you grow up among the backdrop of crashing waves and crying gulls, learning the kiss of the ocean's tide as a child. here, is your first love – the sleepy city of hasetu, with its creaking ancient bones and pastel blue skies.
(its spot in your heart is replaced when you are four.)
your mother, soft and nurturing with her gentle hands that card through your hair, worries and signs you up for ballet when you are still clumsy like a newborn foal with ungainly limbs that have yet to learn the concept of grace. a friend of a friend tells her this may help, that being surrounded by your peers may open you up; as if the anxiety of a child will unfurl its petals into confidence.
the first day you walk hand in hand with your mother and hide behind her legs when you arrive. and maybe minako can see the emotions of your face, read you like an open book and understand it like a manual on how to make you more agreeable, because she sits you in front of the mirror and tell you to watch.
she dances – the fouetté turns make you dizzy and the saut de chat takes your breath away. after, she bends down and offers you the ability to do all of this.
and in the ballet studio of hasetu, you fall in love a second time.
minako finds talent where you see none – she adjusts your knees as you bend into a grand plié, teaches you to move with the fluidity of water, and tells you that she sees something great (noun; i see my old self reflected in your eyes).
and you can almost believe her.
you spend most of your sepia-faded childhood in her studio, rushing into the door when you're done with school. you love your family who are already to give you everything with their endless patience and understanding, but the pressure in your chest eases a little as you run through the exercises on barre, stretching your limbs out and counting your breathing.
have you ever thought of skating?
there's something exhilarating about being on ice that even ballet can't replicate. you're feet are still shaky in your skates and you're instructor continues to teach you about snowplow stops, but you love how the cold stings your cheeks and the feel of the ice beneath you.
yuuko pushes you in front of a television one day and says, watch.
and you see a boy who looks like he's dancing on ice; his skates are simply an extension of himself as he moves through his routine. he reminds you of minako when she dances – an easy grace that causes your heart to clench and it's so easy to fall in love with his skating.
it's a childhood crush, the inspiration behind your dreams, even as you dismiss it as simple admiration. you trade whispers and hidden smiles with yuuko as you look through magazines together. after class is over, you both stay over and try to replicate viktor's routines. his jumps are cleaner, with more rotations and solid landings, but there's something satisfying as you glide into the finishing pose.
your parents' don't understand, but they buy you posters and magazines as small gifts and gives you a poodle so achingly like viktor's for your birthday.
and your nebulous future becomes to solidify into a goal. you love so many things, your heart molding to fit more people, more places into it, but skating has willed itself above hasetu. above ballet. there's the beginnings of passion simmering in your veins.
there's something terrifying about performing, the way your lungs clench and your breath stops. you spend the day before performances running through routines or locked in your room.
but you do well, well enough to bring home medals and greet your parents with a smile. hope blossoms until you're fifteen.
yuuko. brilliant yuuko. amazing yuuko. the girl who you look at when she skates and see nothing but talent, is quitting because the competition for her is exponentially harder than yours, because skating for her is a hobby – not an occupation nor a feasible future.
and a seed is planted
and the doubt festers,
is this what you're meant to do?
you continue to place, travelling all over japan in competitions; winning a place in japan's future and peoples' hearts. a valve tightens in your chest, the slow pressure of anxiety building and pressing against the cage of your ribs. it threatens to burst under the weight of the expectations that are suddenly placed on your shoulders.
yuuko asks what you want to do after one of your practices, patiently waiting for your answer as she hands you a water you a water bottle.
you're confronted with the idea that you need to imagine what is feasible, instead what slips from lips is:
one day i'll skate on the same ice as him.
hasetu is small and getting smaller; you need to spread out if you want to make a name for yourself.
so you kiss your parents goodbye in the airport, flying to a country where you know no one. you're trading in the comfort of home for immeasurable amounts of hope, because america means a coach, proper support, better training, and a chance.
here, you learn the meaning of homesickness (the words feel heavy and the food upsets your stomach, you long for the familiarity of your own bedroom).
kaasan, i can't hear the waves here.
you sneak out into the dance rooms on campus in an attempt to smother the feelings that threaten to engulf you whole.
here, you learn the true meaning of talent (noun; the girl who moves like she's gliding on water; the boy whose jumps are acts of flight; every who's not you).
you gather bruises and aches; learn that exhaustion is a job well done. practice leads to perfection and you're waiting to finally blossom – others have raw talent and you have persistence and ambition.
aodiaoid screams into the void:
ithe fact that he's lit away from his support system --> phichit being the Best Friend To Have Ever Friend --> celestino tries --> vicchan --> GPF soichi --> I Am A Disappointment --> into pt. 3 aka AVNCMPB aka After Viktor Nikiforov Crashed My Parent's Bathhouse --> yurio the sweet summer child --> more about yuuri's worries and anxieties --> more skating --> all the skating oh god --> ive forgotten all my skating terminology its been too long someone save me --> end prob after skate china or rostelecom cup???
introspection in yuuris perspective about yurio + viktor 4 sure
stop rewriting the first part ur done. stop touching it.