This is kind of my headcanon as to how I expect things to unfurl. Slight spoilers for episode 5. May or may not get trounced by canon.

Yuuri had almost slept through the loud banging, the soft mattress that he was practically sinking into and the warm, heavy duvet almost instantly drawing him back down into oblivion.

But when the noise turned into angry Russian, words incoherent to him but tone and voice (was that Yurio?) tugging him back into full awareness, he couldn't help but stumble out of the bed and towards the front door of the apartment.

When he and Victor had arrived in Moscow for the Rostelecom Cup, Victor had demanded that they stay at his place, insisting it would be more comfortable than a hotel room. Even if, in Victor's words that were tainted a little with longing, it wasn't as nice as his home in St. Petersburg.

Yuuri found it difficult to believe that Victor could have an even nicer place than this, the warm and tastefully furnished apartment close to the arena, but not flashy or ostentatious like he could have imagined a year ago from the picture of Victor he had painted in his head by tabloids and glossy magazine spreads and his own idealised fantasies. He liked the reasonably sized, two bedroom apartment that needed the kitchen worktops wiped down and new linens pulled out and dust beaten off of the compact sofa more than a ridiculous image of gold plated taps and marble floors anyway. At least Victor had had the sense of mind to throw out most of his food before he had flittered off to Japan on a whim, because he wasn't sure that they would have smiled quite so much over cleaning up the months of neglect if the apartment had smelt like sour milk and rotten vegetables.

But sour milk would have probably been more pleasant than stumbling upon Victor trying to keep an angry, wobbling Yurio upright and at arms length whilst the teenaged boy waved his arms about wildly, jabbing pointed fingers roughly at Victor's direction on occasion and further into the apartment at other times whilst spitting out god knows what in clearly angry Russian. Yuuri knew a few words of Russian, mostly basic polite phrasing and standard greetings and niceties, but he was damned sure than none of the words coming out of Yurio's mouth could be classed as polite or nice.

'Is he drunk?!' Yuuri could smell traces of alcohol in the air, and as he stepped further into the room the aroma increased and was horrified to see that the flush on Yurio's skin was from more than anger and that his barely upright rant was less coordinated than he would expect from someone who managed to somehow look poised and graceful even when spitting like an angry cat on most days.

Unfortunately, announcing his presence seemed to be the wrong move to make, because the, apparently, drunken rage that had previously been focused on Victor now sharpened it's gaze on him. He couldn't help but take two steps back into the wall as Yurio broke free of Victor's grasp and stumbled towards him, getting no further than a metre before tripping over his own feet and being caught by the back of his coat and put mostly back upright by Victor, looking far more amused than he had any right to be.

'He's a little upset over the result.' Victor explained, voice tainted with light laughter as he dodged Yurio's hands trying to swipe backwards to get him to release his grip.

'But, he won?' Yuuri couldn't help but be confused. His short programme had beaten Yurio's by two points but Yurio's free programme had beaten his by 3.2 points. Fortunately, his score from the China Cup had been enough for him to progress to the Grand Prix Final, and Yurio's place was also secure, but he had thought that Yurio would have been rubbing this victory into Yuuri's face, not screaming drunken Russian curses.

'Because you fell, moron!' Yurio suddenly switching to their English drew Yuuri's attention fully onto the boy, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to what was making Yurio so angry about his mistakes. 'You fell three times, you idiot, and I was fucking perfect and there is no fucking way I am winning anything because you fucking handed it to me!'

Yuuri gasped as he realised what had Yurio so angry. His falls, though none as bad as faceplanting into the side of the rink, would have certainly cost him more than the 1.2 point difference between their final scores.

Victor was trying, once more, to placate Yurio, soft coaxing Russian a sharp contrast to the vicious words Yurio was still firing out.

'I'm going to get even better, piggy, you fucking believe it. Because I am going to win the Grand Prix Final and stomp your ass into the ice.' Yurio was leaning heavily towards him now, one arm held back by Victor and, possibly, the only thing holding him up as he swayed side to side, the finger pointed towards Yuuri's face sweeping more towards the door beside him than in Yuuri's actual direction. 'So you better get better too, because I'm not having anyone tell me that I only won because you couldn't land your fucking Quad Salchow.'

The words, though slurred and more heavily accented than normal, were still a clear challenge and, through the anger and, Yuuri suspected, a little self hatred, he could even hear a little respect for a fellow competitor that hadn't been there when Yurio had been shouting at him for crying in a toilet cubicle or blaming him for Victor flying off to Japan instead of composing his Senior Debut.

He couldn't help but straighten up and respond to the challenge, taking a deep breath and looking Yurio straight in the eye, ignoring the slightly glazed look from the younger boy and taking his drunken words seriously.

'I will.' Yuuri could see Victor's smile behind Yurio's head, 'I'm going to get better and I'm going to land my jumps and when I win it'll be because I deserved it.' He watched Yurio's eyes narrow at his declaration of winning, but the boy didn't scoff at him like he almost suspected. 'So you'd better work hard, too, because I know how good you're going to be, Yuri,' He deliberately left off the 'o' his sister had added, addressing him by his proper name, 'And I won't have you going easy on me.'

His words were like a valve, the tension in Yurio's form easing out and Victor having to grab his waist to stop the boy from falling to the floor. Yuuri moved forward, reaching towards him now that he felt that getting closer wouldn't result in Yurio clawing his eyes out. Now that the adrenaline from his anger was fading, it seemed that whatever alcohol he'd drowned his frustrations with could now take it's hold. 'I'm gonna beat you.' The mumbled words were soft but still full of conviction and Yuuri smiled at him, helping Victor in getting the boy more upright, despite the signs that Yurio wouldn't be awake much longer.

'You can try.'

His words didn't get any response from Yurio, who's drowsiness was now fully in control, but Yuuri couldn't help but look over Yurio's shoulder into the warm gaze of Victor, who still looked highly amused at the entire situation but also looked proud and fond.

'I like your confidence, Yuuri.' Yuuri couldn't help but flush. Despite all of the work Victor had put into trying to build his self esteem, it was still a problem he struggled with. But something about Yurio and his impassioned rage and anger at not beating Yuuri's best skating made him want to do better. Made him know he could do better.

Whilst a part of him had always wanted to be better to be close enough to touch Victor's level, the younger him never believing he could reach him but wanting to at least be worth his notice, he'd found his goals shifting since Victor became his coach. He wasn't an unreachable fantasy, anymore, but a warm breathing presence that made him want to shine for him and show him everything he is and could be.

But having someone push him and drive him towards his goals, challenging him professionally and, even, directly to his face was a different feeling and something that had been missing in his career thus far. He couldn't help but feel bolstered by that fact that Yuri Plisetsky, someone so skilled and, whilst young and naive, brimming with talent waiting to unfurl, saw him as the person to beat.

'Ah, we'd better get the angry kitten to bed.' Yuuri looked down to find that, indeed, Yurio's form had slumped even more and his eyes were closed and his face had relaxed in slumber. Victor picked the boy up, casually slinging him up like he was carrying a toddler, and making his way towards his bedroom, Yuuri scurrying ahead to open the door for him. Victor's room was more cluttered than the spare room he'd been staying in, personal artifacts strewn about and scattering the surfaces. But it was like a snapshot in time from before he had left for Japan, with his Russian international athlete training clothes folded on the side waiting to be put away and a book that Yuuri knew had been repurchased and had since been read sitting on the bedside cabinet with a bookmark inserted. His room at the Onsen back in Hasetsu had slowly become cluttered in a similar way, filled with little things he had picked up from the local tourist attractions and articles and magazine pages tracking Yuuri's progress through the season tacked onto various surfaces.

Yuuri pulled back the covers on the bed, letting Victor place the boy down so that he could pull the thick, heavy coat off of Yurio's shoulders whilst Yuuri reached down and pulled off his shoes. Yurio looked younger, in sleep, and it was difficult to believe that this teenager, barely out of junior competition, was such a fierce and challenging rival. But, he also couldn't help but feel fond of him, knowing that that underneath all of the attitude and angry hissing was a person who had taken the time to try and teach him how to land a jump, even when it was to his own disadvantage.

He picked up the boy's legs and swung them up into the bed, covering him whilst Victor pulled his phone out of his pocket. He was pretty sure he saw Victor snap a picture that would probably end up on Instagram at some point, before pulling up a contact.

'I'll ring Yakov and let him know where Yurio is.' Yuuri couldn't help but wonder how worried the coach must be, because for Yurio to have ended up at Victor's apartment in such a state he must have been missing for hours. God knows where he had even gotten the alcohol from.

'Go back to bed and I'll join you when I'm done.'

Yuuri's thoughts screeched to a halt and he looked up at Victor, the blush he knew was rapidly filling his cheeks growing brighter at the smirk he saw.


'Well,' Victor purred, the smile on his face flirtatious and teasing even though the affection in his eyes, fixed on Yuuri, belayed the joking tone, 'I can't share a bed with a 15 year old. That would be very inappropriate.'

No, I'm not writing the bedsharing. I'm leaving that to everyone's imagination!

(In my imagination it's all snuggly and sweet because the UST still has several episodes to go through but each to their own! But if anyone wants to write the continuation I am totally up for that!)