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Yuri reclines in the chair, glaring down at his cast-wrapped leg as if by sheer force of will he can make it heal faster. Six weeks. He may actually explode before he's able to get back on the ice.

“Turn that frown upside down,” Viktor says all-too-cheerfully as he comes back from getting the mail. “Positivity is an important part of the healing process.”

Yuri growls. “Like you wouldn't be every bit as impatient. I'm missing half the season. It's going to be almost impossible to catch up.”

“I have faith in you, zvezda moya,” Viktor murmurs, dropping a kiss to his cheek, and Yuri can't stay mad when he's talking to him like that.

“Anything good?” he asks instead, gesturing to the pile of letters.

“More well wishes,” Viktor says, dropping the pile in his lap.

Yuri groans. He loves his fans, he really does, but at times like this it's just so much work to keep up with them. He has to be courteous, though – they really do want him to get better. He shuffles through the pile, glancing at the addresses. Most of them are local fans, many from Hasetsu itself, others from around Japan. The occasional postcard from another country. Then, near the bottom, there's an envelope postmarked in Russia. Yuri raises an eyebrow when he looks at the return address.

“What's that?” Viktor asks when he sees him pause.

Yuri turns the envelope toward him. “It's from Yuri Plisetsky.”

Viktor shrugs. “That's kind of him.”

Yuri doesn't answer as he pulls open the envelope from the boy who's possibly his biggest rival. Inside is a card. The cover is plain, reading simply GET WELL SOON. Yuri flips it open and does a double-take.

“What is it?”

Yuri laughs in surprise and hands the card over to Viktor. His coach takes in the words Better you than me accompanied by a roughly-drawn picture of Yuri mid-fall, with his blonde rival laughing raucously at the nearby rinkside. Viktor raises an eyebrow, but says, “Did you see this bit at the bottom?”

“What?” Yuri takes the card back and reads the tiny text at the bottom of the card aloud. “'Seriously. Winning gold at the Grand Prix Final won't mean as much if I don't do it by beating you.'” Yuri snorts and deadpans, “I guess he really does miss me.”

“Use it as encouragement!” Viktor exclaims, snapping as if he's just had a brilliant idea. “Heal up, get back in shape, catch up, and beat your rival at the Final!”

Yuri thumbs his head back against the chair's headrest. “You do realize that nothing is actually going to affect how quickly my leg knits back to together.”

“Positive thinking!” Viktor admonishes again, whapping him in the head with the rest of the letters. “Now open the rest of them.”

Yuri sighs long-sufferingly but does as he's told.

*zvezda moya = my star