I Can't (Yuri On Ice)

I can't face him

(A/N: Yes, I know this is yet another story that I'm gonna have trouble keeping up with, but it's been at my mind nagging at me for the last 72 hours so I just had to write it. I do know that some things are a little bit different from the anime, but I will keep the gist of it the same other than the parts I'm adding in. But then again, this is fanfiction so I get to do what I want to here. I do not own Yuri On Ice; I am just a fan who likes the series as much as everyone else here. Anyway, happy Thanksgiving! Enjoy!)

Chapter One

"I can't face him."

~I Can't~

Viktor Nikiforov. He was my idol. I'd idolized him since I was a kid. I couldn't count how many posters of him I had in my room. I watched all of his performances. I longed to skate as well as him. I knew it'd just be a distant dream, though. Like, seriously, how could I ever be as good as him?

So when the day came that I made it to the Grand Prix, I was ecstatic. I trained so hard for it with Phichit-kun and everyone in Detroit. But I failed. I messed up so badly. I'm sure that Celestino would never even want me back as a student.

I took off my glasses and swiped at the tears stinging my eyes. Honestly, why do I always do this? I always mess up when it counts the most. And here I am crying about it in a bathroom stall. I'm so pathetic. I don't even know how long I've been in here sobbing since I ended my call with Mom.

Someone banged on the stall door, startling me. I quickly composed myself the best I could then walked out adjusting my glasses. I muttered out an apology, my eyes glued to the floor, hoping that the person wouldn't notice my red eyes.

"Hey."

I turned around to face the person. He glared at me murderously. Though he was shorter than me, he was way more terrifying than I could ever be with his blond hair framing his face under his hood. He suddenly ran at me like he was gonna tackle me so I backed up until I could no more. He had me against the wall, keeping me there with a foot. When he stomped it down by my head, I really did think he was gonna kick me.

"Quit skating," he said.

I looked at him, surprised. "What?"

"Quit skating. You suck," he sneered.

At second glance, I realized this was Yuri Plisetsky. Also known as 'The Russian Punk.' The fifteen-year-old that was so talented he was expected to become the next Viktor.

"I'm entering the Senior Division next season." His glare never stopped piercing through me. Frightened by a boy eight years younger than me. Seriously, I am pathetic as always, aren't I? "We don't need two Yuri's," he growled before walking away.

I sighed. He's right. Maybe I should quit. I walked out of the bathroom, clutching my phone inside my pocket. I found Celestino outside where all the other skaters had gathered.

"Yuri! Where have you been?" he asked, a consoling smile on his face.

"Bathroom."

He talked of what our next game plan would be, but I ended up zoning out. I could barely pay attention as I drowned in my ocean of self-loathing. My eyes wandered to the other Yuri who stood not too far away with his coach, Yakov, who was also Viktor's coach.

Then the beautiful human known as Viktor Nikiforov walks up to them smiling. He won first. It's expected. He's the freaking best in the skating biz. I wish the same could be said of me, but like that's gonna happen. And he turns to the side and notices me staring.

"Oh, a commemorative photo?" he said, that attractive smile adorning his face.

I ended up staring at Viktor's puzzled-at-my-silence face for a good few seconds before turning around.

At that moment, I felt utter humiliation laced with traced with self-hatred to accent the animosity that already existed towards myself. I wanted to stand next to him on the podium at the very least. But I failed. I placed last. Who was I to think I could ever do that well? Who was I to think I could ever live my dream? Who was I to think I could stand next to the Viktor Nikiforov?

I can't face him.

And so, I left the building, not speaking a word to anyone.