days of living with Yakov, Viktor stopped crying all the time. He seemed to have come to terms with his parents' rejection, which was good, but he worried about the boy, not only as a coach, but as a person. Viktor lacked so much love, when he deserved that and so much more from his parents.

Yakov took a comforting, large sip of his morning black coffee when Viktor came out and about for the day. It would've been a normal day except one thing—Viktor's hair didn't reach past his shoulders, but rather covered his face and ended at the top of his neck.

"Vitya! Why..." he trailed off. He didn't know how to ask, but Viktor seemed to have gotten the question without the words. He played with the fringe covering his right eye, and simply stated nonchalantly, "I just felt like cutting it. It's good to change your look once in a while, you know?"

With that, he left the room to go out to practice. Yakov didn't know how to react. Will he be okay?

Viktor's soul mark burned against the skin of his chest.

"Are you suffering too? I really want to meet you." He teared up as he thought to himself.

However, the only reply he received was the dull throbbing of his mark on his breast.