1. The embarrassing nickname
Yuri snarls wordlessly, removing his jacket and stomping over to lace his skates. Mila, the hag, stares at him with amusement as she leans on the edge of the ice rink.
“You’re not going to greet them back?” she says, tutting. “That’s a bit rude, you know. Look, they’re disappointed.”
Against his will, he shoots a glance across the rink where the wonder duo was situated. Sure enough, the katsudon had a crestfallen look on his face, like someone had taken his pork cutlet bowl away from him. Viktor was plain pouting.
He snorts, an odd burst of satisfaction blooming in his chest. Frowning, he shook the feeling away.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough to wrench his stare away from them. Viktor meets his eye and he visibly brightens, shouting out. “Yurioooo~ Ohayo!”
“Dhaw, isn’t that sweet.” Mila drawls, chuckling over Yuuri’s chimes that echoes with Viktor’s.
“They’re grown men. They’re embarrassing.” Yuri mutters over the chants of ‘Yurio~’. He looks up and bellows angrily. “That’s not my name, you asshats!”
Mila clicks her tongue. “Don’t tell me that it’s bothering you?”
“Ha?” Yuri gives her a fierce look, straightening up from tying his skates. “What do you mean, hag?”
“The name thing?” Mila clarifies, twirling a strand of her red hair. “You’re not mad about that are you?”
“What, them calling me Yurio?” Yuri snorts, braiding his hair. “Please, I’m not that petty. It pissed me off before but I don’t give a damn now.”
“Ooooh, but it did piss you off.” Mila slinks over him, eyes alight with interest. “What changed?”
Yuri bites his tongue, looking away.
Like hell he was going to spill.
At first, he was irritated that the katsudon shared his name because he was disappointed in the Japanese Yuuri. He didn’t want to be associated to him at all. The guy’s self-esteem was non-existent and to Yuri, it was unforgivable despite his reluctant admiration at the Japanese Yuuri's step sequence. Yuri had vowed before he had ever started skating that the only thing he would never lose in this sport was his pride. So to see a person with the same name as him drown in anxiety and depression made him rage.
He would never sink that low.
Then afterwards, it became a competition.
When Viktor chose the katsudon, it was a blow to him. The living idiot was the top skater of the world and for him to choose the Japanese Yuuri over him was like a brand that Yuri would always be second best, was not worth coaching since he found a replacement. That the living legend of Russia had chosen a Yuuri to pass on his legacy, and that Yuuri wasn’t him. It was a blow to Yuri’s pride and he was more than enraged.
He would not be fucking left behind.
Screw Nikiforov and his piggy.
He wouldn’t be second.
And he wasn’t. He won the Grand Prix Final and became the gold medalist. By an inch, but a win was a win and he would train harder to remain in that spot because that .12 difference was still so damn grating. The next time he won, Yuri swore he’d beat both of them by a long damn mile.
But along the way, Yuri had realized that it wasn’t that Viktor chose the katsudon over him. It wasn’t that he thought Yuri was unworthy of coaching.
The fucking idiot was just in love.
He wanted to get into katsudon’s pants. Oh, he was sure that Viktor wanted to cultivate his talent, especially since the katsudon didn’t have a coach while Yuri had Yakov anyway. But aside from that, Viktor found his muse and wouldn’t be pried away from the piggy under any kind of threat.
So Yuri let it be and showed irritation at being called ‘Yurio’ more out of habit now.
“Oy, Yurio? Yurio!” Mila’s whining jolts him back. “Tell me!”
“None of your business, hag. And stop calling me that.” He dismisses her with irritation, stretching before taking off into the ice. She follows him, and Yuri could feel his temper bubbling over.
Mila pouts. “Oh, come on! Tell meee…”
He ignores her, intent on focusing on the feel of the ice beneath his blades. The sound of another skater makes Yuri look up and an automatic scowl pronounces on his face. It was katsudon and the living idiot. Great. He mentally gags at their sappy looks, hoping that he’d never be that sentimental when he grew older. Being sweet was alright, but they take attachment to a whole new creepy level.
He sniffs and makes it a point to glide away from them. Unfortunately, he doesn’t see Mila and her mischievously glinting eyes darting between him and the two.
“Hey, Viktor? Come here, I gotta tell you something.” She chirps, skating towards the couple.
Yuri tiredly drops his skates and slumps on the wall. Training had been brutal today, Yakov was being far more ornery than usual. He had to get the second half of his new short program up to par in terms of technical difficulty, and that would take—
He flares up in instinct. “That’s not my—” He blinks at the right use of his name and looks at Viktor blankly. “Ha?”
The living idiot was staring at him seriously, the katsudon hovering at his back. Yuri narrows his eyes, wondering if running away would be seen as cowardly. Maybe he should punch him just for the heck of it. He hadn’t been acting normally ever since this morning. In fact, both of them were. They were more subdued. Less in your face. And while it was far more peaceful, it made Yakov twitchier because it was like he was waiting for a volcano to explode.
“Spit it out,” Yuri says in his usual brisk tone. His eyes widens when Viktor places a comforting hand on his shoulder and looks at him mournfully. Yuri panics internally even as he scowls at the duo. What the heck?!
“Yuri. We’re sorry.” Viktor says somberly, with the air of someone on their deathbed. “We didn’t know it would affect you that way.”
“We didn’t mean for you to feel like that.” The Japanese Yuuri continues, looking like he was about to start the waterworks. “No wonder you avoid us a lot.”
He avoids everyone, Yuri wanted to say. What was up with these two?
“Mila told us—”
“—about how calling you Yurio makes you sad and how it gives you an existential crisis—”
“—THE HELL IT DOES!”
“—and so we should stop calling you that.”
“I don’t give a shit on what you call me,” Yuri spits, and he internally grows alarmed when it makes the two of them wilt even further. Like damn plants. “Just scram. I wanna punch the hag in the face—”
“WE’RE SORRY, YURA!” Viktor sobs in his shoulder and Yuri panics, looking to the katsudon for help. Instead, he sees the Japaneses Yuuri’s eyes glisten as he sniffs like the teary pig he is and Yuri flails.
“Oy, let go!” Yuri screams and no, his voice didn’t rack up several decibels.
“But what should we call you instead?” Viktor continues to wail. “You can’t have the same name as Yuuri, it would get too confusing. Especially during competitions—”
It astounds Yuri on how Viktor still screams everything while monologuing. “I don’t care, you could call me jack shit and I still won’t answer anyway—”
“Oh, Viktor!” It was like a lightbulb dinged above the katsudon’s head. “You called him Yura before, didn’t you?”
“Yes? It’s a different way to say Yuri in Russian.” Viktor sniffs, thankfully letting go of Yuri. He growls and internally swears to make Mila’s life a living hell. “Oh! We could call him Yura! Or Yuratchka!”
Yuri’s eye twitches. The hell they would! That was his grandfather’s nickname for him and there was no way—
“What about Yuracchin instead? It’s much cuter! It sound like Makkachin!”
Yuri gives Viktor a dead look. Was he bi-polar? Or high? He was just bawling like a baby a second ago and now he looked like someone lit his ass with dopamine. The katsudon must have the patience of a saint.
And what was the old man saying, calling him cute and comparing him to his mutt?! Yuri wasn’t cute, he was the Ice Tiger of Russia! And he was a cat person!
“Yuratchka sounds nice.” The katsudon hums and Yuri fights the urge to hit him in the face because apart from Yakov, the piggy could be the only sensible one in the rink. Well, sometimes. He wasn’t being sensible now. “But what about Yuracchan? '-chan' is a lovely suffix in Japanese.”
“Oh, oh!” Viktor fucking bounces, and Yuri just can’t. He wants a one way ticket out. “What about I call him Yuratchka and you call him Yuracchan?”
The katsudon smiles like he’s been handed a million pork cutlet bowls and Yuri really wants out. “That sounds wonderful! What do you think, Yuracchan?”
Two expectant faces suddenly loom on him and Yuri counts to ten, asking for patience.