For the love of coffee

Iced Cappachino

"Yuri, open this door!" Viktor cried out.

It had been three days since the video of them skating together, surfaced. Two and a half days since the video of Yuri's last time before the judges went viral.

Yuri Katsuki was toted as the next Viktor Nikiforov! His moves were like flowing water. Viktor couldn't get enough of watching the young, rising star skate. He was, indeed, talented on skates. Then, his senior debut came. He couldn't have been more than fifteen. Yuri was a wreck. Viktor saw it the first time he came out for his short program.

His face was too tense. His moves were tight, controlled only by nerves of steel. Someone had given him an amazing pep talk to get him onto that ice. He did fine with the short program. Had a few minor blunders, but nothing that an awesome showing, in the long program, couldn't overcome.

That was where the failure happened. Yuri should have forfeited, instead of taken the ice that night. He came out, sweating! He was on ice. His face was pale, his hands shook. Anyone who knew anything remotely note worthy about skating, knew he wasn't going to do well. The teenager was self imploding. So many times, Viktor had seen it.

Now he watched Yuri defeat himself. He slipped up in his jumps, making a quad a triple. His triples became doubles. Each time this happened, more of his confidence shattered. Until he reached the third to last jump. It was meant to be a quad sol chow. Instead, Yuri didn't even get to a triple.

His ankle was off on the rise. He didn't have enough speed to force the third turn, yet he tried. Then, the landing. His feet were out of position. Viktor noticed it, just as his momentum was used up, Yuri fell upon landing. The cold harshness of the ice touching him, ripped away any confidence the teen had left. He was all over the place for the reminder of the performance. Looking more like a deer on ice, than a well trained ice skater. Viktor had watched the video six times.

He knew he would have been able to do better. That there were better ways to get Yuri back on the ice, from his short program to his long. Whatever coach he had, they were the ones to fail the teen. Yuri had only been a child then!

"Open this door, or I will call Yurio to open it!" Viktor cried out, still pounding on the door.

It opened. He had only a second to pull his hand back, before hitting Yuri on the messy head of his. Viktor took in his boyfriend's look. Baggy grey sweat pants, check. Wrinkled off white tee shirt, check. Warm comfy blanket wrapped tightly around his head and shoulders, check. Messy hair that didn't look like it had been combed, washed or cared for in three days, check. Viktor really loved the fuzzy brown paw print slippers on the others feet. Yuri's eyes were red, blood shoot from crying. His face was pale, sweaty from being under the blanket all this time. He looked completely miserable.

"Oh, Yuri." Viktor cooed.

Reaching out, he pulled the dark headed man into his arms. Yuri sniffled, hiccupped, as his body shook with even more tears. Viktor patted his back, as he rubbed his cheek against the soft fluffiness of the blanket atop Yuri's head.

"Its not the end of the world. You were just a baby!" Viktor soothed.

"I was eighteen. It was only six years ago!" Yuri's voice was muffled in Viktor's neck.

Makkachin pressed his nose into the back of Yuri's hand. The photographer pushed away from the slender skater. Viktor felt the man twist his arm around. The dog was sniffing him.

"Lets go inside." Viktor commanded.

He stepped through the door. The smell hit him. It was sweat, closed up dried, sweat mixed with garbage. It looked like Yuri was drowning his sorrow in take out foods. The space around the couch was covered with different restaurant's packaging. Viktor sighed. Someone really needed to clean this up! He texted Yakov.