dorogaya ➳ viktor nikiforov

» one | just for you.

Summary: [Name] falls in love with his skating. Viktor falls in love with her. Female pronouns are used.

Word count: 919

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The first time you saw his performance, you immediately fell in love.

From his expressions to his graceful and precise movements – everything was perfect. Elegant, serene, beautiful. You'd never seen anything like it. Not in your lifetime, no. But in that day, you saw it: the passion, the fiery in his azure eyes; you saw all of it and instantly became enamored.

It didn't take you long to write an article about it. As a sports journalist, mainly targeting on figure-skating, you were required to write about performances that you deemed that were worthy enough to write about. And this, you thought, was definitely something that people should know about. After the show, you quickly grabbed for your purse, with your notepad and pen in hand, and scurried your way to the exit.

You turned your head around, and take one last look of him. Viktor. He's standing in the lobby; smiling, thanking, and dazzling. Flashes of cameras and new fans hound over him – they're like you, people who fell in love with him at first sight. Smiling, you opened the door and went on your way.

*

Viktor Nikiforov was merely a figure-skater. That's what he told himself. He loved the ice beneath his skates; sliding, gliding, dancing. It was what he did for a living; it was the thing that he decided that he would devote his life to.

"Viktor."

He stops midway from stretching. Curiously, he looks up at his Coach – Yakov Feltsman; a rough man he may be, but was amazingly enough a kind being with a heart of gold – and sees him shoving a crumpled book of magazine in front of him.

"They wrote about you." Yakov's voice is gruff and is hoarse from the alcohol he drank from yesterday. "Good things."

"They did?" Viktor takes the magazine. There's a picture of him – fervent, with determination in his eyes, yet seemingly soft and genuine. It was a face of a real figure-skater; it was him. His eyes scanned down the article and swallows in the air. His throat feels suddenly dry. He is nervous, he notices. This was not the first time he felt like this.

Viktor Nikiforov – A Rising Star In The Rink; The Knight of Ice.

Yakov had been right. The article, thankfully enough, were mostly only about good things. Compliments here and there. Nothing new. He wasn't interested about such things. What he noticed in the article was that, unlike others that he have read about himself, it talked about the littlest details in his latest performance. His forms and moves, his expressions, the passion and genius behind his choreography. He feels a swell of pride riling him in.

"Who's the writer?" Viktor looks back at Yakov. "Who wrote it?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Came Yakov's reply.

His student frowned, and then returns his gaze towards the magazine and searches for the writer. He wants – needs – to know. His eye stops and turns wide once he sees it; it's written in small, bolded, printed, words, just underneath the title of the article.

[Name] [Surname].

He decides to meet up with them.

*

He had not expected the journalist to be a woman, much less a beautiful one.

She's sitting on the other side of the table, patiently stirring her hot cup of coffee. Viktor doesn't know what to do– and he usually does, most of the time – but this woman had rendered him speechless. She had made him looked lost without even with a lift of a finger. How dare she?

"You read it. The article." She was the first one to speak. She takes the coffee by the handle and takes a quick sip before placing it back on the saucer. "You were lovely. On your performance, I mean. I loved it. It was amazing. That's why I wrote about it."

His heart skips. "Thank you," he is breathless, and is lost. He doesn't know what to do. "It meant – it meant a lot. Your words... they really moved me."

"Did they?"

"Yes."

His answer had been instant, and it takes him a while to realize. A blush (how unlike of him, he thinks to himself) spreads all over his cheeks; roses tinted lightly on his face. You looked at him, one brow raised, amused. You did not expect him to be so easily flustered.

"I'm glad," Viktor is glad too – if you hadn't came to his performance, hand't impressed you, then he wouldn't have met you. He notices you pulling your purse closer to yourself and immediately thinks that he is losing your attention. "Is that all you wanted to say, Mister... Nikiforov?"

His heart skips again. He's never been like this. A boy caught so easily in between a woman's frail fingers. A boy so foolishly in love.

He longs for you to call him by his name; his first name. Viktor. Vitya.

"Actually..." He doesn't want you to leave yet. If only he could have you– just for a little longer. He wanted to spend some more time with you; time didn't matter to him, just as long as you were with him, then that was enough. He looks at you, his eyes boring into yours. You'd seen that look. It was the same look that made you fall in love with his performance.

"Would you like to see the performance one more time? It'll be a private show." Here, he gives you a smile. It is soft and sweet, like honey. "Just for you."

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author's note: idk how i want to write viktor yet so this is kinda ooc ? im sorry. i just wanted to explore his character a bit. so i wrote about viktor experiencing love at first sight. not rlly first love, but u get the gist. also it's late here and i didnt edit it lmao so yeah... this one is kind of a mess since i'm sleepy and i started writing this out of impulse. but thanks for reading anyways!

* Vitya : Russian diminutive for Viktor. Diminutive are usually used as a way of showing intimacy and endearment.