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It was June, and almost six months almost to the day that Victor Nikiforov left the ice.
He had made the decision to do so with good reason. At thirty-one, his body just wasn’t as flexible or resilient as it used to be. He could still skate, but he knew his performances and his body would suffer in the long run. His doctors and trainers all confirmed his suspicions. He wanted to end things on his own terms, with a bang and not with a fizzle. After many discussions, both with Yuuri and with Yakov, he made his decision and then announced his intent to retire after Worlds in the Spring.
It was a bittersweet season, then. Yakov made sure Victor’s programs were beautiful and powerful and, most importantly, completely his. Yuuri was excited to be able to help choreograph another pair's exhibition skate for the two of them, an homage to their first season working together. In December, Victor won his seventh and last Grand Prix Final gold medal, and rejoiced in the fact that his husband was there below him wearing silver. He was off to Russian Nationals a few weeks later, with Yakov, Yuuri and the entire Russian skating family in tow.
Then he fell.
On the last jump in his free skate, he under-rotated. He wasn’t prepared for a sudden landing and his skate slid out from under him. Paramedics carried him off the ice on a stretcher, his knee bent at an awkward angle and his head slightly concussed. There were x-rays and scans, doctors’ visits and talks of a surgery. Victor Nikiforov would skate again, they said, but it would be six months to a year before he regained full mobility. He wouldn’t be able to finish the season.
Victor took the news well, all things considered. He didn’t cry or fuss about his circumstances. He tried to make a joke out of it, telling everyone the universe simply forced his hand. When he told his husband the news, Yuuri faced it with a brave face and a determined glint in his eye. He held Victor’s hand and started planning for their future, how to accommodate for the months of physical therapy and rest that his Russian would need. He even tried to pull out of Four Continents and Worlds, but Yuri, Yakov and Victor argued that if Victor couldn’t skate then it was up to him to finish the season for the both of them. So Victor watched from St. Petersburg while Yuuri skated and took gold and then bronze.
Then Yuuri came home for the summer, and something shifted.
It was like a shadow cast over their home. Where once Victor would fill it with endearments and shameless flirting, he now could only offer strained smiles and tired conversation. Yuuri did his best to be positive and supportive despite the lack of affection to which he’d grown accustomed. He filled the silences with inane chit chat, and when he ran out of things to say, he’d set Victor up with his laptop to video chat with Yuuri’s family in Hasetsu or any of the friends in the skating community. But even with the outpouring of love from everyone, Victor’s eyes dulled, his touches grew less frequent and his smile almost faded altogether.
Victor Nikiforov was struggling. And what was worse, he wouldn’t talk to his husband about it. Instead, he buried his feelings using the techniques he’d learned as teen, when he decided that people would like him better if he became what they wanted him to be. He smiled when he had to, spoke when spoken to, and spent a lot of time alone with his dog.
It was June, almost six months to the day that Victor Nikiforov was forced to retire, and both he and Yuuri had reached a breaking point.
“Dammit, Yuuri, I can do it myself! Just forget your stupid hero-worship and leave me alone!”
Victor sat on the floor under the open windows where he’d fallen doing his physical therapy exercises. By muscle memory, Yuuri had risen from eating his dinner at the kitchen island to help him up, but as he reached out, Victor snapped at him. There was fury and resignation in his ice-blue eyes and a blotchy flush on his sharp cheekbones. His sweat-damp hair fell into his face and he panted in pain as he clutched at his knee. For that brief instant, Yuuri barely recognized his husband.
“Why would you say something like that?” Yuuri tried his best to keep his voice level and void of any defensiveness. His body language, however, told a different story. He held his shoulders back and stood up straight to his full height, but he pulled his arms close to his body, not folded but laying on top of each other on his stomach. His normally warm chocolate-brown eyes flashed with hurt. Victor took this in and had the good sense to not say anything else.
“I understand that you have been trying to adjust to our new normal lately, and that our situation right now is not ideal,” Yuuri continued, his voice still level but strong and clear. “It is incredibly frustrating, but don't you dare take out your feelings on me. You have no right. ”
Victor attempted a pathetic apology. “Yuuri…”
“I’m not finished!”
Victor sat still on the floor and looked up into his husband’s face. For the first time in weeks, Victor could see the dark circles under Yuuri’s eyes and the sunkenness to his cheeks. His all-black ensemble emphasized them and hung a little more loosely than Victor remembered them fitting six months ago. The ordeal of the past six months weighed heavily on Yuuri and it was only now that Victor could see the evidence. He felt realization and shame fill his chest, so he only nodded to encourage his husband to continue.
“I have tried my hardest to help you these past few months. I have taken care of our food shopping and cooking, our laundry and cleaning the apartment. I have had to take care of Makkachin all by myself. I scheduled our physicals for the year and talked to all of your sponsors about extending your contracts as a coach. None of those things is an easy job, and they only get harder when you have anxiety and have to do them all yourself. But I did them. I didn’t expect a parade or a party for it. I didn’t even expect a ‘thank you,’ I just did it. Because I love you. When you love someone, you tell them so. You let them know and you do things for them without being asked.”
Yuuri rubbed his eyes and ran his hands back through his hair until they rested on the back of his neck. Victor sat in silence.
“I have been waiting for you to be ready to talk to me for weeks,” Yuuri sighed, his voice shaking slightly as he tried to hold back his emotions. “I have been patient and kept my distance and let you try to work through it on your own. I have offered you comfort and words of affirmation. Hell, I even made sure all of your friends and family kept in touch so you always had someone new to talk to while you were in recovery. You gave them and me nothing in return. I am so fed up with constantly walking on eggshells in our home just because I don’t know which Victor I’ll be getting. Will you be sulking or irritated or moping? My heart hurts every time I open the door and you don’t look up from that damn Nationals video on your laptop. I can’t remember the last time you touched me or kissed me or even smiled at me. You just stare through me, like I’m a ghost of something you don’t want to remember.”
Tears dripped from his eyes down to his chin and onto the floor. They formed a small puddle right in front of Victor. He looked from it to Yuuri, his throat tightening with every confession. “Do you know how hard it has been to keep up the charade that everything is fine? It is so isolating living in a world of...spun sugar and lies. One touch, one raindrop and it all could come crumbling down. I couldn’t tell anyone why I had to downgrade my jumps for Worlds. That’s right, I only had two quads in my program. I’ve been exhausted emotionally and physically for so long that even my famous stamina couldn’t handle the extra exertion. I didn’t tell you because I knew how much it would hurt you to talk about the competition, where you were missed terribly, by the way. So I lied. To Chris and Phichit and Georgi and even JJ fucking Leroy to save both of our reputations. I have had to do it for months, and I am so...tired.”
Victor’s eyes swam with unshed tears, the fury in them replaced with guilt and melancholy. Yuuri scrubbed his tear-streaked face with his shirtsleeve and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was gentler and he crouched down to sit on the floor across from Victor. He criss-crossed his legs and lay his hands in his lap. “I didn’t think being married would always be sunshine and rainbows, especially not after what happened, but dammit, I deserve better than what we have now. We both do.” Yuuri paused to let his speech sink in then said flatly, “Now is your turn to say something.”
“Yuuri, I…” Victor’s tears spilled over. He quickly wiped them away with his palms but wasn’t quick enough to catch the ones that took their place. “You’re right.”
“...Victor?” Yuuri scooted closer to his husband so that he was close enough to reach out for his hand. He refrained, though, not knowing what kind of reaction he would get if he tried.
“You’re right about everything,” Victor sobbed into his hands. He let go of his throbbing knee and stretched out his legs in front of him like a child might. They cracked in protest and Victor winced at the sound, a reminder of how his body had betrayed him. Despite his nearly six-foot frame, he looked small, defenseless, and just as tired as Yuuri felt.
”Vitya…”
“You have done so much for me and all I did to thank you was put up walls. I tried to shut out the world so I wouldn’t have to accept the...my accident...and I shut you out along with it. I’m so ashamed.”
Yuuri couldn’t help himself, he slid even closer and wrapped his arms around Victor’s shoulders. With one hand he rubbed soothing circles between his shoulders, and with the other, he kept Victor’s head in the crook of his shoulder and neck. The two of them clung to each other, desperate to eliminate any space between them after so much time apart.
Victor cried, and Yuuri let him. He didn’t know how long they sat there while he let out months of repressed emotions and frustrations in his husband’s shoulder. He sobbed so hard his entire body shook and he curled into himself to stop it. Tears slid down his cheeks onto Yuuri’s shoulder and didn't have time to dry before more follow. Yuuri shifted them so Victor’s legs were in his lap and he could still support his shoulders and head. He held Victor tightly and rocked them in place, whispering soothing things in his ear. They sat like this until it grew dark around them and Victor’s sobs quieted into deep even breaths. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, barely more than a murmur.
“I was so selfish. Yuuri, you deserved better and you still do. I am so sorry, so sorry, solnyshko. Please, can you ever forgive me?”
“You were forgiven for everything you could ever do when we made our vows.” Yuuri breathed from over Victor’s head. He put a kiss on the whorl of silver hair that he loved. “Remember? ‘For better and for worse, in sickness and in health.’ I think this qualifies as one of those worse times.”
Victor took a shaky breath and pulled back from Yuuri’s shoulder to look him in the eye. Gone was the hurt and indignation. He found only love in the familiar watery brown eyes. He felt more tears slide from his own. “It’s so unfair.”
Yuuri nodded vehemently and put his hand on Victor’s cheek, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
“I was so close to retiring, but I wanted those performances,” the Russian admitted. “I wanted to finish the season.”
“And you deserved to. They should have been yours.” Yuuri sniffled a little, still nodding in agreement.
“And I won’t get a chance to come back from this. It hurts. Just thinking about what was taken from me hurts. ”
“You are allowed to feel that hurt, Victor. Do you hear me? Of all people, you are allowed to feel angry. You were robbed of your swan song, and that’s not something easily replaced.”
Victor marveled for a moment at his husband, tears slowing but still chasing their way down his face. Yuuri wasn’t angry. He wasn’t upset because Victor fell and needed help. He wasn’t irritated at the thought of helping him recover and potentially never skating with him again. Yuuri loved him, and wanted to help in any way he could.
“What do I do now?”
“What do you want to do, Vitya?” Yuuri gently wiped away the wetness on both of their cheeks and smoothed his husband’s hair behind his ear. He tilted his head, waiting for Victor to say what was on his mind.
“I don’t know. I’m still not sure who Victor Nikiforov is without skating.”
“Well, then we'll find out together.” Yuuri said simply. “But in the meantime, can I tell you a little bit about him?”
Victor nodded halfheartedly, not entirely sure what Yuuri was going to say.
“Victor Nikiforov loves dogs. He will risk crossing a busy intersection for the chance to pet a very good boy or girl. He has a brain that moves really fast, always looking for something new to learn. He cooks really well...but only the one dish. He’s a voracious reader. I have never seen so many books in one place outside of a store.”
Yuuri giggled at his joke and Victor offered a small smile. The Japanese skater took it as encouragement to continue.
“Victor Nikiforov is beautiful. I mean, he’s handsome, with soft silver hair and warm skin like fresh cream and ice-blue eyes that hold the past and the future and sparkle with green and gold in the sunshine. And I have never met someone with as big a heart as his. Even after hours on the ice, he sticks around to coach his husband and their friends through their own routines. He is patient...and kind...and honest. He is shameless, and makes it point to embarrass his husband with inappropriate flirting and affection. Victor Nikiforov loves with his whole heart. He loves Katsuki Yuuri, even when Katsuki Yuuri doesn’t love himself.”
Victor rested his head back on Yuuri’s wet shoulder and rested his hand over Yuuri’s heart. He let the steady rhythm of a heartbeat ground him while Yuuri rested his chin on Victor’s head and lavished attributes on him.
“Victor Nikiforov is a professional people-person. He is clever, creative, silly, competitive, charming, thoughtful, generous, endearing and accepting of everyone he knows and their odd quirks. Sometimes, he can be frustrating and overbearing, flighty and juvenile and materialistic, but even that’s wonderful. Because all of those things, make Victor Nikiforov real. They make him my greatest love in the whole entire world, and I would give anything to take away his pain.”
Victor looked up at Yuuri through his wet lashes. His husband was smiling at him, and he wasn’t blushing from what he said. Yuuri had chosen his words carefully, so that each one stitched together the pieces of Victor’s heart. His soft, ernest voice smoothed over the rough edges like a balm, soothing the places where the fall had torn it apart. Rage and resentment no longer burned through his heart, either. Instead, it ached with adoration and love from the one person in the world he trusted and cared for the most.
“I love you,” he whispered. In the silence and the dark of their apartment, it sounded like a prayer. Like a wish over softly glowing birthday candles or a confession to a baby in the middle of the night. It held all the relief of an overdue ending and promises of a new beginning.
“I love you, too." Yuuri leaned down and kissed his husband’s forehead, his one hand still on his back and the other over the hand on his heart. "We're gonna figure things out, okay? The two of us, together.”
Eventually, Victor’s knees made it necessary for them to unfold from their embrace. Yuuri helped him up off the floor and over to the sofa. He wrapped him in a large throw blanket and pressed a kiss to his lips, gentle and undemanding. Victor watched his husband go back to the kitchen and scrape what was left of his plate into the trash, setting the dishes in the sink to be washed later. When he returned, he had warm mugs of tea for the both of them, Victor’s favorite blend from Hasetsu.
Yuuri took a long sip from his, and when he had downed about half his cup, he scooted down on the sofa so his head was in Victor’s lap. Victor lay one arm across Yuuri’s torso and ran his hand through his hair, both of them needing and craving the physical intimacy. Yuuri smiled and let out a deep breath, closing his eyes as the weight of the last six months dropped away from his shoulders like petals from cherry blossoms. Victor, too, inhaled the sweet scents of green tea and summer wind around him and relaxed completely, letting go of his anger and hurt.
He wasn’t alone. He never had been. On the ice, in the ambulance, in surgery and in recovery at home, Victor hadn’t been alone. He had Yuuri. He would always have the beautiful Japanese man currently lying in his lap to help him and support him.
“Yuuri, darling?” Victor asked hesitantly.
“Yes?” Yuuri smiled at the endearment and opened his eyes expectantly.
“Can we talk about it, love?”
Yuuri leaned up to kiss his husband. That done, he settled back down and nodded, his brown eyes shining just slightly as Victor started to speak.
It was June, nearly six months to the day that Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki’s lives changed forever. For the first time in those six months, both of them started to heal.