“Your free leg is sloppy!”
Yuuri listened.
“Over rotated!”
“Under rotated!”
“Your rhythm is off.”
“You need more height on that, build up your speed.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
“I know you don’t think that was right.”
“Again.”
There were days that Victor’s coaching was beyond rough. It was brutal. The razor edge of his sharp Russian accent cut across the ice and straight through Yuuri’s concentration. Constant critique, nudges, notes, questions. Victor’s voice echoed in his head and beat him down. Angle, speed, height, step, turn, bend, dance, jump.
Fall.
“Again!”
Yuuri jumped again.
There were days when they left the rink not walking side by side, biting back words that would only serve to hurt. Dinner would pass, tense. Only one of them would take out Makkachin for her presleep stroll. Yuuri would lay on his side in their bed, scrolling through his social media feeds without reading anything. He’d hear the lightness of Victor’s feet on plush carpet, the rustle of bed sheets at his back.
Quiet.
So much so that Yuuri could hear the steady tick, tick, tick of the expensive wristwatch laid resting on Victor’s nightstand.
Yuuri would press the power button on his phone, extinguishing the blue light as he turned over to bury himself in Victor’s side. Or Victor’s arm would slide around his waist, pulling him close with a kiss to the nape of his neck. Gentle apologies. Raised frustrations. Entwined fingers and snapped comments. Concession. Confession. Communication. Tired smiles as Yuuri’s toes nudged at Victor’s ankles.
No matter how cruel the day had been on their spirits, they never fell asleep bitter.
“Better!”
Hope.
“Yes, just like that!”
Pride.
“Beautiful, one more time!”
Yuuri jumped one more time.
“Perfect! Absolutely perfect, Yuuri!”
Smile soaring through his lungs, Yuuri turned sharp and skated fast. Victor’s mouth did not have time to open in surprise when Yuuri kissed him, fingers bunched in his collar. Sweet. Like love.
“Mmmmm… Maybe still a little sloppy with your free leg though…”
Laughing, Yuuri collected the powdered ice off the edge of his skate and flicked it at Victor’s chilled and adorable pink nose. He still listened, nodding as he headed back to the center of the rink.
When they were with each other, they always listened.
The Archery Range 