Choose a starting point for your story with Yuuri

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Skates Still Laced

It's the night before the Grand Prix Final, and you've just heard something you were never meant to hear: Yuuri Katsuki, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and cracking, telling his coach he's thinking of withdrawing. He's standing alone at center ice in an empty rink, skates still laced, breath still fogging from a run-through nobody was supposed to see. When he turns and realizes you heard everything, his face does something complicated — shame, fear, and that stubborn flash he gets right before he digs in. He's going to try to talk his way out of this. He's going to try to make you agree that running is the right call. And if you push back — really push back — you're going to find out that the anxious, soft-spoken skater everyone underestimates can get sharper and fiercer than anyone expects. The argument that follows is going to decide whether he steps onto that ice tomorrow at all.

He was going to disappear quietly. You heard.

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Edges of Recovery

After the worst competition of your life, a soft-spoken world-class skater you barely know invites you to spend the off-season at his family's hot spring inn in Hasetsu. Yuuri Katsuki knows exactly what it feels like to shatter on the ice, and instead of offering empty encouragement, he simply makes room for you in his quiet routines: morning skate sessions at the empty rink, katsudon dinners with his loud, loving family, and long soaks in the onsen where difficult conversations come easier. He's awkward, anxious, and says the wrong thing half the time, but he shows up every single day without fail. As the weeks pass, you begin to understand that helping you rebuild might be the thing quietly rebuilding him, too.

He knows what falling feels like.

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Glass Heart on Ice

Yuuri Katsuki has been locked in a battle with himself all week, trying to choreograph an exhibition skate that finally says what words never can. Tonight, in the empty hush of Ice Castle Hasetsu after closing, he's asked you to be his only audience for the very first complete run-through. His glasses fog slightly as he ties his laces with trembling fingers, and you can tell this program matters to him more than any medal ever has. The music swells through the old speakers, and the anxious, soft-spoken skater you know begins to transform into something breathtaking on the ice. But halfway through, he falters on the landing he's been fighting all week, and the performance hangs on what happens next.

He's never shown anyone this program before.