Chapter Text
Yuuri is lying comfortably on their bed, novel in hand, when Viktor enters the room with a tired groan.
“Rough day?” he asks as Viktor slumps over, dragging his upper body until it rests on Yuuri’s lap. Yuuri absentmindedly brushes a stray silver lock of hair away from Viktor’s eye.
Viktor hums in agreement, closing his eyes in bliss as Yuuri continues to play with his hair. “Yuri didn’t want to stop practicing until he was able to land a quad loop.”
Yuuri chuckles. “Why am I not surprised?” he looks at the clock on their bedside table, slowly sitting up and trying to get Viktor off of him, but Viktor is having none of it.
“I have to start making dinner, Viktor,” Yuuri sighs, as Viktor is still stubbornly refusing to move away from him.
“Later, I just got home..” he wraps his arms around the other's waist, and nuzzles his face against Yuuri's chest.
Yuuri rolls his eyes affectionately.
“You’re so clingy,” Yuuri huffs in mock annoyance, shifting their positions so that they can get more comfortable on the bed. Viktor just grins, leaning up to press a soft kiss on his lips.
“I think I have the right to be, as I’m your husband.”
“And as a good husband, I need to start cooking for my tired husband,” Yuuri teases back, but Viktor pretends to not hear anything.
So they lie there in comfortable silence, just reveling in each other’s presence.
“I wish time would stop,” Viktor pipes up suddenly, and Yuuri raises a brow in question.
“I want to be like this with you forever,” he clarifies, caressing Yuuri’s cheek softly, love and affection shining oh so bright in his eyes.
Yuuri smiles, leaning his head closer. He holds their hands together, kissing the gold ring resting on both their fingers.
“Me too.”
You can’t be fucking serious.
Yuuri shuffles in the room nervously, biting his lower lip as he stares in disbelief at the calendar.
No fucking way.
He tries to ignore a poster of Viktor staring right at him, because this just can’t possibly be happening.
A look into his phone— why isn’t his phone case the blue costume he wore in Barcelona’s exhibition?— tells him that in fact, this is actually happening. The year 2015 reflects back at him mockingly, and Yuuri unceremoniously tosses his phone back on his bed— his bed in Detroit.
Okay, so maybe he is just having another one of those weird dreams.
Yes. A dream.
Of course.
That’s the only way to explain it. Because last time he checked, he was not a time traveler.
Phichit exits the bathroom, and stares at Yuuri worriedly.
“You okay?”
Yuuri takes a deep breath, then nods.
“I— yes. I’m okay..”
He's really not.
Phichit ruffles his hair comfortingly. “I know you’re nervous for the GPF, but I know you’ll do great, Yuuri.”
Yuuri holds back the retort that, uh no? Actually he completely bombed the finals and—
Yuuri freezes.
If this is really the past— he is still convincing himself that this is just some weird elaborate dream— then that horrifying GPF still didn’t happen yet, right?
‘It’s just a dream,’ he chants to himself as he thanks Phichit and jumps on his bed to grab his phone.
He dials home, and asks his sister to please carefully keep an eye on Vicchan. Dream or not, there’s just no way he’ll let his dog die for a second time.
Phichit then pinches his arm suddenly, and Yuuri yelps in pain.
For a dream, the pain feels so realistic.
And slowly, he starts to dread.
“You’re acting really weird today, Yuuri,” Phichit frowns, but then shakes his head. “But I guess it’s just nerves for the upcoming competition. I’m going to grab some breakfast, come out when you’re feeling it, yeah?”
Yuuri nods weakly, and lets himself fall on the bed with a thump.
He can feel his anxiety acting up.
It starts to sink in.
He's in the past.
The past. The past.
The past.
Viktor.
He gets up in a rush, sweating profusely.
Does that mean...?
Yuuri stops breathing altogether.
No.
Nonono—
If this is really his reality now, then...
There’s a chance that Viktor doesn’t even know him.
That thought alone makes his chest constrict— he feels as if not enough air is flowing into his lungs properly—
Breathe.
Breathe. Breathe.
But maybe... Just maybe..
If I am here, then maybe...?
Yuuri unlocks his phone, chest heaving, shakily opening up his contacts..
And none.
There is no contact named Viktor.
He doesn’t know Viktor’s number.
He has no way to contact him.
Why didn't he even bother to remember Viktor's phone number?
For the record though, he didn't anticipate getting thrust back in the past.
Social media, then?
But what would he tell him?
Does he even have the courage to reach out first?
He is so unprepared for this.
Yuuri wants to scream.
Wants to pull on his hair until they all tear off.
He feels so frustrated.
So lost.
Just yesterday, things were normal. They were living in their house together, jogging in the streets of Russia, working at the rink and coaching Yuri.
They were happy.
And to be suddenly ripped away from that is...
He feels a sob tear out from his throat.
Feels overwhelming pain bubble up in his chest.
He feels like the world is crushing him into pieces.
Beep.
Yuuri sluggishly looks at his phone.
Huh...?
A notification from instagram—
v-nikiforov started following you. 5s
And then another—
v-nikiforov
Yuuri?
Yuuri, are you there? Please answer. 2s
And just like that, Yuuri feels that he can breathe again.