Yakov laughs a little, but Victor barrels past it as the world spins, spins, spins.

There's only one thing he can do. He has to go. He can't go. He has to stay with Yuri. He can't stay with Yuri.

He can't be here, but he has to be here. There's no one else he trusts to stay with Yuri, to coach him and help him and encourage him, and he knows it's asking a lot, too much, but there's no one else he has to ask.

There is only Yakov. Yakov, who, along with Maccachin, feels like he has been the whole of Victor's family for almost the last twenty years. "Can you be Yuri's coach tomorrow, for just one day?"

Maybe Yakov is frustrated with him. Probably he's still upset over Victor leaving, collecting his fifth consecutive World Champion gold medal and hopping on a plane what seemed like the very next day. He knows Yakov has every right to deny this request, but he still makes it. His fingers still dig into the solid shoulders under that old coat, still strong and steady, held straight from many years on the ice, and his voice is still a desperate, heartfelt plea.

(He didn't ask Yakov for his help for that whole year, only sank further and further into a frustrated and furious depression.

He should have asked. He's asking now.)