How does one break from routine after that routine has become their life?

Such a question kept a certain Russian up at night, eyes begging to close but unable to be removed from the darkness of the bedroom ceiling. It was knowing that, in the morning, he'd awaken to the blaring of the default phone alarm, at the time he'd done so for the past many years. He'd dress in a black tee and gray track pants, and leave in a hurry, skates in hand and burnt toast forgotten. The dark rainy ambiance of the Russian morning a warm feeling of familiarity. As he'd walk along the empty street, flinching as the occasional car splashed droplets of puddles onto his puffy coat, eyes would drift down to his feet, which ached with each step. The dome of the ice rink would appear in the distance, alerting his of his proximity.

Walking through the front doors, he'd immediately be met his face. Countless photos, all of blinding smiles and golden medals looking down at him with a mocking beauty. A torturous reminder of the past.

And he'd walk through that main room, shuffling with light steps towards the door leading to the ice. And he'd softly push the door open, nibbling at his lip with a soft hope it wouldn't creak.

And he'd tiptoe over to the chairs pressed up against the wall and sit.

And he'd watch a two-hour practice session between the new guy and Yakov.

And he did this every single session.

~~~

Mila was on a mission.

That's never a good thing.

It had all started as she walked into the rink for the joint session, humming lightly with a slight skip in her step and the joyous thought of getting to annoy Yuri again. She'd pushed the door open, thinking all was right with the world and had been met with...

Well truth be told she didn't quite know what she was seeing.

"Edward? Nathen? Hugh Jackson?"

A mama ducking and her overly energetic chick, but the chick just doesn't stop talking and the mama wants nothing to do with him.

"He's been at this all morning." Yuri muttered, slumped against the sideboards with a sour expression and crossed arms. "I swear that man is secretly a dog."

"What is he-"

"I GOT IT! Bartholomew." Mila glanced over at the odd pairing. The shorter man was skating around near the border of the ice, staring at his skates as he did. Normally there was such a rule against such but nobody cared enough to tell him so. His shoulders were hunched over, making himself look smaller than normally. Following close behind, Viktor was spewing out names randomly, chattering away as if he didn't even notice his presence wasn't exactly wanted nor welcomed. The stark difference in ambience between the two was nearly comedically were it not for the sheer tense atmosphere between the two. They clashed, fighting against the other in utter discordance.

"I don't even understand why he cares." The teenager sighs. "Like, is he obsessed with him or something?"

"I don't think it's an obsession." Mila spoke, keeping her eyes on the two. Her usual springy demeanor had melted away. "In fact... it almost seems as if..."

"I swear to everything, if you say they're in love I will not hesitate to strangle you right here right now."

"Uh, no", She pinced his arm, which resulted in him copying the action with a significant difference in force. "I was GOING to say, before you so rudely interrupted me, it's almost as if Chocolate..."

As she spoke, Viktor blurted out another name, muting what she said to all those around her except for the teen.

Silence followed.

"You're so fucking cheesy."

"Well haven't you noticed?" She muttered, cocking her head to the side. "He's been awfully distant."

"The new guy or the old man?"

"Well Chocolate's always been distant; we've known that since the beginning. C'mon, you're telling me you haven't noticed?"

"No." There was a hint of interest in the voice, a very very rare occurrence.

"Viktor. He hasn't thrown his arms around my shoulders and whined about his problems once in the past two weeks."

"...you're just now noticing that?"

"Quit putting ideas into my mouth. What I meant is that, ever since Yakov changed his practice, he's been... not Viktor." Mila lifted her finger to her chin, resting it in deep thought. "I wonder what's wrong."

"...you're an actual idiot."

"What the hell." It was Mila's turn to curse.

"He's sad."

"Well no shit sherlock."

"What I MEANT is that he's not used to being ignored at such a large scale."

"You're mind is a maze and you've officially lost me." Yuri let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sometimes he couldn't believe he was the younger one. 

"How many times did Viktor approach the new guy the first few days?"

"Like four times or something, why?" Mila cocked an eyebrow. Yuri was being oddly inquisitive, and it scared her.

"How many times did he approach him yesterday?"

"What..."

"Just answer the damn question."

"Well..." Mila pursed her lips, thinking to herself. Her eyes landed on Viktor, who had given up in his attempts and was running some step sequences. Chocolate was nowhere in sight.  "I dunno."

"Do you need glasses?" Yuri spat, tugging at a strand of her hair. "It was like every five minutes; it was annoying as fuck." A pause. "I think you might need a hearing aid too, how the hell did you not hear Yakov's tantrum?"  

"...So that's why Georgi was hiding in the storage room yesterday." 

Yuri opened his mouth to say something else but was cut off by the clearing of a throat. 

"Are you going to spend the entire day chit chatting or do I have to beat your butts into training?" Both of them jumped at the sudden and very unexpected voice behind them, then turned their heads so slowly it seemed as if they should have creaked like old haunted house doors. And Yakov was that one ghost who always seem to appear behind the main characters for an uncalled-for jump scare. 

"No, sorry sir." Mila said quickly, clamping a hand over Yuri's mouth before he could spout anything out. Yakov gave them a final gorilla grunt, staring them down as if they had purple skin, and walked away. The two eyed him as he made it to the far side of the rink. Then he paused. 

"Vitya, can you come here please?"

This sentence was terrifying, and it was that terror that made the rink fall to an absolute deafening silence, all eyes turning to the man it was directed towards. Viktor had stilled and grown rigid, his heavy breathing very suddenly manageable. Why was this sentence so terrifying, you may ask? Yuri had the exact same question.

"What the fuck is wrong with him now?" He hissed under his breath, glaring at Viktor as he turned with an exaggerated slowness and began slugging over to Yakov, staring at the ground like a child walking to be reprimanded by his parents.

"I wonder..." Mila trailed off as she watched Yakov eyeing his student. 

"What?" Yuri butt in, impatient. Mila rested her elbows on his shoulder as she knew he absolutely despised her doing. Sure enough, Yuri swatted her away with a huff.

"Well...its kind of like algebra..."

"I failed that class what makes you think I'm gonna understand anything that comes out of your mouth?"

"You'll manage." She pet his head, prompting a cat-like hiss to escape him. His hair might as well have stood up on its roots. "So, let's say that a+bx=c..."

"What's with the letters, I thought we were doing math." Mila nearly wacked him on the side of his head but decided against it when she realized she valued her life.

"ANYWAYS Yakov calling him is x, we know that. The use of 'Vitya' is A. B is obviously..." She gestured over to the coach, who was waiting on the opposite side of the rink, arms crossed. Yuri followed her gesture, searching for whatever the fuck this hag could be talking about...oh wait... There, hidden behind the older Russian's shoulders, he spotted a tuff black hair.

"...why is he there?" He spat again, refusing to use the oh so dumb nickname Viktor had given him.

"HE is B." Mila deduced, straightening up when she noticed that Viktor had noticed his presence. Much to the female skater's surprise, his expression twisted into pure confusion. "Look, what's he doing now?"

Yuri bit the inside of his cheek and stared at Viktor with uncharacteristic fervor. "He's trying to figure out what C is." He muttered subconsciously. His own intelligence scared him and he cursed whichever intellectual sprite decided to invade his mind. He's a teenager, he needed his privacy.

"Exactly! He's trying to figure out what the combination of all those factors may mean for him."

"..."

"That was the dumbest fucking example you could have used."

"You still got it."

"...shut up old hag."

All eyes followed the skater as he neared the coach, hungry for some sort of context. This wasn't exactly a rare occurrence; Viktor flamboyant behavior practically clashed with Yakov's no nonsense attitude, and he often got yelled at on the daily. Normally, they had learned to ignore it and continue working, as it was often as a result of Viktor playing around instead of focusing. However, today was different. Today was weird.

Why? Because Yakov didn't sound mad. And he'd asked without yelling.

This could only mean something bad. Because Yakov was always mad.

Always. Other than his tomato skin, it was his defining characteristic.

All eyes seemed to land on the Asian man next to him instantly, and the tense silence in the room was suddenly swirled with pure confusion.

As Viktor approached, he could almost hear Chocolate's breathing speed at his presence, though in reality the only sound in the room was the slashing of his blades on the ice. Cautiously, he rose his head to look at Yakov, taking in every wrinkle, old man mole, and red skin cell.

Viktor had a vault of Yakov faces stored in his mind, accumulated over years and years of being yelled at mercilessly. Whenever Yakov shot a new look his way, it would subconsciously be compared to each and every single past looks. Similarities were looked at side to side, and it was through this good ol' method that Viktor was able to determine what each look meant for him and what he had to prepare for.

This look, however, defied all logic. Not a crevasse of skin or fold of muscle matched any other. And as has been repeated many many times, the unknown is terrifying. Intriguing, but overwhelmingly terrifying.

"You called?"

"Yes." Yakov sighed and stepped out of the way, so Chocolate was blatantly in front of Viktor. The man tensed at his sudden exposure, arms wrapping around his chest as if he were shirtless. His face immediately grew redder than Yakov's (how it was possible Viktor had no idea), and his gaze fell to his skates. Viktor's smile faltered, though it was such a small change only the most trained of eyes could spot. Yakov noticed this and shook his head. It was just as he thought. He would have to chose these next words very carefully.

"Vitya..." The Asian man's eyes rose at the shortened name, but Yakov ignored this and continue to speak slowly. "I've noticed you've taken a liking to the early morning practice, even when it doesn't belong to you. Is there a reason why?" Yakov focused on his prized pupil's expression, taking in every twitch and movement.

"Just as I thought." The blue eyes drifted from the cherry faced man to the man behind him, before snapping away. The man noticed this, and mirrored the motion, slinking down into his training clothes. If he could turn his glasses into sunglasses, Yakov didn't doubt for one second that he absolutely would, if only to hide further.

"I just... like sticking to routine." Viktor muttered, refusing to look back. "That's all."

"Do I look like an idiot to you?" Behind a solemn expression, the mischievous glint in his eyes was all too present, and quickly added "don't answer that." He refused to let this sulking man ruin this dignity. "This isn't going to work." 

Anybody could see Viktor's fallen smile now. 

"What isn't..." His words failed him, leaving him in tense silence. Yakov's eyes seesawed between the two men, eyebrows somehow furrowed deeper than before. 

"Tomorrow." He started, low enough for just the two to hear. "You both start." 

"Start...what?" Viktor managed to mutter. A soft whisper brought his attention to Chocolate, who was staring at Yakov with a bewildered expression. And Viktor swore, he swore on his own honor and every ounce of pride in his body, he heard Chocolate breath out a simple shaky "what...?" 

"Tomorrow you two will start you joint training regimen." 

Viktor fell silent, expression unchanging. Yakov could hear his breath catch on a gasp. Beside him, Chocolate's eyes drifted to the taller man, as if his face were a powerpoint displaying everything the old man had just said and he were taking it in for the first time. 

"Allow me to put it in simpler terms, in case the information is too grand for you to understand." Yakov cleared his throat. 

"Starting tomorrow, you two will train together."