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“Yuuri?”
Viktor’s voice was tinny and distant in Yuuri’s ear when he picked up the phone.
“What?” Yuuri asked flatly. He wasn’t in the mood. He was on his third cup of coffee already, and it wasn’t even nine in the morning. It was a gray day, the exhausting kind that pressed down on Yuuri from all sides until he was one big headache. He was on his first break after a series of interviews that kicked off his very first press junket. Viktor was supposed to be there, but… well, Yuuri was there by himself, and he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see his fiancé’s name pop up on his phone during his break.
How’d he even know Yuuri was finished, anyway?
“Oh… I—” Viktor cleared his throat. “I was wondering if we could talk.”
That morning had been a whirlwind of tears and expletives from the moment they got up. Viktor had been on Yuuri’s case about his choice of dress from the moment the alarm went off at four a.m., and Yuuri was too stressed and annoyed to stand for any of it. It wasn’t fair, was it? Viktor was so well-versed in dealing with the press, while Yuuri was still a wreck anytime he was pulled aside from the rink for a few quick, informal interview questions. This was more than that—a full-day affair with reps from different publications filing through one at a time, all asking the same questions and expecting different answers, all with big, bright, fake smiles like the one Viktor used to flash at the cameras. Viktor should have known that. Viktor had seen Yuuri break down at the attention. He’d always been so good about taking the lead with this kind of thing, but no. They just had to fight, and Yuuri just had to throw his ring, and Viktor just had to stay home.
But not before saying a few things that were really, seriously hurtful. Which was why Yuuri was itching to just hang up the phone. He’d heard that voice say some harsh things in the past, but this time was different. There was no hidden intent this time, no obstacle for Yuuri to overcome that would ultimately make him stronger. This time, it had been fueled by anger, just like all of the horrible things Yuuri had said that he was trying to forget.
“I don’t have a lot of time.” Yuuri dragged himself over to the coffee pot and refilled his mug. He wanted to tell Viktor that actually, he’d been talking all morning and still had plenty to go. He wanted to yell that this wasn’t the time, especially when Viktor was supposed to be there for him. That he’d almost broken down twice that morning already. But he couldn’t bring himself to unclench his jaw, except to sip greedily at his muddy coffee.
Viktor’s voice cut out for a second. “—know, I’ll be fast. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being so selfish.”
“You weren’t just selfish, Vitya, you were mean,” Yuuri countered before he could stop himself.
Viktor sighed. “I don’t want to fight,” he begged. “Please, tell me what I can do to make this better!”
The door to the soundstage opened, and another camera crew started to file in, an overly made-up reporter behind them. Yuuri felt his nerves spike instantly once more.
“Look, can you just leave me alone for a while so I can get through this?” he asked impatiently. “I have to do this all day. Over and over. By myself.”
“I…” Viktor’s voice broke before he could finish. It was so pitiful and sad that Yuuri felt himself choking up too. “I love you, Yuuri,” Viktor concluded. “I’ll see you at home.”
The line went dead, and Yuuri realized all too late how badly he’d messed up. The pain in Viktor’s voice was obvious, the sincerity of his apology undeniable. But instead of listening and reciprocating, Yuuri had let his stress answer for him. He’d been too willing to continue the fight he’d started.
He considered calling back and apologizing too, something he’d managed not to do yet this morning. But he’d already told Viktor not to bother him. He couldn’t just go back on that—he couldn’t be the one to break first after establishing such a clear boundary. If Viktor was really sorry, he’d listen, and if Viktor was really lonely, he’d call. Either way, Yuuri came out… vindicated? Justified? He wasn’t sure. He could barely think straight. He ran for the bathroom before the producer could wave him over for his next set of questions.
Overall, the junket was a nightmare, but not because Yuuri thought he’d done a bad job. He tried to be as candid as possible, although his jokes seemed to fall flat after a while. He knew that if Viktor were here, he’d be full of his clandestine, press-ready liveliness that bore no connection to his actual mood or energy level. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed his own coach—his own fiancé—away just to spite him.
He had a few more breaks in the afternoon, one of which was long enough for someone to run out and bring him lunch. He couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty as he bit into his definitely-not-diet-approved cheeseburger, but the sheer satisfaction it afforded him was worth it. He’d almost definitely cave and tell Viktor later, but for now he didn’t care what anyone thought. He needed comfort and cheeseburgers were comfort.
The day was a blur. When it was all over, Yuuri could hardly remember what he’d even said to whom and which of the bathroom breaks was the one where someone had caught him crying in the toilet stall. All the same, picking himself and his belongings up out of that chair and calling a car back to the apartment meant he was going to have to face reality and talk with Viktor about what had happened that morning. He was starting to feel really guilty about his role in the whole ordeal—it had been clear, when Viktor called, that he had been trying to apologize and mend things before they went a whole day without talking.
And then they went a whole day without talking.
And it was all Yuuri’s fault.
Fine. It was fine, all Yuuri had to do was go home and apologize. He couldn’t un-throw his ring, he supposed, but it hadn’t been lost or even scratched, and he could probably say whatever Viktor needed to move past it, if he thought hard enough. After all, he hadn’t meant to insinuate that he was trying to call off the wedding. God, his chest was tight just thinking about it. He couldn’t imagine what Viktor must have thought, seeing Yuuri twist the little piece of gold off of his ring finger.
If it had been the other way around, Yuuri would have crumbled from the inside out, as if all his little pieces were held together by his heart.
He couldn’t stand sitting still in the back of the car, so a few miles out he politely requested a stop and paid the fare for the full route before stepping out into the cold spring streets. He needed to get a grip. He’d let himself get combative, anyway. His inner Phichit chewed him out for most of the walk back.
“Oh, such a prima donna,” his best friend’s voice hissed. “Why are you out here feeling sorry for yourself when all you have to do is finish what you started?”
As it turned out, spring in St. Petersburg was not warm. It was almost like there was nothing between winter and summer—maybe one day soon these streets would be warm and green. The wind stung Yuuri’s cheeks, made worse by the tears that still fell in heavy drops and splattered across his glasses lenses. Crying wouldn’t make it better, but the only thing Yuuri could think to do was cry.
He nearly ran up the five flights of stairs that led to their loft, only to find it empty and dark, lit only by the now-setting sun. There was no note on the table by the door, nor was there anything on the kitchen counter.
Makkachin chirped anxiously from the couch, stirring from what must have been a long sleep.
God, what had he done? Was Viktor ever coming back? How long had he been gone?
A shower and two sedative shots of whiskey later, Yuuri turned on the tv to some show he couldn’t understand and curled up on the couch, throw pillow clutched in his arms and Makkachin curled up between his legs. He didn’t know how long he laid like that, glasses discarded on the side table, his eyes and face and temples aching from tears. He must have gone through a few episodes of whatever period drama he was watching, at the very least, before he finally turned off the TV and drifted into some sort of uneasy half-sleep.
The sound of Viktor’s skate bag hitting the floor was so familiar it had practically become routine. Yuuri was even used to being roused by it like this, but only because Viktor scheduled his own training days so that Yuuri could sleep in while Viktor was at practice. The thunk of the duffel bag against hardwood usually signalled Viktor’s return home at ten and a late morning of cuddling until lunch. This time, Yuuri awoke to a dark apartment and his fiancé hovering awkwardly in the doorway, his face lit by the ethereal glow of his phone’s screen.
Viktor looked exhausted. His shoulders hung heavy as he kicked off his shoes and tossed his keys into the little glass dish by the door. His hair was a mess, soaked and pushed back from his forehead in a way that would usually have caused him to fuss. Dark purple bags hung heavy under his half-lidded eyes, and Yuuri could see even in the dark the puffy redness that eclipsed their usual brightness.
He could hardly remember why they’d fought. What was it even over? A necktie? Was that worth this?
“Vitya…” Yuuri sat up awkwardly, watching Viktor for his next move.
Viktor jumped at the sound of Yuuri’s voice, his eyes widening desperately as he nearly threw his phone aside. “Yuuri…”
“I’m sorry, Vitya,” Yuuri practically whispered, not sure he had the legs to get up quite yet. “I was… I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I don’t want to fight either,” Viktor said, closing the space between them in a few quick strides and dropping to the floor. “I missed you so much today. It felt like I was never going to get you back.”
“I’m so sorry for what I said on the phone,” Yuuri repeated. “I’m not used to… I guess I never thought we’d actually fight.”
Viktor’s laugh was wet and teary. He smelled like sweat, still in his workout clothes, but he climbed up onto the couch and curled up into Yuuri’s side. “We used to do nothing but fight,” he said wearily. “Nothing ever felt this important, though.”
“Nothing made it better,” Yuuri sighed, clutching Viktor to him and feeling the warmth he’d been seeking return in waves. He could feel Viktor’s heart racing against his side. “I don’t know why I pushed you away when nothing else would do.”
“I don’t care,” Viktor murmured, crawling closer into Yuuri and nuzzling his head into the curve of Yuuri’s shoulder. “Not right now. I just want you.”
Yuuri realized that what Viktor was saying was everything he’d been feeling for most of the day. Now that they were together and warm and competing for couch space with Makkachin, it hardly mattered what the end result of the fight was. All that Yuuri cared about was Viktor’s breath on his neck and the gentle comfort of Viktor’s weight on top of him as they got reacquainted with one another. All that mattered was that on the other side of the conflict, they still had one another.
“I love you so much, Yuuri,” Viktor whined, adjusting that last extra inch in order to reach Yuuri’s lips. They kissed soft and slow, but with hands that grasped desperately at one another as if something might pull them apart once more. “I don’t ever want to drive you away with my insufferable pettiness.”
“Shhh,” Yuuri soothed, smoothing down Viktor’s hair as he kissed along the line of his jaw. “We can decide if it’s even worth talking about tomorrow. For now, all I want is you.”
Yuuri could feel, rather than see, Viktor’s smile against his own, and as Viktor settled against him, he felt the tension that had gripped him all day finally begin to ease. He barely had any energy, but he could tell by the quivering of Viktor’s muscles as he pulled himself up that Viktor had even less. So Yuuri mustered up every last ounce and scooped his fiancé into his arms, then carried him down the little hall to their room. With the curtains open, they could see the myriad stars reflected on the dark surface of the ocean, quiet and peaceful in a way that neither of them had felt yet that day. Makkachin jumping up in bed with them was warm and cozy, and while all Yuuri wanted was as much Viktor as he’d let himself ignore that day, he couldn’t stop her from wedging herself in between them for maximum cuddles.
Tomorrow, they would talk. They would figure out what had happened and what could be done to prevent it from going wrong the next time. But tonight, Yuuri had all he wanted, and nothing else would do.