Yakov has to keep an eye on his entourage of melodramatic skaters at formal events.
Mila flirts her way through the banquet room as soon as the reception is over. The redhead laughs loudly, smacking unsuspecting men and women on their backs and making fast friends while she nods and smiles through a parade of pleasantries. Georgi blows up Yakov's phone with texts since he's in St. Petersburg, where he laments his latest romantic failure, and the old man is somewhat glad that his oldest pupil hadn't qualified for this year's Grand Prix final.
In contrast, Yuri, his youngest student, is hanging out on the wall, avoiding his peers from the junior division and his rink mates alike. Yakov is fairly certain that he doesn't have to worry about the blonde making a fool of himself at this banquet, mostly because Yuri is too surly and introverted for that. Still, as a person instead of a coach, he worries for that boy.
Lastly, there's Victor, who is more trouble than the rest of them combined. The twenty-three year old is mopey and whiny on the best of days, but he's been especially unbearable this whole week. Yakov has known for years that Victor looks up to the quiet little man from Japan who's held the title of GPF champion five years in a row. For the last few days, Yakov has been forced to acknowledge that he had underestimated Victor's interest in Yuuri Katsuki.
Victor doesn't just look up to the olive-skinned man. Victor is disgustingly infatuated with Yuuri, and Yakov sighs every time his student opens his dumb mouth and words about Katsuki's talent and aesthetically-pleasing face pour out of it. Victor makes it about thirty minutes before one of the banquet waitstaff hands him a hearty glass of champagne. Yakov's second-oldest student is far from a quiet drinker.
Yakov loses track of Victor in the waves of people mingling at the banquet, which is disappointing, because some of these people are incredibly important, and Victor shouldn't be so blasé about waving them off. When he finds the gangly silver-haired mess of a man, Victor has clearly had more than a few alcoholic beverages, and Yakov can feel the second-hand embarrassment coming on as soon as Victor's blue eyes land on him.
"Listen," Victor slurs his speech, polishing the contents of the glass in his hand down before slinging an arm over his coach's shoulder. "You know what's the best when you're drinking?? It's dancing, Yakov. Why isn't anyone dancing?"
"Vitya," Yakov levels his voice so that it is calmly seething instead of furious. "Nobody is dancing because this is an official event. Can't you pull yourself together and behave until you can stumble into a hotel afterparty?"
"No!!!!" Victor yells and Yakov shushes him. "I'm not...not gonna!! I wanna dance, and you know what. You know! I'm...going to dance with...the most handsomest man at this party."
"Victor," Yakov hisses, pulling Victor down by his ear, ignoring his student's whimper. "Don't even think about it. You came here to impress your idol, didn't you? He won't be impressed with you slobbering all over him like a fool."
"I have to do something!" Victor pushes his coach away and slips out of Yakov's hold before the stocky man can stop him.
The next thing he knows, long tresses are falling over Victor's shoulders, messy ponytail falling lower. Victor unabashedly saunters up to Yuuri and dazedly sticks out his hand. Yakov puts a hand to his forehead and considers the whole thing a wash. There's no point in stopping Victor now, so he might as well just try to fade into the background and hope that the media doesn't burst in and put a nasty article up in the morning.
"H-Hiya," the silver-haired man introduces himself, squeaking happily when Yuuri takes his hand and smiles. "I'm Victor Nikiforov, and you're the prettiest skater in the world. I have all of your routines on tape."
Yuuri starts at that. The bridge of his nose is dusted red, and his half-empty glass of champagne tells Victor that the older skater has been drinking as well. "Oh?" The Japanese man laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head. "I'm flattered, honestly. Thank you."
"Nooooo, thank you," Victor drawls, grabbing a fresh flute of champagne from the tray of a passing banquet staff member. "I've been. I've been looking, at you? All night. And I think! We should dance."
The dark-haired man scrunches up his face when he laughs and Victor starts to feel great about his decision to walk over and talk to his idol. "Yeah? I mean, if you really want to, I suppose I'll let you have one dance."
"Just one?" Victor looks torn about the words and Yuuri snickers in his face, carefully putting his glass down.
"I might let you have two if you ask nicely." The older skater loosens his tie and bows politely to the Russian man. "Well, you don't plan on dancing with that, do you?"
Victor scrambles to toss his drink to the side. He unbuttons his jacket and his young blond rink mate starts snapping pictures, sure that this is blackmail he'll be able to use later.
The two of them spin around on the dance floor like gaping fools. A couple of times, Yuuri has to pry Victor off of him so that the taller man doesn't get hair up his nose or press slobbery kisses to Yuuri's neck.
For some reason, Victor keeps drinking, and with every drink, he loses more clothes. His blonde rink mate rolls his eyes, but keeps snapping pics for his Nikiforov's Regret folder. By the time everything is said and done, Victor leans all of his weight on Yuuri and topples both of them to the ground. The long-haired skater only has his pants on because Yuuri had stopped him from kicking them off.
Victor's breath is hot and smells foul, but Yuuri is breathless beneath him. "I want to learn how to move like you do...it'sss amazing? I'm breathless, every time. You know that?? Damn..."
Yuuri snorts, his voice low, fingers nervously twitching at his side. "I'm glad that you think so, Victor. Thank you."
"You're so mod...modest!" Victor hiccups, pressing his cheek to Yuuri's chest. "What I wouldn't, erm, it's a pleasure. Let's skate together some time?"
The older man, who's gelled-back bangs are falling in his face, blows hair out of his face and laughs, reaching up to patronizingly pat Victor's cheek. "You're going to forget asking me that, because you're so drunk. Tell you what." Yuuri has Victor move in his lap so that he can wave to Chris for help. He asks the Swiss man for a marker and he delivers quickly. "If you do remember, give me a call."
Victor keeps moving while Yuuri's trying to write numbers and a couple of words, so it gets mangled. "I won't forget!!"
"You wouldn't keep still, so I bet you'll just wipe this off when you wake up." Yuuri keeps a hand on Victor's shoulder for a moment before wiggling out from under the silver-haired mess of a man. "We'll see who's right in the morning, Victor. It was nice to dance with you." Yuuri adjusts his glasses and puts all of his clothes back on properly before sidling away.
Yakov and Yuri eventually come to pick Victor up off of the floor, and the skater who placed last at the Grand Prix is in tears. "I am in love...Yakov, wait, noooo. I love him!!"
"Vitya, you are so drunk that you would profess love to a telephone pole." Yuri snickers as he holds Victor steady, Yakov calling Mila over so they can all head to their hotel together. "Let's get you to bed." Once Yakov gets all of his students squared away in their rooms, he retires. He gives Victor a very stern look while the silver-haired man pulls his hair away from his mouth and stumbles into the bathroom, lamenting his choices. "If you die tonight, I will raise you from the dead and kill you again."
Victor lifts one hand and moans on the tiled floor, already beginning to drift off to sleep, cradling the messy script on his arm.
Unfortunately, in the middle of the night, he wakes up to pee and forgets what it says, so he splashes water on the numbers and letters.
When Yuri sees him the next morning, and Victor is as pouty as he always is, the blonde decides to keep the evening's events private in order to make Victor suffer, because he's salty like that.
Who knows. Yuri thinks Victor's stench of fresh disappointment will help his older rink mate be a better competitor.