Without Him [Victuuri Fanfic]

Chapter 1

Flash

Another camera blinded me. It was difficult to hold myself together, up on this podium, clutching the silver medal in my palm. It wasn't gold, but it was something. I knew there were thousands of people cheering for me, but I couldn't hear them. I couldn't see their faces, only blobs that were mixed together by my warm tears.

"Yuri!" There was one voice above the rest. I knew that voice, it had comforted me so many times. "Yuri!" It called again. I finally found the voice, gathering my strength to move my head to the right.

There he was, standing just outside the edge of the ice. His silver locks, his piercing blue eyes glazed with tears, it was captivating. It felt like a dream. I stared into those beautiful eyes, cried harder if that was possible, and held up my silver medal.

Before I realized it, I was wrapped up in his arms, burying my face into his warm chest. "You did it, Yuri." He whispered softly into my ear. I didn't remember skating across the ice to him, but I was glad I did.

But something about what he said bothered me.

"But Victor ..." I glanced down at the medal around my neck. "It's not gold. I know you wanted to kiss the gold... I'm so sorry." I sobbed the last few words into his shirt. I didn't know if I was overwhelmed, disappointed, scared, happy — maybe all of them at once.

Victor moved a hand away from my back, using it to pull my chin up. Once again I stared into his eyes, the eyes that never failed to calm me down. "Yuri, I'm so proud of you. Don't worry about the gold, you'll get it next year, okay?" He used the same hand to bring one of mine to his lips. He kissed the golden ring that glistened there.

Overwhelmed, disappointed, scared, happy, and now, embarrassed. Embarrassed that he kissed my hand — and that I liked it. Thanks, Victor.

"Yuri."

Victor?

"Yuri, get up sweetheart."

I launched myself off of my pillow, sitting up and inspecting the figure at my door. Could it be him?

"Yuri, it's just me, honey. I made breakfast if you're hungry."

I finally recognized the voice. It wasn't the soothing Russian accent I was hoping for. It was my mother's sweet voice, and in no offense to her, I was overwhelmingly disappointed. The door was closed with a click, and I was left alone in the dark.

I felt my head hit my pillow once again, and I stared up at the ceiling. I couldn't count how many times I had relived the Grand Prix Finals in my dreams.

They hurt so much though, maybe they were nightmares.

I had no intention of getting up for breakfast, I wasn't hungry. What was the point? I had no interest in eating, not without Victor sitting beside me.

The way he struggled to use chopsticks at first, how ordinary Japanese dishes would make him jump with excitement, the way he shared stories with my family at the table. It always made me laugh.

So why did I feel hot tears roll down my face? Why did I suddenly feel the need to huddle into my blankets, to hide away, and crumble apart?

Why did he leave me?