Work Text:
Victor had every right to feel disappointed, in his personal opinion.
He had put together some great plans for today after all! Hell, he’d been thinking about today—Sunday, his and Yuuri’s day off—all week. The thought had kept him going through aching muscles and protesting joints and Yakov’s furious screaming for six days straight. It had held his heart together with the hope that, as awkward as things admittedly had been for their first week together in St. Petersburg, he would convince Yuuri that his hometown was a great place to live. This second week had been much, much better, despite the lingering guilt, because—
Well, because Yuuri actually came here all the way from Japan and was living with him! Who wouldn’t be excited about something as big and amazing as that?
Though admittedly, Victor had been kicking himself for having Yuuri sleep in the office-turned-guest-bedroom every night that first week. Victor barely slept then, instead feeling something akin to bad indigestion when his head would hit the pillow, because Yuuri was here and he should have been content with that. Happy, even. But something about Yuuri being in the same building, the same damn apartment, but across the hall with two doors between them…
Well, it had hurt. Kind of like a rough patch of fabric against an already rubbed-raw spot on the back of his heel. Except that the rough patch wasn’t on his foot for once, but somewhere deep in his chest, where it rubbed irritatingly at his heart every time it rapped against his breastbone.
Having Yuuri stay in the other room, with only half of what few possession’s he’d brought in his itty bitty, ratty old suitcase actually unpacked, and even then to have those few belongings arranged so unobtrusively, like the room was in a hotel and not Victor’s apartment, not his home…
It felt temporary. Like Victor was grasping at a cloud, except…
Well, except that he was too afraid to actually grasp at that cloud. Because what would happen if he did? Hell, he’d been afraid to even talk about whatever this stupid distance was between them, let alone try to fix it.
He hadn’t even wanted to acknowledge that distance, because…well, they hadn’t really talked about a lot of things. They had hardly begun to talk about what was right in all this…so talking about what was wrong had been out of the question, as far as Victor was concerned.
But Victor was also now thanking every star in every sky he’d ever seen, because Yuuri could be seriously, terrifyingly direct when he actually wanted to be, and those two stupid doors and that stupid hallway didn’t separate them at night anymore. Instead, two arms welcomed him every night like they’d somehow been there for decades, just waiting for Victor to fit into them the way his fingers did so easily between Yuuri’s.
Hmm.
It was far too early to be thinking this deeply, Victor decided—he hadn’t even bothered to open his eyes yet, let alone have any caffeine to kickstart his brain.
Oh, speaking of coffee, he was going to take Yuuri out to finally get a real look at St. Petersburg today, starting with a coffee at his favorite café. Then a service at the Cathedral of St. Andrew to hear the choir followed by a trip to Menshhikov’s Palace, some window shopping, and plenty of time in between to wander around and nibble on street food. And of course they’d have to see at least one or two of the bigger canals—they were so romantic, after all. He could already picture the moment, when the crowds would have dissipated around sundown, so Yuuri wouldn’t have to be nervous or anything, and…and Victor could just sweep him up and give him a kiss—mwah! Yes!—right there, with a perfect view and a cool breeze and the city lights just starting to come on, reflecting on the water. And he’d tell Yuuri just how happy he was, and Yuuri would be happy, too, and it would be just wonderful.
Needless to say, Victor couldn’t wait to show Yuuri around his hometown beyond the market for grocery runs and the ice rink and the nearest park where they walked Makkachin. Those things were fine, sure, but something bigger was necessary, if Victor was going to prove he was a good boyfriend. Something romantic and mature and befitting a good fiancé.
A good person, who definitely doesn’t ignore things when his lover feels unsure. He may not have taken care of things the right way their first week here, but he was going to banish any negative thoughts that might be lingering in Yuuri’s sweet head today.
Yuuri would feel more at home, afterward. More wanted. More like he belonged here, by Victor’s side, so that he wouldn’t have to doubt such things anymore.
It was a tall order for a single day, Victor knew, but he could hope and plan and throw himself face-first into it, because he couldn’t stand that look on Yuuri’s face again. That look he wore the night when he’d confronted their stupid distance and was apparently under the foolish impression that Victor was somehow regretting living together and—
Victor took a breath. Today would fix that, even if just a little bit. He was going to take Yuuri out and they were going to have a wonderful time and Victor was going to show Yuuri just what a wonderful boyfriend he could be and how wonderful he thought Yuuri was. It was going to be a wonderful day in town, a romantic day, and he could hardly wait for it to start, the more he thought about it.
But Victor must have done something to tick off fate this week, because as he slowly cracked his turquoise eyes open, stretching lightly and stopping midway so as not to wake his still-slumbering fiancé, he glanced toward the window to see that—
Well, it had snowed. A lot.
Maybe it wasn’t that bad. It couldn’t be. It was only the third week in January! The weather had been fine yesterday!
It couldn’t be that bad. It couldn’t.
Victor settled back down, trying not to get too flustered. He made himself focus on the warmth of Yuuri’s body under his own and the feel of Yuuri’s flannel pajamas, worn puppy-soft with age, and the comfortingly lazy thumps of his heart.
Ah, what a long way he’d come, in only nine days—yes, of course he had kept count—of actually sleeping together in the same bed. The sound had scared him half to death this past Monday, when he’d woken up unnecessarily early to it, certain there was something terribly wrong with his fiancé. He’d shaken Yuuri awake at half-past-five because Oh my God, that can’t be right what’swrongYuurimustbedyingwhatdoIdo.
Yuuri hadn’t even been remotely mad as he grumbled into consciousness—which was amazing, because the Japanese man was decidedly not a morning person, as Victor knew from their months in Hasetsu. He was just absurdly dedicated to getting to practice on time, especially since moving in here. Instead of an outburst, once the initial panic and confusion had bubbled over and Victor stopped poking and prodding and questioning everything about his love’s very existence…Yuuri had actually laughed.
He’d laughed at Victor and pulled him back down to the bed, easily, like everything really was okay. He’d assured Victor that everything was fine, honestly, Victor, it’s always been like that, I’m okay, I promise and told Victor not to disturb him again until six-fifteen, when they actually had to get up to walk Makkachin.
And that was that. He’d slipped right back into whatever dreamscape he’d been ripped away from as though he wasn't a new addition to Victor’s bed. Like it was perfectly normal to be woken at five-thirty in the morning by a blubbering Russian. Like it was okay to be used as a human body pillow by said Russian, who still wasn’t entirely convinced that at least one of them wasn’t actually dying.
Victor pulled himself back into the present as Yuuri mumbled something low and incoherent, and his pulse picked up to a more normal pattering. Victor hid a half-smile. Figuring that his fiancé was waking, Victor decided it would be safe to move.
He was met almost instantly by a set of bleary hazelnut eyes, which blinked slow and catlike, and then a warm hand wormed its way into his hair, ruffling it.
Victor stifled his surprise at the gesture, letting the sensation brand itself into the back of his brain instead. “Good morning, dorogoy,” he purred, leaning into the touch.
Yuuri just chuckled softly, eyelids fluttering closed again, and responded with a low hum that vibrated through his chest and into Victor’s own. It felt wonderful—it was probably addictive, too, just like the way Yuuri’s fingers were scratching lightly at that one spot, right behind his left ear, and oh god was that heavenly.
It took them another half an hour to drag themselves out of the bed; Victor managed to avoid looking at the clock on their nightstand, knowing that if he was reminded of the time, he would probably stop enjoying the moment and instead wind himself up about getting out early enough to do everything he had planned.
Because they were going out today! Snow or no snow. It couldn’t be that bad, it just couldn’t.
But, because fate apparently hated him this week, it was that bad.
Victor stood in front of the window in the living room, in nothing but his little rose-colored briefs, and stared out at the white—white, so much goddamned white—that covered every building and hid the roads from sight. It looked like a few of the skeleton-bare trees across the street could barely hold up the weight of all that goddamned white.
Of course he felt disappointed. The white was practically kicking him in the stomach each time he noticed more of it somewhere, like on the power lines and even the windowsill, close enough to touch if he so desired.
He didn’t notice the approach of his fiancé until Yuuri had all but shoved a steaming mug of coffee into his hands and draped the comforter from the bed over his shoulders.
“Victor, it’s too cold to be running around half naked,” Yuuri teased, pinching at his hip before ducking under the blanket behind him to wrap his arms around his midriff. “You’ll get yourself sick.”
Yuuri didn’t sound disappointed, and that kind of bothered Victor, but he chose to take a sip of the coffee in his hands at that moment to hide his face. He glanced down to see that the brew was in one of his favorite mugs: the magenta one that said I Shaved My B*lls for This? in elegant French calligraphy. The coffee itself was just light enough and was perfectly sweet.
He smiled down into the caramel-colored liquid. Yuuri already knew how he liked his coffee in the morning; he might never bother with a coffee shop again, if Yuuri would make this for him every morning. He sighed appreciatively when Yuuri’s hands drifted, gently running along the planes of his bare chest and skimming down his ribs from under the cover of the comforter. No wonder Makkachin liked getting petted first thing in the morning.
“You okay?” Yuuri asked, tentative. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Victor hummed, leaning back into Yuuri’s solid body. The other was thrown off-balance for a split second in surprise. “Well, I’d wanted to show you around St. Petersburg today—I was really looking forward to it, you know—but, well…” He shrugged and threw a glance at the window and the downright offensive view it offered.
“Ah. Yeah, you talked about it a lot last night…it looks like we’re snowed in though, huh?” Yuuri plopped his head onto Victor’s shoulder. His breath smelled of some sort of black tea. And maybe a hint of cinnamon?
Victor knew that he hadn’t really communicated about the trip very well until last night as they had tangled together in bed…but still. “You’re not…upset?” Were you being selfish again, Victor? Maybe Yuuri didn’t even want to go, and was just being polite.
“Hmm?” Yuuri seemed a little puzzled, if the quirk in his tone was anything to go by. “Well, it would have been nice—I was looking forward going out with you too, of course. But,” he paused to shift around enough to fix his glasses, which had started slipping down his nose, “won’t we have plenty of other weekends?” He paused and pulled away a little bit, and something about that twisted Victor’s gut, dragging him away from his self-pity. “You can always show me around some other time, right?”
Damn it, you’re supposed to be making things better, Victor. So selfish, like a child. “Oh, Yuuri, of course!” He felt his fiancé relax against his back again at the words and nearly screamed a prayer of thanks in relief.
“Good, I’m glad.” There was a smile in his voice; Victor could also feel it as Yuuri’s cheek pressed against his own. “I know you’re probably upset that we’ll be staying home, but I’m sure we can find something else to do today.” He gave a long sigh, tightening his grip around Victor’s bare middle. “I’m just as happy to stay here with you and Makkachin on our day off, you know.”
Victor was amazed by the physical contact, outside of bed, no less—not that he was complaining. Yuuri was just so close, so warm, so very much there. It was wonderful, albeit a little dizzying.
“Okay. Any ideas?” Victor needed to distract himself from dwelling on how utterly fantastic it felt to stand in front of the window, bundled up in only a down comforter and Yuuri’s warm arms. Otherwise he might never leave that spot for the rest of his life. And that would mean not skating, which would mean an angry Yakov and an even angrier Yurio. And Yakov still had a spare key to his apartment, which would mean the two Russian men would eventually barge in and give him hell, which he’d ignore of course, because Victor probably wouldn't be able to care about much beyond being held half-naked in the living room by the man he loved, so he’d just live and die right in this spot and—
“How about Gojira?”
Victor blinked rapidly a few times, drawn out abruptly from his internal rambling. “Hmm? What’s that?”
“You know, Godzilla movies?” Yuuri prodded his side with a warm thumb. “You mentioned once that you hadn’t seen any of them. Would you like to watch some of them? We…we could make a marathon of it, maybe.”
Yuuri started to sound a little bit shy at the end, his voice dropping to just above a whisper and jumping up about an octave into an almost-question, and it was so adorable, so charming…Victor halted his train of thought. If any of that ever managed to slip out, he’d just embarrass the younger man and probably send him scurrying. “Yeah! Yeah, that sounds good, solnyshko.” He leaned a bit to the right and twisted at the waist to set his now-drained coffee cup on the low table there. “But wait, what do you mean by a marathon?”
“Ah, there are a lot of Godzilla movies. You didn’t know?”
“Um…no?”
Yuuri immediately sputtered and darted around to Victor’s front to stare at him, eyes wild and jaw a little slack, looking at Victor like he had just grown a second head. “Victor, there are, like, twenty Godzilla movies. Maybe thirty? You should at least see a few of them—but not the remake, though.” His voice dropped to something resembling a growl, and his brows dropped into a single, dark line. “It’s terrible. I won’t allow it to soil you.”
Victor tried not to laugh; really, he did. But Yuuri was being so…so serious, all of a sudden. Something about it made his insides feel ticklish.
“I almost saw that one, I think,” he commented. Yuuri looked like he was about to have aneurism, and Victor choked back another laugh. “Yurio had wanted to see it, and I was curious because…well, reasons, but he forbade me from going with him because I might get mistaken for his parent, and that would have been embarrassing. Or something like that. He was so flustered, it was kind of adorable.” He could feel his lips curling up into a sly, lopsided grin.
Yuuri mirrored his amusement for a split second, before his expression twisted into something like curiosity. Or perhaps suspicion. Uh oh. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘reasons’?”
Victor rubbed at the back of his neck. Should he say it? Yuuri was eyeing him so intently…and if he’d learned anything from this past week or so, it was to not hide things from his Japanese fiancé.
Might as well go for it.
“Ah, you see, we had just come back from the Grand Prix about a month prior, and there had been this banquet, right?” He could tell that Yuuri was vaguely starting to see where this was going, and that he didn’t quite like it, but something about that look spurred Victor on. He couldn’t help teasing Yuuri now. “I was nursing this awful crush on a particular Japanese skater, who’d flirted and danced with me and left without another word the next day after stealing my heart, and I hadn’t heard from him since.” He placed a hand over his bare collarbones and tossed his head back with a sigh; he relished the odd, uncomfortable-sounding little grumbles that came from his fiancé in response. “So, when Yurio said the movie was about a giant monster destroying Tokyo, and I realized I wasn’t too fond of Japanese people in general at the time…it sounded kind of decadently appealing, in the most fitting way for my mood.” Victor smirked, winked, and then watched Yuuri’s mouth open and close like a fish’s, cheeks as red as cherry pie filling.
Ah, here it comes…
“Victoruuu,” came the whine, after a long moment. Perfect. “That’s not…that’s…ugh. I can’t believe you, sometimes.” Gotcha. Yuuri visibly gave up whatever frustration wanted to bubble out, rolling his eyes with a huff. “You would have been disappointed, though; Godzilla destroys San Francisco in that one, not Tokyo.” He stuck out his tongue, eyes sharp, but glimmering with barely-concealed mirth.
“Oh?” Victor chuckled, puffing his chest out just a little bit and trying to subtly watch his fiancé’s reaction. “Was there anything redeeming about it for the uninitiated masses such as I?”
Yuuri was, amazingly, not paying attention to the peacocking of his half-naked companion. “Hmm…the graphics were good, I guess.” One finger rose to tap at his lips, in serious thought again. “But the plot was atrocious. Kind of insulting even, if you grew up with the originals.” Oh my God, how does he do that?
“Oh, like you, obviously,” Victor chimed.
Yuuri blinked, and his face shifted. “Yes, like me,” he countered, smug, tossing his head back and thrusting his shoulders back in what was probably a gesture that mocked one of Victor’s.
“Oh, moye porosenok, you wound me!” Victor laughed again, the snow outside forgotten. Yuuri watched him with a look he couldn’t quite identify, other than that it was intense, but definitely not unpleasant.
Suddenly Victor stopped; he darted forward half a step and hurriedly took both of Yuuri’s hands in his own. He’d just had an idea. It flew into his mind out of nowhere, and he didn’t want it to disappear the same way it came. “Yuuri,” he blurted, voice hushed into an intense whisper, eyes bright and wide, “if we set up the computer in the living room, can we make a-a…oh, what’s it called in English? Where you set up blankets and pillows and—”
“You mean a pillow fort?”
“Yeah! One of those! A pillow fort! Can we?”
Victor froze inside as soon as the words were out, and reflexively froze his face to hide it, closing his eyes in mock playfulness. He didn’t want to see Yuuri’s face all of a sudden.
He was being silly, after all, wasn't he?
A pillow fort. Really, Victor? How old are you? Five?
It was kind of ridiculous, wasn't it? And kind of selfish.
Maybe even really selfish.
Suits you well, then, Victor. You always get so worked up over pointless things. You blow them out of proportion like a child. A selfish, indulgent child. Even Mother Nature tried to teach you a lesson today, and now look at what you're doing. Ridiculous. You're just so—
“Okay, sure. We can make a pillow fort.”
Victor started, blue eyes wide open. Yuuri was looking down at both pairs of their bare feet, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. And he was…
He was smiling. Shyly, yes, but Yuuri was smiling.
Oh my God.
Victor’s mind went blank.
“R-Really?” His voice cracked a little, and he winced at the sound.
Yuuri looked up then and fidgeted with his glasses. “Yeah. I actually like that idea a lot.” He grasped at the hem of his shirt, tugging and fingering at it absently. Victor’s chest tightened of its own accord; he wondered if Yuuri was feeling the same thing. “Um, there are still a bunch of extra pillows in the other room I was staying in. I-I can go get them, but you’ll have to find some more blankets since I don’t know where you keep them.” Yuuri’s voice was soft, and he stuttered, sure. But his eyes looked larger than life from behind his glasses and they were so sure.
Victor’s heart felt like it had grown wings: little sparrow’s wings, that fluttered about in a rush and lifted him a few inches above the ground and made him want to sing like something out of a children’s cartoon.
He looked into Yuuri’s big eyes, which were searching for something…asking for something, even as Victor was floating toward the ceiling with his words.
Oh. Maybe he could still fix something here.
“Here, just follow me; I’ll show you where I keep them.” Because this is your home, too, went unsaid, but he hoped Yuuri understood. He took his fiancé’s hand and dragged him off to the hallway closet, excitement brewing like espresso, hot and intense in his bones. He tried not to let his steps turn into skipping on the way there, like he was turning into a character in a musical. Because that would be silly. But two steps in and Yuuri suddenly squeezed his hand, catching his attention, and was giving him the most indescribable look Victor had ever seen.
Oh. What’s this? Yuuri was smiling at him again.
Feeling thoroughly encouraged, Victor essentially pranced across the floor with the shorter man in tow.
Yuuri laughed at him when some extra bath towels came crashing down in a cotton avalanche onto Victor’s unsuspecting face. “Here, I’ll refold these if you go put some clothes on; I still don’t want you catching a cold, okay?” He said it so causally, as he picked up the fallen towels and playfully whacked Victor in the forearm with one, like all of this was somehow…
Normal. Like they routinely went frolicking across the living room. Like Victor always ran around half-naked with a steel-blue comforter half-falling off his shoulders and Yuuri’s hand securely locked up in his own. Like this is what they did all the time.
Like it was okay.
Victor nodded obediently, but before he left, he swept his love up in the tightest hug he’d given him all week. Yuuri chuckled, stroking his back gently and ruffling Victor’s still-sleep-messy hair as he was released. He looked at Victor with such a simple, contented smile as he picked up the fallen towels again, like this was all completely, utterly normal.
Like this was okay.
And Victor felt…well, maybe he felt okay, too.
Victor dropped the comforter somewhere in the hall and darted off to the bedroom closet, heart pattering beneath the surface of his skin in excitement, his cheeks already a little sore from smiling so much. He hurried into his favorite sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt that was probably Yuuri’s—he’d forgotten to sort the laundry yesterday, whoops, oh well—and a pair of incredibly fuzzy purple socks. Complete with matching pom-poms at the ankle. They were one of his favorite things to wear around the apartment on lazy days off.
He grabbed an extra pair, remembering that Yuuri’s feet were still bare, which simply wouldn’t do. They were striped with baby blue and crisp white, adorned with matching pom-poms. Victor usually wore them on days when the apartment seemed exceptionally quiet, even with Makkachin’s company. He held them up to his chest, pressed them hard against the dizzy flutter of his heartbeat, and then caught sight of himself in the mirror by the closet door.
He almost didn’t recognize himself.
If his hair were a bit longer, and if there weren’t the foreshadows of wrinkles forming around his eyes, he might have passed for sixteen again.
It felt weird, seeing himself like that. He looked down at the socks in his hands, and the shirt he’d unintentionally stolen from Yuuri.
“Oh, Victoru,” Yuuri called, peeking into the bedroom from the doorway, “Would it be better for you if I look for subtitles in Russian, or should we stick with the English dub? It's kind of terrible, but also funnier that way.”
Victor dropped the socks; he took a quick breath and ran a hand over the fabric of the shirt he’d just slipped on. It had a few holes in the hem just within reach, and it probably used to be a dark, forest green, with a logo on the front that was now illegible, it was so faded.
It felt like Yuuri: soft, warm, safe. Victor felt kind of okay in it.
Scratch that; he felt very okay in it.
“Ah, English is fine, Yuuri. Thank-you.” He knelt, fumbling for the socks he’d somehow dropped, and folded them with care, running a finger unnecessarily on one of the pom-poms. He scrambled over to his fiancé, his gaze still down, on the hem of the borrowed shirt and the socks in his hands. “Here, I don’t want your feet getting cold,” he said quickly, all but shoving them into Yuuri’s arms. The younger man made a strange, almost squeaky sort of sound, like a gasp turning into a wheeze. Like a surprised mouse.
He looked up to meet Yuuri’s chocolate eyes; he was looking at Victor as though he’d just handed over a gold medal. Victor felt his heart seize in his chest when Yuuri smiled like the beacon in a lighthouse and sat on the bed—their bed, now—to slip them on with fingers that trembled and lingered on the pom-poms.
Yuuri’s gaze hardly left Victor’s own, glimmering and all-encompassing and so very intimate. Those eyes were practically swallowing Victor up.
Victor felt very okay in it.
Hell, Victor felt wonderful in it.
Yuuri reached for his hand, and it was like breaking a spell, except that the magic didn’t leave; instead, time started moving normally again, the volume of the world was switched back on, and the patter of Victor’s heart returned full force. The younger man let Victor tug him dazedly into the living room. They both slid helplessly across the wood floors of the hall in their fuzzy socks.
Victor quickly found himself on his back, in the open space between the living room and the kitchen. Yuuri was splayed across his knees, hair disheveled and glasses askew from their tumble, giggling so hard he was turning ketchup-red. Laughter tingled in Victor’s sock-clad feet and surged up to his cheekbones and made his eyes feel vaguely wet.
This was already the best day ever.