Titolo: one last time
Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice
Personaggi: Viktor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, Yuri Plisetsky
Genere: romantico, introspettivo, songfic (MADOOOO' DA QUANTO NON NE SCRIVEVO????)
Avvertimenti: in inglese, future fic
Parole: 928 (senza testo)
Note: scritta per la settimana 4 del COW-T, missione Shannen, prompt "un'altra possibilità". E mi è venuta l'ideuzza mentre facevo la doccia wtf


My name is Viktor Nikiforov, I come from Russia. They call me a living legend: I won five consecutive World Championships, five Grand Prix Finals, and a number of other titles in figure skating - they are frankly too many to count.
I am thirty-five years old, and in a minute I will be bidding farewell to the world of skating, in favor of taking up coaching next to my wonderful Yuuri. I announced I would retire a few years ago, but this time it's for good. There is nothing else for me to do, here, except passing my baton to the next legend.
As soon as he enters the rink, sliding on the ice with his usual, soft gentle moves, silence falls all around. The stadium is packed, all eyes are on him. Just as usual, but silence brings a heaviness with it this time. It's like all oxygen was sucked out of the place; like time froze for a moment - the moment a familiar melody fills every empty space, and a few sighs and gasps spread around the seats.

Sento una voce che piange lontano - anche tu sei stato forse abbandonato?
Not anymore. There is a languid, somewhat nostalgic shiver spinning slowly with him, as he thinks of the nights he spent alone in a loft too big for just one person and an old dog. Skating was his sole companion, only love he could express, but without a target for it.
There are no sounds that make the air move, only music and his skates scratching on the cold surface. Everyone is frozen, and as he catches glimpses of their faces while sliding in his space he sees some holding back tears, some smiling with recognition, some holding their kids up so that they can see. Most of them, though, look focused on each move of his.
It used to be because they hoped he wouldn't make mistakes, for some. For others, it used to be in hope that he would make at least one. But that doesn't seem to be the case, today.
He looks at them, and all their faces seem to fade in a blur when he jumps, that's how he always saw them, their features disappearing for a moment to melt into one big embrace.
He gave the best part of his youth to them. The rest of his life is only for one person.

Orsù, finisca presto questo calice di vino e inizio a prepararmi.
Adesso fa’ silenzio.
Here he comes. There's Yuuri, beautiful and charming, more than he used to be as now he became the shiniest star in the Japanese firmament, approaching him on the ice and joining him in his slow, nostalgic dance. His fingertips brush along Viktor's jaw, he seems to say do you remember the last time we did this?
He does. His eyes glance over at the pair of golden rings they exchanged in Barcelona, before they skated to this same track, and a large smile appears on his lips. That time, it was Viktor joining him.

Stammi vicino, non te ne andare!
Ho paura di perderti.
The audience gasps almost in unison when Viktor loses his balance - too busy with the storm of thoughts spinning in his head, but Yuuri is there to grab his hand and save him, again, then pull him back up before he can even touch the ice.
The love is palpable - it is there, visible, naked. Evident in the way their hands touch, in the gaze they exchange, in their movements and how perfectly they sync. Their love melts together, like the voices in this song guiding them towards the end.

Partiamo insieme - ora sono pronto.
When the last notes fade and silence follows, Yuuri and Viktor look at each other, breathing hard. And when thunderous applause rises from the stands, Yuuri joins in, sliding back a step to clap his hands too, looking straight into Viktor's eyes. Thank you.
Viktor does not know he's crying until Yuuri comes closer again and wipes a tear from his cheek, and then grabs his hand to quietly lead him out of the rink.
The public keeps applauding, they start whistling and yelling and some of them have tears rolling down their cheeks, but their voices disappear when Yuuri hugs him tight, until Viktor's breath cuts short. He says nothing for a while, but it's Makkachan to break the ice. The puppy begins yapping happily at their feet, and Viktor looks down at their new poodle, this time a white one. Makkachin left them a few months ago, and for weeks Viktor was inconsolable. But Makkachan is doing his best to be a good companion for them. He is, he so is.
Viktor picks him up and kisses his soft nose, then looks over at Yuri Plisetsky, the current top figure skater in Russia.
"Your pal Yuuko told me to bring him here," he says, fixing his long blond hair, and looks away as he adds, "you finally stepped aside, Viktor."
He laughs, sauntering towards him as the applause dies down after minutes.
"Come on, you can't say you won't miss me, Yurio," he teases, poking his stomach, and the boy (he will always be just a boy in Viktor's eyes) grimaces at him with an irritated stare.
"Don't push it, old man."
"Aah, yes, I'm really old. Let's go home, Yuuri, I'm done here. Let's make way for the youth!" He jokes, stretching a hand to Yuuri who grabs it immediately, rolling his eyes with a smile.
Yuri watches them go, and watches Viktor steal another glance to the ice rink, the world he used to live for, the routines he had a last chance to say goodbye to, before turning around and facing forward again.
I'm ready.