Intention By Design

I Won't Beg For You

If you were to ask Yuuri what emotions had possessed him as he entered into his brand new free program that day, he'd have no idea what to tell you. They say that athletes, singers, and performers of varying expertise have the ability to enter what is called 'The Zone'. This state of being leads to some of the most spectacular feats, mind blowing spectacles of human endurance. The dark side to this phenomenon is referred to as 'The Blackout'. When one entirely devotes themselves to their performance, they often find, after they've finished going through the motions, that they don't remember a single second of it. You may think this a wonderful concept, but how are you meant to replicate something you don't remember?

Many athletes have experienced an instance of entering 'The Zone' once or twice in their career, leaving them effective 'one hit wonders' who peak once, but fizzle out after finding themselves unable to reach the same level of perfection a second time. For that reason alone, Yuuri Katsuki was in a state of shock, panting and heaving as he realized he was already striking his final pose. The ice was numbing the knee he knelt on, hand shaking as it remained outstretched to the sky. He had done it. Had it gone over well? Yuuri's round, chestnut eyes surveyed the crowd, analyzing their reactions. From one side of the arena to the other, people were on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs. Those who held signs were waving them in the air, creating an invisible vacuum made of kinetic energy. Then his eyes met with a pair that mirrored the shade of periwinkles.

Viktor was standing frozen, mouth literally hanging open, half hidden with one hand. The man's freckles were more prominent today, it seemed, as his cheeks were flushed red with an emotion Yuuri had never expected to see upon his delicate features; amazement. The young skater averted his gaze, seeking out Celestino's visage rinkside, but before he could ascertain the man's location, an excited shriek caught his attention.

"Yuuri! Fantasticheskaya rabota!"

Little Yura was jumping about, waving his arms in the air as if his shout hadn't been enough of an attention grabber. It was a precious sight, one Yuuri appreciated more than words could ever convey.

Waving back, Yuuri responded, pushing his voice to its maximum volume in hopes of reaching the boy, repeating one of the many Russian phrases he had heard Viktor give in interviews. Maybe that time hadn't been completely wasted, at least he had learned to communicate with his self proclaimed number one fan.

"Spasibo!"

Yura grinned with pride upon being noticed by his idol, giving a firm nod before pulling Viktor away by his cuff-links. Yuuri scanned the arena's border, returning to his prior search. When he finally happened upon a ruffled nest of caramelized golden hair, Yuuri was relieved to see his coach exhibiting pure joy, both arms raised and pumping in the air in a victory stance.

The teen skated to meet him, as fast as he could without face planting onto the ice below. For once in his life, Yuuri wasn't dreading his trip to the kiss and cry. After accepting and applying his skate guards, the duo practically floated to the bench, eagerly awaiting the final cumulative score he had earned. Yuuri didn't train his gaze to the floor, instead choosing to stare at the broad screen with unrivaled intensity. The seconds passed in slow succession, ticking by at dripping honey's pace. Ten, and then fifteen seconds, twenty more and then... he saw it.

There, proudly settled next to his own name and flag was the telltale text. Goosebumps pricked at his thin skin ferociously as he read the small set of numbers, 209.42. At seventeen years old, Yuuri was just shy of Viktor's record, the world record of 209.44. He officially qualified for the Grand Prix Final. The noise that filled the arena was deafening. The ground was shaking as if an earthquake was blessing the moment of glory. His cheeks were suddenly warm, but they grew chilled in a matter of seconds. He was crying, live and on camera. These were not tears of grief or self pity, however. These kinds of tears were allowed. Tears of joy, of exhilaration, of triumph .