Étoile | Yuri Plisetsky

Chapter 1 | Tombé

The ice was cold that morning, but his heart was colder and so was everything around him. The mist was just beginning to disperse, and Yuri was already practising in the skating rink. There hadn't been a single soul in the entire facility, except for a few employees and the Zamboni driver who had just arrived. The sound of his blades scratching the ice as he danced across the snow-white surface overwhelmed the quiet atmosphere, completing its serene yet eerie energy.

"Fuck!" he cursed and slammed the boards aggressively. The exasperation in his voice was palpable as a sigh passed by his lips. Yuri had been practising a single element to failure and had yet to master it. The quad lutz had broadened his horizons to repertoire and skating vocabulary, however he had yet to perfect it. Although some days he had landed it perfectly, it had not been fully incorporated into his system, thus his attempts weren't quite consistent. Consequently, he had often been driven to insanity, trying to refine this new skill, but his pride refused to give up. He took his skate-guards and threw them against the wall in irritation as he stepped off the ice.

He quickly picked them up and covered his snow-stroked blades as he headed to the restroom. With his leopard-printed towel, he wiped away the sweat that dripped down his flushed face as his reflection in the mirror, fogged by a few stray fingerprints, frowned along him. Yuri slapped his cheeks, allowing his hands to linger on his face a little longer than intended. He only wanted this to be a wake-up call, however it served as a war cry, signifying the death of his inspiration once and for all. As he looked in the mirror one more time, he noticed the boy who used to skate so excitedly fading like a bitter-sweet reminisce of what used to be him. The Ice Tiger of Russia had been put to sleep.

"A hiatus?! What are you talking about!?" Yakov's voice echoed in the rink later that day, as he read out loud the text that Yuri sent him with utmost shock and confusion.

The boy skated towards the boards, where his coach was standing furious, ready to snap at him. He wiped away a streak of sweat that clung to his reddened forehead as he sighed, prepared to accept the usual scolding he received almost daily. His hands delicately rested on top of the boards as his naturally aggressive gaze met Yakov's.

"I already know your opinion, but that's the way I feel right now" he spoke clearly, as his soft panting gradually reduced. He removed his gloves carelessly, holding the black garments within his clenched fist as he stared at Yakov expectantly.

The man stood frozen for a moment, trying to understand Yuri's reasoning behind his wish, however, he made no sense out of anything. The more he tried to process the situation the angrier he grew, and Yuri knew that he was about to explode sooner or later. With a mouth hanging agape, Yakov tried gathering his thoughts and saying something to convince him otherwise, but the words all stuck at the tip of his tongue and felt all the more dry.

"W-what am I supposed to say? Huh!? That you won't compete this season?" The coach spoke strictly, still dumbfounded. His skater rolled his eyes in response, dropping his head to face the ice before he locked his gaze with Yakov once more.

"Make it a year..." He sighed, almost sounding defeated. The devastation in the blonde's voice was obvious by its now quiet volume and mumbled words. The way he averted his eyes betrayed the uncertainty he felt at that moment while announcing his decision to his coach.

"A year!? Are you insane!?" Yakov tugged at Yuri's toned shoulders in desperation, his tone almost painful, like a mother losing her child. "You are at your peak! Yuri! You'd be damned if you stopped now!" Yakov insisted the intensity of his voice increasing as the familiar rough texture of his yells reached Yuri's ears, yet every word felt muffled, distorted, not even strong enough to get into his head, never mind be felt in his heart.