The smell wafting up to my face was heavenly, much better than anything I've made at home and I felt like I needed to dig in before I started drooling. As I lifted my chopsticks to my mouth, Viktor proclaimed proudly, "we made lots of progress today. Just don't forget to work on your Eros and Agape. Remember," his voice went sly as he grinned at the two boys, "I will coach whoever wins." My brain paused, intaking the new information. So Viktor will either coach Katsuki or Plisetsky.

      "Will you go back to Russia either way to coach? And will you still compete this year?" I question him and he laughs. Leaning his head on his hand, he smirks at me, "how cute. I will go back to Russia for Yurio if he wins, but I will stay here if Japanese Yuri wins to coach him."

       I nodded mindlessly and muttered, "interesting," and went back to slurping on my Ramen.

      "Despite asking the question, you don't seem very interested in the answer," Viktor observed, still looking at me, now a monotone look on his face.

     I look towards my friend who still had a face full of table and the other who was quietly eating his meal but side eyeing me the whole time. Then I look back at Viktor and nonchalantly respond, "you being here will be good publicity for Hasetsu. Which means hopefully more people will go to the skating rink."

         He kept looking at me, as if silently asking, "and?"

        Looking away from the three bashfully, I explain, "I believe I'm one of the few that is keeping the rink afloat. No one skates here anymore, which makes it hard for them to bring in income. But I'm thinking about going to Tokyo and helping my parents with their business."

        "So you skate, yes?" Yuri Plisetsky asks, finally talking.

        Shame burns all the way from the tips of my toes to the top of my ears, "I suppose you can say that."

       "Why stop?" Viktor questions innocently.

         Because I'm not good at it, "Because I'm getting too old. Maybe it's something I should retire and settle down for something less taxing mentally and physically."

        "You can't stop skating!" My friend shouts in a panic, out of his daze. "And I now I know what Eros is! A pork cutlet bowl!"

        The table went silent. We all blankly stared at Yuri until Viktor sat up straight and opened his arms in a welcoming manner, "if that is your Eros, then that is your Eros!"

       My face twisted up in confusion and I ook at Russian Yuri and he gives me a look that is telling me not to ask.

        After getting over his initial embarrassment, Yuri grabs my hand shyly and repeats himself but quieter, "you can't stop skating. You can't quit."
 
         The look he was giving me squeezed my heart and a shamefully looked away, "let's not discuss this here, Yuri. Let's give Mr. Plisetsky and Mr. Nikiforov warm welcomes."

        "Ah, please, call me Viktor," the blue eyed man says and waves his hand dismissively. "And I believe it's a conversation you can have here. Don't let me stop you."

         I remove my hand from Yuri's and fake a smile, "no. It's alright, Viktor. I am not comfortable speaking about such a matter anyways. So let's drop it and continue celebrating, okay?"

        He blinks, taken back, then matches my fake smile with a warm one, and pours me a glass of sake, "okay, (Name)."