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Little Yuri gave Yuri exactly one day to settle into Victor's apartment in St Petersburg before appearing with a scowl, a bag of piroshki, and a demand for a Mario Kart rematch.
"I haven't set up the Wii yet," said Yuri, trying not to yawn. Little Yuri had appeared at an ungodly hour of the morning, even by Victor's standards, and had just barely stopped short of barging into their bedroom and jumping up and down on their bed until they got up. Victor staggered past them to the kitchen, dropping a kiss reflexively on Yuri's head ("Blech," said little Yuri, but not as if he really meant it) and started to rummage blindly around in the cupboard.
Little Yuri stared at him and then shoved him toward Victor's very expensive TV which, as far as Yuri had been so far been able to tell, had been half-assedly hooked up to a Blue-Ray when Victor got it and then ignored entirely in favor of watching pirated movies on his laptop. Yuri heaved a sigh and went over to figure out how to set it up. "You're younger than me, shouldn't you be doing this?"
"No," said little Yuri.
In the kitchen area, Victor said a word that little Yuri had carefully taught the triplets when he was in Japan, and water splashed everywhere. “Nothing happened!” he said.
Little Yuri looked nauseated. "Did you idiots even get any sleep last night?" he demanded.
"Yurio," said Yuri, fishing around HDMI cables to figure out what was actually connected, "give me a break, I got here and we spent twelve hours unpacking my stuff."
"Baby, did I buy coffee?" said Victor, from around the corner.
"Jesus fucking Christ," said little Yuri. He jumped to his feet and stomped his way over to the kitchen, where he shoved Victor over and banged around the cupboards and the refrigerator. Yuri watched, fascinated, as little Yuri unerringly found Victor's coffee beans in the freezer, his burr grinder from the lower cupboards, and his French press from the upper cupboards. He filled Victor's fancy electric kettle and turned it on, and then shoved Victor out of the kitchen.
Victor half fell into the living room area and tripped his way to the couch, where he put his face on the cushions and immediately appeared to fall asleep. Yuri almost joined him, but the smell of Victor's extremely expensive coffee began to drift out as it brewed in the French press.
"Did that idiot even remember to get tea for you?" said little Yuri, with another bang.
"I brought some with me," said Yuri, choosing not to say that his mother had silently pressed a package of good tea into his hands the day before he left, before taking her tongs and carefully lifting up the remnants of Victor's smoked Russia tea and carrying it gingerly to the non-recyclable garbage. Then she had wrapped the dregs of Victor's cherry jam in about five thicknesses of garbage bag, wearing gloves, and trashed it too. "Don't - I can brew it myself, thank you."
Victor said something that was probably "I can brew tea", which was not correct. Victor stewed tea pretty effectively, and then put two teaspoons of jam in it. If Yuri hadn't been introduced to what Russian tea was actually supposed to taste like by a classmate in Detroit, he would have had serious second thoughts about his twelve years of blind hero-worship. Well. More second thoughts than discovering Victor liked natto had caused.
"No," said Yuri kindly. "You can't."
Victor lifted his head and tried to pout at Yuri, but gave up mid-try and yawned enormously instead. "When did I give you a key, Yurio?"
There was a suspicious silence from the kitchen.
"Did you at least make a copy and give Yakov his key back?" said Victor. He sat up again and shoved his hands through his hair. His eyes were all puffy from lack of sleep and his hair was a mess. Even so, Yuri thought again that he was the handsomest person he'd ever seen. He spent a moment just looking at him, before Victor looked at him. They stared at each other for a minute before little Yuri shoved a mug in Yuri's face and another, chipped one in Victor's. He returned to the kitchen for a mug of his own and then prodded Victor to the smallest corner of the couch possible.
Makkachin woke up and wandered over, and Little Yuri made a sound of annoyance before allowing him on the couch, probably because it made Victor have to scoot even further into the corner. Yuri took a bracing gulp of coffee and finished connecting the Wii to the TV, and turned it on. Fortunately the Wiimotes were charged, so Yuri passed one over to little Yuri and knee-walked over to the couch, where he started to get comfortable on the floor before Victor and Yurio made almost identical noises of irritation and tried to pull him up next to them. Yuri flailed, Makkachin barked, and Victor and little Yuri hissed at each other.
Eventually they settled down so that Yuri was in the middle, Makkachin was mostly on Victor's lap, and little Yuri was in the other corner, just close enough to Yuri that his feet were against Yuri's thigh but not so close that he could be accused of cuddling.
"I'll kick your ass this time," said little Yuri.
"Okay," said Yuri, yawning again. He drank the rest of his coffee in a single shot, and put his mug down. Come to look at it, it was one of Victor's nicer mugs, which little Yuri must have climbed up to get. Yuri was touched.
He began to scroll through the karts. "Do you want first choice?"
"Don't patronize me," snarled little Yuri.
Yuri Plisetsky had come to Japan with one carry-on bag, enough attitude for five teenagers, and an inflated sense of his own skill at video games.
He left Japan with two suitcases, all of the attitude, and a burning desire for revenge at Mario Kart.
In the Katsuki family's defense, Yurio hadn't realized that Yuri was only a low-key competitive asshole as compared to the rest of his family. They were all type-A blood types who hated to lose against anybody or anything, and settled chore lists with video games. Little Yuri had been leisurely and calmly handed his ass by Yuri, Mari, their parents, Minako-sensei, Yuu-chan and Nishigori, and then by all the of triplets, separately and as a team. The only person he hadn't suffered a humiliating loss to was Victor.
Victor was so bad at Mario Kart that he was frequently the handicap when they played in teams, a fact that unreasonably delighted him. In his heart of hearts Yuri suspected Victor had more fun being bad at it than he would admit. He didn't say anything when Victor mysteriously got good scores when he was playing by himself, and Victor continued blissfully losing to the triplets and paying outrageous forfeits to them.
Yuri played an hour of Rainbow Road races with little Yuri, while Victor fell half-asleep and slowly slid down off the couch, away from Yuri's elbows, landing on the floor with Makkachin on his lap and his head on Yuri's knee. Yuri wasn't sure if that was much more comfortable. Victor cuddled up to his shin and wrapped his arms around Yuri's calves, one possessive hand around Yuri's ankle, and seemed perfectly happy. He only woke up when Yurio yelled "Fuck!" and threw his controller on the ground, jerking upright with a snort and a clutch at Makkachin.
"Don't throw things," said Yuri, as if his mother had psychically taken control of his mouth.
"Did Yuri win again?" said Victor, blinking up at him, and then at the screen. Baby Luigi did a victory lap as Princess Peach followed a hairsbreadth behind him. "You're so good at this, bunny."
Yuri patted his head and said, "Thank you, Victor."
Little Yuri hissed like an angry cat and curled up into the corner of the couch, dragging his hood over his head and hunching into a ball.
Yuri felt a sudden surge of fondness for him, so great that he almost petted Yurio's hoodie-covered hair. Victor, unburdened by any sense of self-preservation, reached over Yuri and patted little Yuri on the knee. "My raven is so good at Mario Kart, of course you lost," he said.
"Stop calling him weird names!" shrieked Yurio, lunged at him, and fell over Yuri onto the floor, reaching for Victor's face like he meant to claw it off. Yuri hastily pulled his legs up onto the couch and out of harm's way as Victor, Yurio and Makkachin rolled around in a cartoon cloud of punching (Yurio), tickling (Victor), and barking (Makkachin). He watched them with a smile for a minute and then climbed over the back of the couch and went into the kitchen.
It took a good ten minutes for the Russians to wear themselves out enough to realize Yuri wasn't with them any more. Yuri finished plating the eggs and ham, and poured out juice for everybody. He was just taking the pirozhki out of the toaster oven when Yurio and VIctor appeared, looking like they'd gone five rounds in a trash compactor. Yurio's hair stuck up in the air like Victor had let Makkachin lick it and then gone in for the noogie. Victor's shirt was ripped and his face was flushed with effort and laughter.
"Are you done?" said Yuri.
"You could have played with us too," complained Victor, reaching for the plates. He handed one to little Yuri and picked up the other two. Yuri carried the glasses over to the table and set them down.
"I was fine, thank you," said Yuri. "Yurio, your hair is a mess."
"Whose fault is that," growled Yurio, but when Yuri found one of Victor's combs and an old scrunchie, he let Yuri brush it out and knot it up without a murmur.
"Isn't it funny how when you need a scrunchie you can never find one," said Victor, watching Yuri twist Yurio's ash-blond hair into a knot. "But the instant you cut your hair and you don't need them any more, they magically appear?"
"Maybe I'll grow out my hair so they get used," said Yuri, absently smoothing the soft, fine wisps of hair from Yurio's temples back.
"Maybe you should," said Victor.