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“I’m leaving.”
Yuuri’s words hang in the air like a death sentence, and Victor’s blood runs cold.
“Yuuri… what do you- what’s wrong, solnyshko , what is it?”
Yuuri shakes his head. “This was a mistake, Victor, all of it. We were a mistake. I can’t do this anymore. I have to go home.”
“What do you mean, you can’t do this? I-I thought you were happy . I thought we were okay.”
Yuuri just looks at him with sad brown eyes, shaking his head solemnly before turning back towards the door, suitcase in hand.
Victor darts around him, takes the hand that isn’t holding the suitcase, and grips it imploringly.
“Yuuri, wait, please, we can talk about this. If something’s wrong, please just tell me. We can fix this!”
It’s only then that he notices that the hand he holds is empty, unadorned by the familiar gold band Victor loves so much. Yuuri’s ring is gone. He pulls his hand back gently out of Victor’s grasp, levelling him with a look that is equal parts pity and disgust.
“There’s nothing you can do, Victor. It’s over.”
“Yuuri, please. Please don’t do this.”
He isn’t above begging. Not for this. Not for Yuuri.
“Please, Yuuri. Please don’t go, I.. I need you. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. Please, please… s-stay by my side… and don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”
Yuuri doesn’t even turn to face him, just opens the door and steps out into the hallway.
“Goodbye, Victor.”
The door closes behind him, and the click of the latch echoes as it shuts, thunderous and final, around Victor’s empty apartment. He is gone.
Yuuri is gone.
And Victor is all alone.
~ ~ ~
A sharp, guttural gasp catches in Victor’s throat as he jolts awake, quickly turning into a bout of violent coughing as he struggles back to consciousness. His chest rattles and burns with each cough, each breath. He’s not sure if the deep ache is from the chest infection or the dream.
The dream. It was a dream, right? Just a dream. It had to be. Even though it had felt so real…
“Yuuri?” He croaks out desperately, hoping against all hope that his husband will walk through their bedroom door and tell him everything is okay.
But nothing but silence answers his call.
Confusion turns to apprehension as he forces himself to sit up in bed. “Makkachin? Where are you, girl?”
More silence. No jingling of tags, no panting, no telltale clicking of nails on the hardwood.
They must be in another room, he reasons, his mind moving sluggishly. They must just not have heard him. They’re not gone, they can’t be gone, right?
With effort, he forces his clammy, trembling body to sit up, to swing his legs over the side of the bed and grab his phone from the bedside table. His entire body aches with each movement, his chest worst of all, but he forces himself to move nonetheless. He stumbles across the bedroom, out the door, into the hallway.
The empty hallway.
He draws in a breath to call out again, but chokes on it, launching into a bout of painful coughing that leaves him doubled over, leaning heavily against the doorframe. It takes him several moments to stop coughing and catch his breath, his lungs aching with each wheezing inhalation.
“Yuuri?” His voice sounds awful to his own ears, and feels even worse, like a million white hot knives stabbing him from within. “Makkachin?”
Still no answer. Only silence.
The sense of unease turns to real fear as Victor stumbles down the hall to find an empty kitchen and living room. He had been so sure that Yuuri leaving him was just a nightmare, but he’s really… he’s really gone. He’s gone, and Victor’s head is so fuzzy, and everything is too hot and too much and he’s terrified , because the nightmare was real after all, because Yuuri left him and he’s alone .
All alone.
“Yuuri? Makkachin?” His ruined voice breaks, turns into a half-sob. “Oh-oh god, anybody…”
He stumbles through the house again, checking every room, calling out for Yuuri and Makkachin between coughing fits. His throat burns from the strain, but he keeps calling, keeps moving. His lungs can’t support the sudden burst of activity, but in his confusion and panic, he doesn’t care.
He eventually runs out of breath to call out, but he doesn’t stop, he can’t stop, even as everything spins around him, even as his vision blurs and his head goes light and strange-feeling, even as the world tilts on its axis and the floor rises up to meet him.
He doesn’t really feel the fall, or the impact. Just a sudden shift, and then cool wood under his cheek. He hadn’t realized before how hot he had been.
Part of him, the exhausted, shivery part that still can’t take a full breath without triggering a painful coughing fit, wants to just stay here on the cool floor and drift off, to sleep the pain away. Then Yuuri’s image flashes once more in his mind’s eye, that cold, loveless stare as he left, the sound of the door slamming shut behind him, and his physical pain feels almost sweet in comparison to the agonizing prospect of a life without his Yuuri.
He can’t do it. He can’t go back to how it was before, the loneliness, the emptiness. He can’t go back to the fake smiles and long hours at the rink and the awful, cloying numbness inside. He can’t live like that. Not anymore.
Certainly not after Yuuri, who had shattered the walls he’d unknowingly built up around himself and brought colour back to his meaningless, empty existence. Who had shown him life and love and so much happiness. Who he had loved - who he loves - more than anything or anyone in the world.
His pride, his pain, his exhaustion, they’re all insignificant. Yuuri is more important than any of that, too important to let slip away. Victor can’t allow himself to just lay here, as much as he might want to, as much as his body aches for rest. He has to do something.
But what?
Getting up is a lost cause, he quickly finds. He’s so weak he can only barely manage to push himself up to a sitting position before slumping back against the wall, exhausted. How is he supposed to find Yuuri and talk things through when even just sitting up leaves him shaky, sweaty and gasping for breath?
His phone.
The answer drifts slowly to his fever-fogged brain, and he thanks his lucky stars that he thought to grab it on the way out of the bedroom. If he can just talk to Yuuri, he knows they can work things out. Whatever he did wrong, he can fix it, he just needs to talk to his husband and everything will be okay…
Providing Yuuri answers his phone, that is.
He pauses as he shakily enters the passcode, his thumb hovering over the screen. What if Yuuri has decided to shut Victor out completely? What if he’s screening his calls? The thought brings tears to his eyes and he tries desperately to swallow them down before they trigger another coughing fit.
Trembling hands finish unlocking the phone and seek out Yuuri’s name in his contacts. He holds it up to his ear, trying to suppress his sobs so he can hear if Yuuri picks up.
“Hi! You’ve reached Katsuki Yuuri. Please leave your message after the tone!”
All of his resolve to hold back his tears crumbles at the sound of his love’s voice, and-
Beep!
-he shatters.
“Yuuri…” He gasps, broken and pathetic. “Yuuri, p-please come back. Come h-home. Whatever happened, whatever I did, I won’t do it again, I promise. I’m so sorry, Yuuri, I just… I just want you to come home. I need you to come home, please. I love you. I love you so much, please don’t go…”
He loses his train of thought, sobbing out apologies and pleas until the voicemail hits its time limit and disconnects him automatically. Then he lets his phone slide out of his fingers where it clatters against the hardwood as he cries some more, sobs interrupted every so often by fits of painful, hacking coughs.
He is so wrapped up in utter, all-encompassing misery that he nearly misses the buzz of his phone vibrating on the floor several minutes later. Through the blur of tears and delirium he sees Yuuri’s name and picture flashing on the screen and scrambles to answer the call with shaking hands.
“Yuuri?” he chokes out breathlessly, lifting the phone to his ear. “Yuuri, I’m so sorry, please come home, I’ll do anything.”
“Vitya, honey, slow down, I can hardly hear you.” Yuuri says, his voice tinny but concerned. “I just got your message…Are you okay?”
“I- I…” Victor is cut off by another coughing fit. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri.”
“Sorry? Vitya, you don’t have anything to apologize for. What happened?”
“I…” he wracks his fever-fogged brain, trying to come up with an answer and drawing a blank. What did happen? Yuuri had never said why he was leaving. Or had he? Victor’s thoughts are slipping by so fast… and he'd never had a good memory to begin with. Was that why Yuuri left? Had he forgotten something important? “I d-don’t know, Yuuri. I’m so sorry.”
He bursts into tears again, clutching the phone to his ear like a lifeline.
“I’ll do better. I’ll be better, I promise. I’m s-sorry-“
“It’s alright, love. You don’t need to apologize for anything, just breathe, okay? Breathe with me.”
Breathing with Yuuri is far easier said than done. Each inhalation is wheezy and painful, and it feels like he’s breathing through a plastic straw half the time. But he forces himself to match Yuuri’s staticky breaths over the phone despite the discomfort.
He has to prove to Yuuri that he can be better. He has to convince him that he’s worth coming home for.
“Are you okay?”
“N-no…” The response is more a sob than a word.
“What’s wrong?”
“I-I don’t know. I thought we were okay, but you… you left.”
“Yes… I went out to get medicine, remember? And to take Makkachin out for her walk. I’m at the pharmacy now.”
“You’re… what?”
“Didn’t you get my note?”
Victor blinks blearily, looking around. “I don’t… I can’t see a note…”
“You can’t see it… wait, Victor, where are you right now?”
“In the hall. On the floor.”
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
“You left… you were gone, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t find you…”
“Did you hit your head on anything?”
“No, I don’t… think so?”
Yuuri curses under his breath, and Victor’s heart leaps in fear. “I’m sorry, Yuuri-“
“No,” Yuuri replies, sounding nearly as frantic. “No, sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? Just, just stay put. I’ll be there soon.”
Victor’s breath hitches, triggering a stab of pain in his chest that he barely even notices. “You’re… you’re c-coming home?”
“Yes, Vitya. I’m checking out now and I’ll come home right away.”
“You’re…” Tears spring to Victor’s eyes, and a sob bubbles up in his throat. “Thank god, thank g-god…”
“Victor?”
“Thank you, Yuuri, thank you so much, I swear I’ll do better, we can w-work this out together, I promise. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Yuuri responds, worry only barely masked. “Vitya, listen. I’m going to have to hang up soon. I’m only a few blocks away but it’ll be easier for us to run if I’m not on the phone. Is that okay? I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”
No, he thinks . “Y-Yes.” He forces himself to say.
“Okay. I’ll see you soon, Vitya. I’ll be right there. I love you, okay?”
“Okay.” Victor sniffles. “I love you too.”
Victor drops his phone back on the floor when the call disconnects and lays his head back against the wall, exhausted, tears still streaming down his face.
His head swims and his chest aches as he sits there. The floor is so hard beneath him, and the way he’s leaning against the wall hurts his back. He wishes he were back in bed… but he promised Yuuri he wouldn’t move. He promised him, and he can’t break his promise, not when Yuuri’s only just forgiven him, not when he’s finally coming home.
He won’t squander this second chance, no. He’ll stay right here and wait.
Besides, he thinks, he’s so weak and hazy he doesn’t think he could stand up on his own even if he wanted to.
The second he hears the key turn in the lock, several minutes later, Victor’s heart swells.
“Yuuri?”
The door clicks open and closes quickly. Victor hears a jingling sound as Makkachin shakes, and feet thumping on the hardwood…
And then Yuuri slides around the corner in a full sprint, dropping to his knees in front of Victor, who wastes no time in throwing his arms around Yuuri and latching on to him.
"Yuuri," he sobs, breathing in his scent on his jacket as best he can. "Thank god, thank god. I've missed you s-so much."
"It's okay, Vitya," Yuuri murmurs, "I'm here. I'm right here."
He lets Victor cling to him for a while before gently extricating himself from his grasp, reaching out a hand and brushing Victor's sweaty bangs off his forehead. He winces as soon as his skin makes contact. ”You're burning up."
Victor ignores his words, instead grabbing for Yuuri's hand and holding it up in front of him. His whole body sags with relief when he sees the ring on Yuuri's finger, real, tangible proof that it was all just a horrible dream. He brings the hand up to his face and kisses the ring, so overwhelmed with relief that he forgets about the possibility of passing on his germs.
"Vitya, come on, let's get you into bed," Yuuri says, crouching down to get a hold of Victor under his arms.
He helps Victor stand with effort, and holds him as he sways. A rush of dizziness overwhelms Victor as Yuuri helps him up, and he leans on him heavily. They make their clumsy way back to the bedroom, where Yuuri deposits Victor gently onto the bed.
"Stay here, Vitya, I'm going to go find the thermometer..."
As he stands up to leave, Victor's hand shoots out from under the covers with surprising speed, catching Yuuri's wist.
"Don't go," Victor begs again, eyes still fever-bright.
Yuuri leans down and gives him a gentle kiss on the forehead. "I'm just going to the other room, love, I'll be right back. Here, what if I call-“
As if on cue, Makkachin trots into the room and hops up on the bed, immediately sitting at Victor’s side. He relinquishes his grip on Yuuri in order to hug and pet her, murmuring to her in Russian how much he’s missed her, how glad he is she’s back.
Yuuri returns with the thermometer and gently moves the poodle off of him. She grumbles, but dutifully shifts to the bottom of the bed and curls up at Victor’s feet, allowing Yuuri access to take his temperature.
“Oh, honey,” Yuuri sighs moments later, withdrawing the thermometer from his mouth. “You’re 102.9. How did you even get out of bed like this?”
“I was scared,” Victor says simply, softly. “I… I dreamt you’d left me, and when I woke up…”
He breaks off, overcome, and Yuuri sits on the edge of his bed and holds his hand.
“Oh, Vitya,” Yuuri sighs. “You know I'd never leave you, right?”
“I…” He hesitates, blurry gaze focused on his hands twisted in the bedsheets. “Yes, I know.”
And he does know. Really, he does. Yuuri has assured him time and time again that he’s not going anywhere, in Barcelona, after that awful fight, in their wedding vows… Still, there’s that nagging doubt, that ever-present fear that rears its head in his loneliest, most vulnerable moments. The fear that someday, Yuuri will leave him too. That someday, his husband will see him as he really is: broken, washed-up, too much and never enough, a mistake .
And he’ll be alone again.
“Hey, look at me.” Yuuri’s gentle voice cuts through his thoughts, and he waits until Victor’s bloodshot, tired eyes meet his before continuing. “You’re my husband. You’re the love of my life. There is nothing you could do that would make me leave you, or love you any less, okay? I promise.”
Victor, unable to speak, just swallows hard and nods, opening his arms for a hug that Yuuri gladly provides, holding him for as long as he needs to be held. It’s only when sitting up becomes too much and he begins to sway in Yuuri’s arms that Yuuri releases him, helping him to lie gently back on the pillows and tucking him back into bed.
“You should try to get some sleep, sweetheart,” Yuuri suggests gently.
“Will you stay with me?”
“Of course,” Yuuri whispers, circling the bed to lay down next to his husband. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”
“Forever, then.” Victor mumbles, burying his face in the warm, safe haven of Yuuri’s chest and allowing his eyes to slip shut.
Yuuri smiles, running his fingers through his husband’s sweaty hair. “Forever.”