The wanting people to just look at him, all of him, their attention fixed on him and nothing else, riveted and enthralled and unable to look away. Maybe that’s what he wants. Maybe that’s why he can’t stop thinking about Ms. Bell’s offer. The possibility of it.
Inevitably, Yuuri thinks of Victor Nikiforov. Always, in some way, Yuuri is thinking of Victor Nikiforov. He thinks of his performances, the beauty and the stories and the surprises. How Victor on the ice is the one thing Yuuri has never been able to look away from, ever since he first laid eyes on him. How, even now, some part of Yuuri still hopes that one day Victor will look at Yuuri’s skating and see himself reflected there and be unable to tear his eyes away, every bit his equal.
Yuuri wants that. Wants it so bad he aches with it.
Or: the one where Yuuri pole-dances at a nightclub and, along the way, manages to qualify for the Sochi Grand Prix Finals. In that order.
Yuuri is already shaking his head. “You know I don’t like parties, Phichit.”
Phichit whines, “Aw, but, Yuuri, you’re so fun at them!” He pulls out his phone, clicking and scrolling until he comes to a video he must've taken a month ago. He turns the phone to show Yuuri.
Yuuri gapes. “I thought you deleted that!”
In the video, Yuuri is getting into position to do a kegstand. Two fraternity brothers help him, holding his legs aloft in a perfect pointe that would make Minako proud. Raucous cheers and egging sound out from the phone speakers, accompanied by the tinny chant of his name—Kat-su-ki! Kat-su-ki! Kat-su-ki!
Yuuri screams, launching himself at Phichit.
Phichit pulls his phone out of his reach, laughing. “It’s for posterity!”
Or: A lot can happen in five years.
Damian is back, but Dick is gone.