A High School Excursion

Oneshot

Notes:

Set: 2017- Yuri is 16 (and has won the Senior Grand Prix for Men's Singles)

Honestly, how many people watch ice-skating? Not many. So Yuri would have been able to be anonymous for a while now-and with his personality, he wouldn't have any friends at school.
Viktor is well known because he's been featured on magazines for a while now-stuff like 'Russia's hottest guy', maybe.

[See end notes for edit notes]

'Why was he here again?' Wondered one Yuri Plisetsky.

It had been a normal, extremely average day at school. He sat the back of in his P.E classroom and stared out of the window. He was observing a tree whose branches swayed with each breath of wind and studiously not paying attention, until...

"Ok, class! Next Monday we're going to the ice-rink as part of our semester sports excursion!" Exclaimed his teacher (whom he had never bothered to find out his name. Besides, he was a shitty teacher anyway). He was an old man with a mousy grey moustache, was balding, fat and always wore ugly grey sweaters. Once a semester, the unfortunate students of this high school were forced to go out and do an activity. Last year it was surfing (in the cold Russian climate it was a terrible idea, and no-one hated it more that Yuri [he ended up getting sick and having to take a break from skating]). Unfortunately it was ice-skating this time around. ('Does God hate me?' pondered the figure skater.) And to top it all of, it was at the rink he practised in. Meaning, a possibility of Yakov appearing.

"Oh, and by the way, the excursion counts towards your grades-so don't think you can skip out on it." Stated the obnoxious know it all teacher.

Fuck his life.

And so he was here at the ice-rink on the dreaded Monday. He was wearing his Grand Prix jacket and he had a backpack on (which contained his skates, because he'd be damned if he had to use the substandard ones). After waiting in a fucking, long line that stretched all the way out onto the carpark (which was understandably completely empty, as his school had booked the rink for the day). He stepped through the entrance, ignoring the ticket booth on his left and stepping onto the fuzzy blue carpet. Yuri barely glanced at the familiar surroundings, as he saw them everyday (and even in his dreams). He skipped the line for the rental skates (ignoring a "Yuri Plisetsky! Don't you need a pair?" from that teacher whose nose reminded him of a pig and smelt like shit) and made his way to a bench facing the rink. He pulled out his pair of (the finest quality, he wouldn't settle for less) skates, laced them up tightly and slipped on his gloves (he noticed he was the only one to wear them). The Punk impatiently waited for the rest of the peasants (read: other students) to get their skates.

"Alright kids! ('What a pretentious asshole', Yuri thought)" He clapped his hands.

"We're going to sort you into groups now. Sasha, Alexei, Anastasia and Nikolai, your instructor is over there." 'Mousy Moustache' pointed to one of the many instructors who had lined up unnoticed behind him. Said instructor was wearing a sky-blue shirt with a nametag on it and as usual, the blonde teenage zoned out until his name was called. The time when it was called was all too soon and he trudged his way to his assigned instructor-an man in his 40s-ish with an impressive beard-and upon reaching him, gave his best glare (which was actually, quite impressive, considering his diminutive size). The instructor was unfazed.

Once everyone had been assigned to a group, they all made their way onto their assigned spot on the far-right corner. Once there, his instructor gave the typical introduction, starting with an even more typical "Hello, I'm..." and a bunch of (unimportant) rules. The Ice-Tiger ignored him and idly wondered how no-one had noticed who he was yet. He was in an ICE RINK for god's sake (he basically lived in this rink) and he was only the person who won the Grand Prix in his senior debut which was unheard of!