When the Russian gold medalist, Viktor Nikiforov moves to the small town of Hasetsu to coach Yuuri Katsuki, your old rink mate, your best friend despite your objections, decides to play matchmaker.
{ Highest Rank: 6 in fanfiction January 2017 }
By the way, if you do not celebrate Christmas, I am sorry. I personally do celebrate Christmas and since I have such a large family I have several different days that we open presents and gather together with family and friends. It is one of the biggest holidays for me and that is why I choose to make this chapter a Christmas morning in Y/N's past. How I have this setup, you would be five years old.
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With my eyes still closed, the smell of fresh baked cookies, pies, and other sweet treats wafts from the kitchen to my bedroom. I breathe in deeply and sigh. Christmas, aka the greatest holiday in the history of holidays...ever. Well, until another holiday rolls around and in that case, that holiday would be the greatest holiday in the history of forever. I mean come on, on New Years you stay up super duper late, Valentine's day is for you to cry about being single and gorge yourself on chocolate, and you get basketfuls of candy and chocolate for Easter, and Halloween you again get basketfuls of candy! Like, don't expect me to choose my favourite holiday because it's too damn hard!
{ A/N I was a really happy child...So that's what I'm writing...Feel free to add extra dialogue that expresses who you were as a smol bean child. }
Still hazy from sleep, I kick my feet out from under the blankets and slip out of bed. The cold air hits my legs and I brush my nightgown down to cover my exposed legs as it always slips up in the morning.
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{ A/N My mom used to always choose the 'cutest' nightgowns for me to wear on Christmas so...That's what this is... }
I glance at the clock that I only partly knew how to read. Between the light coming in through my windows and the time which I determined to be eight o'clock, I decided that it was late enough for me to tiptoe downstairs and look at the presents under the tree. Because of how old my house was, the floorboards creek underneath me at every step as I make my way from my bedroom to the stairs. I creep down them as quiet as I can and hear the murmur of adults talking coming from the kitchen.
"Is the pudding ready yet?" My mom calls from the walk-in pantry to my grandmother who is in the kitchen. I climb silently onto one of the bar stools and rest my elbows on the island. There were plates of iced cookies and other goodies on it that smelled delightful.
"It needs a moment longer" my grandma replies. I reach out for the plate of my F/C ( Favourite cookie. ) which conveniently was placed closest to me. I slowly drag it over in front of me and-
