Chapter Text
It was December. The cold and stiff fingers became a regular morning ordeal, a reminder of his poor circulation. Yuuri moisturized like a soccer mom in a mid-life crisis (after cleansing his face of course), and wore thick socks. Those that made the world seem like a giant pillow with each step. If only swirling thoughts weighed in his brain were as light as a pillow.
His scarves—well his one woven scarf (courtesy of Yuko’s crochet club)—wrapped around his neck made the wind bearable. The passage of time was measured with each monthly payment to the landlord, but he never knew how to measure the depth of this companionship with Viktor—or anybody else for that matter.
It took a while to understand misunderstandings, particularly those catapulted by cultural differences. But he’s been everywhere at this point. He could pinpoint personal milestones with people- those that pivot your relationship and re-center your connection and add a seasoning you didn’t know it needed. A promise of things to come. Yuko inviting him over to her house when they were kids. Phichit passing him a small white pill as he retched over the toilet, glass of cold water in hand. The first time he noticed a pube.
And with Viktor, it was difficult. Simply because he didn’t know what exactly happened, or exactly defined what they were. He had never kissed someone before, someone that he liked beyond “let’s just watch TV and rot before getting started on school work”. Kissing strangers and kissing your roommate with whom you share space and time are two completely different things. He kind of wished to remember, but it being commemorated on social media and witnessed by his entire social circle was more than enough. He was paparazzi’d, Britney Spear-ed from the moment he had been curious about with this one particular person. To know what it felt like to kiss Viktor, and maybe see where things can flow and whip. If there was such a reality where an inkling of handholding was possible.
So he did what he knew best. He tiptoed. He tiptoed in the house, when he went to the bathroom, timed his departures and cooking when Viktor would never even have a chance to breathe in any shared space. He rushed to finish his assignments, trying to be asleep by the time Viktor came home (now this was hard, considering he had to basically summon every drop of energy he had immediately after work).
In other words, he was an asshole. A very sneaky one. The act gets old fairly quickly, or so he realizes when Viktor suddenly made his appearance known so suddenly Yuuri didn’t have time to even look for a hiding spot. It was pathetic. And stupid.
“There you are. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me,” Viktor murmured, a wry smile looking very forced and pained.
And why that made his stomach lurch, his guilt chest-deep, well-- he didn’t like knowing that he was responsible for that. He knew he was. And Viktor was the type to hardly conceal what he felt, it was always showcased on his face. The downturn of his usual grin, a very visible tension between this brows, his crow’s feet a bit more pronounced. Yuuri attempted to smile back, pretty sure he also mirrored the exact constipated expression. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. There was a lot more to say, of course, but the Hamtaro pencil case still weighed heavy in his mind. As most things do.
It would be so easy to let go. To say nothing mattered, or was wrong, but he didn’t know if he could stand seeing the other half of the room empty. With no trace of anyone, not even Viktor. Then again, Viktor made him feel many emotions every mile, like some toddler on the loose.
There would be a cup of tea without fucking fail waiting on the counter, every morning, taunting him and reminding him that he was definitely the human equivalent of feces. Oolong tea that was perfectly made too, with just the perfect amount of milk.
“I know you are,” Viktor sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. The dark circles contrasted deeply with blue, lines so visible Yuuri had the sudden urge to hug him and make a cup of tea as an apology. (That was so American, the hugging, not the tea). Before he could bring himself to use his vocal chords again, everything went pitch black.
Bulbs popped and the microwave went dead. His rice cooker beeped until it was forced to power off with a resigned hiss. The only source of light was his candle from TJ Maxx. “That-that can’t be good.”
“We paid the bill, right?” Viktor asked slowly, crossing his arms. His accent pricked those words worriedly and made the situation all the more alarming (if his straining ear was anything to go by) Yuuri never forgot to pay the bills, ever. If there was anything his pathetic brain could grasp, it would be deadlines that involved money. “I am positive—“
“Yes, we did! So what else-“
They heard shuffling in the hallway, it all going in one direction. His vision reduced itself to Viktor’s silhouette, relief creeping up like a ghost. The power went out, which meant they had something else besides a rift to talk about. He cracked his knuckles out of habit, deciding to use the flashlight in his phone. Luckily it was on 67%. “We should head out, perhaps?” Viktor asked, still standing stock still like they were about to be robbed any second. “Where would we go? The library? I’m quite hungry, Yuuri.”
“Let’s go to the bar, or something. The one with the hot dogs-“
“Yes!” Viktor coughed, clearing his throat and trying to compose himself. It was as if their silent one-sided standoff wasn’t even real. “I mean, yes. Yes, that sounds alright.” Yuuri pointed his phone on the floor, trying to see where the hell he left his sneakers. Viktor walking behind him and trying his best not to trip on anything made it hard not to smile, the darkness gladly hiding that. Viktor’s company was a reprieve he didn’t know he desperately needed. Well, he did, but the intensity of it threw him off.
They grabbed their coats, Viktor’s hands already in their sleek, black leather gloves, his scarf wrapped elegantly around his neck. Yuuri tried to mirror that, but instead looked like an overstuffed potato as he layered in a manner that would make his mother proud. He really couldn’t afford to get sick right now. They walked stiffly in the hallway, focusing on the people chattering away to the latest complex gossip. “-pay bills here! For what?! For this!”
An older woman tutted. “Right? I can’t believe-“
“The rent is already up the roof!” Yuuri and Viktor walked away from their neighbors, not wanting to be a part of this conversation. The outside world greeted them with a freely blue, cloudless sky.
“She’s not wrong, the rent really is ridiculous-“
“Viktor, please don’t start-“
“I’m just stating the facts,” he said mildly, grinning. They crossed the street, keeping a respectable distance from each other. “Respectable” was absolutely not what Yuuri had in mind. Yuuri sighed and tucked his hands further in his jacket, fingers grazing long forgotten crumbs from cookies he had promised to eat but was too guilty to waste.
“I look so gross right now. I chose my fattest sweater and fattest jacket, my skin is greasy,” he rambled off, not sure where exactly he was going with that. He turned to Viktor ready for judgement, but he was greeted with a choked-out laugh, one that buttered the edges of his nerves. Very heart-hammering how Viktor tried very hard not to be amused.
“You look fine. I, on the other hand, would really appreciate having a hot dog in my mouth.” Before either of them could react with any coherence, Viktor sputtered and clapped Yuuri’s back a little too hard. “You know what I meant,” he sniffed and walked ahead, his embarrassment revealing itself on the back of his neck. “Yuuri, we’re going to have a booth to ourselves!” The door opened with a simpering jingle, their hostess immediately seating them at the back. His brain caught on the word “ourselves.” It felt like one of those movie scenes, titles swishing in his mind:
My Best Friend’s Wedding, Notting Hill, Julia Roberts. That scene in Spider Man 3, where the proposal went wrong. Granted, he wasn’t expecting marriage, but definitely an emotional climax.
The whole bar was packed, people decked in suits and nine-to-five attire, buzzing with conversation and laughter. Yuuri could tell everything was in full swing, if the bartender’s rumpled collar and loosened tie was anything to go by. It was a dark, wood-furnished haven, each table lit by a single fat candle. There was no one he recognized, no one who’d be trailing or making a snide comment with their eyes. He could make out the curve of Viktor’s biceps through his thick vest, and what did he do to deserve this?
“Yuuri?”
“Ha-Yes. Yes?”
Viktor blinked. “What do you want to drink?” Concern was never reassuring. The waiter had a still hand on his pad.
“Margarita,” he blurted, readjusting his glasses. “House, salt on the rim please.” The waiter nodded and disappeared swiftly, and it dawned to Yuuri that he suddenly lost the ability to interact with any human being. “How-how have you been?”
Viktor smiled wryly, his eyes trained on cutlery Yuuri didn’t know existed. “Yuuri, we’re past that, I think.”
He didn’t know he’d be sighing so much this evening. “I always start with small talk,” he mumbled, feeling shaky. “You make me nervous. And I do want to know how you’ve been.” He meant the last part. It was probably the candle making this seem like he currently starred in a Korean drama. Now those he was very familiar with. But making eye contact with Viktor after days of pattering around him was a shock to his system. His only interactions were with Yuko and Phichit via Twitter, and even those were limited. All they wanted to talk about was how much he avoided Viktor, sending him these memes that were downright disrespectful. Something they found hilarious, much to Yuuri’s dismay.
Viktor picked up quickly, meeting Yuuri halfway like he always did. Like he’d always be willing to do. “Well,” he started, and Yuuri loved how the W always flickered into a shy V, “I’ve been focusing on my readings for my research class. And my students are doing excellent progress. I’m on season six for Bob’s Burgers-“
“Season six?” He didn’t mean to sound hurt, but Viktor’s wince was more than enough.
“You were avoiding me! What else was I supposed to do in my free time? I have no one but you and Chris to speak to. And Chris lives very, very, very far away.”
“What about Yuri?” He hated how weak that sounded.
They didn’t notice the fact the disgruntled waiter stood stock still for the past two minutes. “Yuri is not very nice when I decide to rot. And if I told him you were avoiding me, he would probably be plotting your murder.”
Yuuri shivered, not doubting that for a second. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Are you ready to order?”
Viktor chose the first thing he read. “I’ll have what he’s having,” Yuuri said quickly. His margarita was more than halfway gone, and if having nothing but anxiety for breakfast counted as nutrition, his stomach was more than ready.
“You’re ridiculous,” Viktor mumbled, rubbing his eyes. The Long Island was gone too.
“I apologize for being disrespectful. And avoiding you when you’ve been nothing but kind and patient. Incredible,” Yuuri said, very aware his face felt warm. Whether it was due to the alcohol or his shame, take a pick.
“Incredible,” Viktor repeated a bit clumsily. “I am!” He agreed, perching himself on his elbows with such earnest enthusiasm Yuuri was sure he looked baffled. “But you are too. You’re more incredible. That’s why I am taken by you. And kissed you.”
Yuuri sucked every drop out of his margarita, motioning the bartender for another. Those words whizzed by him until they settled down permanently in his brain, and who knew dopamine was just amazing. The words “taken” and “kiss.” They seemed related. “Taken by me? What does that mean? Where am I taking you?” He mindfully didn’t mention the kiss.
“I am speaking formally, I apologize. Er, sorry. Sonnets were how-“
“I don’t like sonnets,” Yuuri cut in, recalling vividly his eight AM lit class from last semester. The waiter reappeared again, this time with two huge hot dogs, another margarita and Long Island, a greasy mountain of fries, ranch and coleslaw.
They stared at their food in silence and Yuuri couldn’t bear it, he carefully tried to hold his hot dog and was shocked when it was slapped back down in its fancy holster. “We are talking about feelings before we eat,” Viktor said emphatically, a determined expression Yuuri only saw when they skated. It made him look bananas, and Yuuri loved bananas. He was also vaguely aware he was tipsy and everything Viktor did seemed to deserve a sticker.
“Feelings? I feel hungry right now.” He tried not to sound like Mari whenever she decided to quit smoking, a hoarse sort of resignation.
“Me too. I want to tell you that I like you, Yuuri,” Viktor said, but with a hint of impatience this time. “Romantic emotions. Love—“
Yuko was right. He was an idiot. “I like you too.” Why he decided to squeak when everyone was loud was beyond him.
“What?” Viktor said.
“I said I like you too,” he said more forcefully.
“I know, I just wanted to hear you say it again,” Viktor laughed. He sobered up at that, unsure. Strangling someone was illegal. That was a fact. Not an alternative fact. His tongue felt fat and heavy. Cotton candy stuffed his lungs, so airy and weightless he was sure his organs disappeared. “Yuuri, I do love your company.” There was such a saturation of fondness there he had no problem believing it.
“Me too. But can we eat now? I’m hungry.”
They locked eyes and had no hesitation stuffing their hot dogs, a tipsy daze making this so surreal Yuuri was waiting to hit rock bottom and wake up. There’d be a cold draft in the room, Viktor’s bed gone, the whole other half of the room completely devoid of any human presence. But someone smoking a cigarette under the lamp post across the street, his wooden chair kind of hurting his back, and Viktor looking slightly pink in the face while eating a hot dog appeared to be a reality.
“I love you too,” Viktor said with conviction, still looking so striking with chili all over his chin. Yuuri looked away, half-chewing his bite and swallowing it. His anus will regret it later.
“Don’t say that.” He fiddled with the loopy fry, wishing he had a fork to eat them with.
“But I do!”
“Yes, but love…is very serious. You can’t just throw it around-“
“I’m not throwing it around,” Viktor replied calmly, like it was the complete and only truth. “Do I seem like the type to throw around love easily?”
“No.”
Viktor smiled brightly. “Thank you.” The waiter never approached them again, their candle still dancing playfully and their appetite disappearing.
“Love…is very important. It’s not something you just-“
“Yuuri, I’m aware of cultural differences, but I am sincere. Especially under the influence of alcohol.” They barely touched the coleslaw, but the fries had a noticeable dent. Their glasses were mostly ice at this point and the hot dogs were gone. The pitch-black darkness outside looked welcoming, even the walk home would be full of warmth and light conversation.
Yuuri paid the bill, smiling a bit when Viktor complained his Long Island was 95% ice. It was harder to zip up after eating that much food, with alcohol dominating his judgment and dopamine still kicking in there. Weak inhibitions were easier to blame, but Viktor snaking his hand around Yuuri’s fingers were definitely not.
“That was sudden,” he heard himself say, his breath stark white.
Viktor frowned. “Sudden? Do you not want me to hold your hand?” The creeping insecurity reminded him of the past few weeks and those were not to be re-lived again.
“You can,” he said, tightening the hold of those hands he’s seen burn food too many times. “I was just thinking about how I should say sorry.”
A sly smile was never a good thing. “We could-“
“I am not having sex right now!”
“-kiss.” Viktor let his hand go with a dramatic gasp. “That was not where I was heading. Not after all that food.” Yuuri speed-walked even as the wind burned his face. Not as much as his own shame, but still as painful. “Yuuri, wait!” The streets were regrettably empty, otherwise, he’d have some sort of distraction. But he could feel his food swimming inside his stomach, so he stopped, swallowing the queasiness.
“You’re lucky I can’t keep running or I’ll throw up,” he said, steadying his breathing. The coleslaw really wanted to come back.
“If you throw up, we can’t kiss. Keep it in,” Viktor said, pulling his hand more insistently. Being in a dizzying state of mind, but also quite present and immersed in this reality, he finally had a sobering thought.
“Should…we just call a cab?”
“V-Why not? We already burned so much money and tipped a man.” The way Viktor drawled that didn’t sit well with him. Or his checking account.
“Don’t remind me. We’re walking then. To digest,” he sniffed. It took them about twenty-five minutes to get back home, and in that walk the glaze of tipsiness evaporated. Each step was physically and metaphorically sobering as his nerves processed Viktor’s fingertips and warmth.
“We should make tea when we get home,” Viktor murmured, matching his tired sidestep. The lights were on in the living room, which meant something had been done about the power and that was one less worry hanging over his shoulder.
“Yes.” He tried to stifle his yawn but caught Viktor’s quirked brow and let it out with little remorse. “I’m tired, but we can have a cup.” It’s not like they had any pending assignments to work on, and it’s not like he wouldn’t spend every waking hour squeezing something out of this man. The chaos, or the chaos that made his head light and chest brim with this warm substance (not blood, he’s not being literal) of happiness was chaos he hadn’t experienced. Not in this magnitude anyway.
Viktor sitting next to him, holding a Snoopy mug, socked feet dangling without a regard, made Yuuri wonder why he even bothered trying to feign indifference. He was never indifferent to this man.
He was excited for spring.