Meringue [Yuri!!! on Ice Fanfiction]

Meringue

Episode 4 killed me. It was my ghost who wrote this trash.

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After Yuuri won the "Hasetsu Exhibition: Hot Springs on Ice," Viktor began coaching him just like he promised, despite the fact that it didn't go well in the beginning as Yuuri immediately became anxious of everything–meeting Viktor's standards, how he would win the Grand Prix Final after his devastating defeat, how he would pay Viktor's coaching fee which he knew would cost him dearly (though Viktor said not to mind it for now), and probably ten or more other details that he could write down in as short as ten seconds.

That was how overwrought he was.

Still and all, it was an obvious fact that Yuuri was still at the pinnacle of his victory against Russia's Yuri Plisetsky. An incongruous situation, certainly. But that victory, he knew, was short-lived, just like a thin ice that he had began to tread; it could break in an instant.

Just earlier that day, Yuuri tried his best to avoid Viktor, when the latter indirectly put forward the idea of spending more time together to, in Viktor's own words, get to know each other better.

Anymore of their present interaction would probably cause the end of Yuuri's life. After all, Viktor was the idol he profoundly revered in figure skating. He even named his departed poodle, Vicchan, after the Russian skater.

Everything still felt extremely unreal to him.

Yuuri was lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, waiting for someone to notify him that dinner was ready. He was so occupied with his own thoughts that he didn't hear the careful knocks coming from the door of his room. Sedately, he drew the pillow to his side and hugged it against his chest. He buried his head into the soft cushion and rolled sideways to face the wall. And he was there.

Viktor.

Viktor was everywhere.

To be exact, Yuuri's entire room was almost covered with Viktor's images. If it were possible–and yes, it actually were–he would have already arranged for a made to order Viktor wallpaper. Except, he wasn't that obsessed with his coach.

Or was he?

More importantly, he felt considerably embarrassed about it. After all, a male in his early twenties, if the person were in their right mind, wouldn't, wouldn't ever have a room like his; a room filled with posters of Viktor Nikiforov.

However, Yuuri had long since accepted that he was different, and he was glad that he was actually different–that ever since he was a kid, he had greatly admired Viktor. And Viktor became the dream that he was chasing. And for that he was thankful.

Viktor became his inspiration every time he stepped into the rink. Viktor became Yuuri's support, every time he fell into depression, into slump, and, most specially, after failing to qualify in major figure skating competitions. To sum it up, Viktor was primarily the reason why he was so into the sport.

Viktor was Yuuri's everything. Not that Viktor knew that. Nor would the gray-haired figure skater would ever know that. Yuuri would rather he get swallowed by a sinkhole than tell Viktor that.

Amid Yuuri's musings, the knocking on the other side of the door became louder. Still, he didn't hear as he was so lost in contemplation.

Yuuri peeked from behind the pillow his arms were wrapped around, intently gandering at his palms as he repeatedly closed and opened them. "Viktor... He... He touched me..." The disjointed sentence was enough to set his cheeks on fire. "He held my hands," he mumbled. His nerves ran rampant as he recounted the way Viktor's hands slid down his arms then rubbed past his legs, when they were bathing on the hot springs the other night.