Chapter Text
November, 2001. St, Petersburg, Russia.
“Hello, beautiful,” and almost instantly, the creature in front of him leans to his touch, “Sorry, I wasn’t able to steal a lot tonight.”
She whimpers, big beady eyes looking up in worry.
“It’ll be okay; we can share it in half!”
The soft bread he’s holding has such little warm left, and his hands are almost cold as he tries to break it in half.
“Makkachin?” He calls, and his poodle happily chomps up the bread. The boy almost cries as he eats his own piece.
“Lets... keep each other warm for the rest of the night, ‘kay...?” Before he knows it, hot tears are spilling to his pale cheeks, possibly the only thing that’ll be warm in his body tonight.
On my twelfth winter, I was spending the night with the only precious thing I have in the frozen streets of St. Petersburg.
“おにいさん,” he hears a voice above him, and he sees a boy, eyes brown and full of shine, “だいじょうぶ？”
“ぼくといっしょにスケートしませんか？” The boy continues, nudging forward the umbrella he’s extended towards him.
You approached the lonely me, asking me something in an unfamiliar language.
And of course, Makkachin barks softly, afraid that the boy might hurt them.
“あれ？いぬかわいい！なまえは？”
He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand. He’s twelve years old, and this boy who doesn’t seem to be older than eight is scaring him.
Once more, he’s starting to feel tears well up in his eyes.
The boy’s eyes follow each action he makes – from each shift of his sitting position, to how his grip on Makkachin tightens the more the seconds pass.
“勇利！”
They both turn to the person calling- a man of age with grey hair parted in the middle and glasses almost too big for his face. He’s with another old man, who’s wearing a hat and his eyes looming quietly with a heavily wrinkled face.
“何をするの？！この人誰？” The little boy opens his mouth and closes it again, then opening again; just like a little goldfish.
Your eyes sparkled brightly, especially when these gentlemen came to pick you up.
“ぼくのあたらしいともだち！”
As the old man’s face shifts to something more understanding, he smiles and kneels in front of the other boy.
“ハロ、少年,” the man says, a warm smile adorning his face as he extends his hands towards him, “日本語をはなしますかい？”
He doesn’t know, he wants to know.
The littlest he can do is shake his head, hoping for the best.
“No? English, do you know?”
The words sound familiar, but he doesn’t understand neither.
Finally, the other man speaks, his voice gruff and accent heavy on his words.
“Вы говорите по-русски?”
Then he nods.
“Да.”
April, 2017. Barcelona, Spain - home
Viktor blinks his eyes open, nearly blinded by the bright sunlight streaming in to the bedroom.
‘Since when did...?’ He asks himself as his eyes flicker to his right, seeing his old dog obstructing the other body in bed.
“Viktor... “ Said other body grumbles to his pillow, “your phone... “
“Sorry, sorry,” Viktor realises what made him wake up, and answers the bleeping phone at its fourth ring.
“алло!” Perhaps he sounds a little too cheerful this morning, as the other person in line groans.
“Oh?” He keeps his lips shut and tight, eyes staring at the white wall as he listened to what the person has to say.
“Yuuri,” he calls to his husband’s sleeping form, pulling the phone away from him.
“Vitya, it’s Sunday, let me sleep in... “ Grunting, the other man pulls the covers more.
“It’s Fairy,” Viktor tells him, his voice light and unreadable, “he said he’s back here in Barcelona with the files.”
With no reply from Yuuri, he continues, “he said, too, that the flight to Sweden was tedious and irritating, so he demands a reward. Should I invite him to come over?”
Now, Yuuri turns his head to meet his eyes. But he can’t- the Russian’s hair obstructs the only eye he can see so he sits up to his level.
He stares into his face for a moment, as if reading his every expression as Viktor smiles at him, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in the slightest.
Yuuri wonders how he could smile so happily like that – as if Yuuri’s simply the best thing to happen to him, as if Yuuri’s the only reason he exists, as if the galaxies exploded and Yuuri is the only star in the sky.
Opening his mouth, Yuuri feels the first syllable escape his mouth but cut off so immediately when they hear a yell come from Viktor’s phone.
But Viktor didn’t heed attention. “Yuuri?”
There it is again. It almost pains him. Viktor’s almost angelic.
The soft light that filtered through the window and their crème curtains landed so perfectly against his husband’s back, his face so softly warm and sweet. It’s not an almost, but definitely.
“I’ll-“ The Japanese feels the words stuck in his throat, something that hasn’t happened for a while. “I’ll go wash up.”
“It’s not a bad idea to invite him over,” he continues with a louder voice when he reaches their en suite bathroom, “our home’s always welcome for a member of our family.”
“Well, you heard him, фея,” Viktor laughs, as he hears the other boy in line curse in their mother language and cut the call right after.
With a smile, he puts his phone back to its place in the bedside table, before standing up to follow Yuuri in the bathroom.
He catches him just finishing brushing his teeth, washing the foam off his face.
“What?” Yuuri prompts when he catches the other staring, eyebrows raising in question.
“Nothing!” Viktor comes up to him, wrapping his arms around his slim waist.
If this was four years ago, Yuuri would be flushing red from neck to hair line.
“Sure.” His husband says noncommittedly while wiping his mouth with a towel, his eyes still not leaving Viktor in the mirror.
But no, that cute Yuuri’s gone. And Viktor would be lying if he said he doesn’t miss those times where he could just easily tease his lover.
“お・は・よ・う,” Viktor’s suddenly whispering to his ear, voice soft and nearly sultry, “Yuratchka.”
‘Ah,’ Viktor muses in his head as he sees Yuuri squirm a little in his hold, ‘I guess it isn’t so completely gone.’
Pressing a kiss against Yuuri’s neck, he feels him tense up even more. This just makes Viktor even more confident.
He slides a hand across Yuuri’s chest feeling him up until he reaches his jaw.
“Do you think- you can spare your husband some entertainment for a while?” Viktor continues while eyeing Yuuri in the mirror. The younger man’s flustered, something that doesn’t come around usually unless maybe they drank liquor.
Although, this time, it’s just morning. There’s alcohol in their system, and there’s no reason for it to be.
“Yurio’s-“ But he cuts him off with a press of his thumb to his lips.
“He won’t come until lunch,” Viktor smoothly replies, already knowing what he wants to say, “we have all the time this morning, won’t you spend it in bed with me?”
Yuuri catches the hand that falls from his face, lacing their fingers together as he feels the coldness of the wedding ring.
And with that, Viktor knows he’s won him over.
“Yakov?”
When Viktor answered the door, he expected to see just an angry sixteen year-old glaring up at him.
What he wasn’t expecting, however was to see Yakov instead with the faintest of smiles with Yurio behind him and furiously texting.
“Yuuri!” He calls to his husband, who promptly comes to the door, just to be startled at the presence of his adoptive father.
“Как дела, Yuuri?” Yakov prompts, his arms raised in the slightest as if to welcome a hug.
“Yakov!” And Yuuri does. He pulls the old man in an almost bone crushing hug if he wasn’t so concerned about his back.
Viktor just smiles at the side, knowing how much Yuuri missed the old man.
“Spasibo, xorošo,” Yuuri replies as he pulls away, a big smile on his face. “А ty?”
“Oh I’m very well, my boy,” Yakov answers with a hearty laugh, before pausing, “but what I see that’s not doing well is still your butchered Russian!”
The comment makes Viktor hold a hand to his mouth to prevent hysterical laugh. Yurio, however sniggers in the back, ugly snorts coming from his mouth.
When he calms down, he returns to his glare, and says, “I want katsudon.”
“What happened to the English dogs?” Yakov sits down at the dining table, watching Viktor set down a bowl in front of him – Pork cutlet bowl.
“The Walkers?” The man supplies, mouth forming an ‘o’.
“S’that their last name?”
“I think?” Viktor walks up to Yuuri, who’s preparing Yurio’s lunch serving. He wraps an arm around him, flashing a big grin. “Whatever! It doesn’t matter as my husband and I have already wiped off their base, didn’t we, zorotse?”
“Of course, but you have yet to catch the guy to escape the last minute, anata,” Yuuri replies, not fully paying attention to him.
“Come on! I can order any Avtoritet of ours to do the work as our lovely Pakhan isn’t willing to spoil any more blood to his hands.”
“Obviously I’m not willing to, after all it’s your job to-“
“Will you please stop arguing with disgusting bedroom eyes and finish my fucking lunch?!”
Their eyes turn to Yurio who’s scowling as he’s leaning on the wooden the chair.
Yuuri doesn’t say anything else, and finally does the final touches to Yurio’s bowl before handing it to Viktor to serve it.
“Let’s skip the family talk for now,” the Japanese man says as he sits down on his chair, picking up his pair of chopsticks. “We can talk about Yurio’s boyfriend later, I need-“
“He’s not my boyfriend!” Yurio angrily retaliates, and it would’ve been intimidating if it weren’t for him shoving rice to his mouth.
“Boyfriend?” Yakov doesn’t seem fazed by Yurio, neither does he seem aware on Yurio’s... social situation.
“Oh you know his new partner? Altin? He’s been close with him lately- “
”Viktor!”
With a chuckle, Viktor shuts up, as Yakov just nods in understanding.
“Anyway, as I was saying, I need to hear about the files Yuuko sent.”
The teenager fishes around his jacket, looking for something and finds the USB he brought with him.
“They’re all in here,” he slams the USB in Yuuri’s space, not missing a beat and immediately continues eating.
“Well, I guess there’s nothing to exactly worry about, then,” Viktor comments with a smile, his eyes meeting Yuuri’s eyes.
Yuuri sees what Viktor is trying to tell him with just that look- ‘Won’t you enjoy lunch with your family for now, solnyshko?’
“I suppose so,” Yuuri answers with a sigh, and brings piece to his mouth to bite.
Delicious.
“Yuuri.”
But he doesn’t answer, his eyes not leaving the laptop in front of him.
“Lapochka?” Viktor tries again, but to no avail.
He sits next to him on their bed, curious to what stole his husband’s attention from him.
The screen is full of Japanese text, and even though Viktor tried his best in learning the language, his memory can only go as far as remembering a handful of Grade One kanji.
“Kinou...” He looks at Yuuri, who’s reading the text out loud with eyes unreadable and voice blank. “Kinou... Minako-san wo mita.”
“Yuuri?” Viktor panics. “Yuuri?! What’s wrong- hey, what’s wrong?!”
And Yuuri just realises that- oh. He’s crying.
“Vitya,” he starts, voice suddenly small, “do you... remember Minako-sensei? The one who died with my family when I was away?”
Viktor trains his memory for a moment, before saying, “yes, I do. Wasn’t she your ballet instructor when you were around ten years old?”
“Yeah, she was.”
He doesn’t get a second to register what’s happening, but dear God, Yuuri’s on his chest, sobbing to his neck and hands tightening in his arms that held protectively around him.
The Russian lets him cry for a while, waiting for him to calm down to ask a question.
“You okay?” He checks, kissing the tears under Yuuri’s eye.
“Sorry for suddenly crying,” Yuuri apologises with sniffle, kissing the hand that Viktor held against his face.
“S’ okay,” it’s all what Viktor says, before embracing his husband again, “it’s always okay.”
They lay silently for a while, with Viktor nearly falling asleep as he feels Yuuri’s heartbeat relaxing against his.
“Vitya,” but suddenly he’s so awake again and his eyes are straining to meet the man in front of him, the man who’s been ruthless enough for the past few years to not bat an eye when killing a person who’s on their knees, the man he gave his everything ever since he met him one winter.
“What’s wrong, Yuratchka?”
“Yuuko. She- she saw Minako-sensei the other day.”