Pagophobia [Viktor x Reader]

Issues

The time you spent separated from Viktor this time was different from last. While last time you spoke almost every day, recently it was rare for you to talk to him two days in a row. You had tried at first but when he wasn't picking up that often you eventually slowed, realising it was a busy time for both of you. But you couldn't help but steal glances at your phone, waiting for his calls.

The airport was rather deserted as you landed in Moscow. You nearly cursed as you looked at the time. Your flight had gotten delayed so it was late in Russian time. You hadn't expected anyone to be waiting for you at the airport because you had only told one person the exact time you were landing in Russia – a family friend that had offered you accommodation with them. And with his bad back, you assumed he wouldn't be waiting for you.

Hence, it was a surprise when you saw a short blond wearing a tiger hoodie leaning against the wall, a scowl on his face as he looked at his phone. You bit your lip, hiding your smile.

"So Nikolai sent you to fetch me, did he, Yurochka?" you drawl.

"Don't call me that, [Name]," he said, looking up at you, his scowl slightly lessening.

"Sorry, Yura," you apologise, before picking him up as you crushed him in a hug.

"Let's just go. It's late," he growled, grabbing your wrist with one hand as you let him go, dragging you out of the airport, your luggage in his other hand.

"I heard Yuuri Katsuki has become your new rival," you smile.

"Yeah, and I heard that you're back on the ice because of that bastard that broke you before your free skate a couple seasons ago," he snapped in denial.

"Tch," you hissed at him. "Not true."

"And neither is your idea that the piggy is my rival."

"I won't mention it again if you don't mention him again."

"Deal."

"Deal," you agree. "I watched you skate for your first cup."

"Stupid Canadian," Yuri muttered under his breath.

"You did well, Yura. Even if Jean-Jacques Leroy did better."

"I'll beat him this time!" the blond declared.

"I look forward to it."

"You did well too," he commented softly.

"What's this? You're admitting you watched me?" you tease.

"No, you hag!" You laugh.

"Oh, thank you, Yura. I'm going for gold at Barcelona. Just like you."

"Why did you come to Russia?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you deaf? Why are you here? You've skated in both your cups. Why did you come to Russia when you should be preparing for the Grand Prix finals?"

"Am I not allowed to watch my fellow competitors?"

"If that was it, why didn't you go to Skate America or the others?"

"If you must know, I was invited."

"By who?"

"By someone special to me."

"Who?"

"It's a secret," you say, pressing a finger to your lips.

"[Name]," he growled.

"I made the decision to come to Russia before I found out that Chris has entered me in the Grand Prix," you answered, avoiding the question.

"You're an idiot."