Chapter Text
Yuuri is fast asleep when his phone starts to vibrate on the bedside table. The sudden illumination of the bright screen - in an otherwise perfect winter-darkness - dazzling him as he opens his eyes. Groaning, he raises a hand to shield his face from the sudden intensity of the glare - his eyes burning like he’s just stared up at the midday sun.
As the vibrating continues, Yuuri feels Victor stir beside him, hears his soft groan as he rolls onto his side; pulling the bed covers up and over his naked shoulder. There’s nothing else for him to do. Yuuri abandons his eyes in favour of grabbing the phone in an attempt to preserve the gentle sleep of his lover.
Connecting the call, he presses it against his ear and mumbles a sleep-laden, ‘Hello?’
There's nothing but silence on the other end, but it’s not the kind of silence that means no one is there. Yuuri can hear it as clear as day, the gentle hitching of breath.
He pulls the phone away from his cheek, squints at the screen, he's not wearing his glasses but he can still see the photo in a vague blur - can see the leopard print fabric and the halo of yellow the seeps off the image via it’s artificial backlight. It’s Yurio. His heart starts pounding.
Yuuri presses the phone back against his ear, almost dropping it altogether in his haste, pulling himself upright so his back is pressed firmly against the headboard. Something’s wrong.
‘Yurio?’ He whispers, panic starting to swell in the pit of his belly, ‘Yuri? Are you okay?’
There’s a little huff in reply but that’s not enough, that doesn’t make Yuuri feel any better - the little russian is still breathing too fast and way too shallowly.
‘Yuri?’ The older man tries again, ‘Are you hurt? Where are you? Is it your grandpa?’
Silence lingers heavily in the air then, before Yuuri hears a tiny, worn-out voice say, ‘This was a mistake, you must have been asleep. I f-forgot about the time zones. Go back to bed, piggy.’
‘No! Wait!’ Yuuri urges, as quickly and as loudly as he can and still have it be classed as a whisper. ‘Please, Yurio. Don’t hang up. It’s okay. It’s okay. Please, tell me what’s happening.’
‘I…’
‘I’m listening,’ Yuuri says in a reassuring voice, or at least in what he hopes is a reassuring voice, it’s hard for him to tell so early in the morning. ‘Go on. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.’
The russian debates hanging up there and then, the older man knows it, he’s considering the situation, he’s deliberating his options; probably trying to understand why the other man is being so kind to him when he’s always so mean, and rude, and cold.
Yurio’s breath hitches again, it’s clearly unexpected because Yuuri hears the young man muffle the gasp of it with his hand, before he starts to cry quietly down the phone.
Yuuri’s heart is thudding, he can feel the pulse of it in his neck, and his worry grows tenfold. He can tell Yuri is trying to be quiet and he hates that. That makes him feel sick - the resulting nausea coiling painfully through his belly. The teenager doesn’t have to pretend, not with him.
‘Please, Yurio,’ Yuuri pleads helplessly, tears starting to fill his own eyes - further blurring his already blurred vision. ‘Tell me what’s happening.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Yuri cries and the vulnerability of it hits Yuuri like a brick to the face.
‘Shhh now. You haven’t done anything wrong,’ Yuuri reasons automatically, phone pressed hard against the side of his face. He’s never heard his young friend sound like this before - so hurt and so raw.
‘How could you know that, huh, idiot? How the hell would you know how right or wrong I am?!’ Yuri snaps harshly but there’s nothing in it except pain. It’s like he’s caught up in a maelstrom of emotions that are dead set on ripping him to shreds. Leaving nothing behind but scraps of carrion for passing predators.
‘Yurochka,’ Yuuri starts earnestly - using the nickname he’s heard Victor and Nikoli use for the youngster; hoping he isn’t overstepping any boundaries as he presses on, ‘You could never do anything wrong.’
‘Are you kidding me?! Are you that stupid?! I’m always horrible to you!’ The teenager shouts, ‘What’s wrong with you, anyway?! Do you like me telling you how much of a loser you are or something? Do you like being humiliated? Is that it? Is that all you filthy faggots are good for?!’
His brain seems to catch up with his words then and the young russian gasps, like he's just slapped himself in the face with a bucket of ice water.
‘Yurio,’ Yuuri whispers sharply, his eyes wide in the dark, like the wind has been knocked out of his sails. He doesn't mean that. He doesn't. Yuuri knows that. Something has happened. Something bad. He knows Yuri, he loves Yuri. Despite his harshness, maybe because of his harshness. And he knows him enough to know that he doesn’t mean that. After all, this is the young man who recently spent all of his savings buying Victor a locket with Yurri’s picture inside it for his birthday. So, Yuuri knows that something must have happened. He knows that he’s rattled.
Yuuri takes a long steadying breath, then he pulls his knees up under the covers so he can rest his forehead on them, before he says with unflinching conviction, ‘You’re a good person Yuri Plisetsky. If someone has told you otherwise, if they’ve told you that you’re wrong, then they’re a liar. You hear me?’
‘I’m sorry...’ The small voice squeaks then, like he hasn't registered a single word the older man has just said to him, his speech soaked with an all-consuming, rising panic that the older man recognises all too easily as he repeats his rushed apologies, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Прости. Прости. Прости-’
‘Yuri, you need to listen to me. Yuri? Listen to what I’m saying. You're okay. Just take a deep breath. Everything’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I promise. I'm not mad at you,’ Yuuri urges, silently pleading that the blonde hears and understands exactly what he’s saying.
The russian sounds so unlike himself that Yuuri’s already mentally packing his bag, he’s already booking himself on the next flight from Japan to Russia.
‘They were right. They were all right. I can see it now. I-I don't deserve Victor. And I don't deserve you. I can't… I'm no good. I'm no good. I’m a faker. I’m a parasite. Even my own mother… she couldn't love me. She must have known, she must have seen. I'm just… I'm just a no-good bastard from Moscow. I've been kidding myself all along. You’re too good. How could you love something like me? All I do is hurt you. How could you ever-’
‘YURIO, STOP IT!’ Yuuri shouts abruptly, startling the teenager into silence. Victor shoots up in bed beside him, his eyes wide as he flicks on the lamp and looks over at Yuuri; at the phone he has pressed firmly against his ear.
Yuuri reaches out and grabs his lover’s arm in response, holds him firm as he adjusts, still half-asleep. He can see the worry written all over his face. He takes another deep breath. He tries so hard to suffocate his blossoming anger. But he can’t. How dare he? How dare that bright young boy think so little of himself?
‘Just stop! You don't get to sit there and tell me that I don't love you! That you're unlovable. That knowing you is some kind of burden! Do you understand me? I get to decide that. Only me. And I'm telling you that I love you. That Victor loves you. And there’s nothing you could do to change that. Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you. Not a damned thing. Do you hear me?’ Yuuri listens to the teenager’s laboured breathing for a moment before he says, ‘Yuri, say it back to me.’
It’s not a question, it’s a command.
‘I can't,’ Yuri says then, with so much honesty that a gentle tear slips down Yuuri’s cheek.
‘Yes, you can. You can say it because it’s true.’
‘My Yurochka,’ Victor utters solemnly, his expressive eyes awash with something so close to heartbreak that Yuuri has to look away from him. Staring instead at the black shadows lingering in the far corners of the room.
Through their connection, Yuuri hears the blonde moving, hears him sniff, hears the pull of a tissue out of a box. At least, the older man thinks, Yuri is somewhere where he has tissues. It’s seems unlikely that he’s anywhere but home, and a small flash of relief rushes through his body.
Not that it lasts.
‘Ahhh!’ Yuri hisses sharply, undeniably in pain, and Yuuri’s grip on his phone tightens.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘It's nothing.’
‘Yurio,’ the older man says, his hand still clutching at Victor’s arm.
‘I said it's nothing.’
‘Do you need to go to the hospital?’
‘It's just a few cuts and bruises, don't be a nag about it,’ The teenager spits, though all traces of his usual malice are gone. Instead, he sounds like a child using words he doesn’t quite understand yet.
‘Promise me,’ Yuuri says then, his spine rigid, ‘Yuri? Promise me.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Relax, old man. Even the ice has a stronger right hook than those losers.'
Yuuri feels his breath catch in his throat at that, ‘Someone hit you? Yurio?’
Yuri is silent for too long. Then he huffs, his voice smothered in fake bravado, ‘Heh. You should see the other guys.’
‘Okay, that’s it. I need you to tell me exactly wh-’ Yuuri begins but Victor is reaching for the phone, his eyes pleading with his lover to let him speak to the boy he has considered his brother - his младший брат - since the day they met one another at the rink.
Yuuri just let’s him take it. He can’t stand the way his lover’s face is twisted.
‘Yurochka, what’s happening?’ Victor asks as soon as the phone is in his hands. The high lilt of his voice strained with worry instead of its usual happiness.
There's another patch of silence then, and Victor pinches the bridge of his nose. Yuuri can see how close he is to loosing it. So, he rubs a hand down his lover’s spine. Then he reaches further across his back and scoops Victor’s phone up from the bedside table.
He opens the messages, scrolls down until he finds Yakov’s name, and starts typing - the fact that his fingers are shaking only makes it harder.
‘Yura?’ Victor says, a tense hand on his forehead.
‘It was my own stupid fault,’ the young russian confesses eventually.
Victor shakes his head at that, ‘That cannot be, my little kitten, how can someone hurting you be your fault?’
‘You've known me for long enough, Vitya. You should know the answer to that. Don’t tell me you’ve gone stupid like your piggy?’
‘You think that the way you act, the way you talk, means that you somehow deserve to be hurt?’ Victor says, ignoring the insult, his voice wavering as he runs an unsteady hand through his hair.
‘Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe?’ Yuri says honestly and Victor’s face falls.
He’s messed up, he’s really messed this up. He was supposed to be a role model for the boy.
‘I'm sorry,’ Victor says then, as tears start to track freely down his cheeks, ‘I have failed you. I have let you down.’
‘No, Vitya, you haven’t-’ Yuri starts quickly, his mortification leaking freely through the phone.
‘Of course I have!’ Victor shouts, the emotion finally bubbling over, ‘If you can’t even believe that I love you. If you think that you could ever deserve to be beaten. You are my family. My heart. Yuri. And I have failed to reflect your own value back at you. I have failed you in an unforgivable way. Can you forgive me, Yura? Please, forgive me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my little kitten.’
‘No! Stop saying that! Why are you saying that?’ Yuri says hotly, annoyed that Victor is implicating himself in his mess.
‘You are such a beautiful person,’ Victor whispers then, just as Yuuri laces their fingers together. ‘You are so strong, and so determined. But I have not told you that enough.’
‘You’re wrong. I am not strong,’ Yuri says quietly, finally, with too much bitterness for someone his age.
‘Yuri, what has happened today? Please, tell me,’ Victor says, his voice straining under the increasing heartbreak. ‘Please, let me make it up to you.’
‘Stop saying that, Vitya! I mean it! You’re driving me mad! You've done nothing but try to help me... even though all I ever give you in return is my bad attitude,’ Yuri says quickly, heat burning up his voice. The young skater is furious.
‘No! I won't stop saying it, not until you stop saying that! You're allowed to express yourself however you wish. Not for one moment have I ever believed that you've hated me, or that you don’t care for me as much as I care for you,’ Victor says firmly.
‘You say that now, but you don't know what I said, Vitya. He didn’t deserve that!’
‘Who didn’t?’
‘Yuuri didn’t!’ The young russian explodes before he adds, much quieter, ‘I'm… I’m a horrible person, Vitya.’
‘No. You're not horrible! You’re not. And you mustn’t say that about yourself. When you wound yourself you wound me and it hurts, Yuri. You’re hurting me,’ Victor says, glancing over at his shaken lover, ‘And listen to me, whatever it is you said to Yuuri, it doesn't matter. It’s okay.’
‘How would you know!?’
‘Because he’s holding my hand so tightly my skin is burning... and his face is covered in tears, and they’re tears he’s crying for you, not because of you.’
‘Vitya..’ Yuri says then, a heavy sob echoing through the phone. Victor listens to him cry in horror, until his fingers spasm and the phone falls down onto the sheets.
Yuuri picks it up, closes his eyes and listens to the teenager cry until his throat is hoarse.
‘It's okay,’ Yuuri offers gently and there’s a sniffle on the line.
‘I didn't mean it, Yuuri. I'm so sorry. I can't stand that word, I don't know why I said that to you. I've seen it thrown at Vitya almost every day since we met, and I hate those people. The way they laugh at him, the way they spit at him like there's something wrong with him. Like there's something wrong with you. With... with me.’
‘Yurio?’ The older man says then, in a quiet gasp; pieces of the puzzle slowly starting to come together in his head. ‘You know it doesn’t matter who you love, there’s nothing wrong with it, you know that.’
‘I know that I know that!’ Yuri snaps, before he holds his breath so pointedly that Yuuri knows he must be red in the face.
‘That’s what this is about, isn’t it?’ The older man asks gently, Victor pressing against his side, hoping for answers, his ear as close to the phone as it can get.
‘I just…’ Yuri huffs, frustrated with himself, he usually has no problem saying what he feels, saying the first thing that comes into his head, but this is different. This is too real, too close to the bone. ‘I just don’t understand why people hate us.’
‘Oh, Yurio,’ Yuuri says, glancing over at his lover who has his hand pressed firmly against his mouth, ‘I don’t know why either. I wish I did. Is that why they hurt you?’
‘да, yes, that’s what they kept saying. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. Faggot. But I… I only kissed him on the cheek,’ the young russian offers, like he needs to rationalise it. Like he owes them an explanation.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Yuuri whispers, his eyes pulled up to the ceiling. Disgusted by a humanity that would beat a boy for something as innocent as a kiss on the cheek.
‘Did they hurt him too?’ Yuuri asks then and Victor shifts uncomfortably beside him.
‘No. They recognised me, so they followed me. Who could forget the Russian Fairy? Yakov has my face plastered all across this stupid city. And I was an idiot, I thought they’d leave me alone eventually but they jumped me in the park. They hit me and they kicked me. And I remember thinking that they could end everything I’ve worked so hard for. My whole life wasted. And for what, for a kiss?
Then they told me that I was filthy, and disgusting, and a vampire draining the energy of everyone around me. How can a world renowned coach like Yakov Feltsman give a shit about a piece of Moscow trash like me? How can someone as respected as Lilia Baranovskaya stand to have me around, always making mistakes? They kept saying, ‘it makes no sense, it makes no sense’ And it doesn't. I’m not… I’m not like you, I’m not kind, or gentle, or good.’
‘You are, Yurochka!’ Victor urges, and Yuuri nods pointlessly beside him. ‘You’re every one of those things..’
‘I just don’t want it to always be like this,’ Yuri says then, his thoughts racing around, making him dizzy, ‘I don’t get it. Why can’t we hold hands? Why can’t we kiss each other on busy streets like they can? What’s so disgusting about it?’
‘Nothing. There’s nothing disgusting about it,’ Yuuri states firmly; before Victor adds, ‘You are beautiful, my love, and your love is beautiful too.’
‘But I don’t understand what I did wrong... and maybe… maybe that means that everything I do is wrong somehow,’ Yuri offers openly.
‘No. No,’ Yuuri says without hesitation, ‘You haven't done anything wrong. You’re not wrong. You’re not broken, you don’t need fixing, Yurio. Victor and I, we love you so much.’
‘I… I know, I do know that, I’m sorry,’ Yuri whispers.
‘It’s okay, you’re upset, you’re allowed to be upset.We’re upset too,’ Yuuri offers, glancing over at Victor - his lover looks exhausted.
‘I hate them,’ Yuri says then, his voice so quiet it could be mistaken for a hiss of static, ‘And I hate that they make me feel so ashamed of myself.’
‘No. Please, don’t feel ashamed, my little kitten,’ Victor pleads, his cheek against the phone, ‘Please, don’t let them ruin your life. You’re a strong boy. You are. And you must think of us, Yuuri and I, who both love you so much. We will never be ashamed of you. We never could be. And I pray that you will never be ashamed of us. Not for this. Not for loving, Yura.'
‘Vitya..’ Yuri says, his voice soft and tired.
He's worn out. So, when there’s a knock on the door in St. Petersburg, it startles Yuri. He makes a confused kind of hum that rattles with anxiety.
‘It’s okay. It’s just Yakov,’ Yuuri says, ‘Go and let him in. I asked him to come over.’
The blonde gets up without words. Victor and Yuuri listen to the muffled movement, listen to the unlocking of the door, listen to the tut that Yakov lets out when he sees the boy, when he takes in his bruised cheek, his split lip, and the burning redness of his eyes.
‘Yura,’ they hear the older man say, before they hear the ruffle of fabric and the gentle hushing of their mentor. ‘It’s okay, I'm here now. Just let it all out.’
The lovers listen quietly, as Yakov holds onto the boy. Humming calmly until Yuri falls silent.
‘Yura,’ Victor says then, and the young russian sniffs, 'да, Vitya?’
‘Let him take care of you, okay? Yuuri and I will see you tomorrow.’
‘But..you have the exhibition skate in two days.’
‘Family comes first,’ Victor says easily, ‘You know that. Always.’
‘But Yuuri has been working so hard...’
‘да. Yes. But you're his family too.’ Victor reminds him, and there’s a fresh hint of calm in his voice - he feels relieved that Yakov is there. The rest they can sort out tomorrow. So long as Yuri is not alone.
‘Ugh,’ the teenager says then, sounding more like his usual self, ‘How exactly did I get stuck with two old geezers?’
‘Three old geezers,' Yakov says then and they hear the young russian groan.
‘This day is getting much worse.’
‘We’ll see you tomorrow, Yurochka. Just call us if you need to, I mean it, ’ Victor says then before Yuuri leans in and adds, ‘Goodnight, Yurio. I love you.’
“I.. I love you too,’ Yuri says and the older man grins.
‘I’ll give him a kiss for you, Yura,’ Victor smiles and Yuri groans.
‘Don't be gross, loser. It’s disgusting!’ Yuri’s breath catches as his words catch up with him. Why did he say that. After this. After everything that’s happened. What’s wrong with him? He’s about to apologise but Victor and Yuuri are laughing.
‘Two kisses then!’ Victor says as he leans over and plants two loud kisses on his lover’s face.
‘Ugh,’ Yuri shudders, but Yuuri can tell that he’s smiling before Victor hangs up. The young russian slipping his phone into his pocket before he wraps his arms around Yakov’s waist. His eyes closed tight.
‘Everything will be okay,’ his mentor says. ‘You know I always know these things.’
Back in Japan, Victor is staring at Yuuri's phone, like he’s trying to understand everything that’s just happened, then he hiccups and the tears start streaming down his face again. Yuuri kneels on the mattress, throws his arms around his lover’s neck, and holds him tight.
‘I don’t think either of us will be getting much sleep. Shall we start packing our things? The first plane out of here leaves in six hours. I can make us some tea,’ Yuuri says, leaning back, cupping Victor’s damp cheeks.
‘Yes,’ he says, ‘Yes. I just want to hold him. He's such a good boy.’
‘I know he is,’ Yuuri smiles, using a thumb to wipe away his lover’s tears, ‘And we’ll be with him soon.’