Work Text:
Sunday is a day that was created for rest and relaxation. People are expected to sleep in late, laze around and take it easy – there have even been numerous songs written about it. Nobody is allowed to feel guilty for indulgencing themselves and taking a break during this one precious day each week, and high-level athletes are no exception to the rule.
Yuuri, Victor and Yurio have settled themselves in the living room, quietly amusing themselves in their own ways and simply enjoying each other’s company. It’s already fairly late in the afternoon, the September sun just peeking through heavy clouds as rain lashes down on the cobbled streets of St. Petersburg.
Yuuri yawns, glancing up from the book in his lap and turning his attention to the downpour outside. Whilst the rain is enough to deter most people from leaving their homes, it isn’t bad enough to cause any safety concerns, making it the perfect backdrop for their lazy afternoon.
Accompanying the pitter patter of rain is the muffled sound of Russian voices coming from the television, volume turned low as to not abate the slumber in the room. Victor is sitting on the other side of the couch from Yuuri with his legs stretched out, feet tucked under Makkachin’s mop of fur where the dog lies against Yuuri’s lap. Yuuri gives Makka an absent-minded pet between the ears, vaguely feeling thankful that he never needs many blankets or other sources of heat when the over-fluffed poodle is around.
Yurio sits below them on the floor, leaning back against the couch as he rapidly taps away on his phone with the barest hint of a smile on his usually sullen face. Yuuri doesn’t even need to see the screen to guess that he’s probably texting Otabek.
The yawn Yuuri lets out seems to start a chain reaction, with Victor stretching both arms above his head as he groans quietly around his own yawn. He seems to have lost interest in whatever show he’d been watching, instead glancing around the room for another form of entertainment instead. Yuuri just smiles to himself, and returns to his book.
Victor’s attention finally settles on Yurio. He draws one long leg back up to his body so he can nudge Yurio with his foot, murmuring, “Yurio? Hey, Yurio?”
Yurio grunts in response, fingers not faltering for even a second.
“Want me to do your hair?”
Yurio sighs as though it’s a great inconvenience, but he still shuffles forward to give Victor enough space to sit down on the floor behind him. Victor catches Yuuri’s eye and shoots him a brilliant, heart-shaped smile before sliding onto the floor. Yuuri smiles back fondly. Yurio has been growing his hair out for months and it’s already past his shoulders, pretty and flowing. One of Victor’s favourite pastimes now is to play around with Yurio’s hair and recreate old hairstyles he used to do on himself when he was younger, elaborate braids and stylish up-dos. Something about nostalgia, and a slight bitterness for his own gradually receding hairline.
Victor settles himself behind Yurio with both legs outstretched on either side of him, reaching around Yurio’s neck to carefully pull his hair back. Before he starts styling, he gently combs through Yurio’s silky hair with his fingers, not stopping when he reaches the ends and instead tracing down Yurio’s back in delicate patterns as well.
It’s pretty obvious to Yuuri just how much Victor adores having people to take care of now. Whilst it’s not something that Victor and he have ever discussed explicitly, Yuuri has learnt over the several months that he’s lived in Russia that Victor had been very lonely before they met. Yurio, Yakov and the other skaters at the rink have all made mentions of how different Victor is now, and how his relationship with Yuuri has changed him for the better. Yuuri doesn’t try to brag or take any credit for that but he’s glad to hear that Victor is happier now, and that his smile is more than just a vapid mask for the media.
Victor and Yuuri have long since settled into their relationship. Yuuri will be the first to hold his hands up and admit that Victor and he are disgustingly sappy together, much to the chagrin of Yurio. Yuuri never thought he’d be one of those PDA couples before he met Victor but it’s surprisingly easy to get caught up in his fiancé’s cerulean eyes and dazzling smile.
It’s calming to watch Victor play with Yurio’s hair. The movements of his hands are slow and gentle as he tucks a few loose strands of hair behind Yurio’s ears.
“What kind of hairstyle do you want today?” Victor asks.
“Braids,” Yurio mumbles, already sounding drowsy from Victor’s ministrations. He’s finally stopped texting, phone resting in his lap. “Something with braids.”
“French braids are pretty,” Yuuri chimes in.
Victor’s eyes light up at Yuuri’s suggestion. “Yes, French braids! Thank you, love.”
“Whatever, just don’t tug too hard,” Yurio grumbles before falling silent again.
In Yuuri’s opinion, it’s not just himself who has had an impact on Victor over the past year or so. Ever since he and Yuuri moved back to Russia, Victor and Yurio have been steadily improving their relationship and Yurio seems to have finally forgiven Victor for forgetting the promise he made and running away to Japan. Despite Yurio’s reluctance to show any sort of affection for either Victor or Yuuri, he seems to like them well enough to want to live with them, which he has done for the past two months or so.
There had been no verbal conversation about Yurio moving in. It’d been slow and quiet, spread out over a period of weeks as one by one Yurio’s possessions appeared in the apartment until there was nothing left of his at Yakov’s. Yuuri and Victor had welcomed his presence. Yurio is a sweet boy underneath the thick layer of attitude and he is a nice addition to their little family.
When Victor finally finishes combing through Yurio’s hair, he splits it down the middle to start working on a French braid down either side of Yurio’s head. Yuuri watches for another couple of minutes before setting his book aside and gently pushing Makkachin off his legs, standing up and jiggling to wake up his tired limbs.
“Anyone want tea?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” Victor says with a smile. Yurio just nods as best as he can with Victor’s hands in his hair.
Yuuri wanders over to the kitchen, circling the counter island and filling up the kettle. As he waits for the water to boil, he gazes out of the window and allows his mind to wander.
What they have now is a level of domestic bliss that Yuuri could never have imagined; not when his childhood hero first appeared butt naked in his onsen claiming to be his new coach, and certainly not when an aggressive junior skater kicked down the door to the toilet cubicle Yuuri had been crying in and threatened Yuuri to retire. Yet here Yuuri is now, making this pair of ridiculous, melodramatic Russian skaters tea whilst they sit playing hair-dressers in the living room they all share.
It’s almost hilarious, just how much things have changed.
Once Yuuri has finished making the tea he places all three mugs onto a small tray along with a plate of Russian cookies, since Yurio is currently going through another growth spurt and eats enough to feed a horse every day.
When Yuuri returns to the living room, tray in hand, he sees that Victor has already finished one of Yurio’s braids and has started working on the other, movements careful and practised. Yurio’s eyes are fluttering shut, barely awake as he tries to keep his head up.
“Here you go,” Yuuri smiles as he places the tray down on the coffee table.
“Thank you, dorogoy,” Victor says as he works his way down the braid. Yuuri picks up his own mug and settles back down on the couch, watching as Victor secures the braid with one of the hair ties he’s stolen from Yurio’s wrist before pulling gently at the hair to add volume to it.
“Done!” Victor announces, beaming with pride at his work.
Yurio’s head lifts up, momentarily startled by the sound of Victor’s voice as he blinks heavily. He mumbles what sounds like ‘thanks’ in Russian before crawling over to the armchair and clambering onto it, curling up like an oversized cat and immediately falling asleep.
Victor leans over to pick up his mug of tea, taking advantage of Yurio being unconscious by cuddling up close to Yuuri.
“His tea is going to get cold,” Yuuri says sadly, half wondering if the beverage is worth disturbing a teenager’s precious slumber for.
“It’s okay, I’ll drink it for him,” Victor smirks, taking a sip and sighing happily.
Yuuri lets his head drop onto Victor’s shoulder, the mug still clutched in his hands doing a fine job of warming him up and creating a wonderfully cosy atmosphere. Makkachin, not wanting to feel left out, jumps up onto the couch and flops down over both of their laps, making the two of them laugh softly.
Yuuri adores the makeshift family that they have managed to create together. It’s not big and it’s not conventional, but it’s loving and it’s theirs. He wouldn’t change it for the world.
“I love you,” Yuuri murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to the soft fabric of Victor’s shirt and nuzzling into the warmth his fiancé provides.
“Mm, I love you, too.”
Victor leans in closer and Yuuri tilts his head up to meet Victor’s lips in a sweet kiss. He tastes like the tea he’s just been sipping, warm and welcoming and oh so comforting. Yuuri can’t help smiling, lips parting just enough for Victor to deepen the kiss in a way that makes his stomach swoop.
A shift from the armchair catches their attention, and they pull away from each other just in time to see Yurio pull a face and mumble into the armrest, “Gross.”
Yuuri blinks, whispering, “I thought he was asleep?”
“Yeah, he is,” Victor says with a smirk. “But his ‘Embarrassing Dads’ radar never has a day off.”
Yuuri suppresses his laugh as best as he can, not wanting to wake the teenager up. “Don’t let him hear you refer to us as that, he might actually kill you.”
“Eh,” Victor shrugs. “I’m not worried. That boy is all bark and no bite.”
Yurio shifts once more, groaning quietly before muttering, “Morons.”
Yuuri sniggers, instead turning his attention back to the rainstorm still thundering away outside, heavy water droplets cascading down the window and blurring the outside world from sight. It’s remarkably peaceful, to feel isolated in their own little bubble this way, safe and sound from the hustle and bustle of the city.
If somebody had told Yuuri a year or so ago that this is the place where he’d end up, he wouldn’t have believed them, but with the warmth of his fiancé pressed against his side and the comforting weight of Makkachin draped across his lap, Yuuri thinks that if this is what fate has decided for him, then he’s more than happy to stay.