Chapter Text
Yuuri watches rain beat against the bathroom window while he’s supposed to be getting ready for dinner. It’s not every day he attends a gala, and factoring in traffic and the inevitable struggle of escaping Victor’s bachelor pad without Makkachin running out the door, they should have already left. Even Victor is already waiting, when he usually takes the longest to get ready. If Yuuri’s learned anything in the years he’s known Victor, it’s that the man takes skin and hair routines to a new level of time consumption. Yet it is Victor waiting on him, trying to hide the impatience in his voice when he asks, for the third time, if he is ready.
They put off this gala attendance for far too long, considering Yuuri’s been in Russia for more than three years now. After the season ended, no sooner had he set his suitcase down was he filling up another, determined to follow Victor back to Russia and move in with him. Permanently, he had to clarify to his friends and family, as in, he would not be returning to Hasetsu to stay after the season was over. No, he had not lost his mind, yes, he had thought it over carefully, both career-wise and romantically, and it was ultimately the right choice. It still is. They’ve traveled the world together, coach and student, fiances (it would almost seem that title was permanent as well)and hope to add a second Olympic medal under their belts as a duo by this time next year.
And yet the most nerve-wracking experience at the moment is attending the annual Skater’s Gala held by the St. Petersburg rink. It’s hardly as formal as some of the others he’s gone to in the past, when he’s supposed to sell himself to sponsors and not get off-the-walls drunk. He actually knows a lot of the skaters. It’s just a celebration of the beginning of the season without all the huff and puff of an official event. But he’s avoided it too long thanks to out-of-country trips, a poor memory, and now, his anxiety. It’s been so long avoided that even going becomes awkward now.
Of course Victor has spared no expense in upgrading Yuuri’s wardrobe, and there’s certainly nothing to complain about. In fact, he could leave the bathroom right now and be on his way knowing he looks perfectly presentable. There’s just one thing holding him back.
Victor bought him an extremely expensive bracelet and necklace set for his birthday, right after he’d won one of the qualifying cups for the Grand Prix. It was a tennis bracelet, studded in diamonds, enclosed in gold — it made Yuuri’s head swirl just thinking about the price, but he loved it. He wore it every day. The necklace, a heart shaped, diamond encrusted pendant with an even more expensive diamond at the center. It made him feel beautiful, wearing it. A way he’d never really felt before. He liked the way the icy cold pendant felt against his skin.
Yet, it made him feel something else, too. If it was so simple as to wear the necklace and go, he’d already be in the car. When he wears jewelry like this, when he feels beautiful, he gets this sensation from under his skin, as if something inside of him is itching for its way out. He’ll look at his body sometimes and squirm, feel the overwhelming sensation that something is not right. Not the way it’s supposed to be.
“Yuuri, detka , they’re used to me being late, but not arriving the day after.” Victor’s voice comes from outside the door. Begrudgingly, Yuuri leaves both pieces of jewelry in their box and brushes past Victor. “Let’s go.”
***
Yuuri hasn’t been able to go home in a year, since before the Four Continents competition that fucked up his knee on a jump he’d completed dozens of times. In his entire life, he couldn’t imagine a situation more humiliating than him lying on the ice, hugging his knee, doing his best not to scream at the agonizing pain he was in while his music – last year’s free program was much too upbeat – blared on overhead for an awkward ten seconds before someone recovered enough from their stupefied silence to shut it off. The crowd grew louder, voicing their shock and concern as cameras started flashing madly, as the medics came onto the ice.
And as Yuuri limped his way off the ice, knowing that a stretcher would’ve been even more embarrassing, he thought with confidence that no one would ever see him again. Skaters had all spawned at his side, some he knew, some were up and coming, and gave their well wishes, but Yuuri could not hear them. He fought back any and every emotion until he was out of the camera’s view. Then, he wept until his lungs burned.
A torn ACL was season ending at best, but when the news broke the world had insisted it was career ending, too. It was an oddly severe injury, but Yuuri considered it to be just his luck. With a 6 to 9 month recovery timeframe, he would probably miss the 2020-21 season. And he did. The world had fallen to shit in the meantime and international travel did not sound appealing even without his injury. Some up and coming skater from Russia and not affiliated with the St. Petersburg crew won the Grand Prix that year, souring Yakov’s students. That up-and-comer beat Yuri Plisetsky in the Russian Nationals by .11 points, a hotly debated debacle considering the up-and-comer’s highly inflated score on his short program. It got worse from there, but Yuuri stopped watching.
Now that up-and-comer has been suspended for God-knows-what and Yuri Plisetsky is planning his revenge arc. Meanwhile, the JSF is begging Yuuri for either a confirmation of his retirement or comeback. Tentatively, he’s decided it will be the latter. The Olympics will be held towards the end of this season. Win or lose, he can’t think of a better way to send off his career.
The season, for him, starts with going to this gala. The press will be there and that should be enough to get people talking.
He’d gone to the rink a few times last summer to help Victor with Yuri’s new programs for the ill-fated 2020-21 season, but nothing recently. Honestly, he doesn’t like being there. People will ask where his skates are, or why he’s gained so much weight, or whether or not he’s retiring.
(Part of his rehab did involve skating too, but he and Victor often went late at night to avoid public scrutiny.)
This year has been terrible for him. If the injury wasn’t bad enough, his discomfort in his own skin made it truly unbearable. But, he’s hoping, once he gets into the mindset of training for the season, things will change. He’s hoping.
*
Victor takes his time driving them to the gala, but traffic at this time of day is always horrendous. And they could certainly walk to this event in rain or shine or even take the train, but for once Yuuri is glad to take the car, (even though his fiance isn’t the best of drivers). He shrinks down in his seat when Victor has to hit the breaks, swearing something particularly colorful in Russian when someone cuts him off. And to think he has no accidents on his record.
“It’s times like this that I miss Hasetsu,” Victor mumbles as he comes to a stop at the next light. “Too many idiots on the road to even think of bicycling here.”
“You miss the small-town life, that's all.” Yuuri eventually replies. “It doesn’t have to be Hasetsu.”
“No, it does. Money can’t buy the memories there, you know. Or the hot springs.”
“Or the hot springs.” Yuuri repeats blandly. That’s the last place he’d want to be right now.
The gala is held in a large, open room, and thankfully they’ve been seated at a table requiring little pressure for conversation. Yuri Plisetsky is currently scrolling on his phone after half of a greeting. From the looks of it, he’s playing some sort of online game.
Also at the table is Georgi Popovich, now a coach in the Junior’s, but he’s arguing with his girlfriend and in no mood to make conversation.
Yuuri leans back in his chair, sighing softly as he waits for dinner to be served. He’s not very hungry, but the sooner he eats, the sooner he can go hide somewhere else until Victor is ready to leave. His photo was taken by a slack-jawed photographer for some local news site upon arriving, so word should get out pretty quickly.
Yuri’s phone dies; he swears and tosses it onto the table. Arms folded, he gives Yuuri something of a glare. “Why haven’t you been at practice? I thought you said you might be coming back.”
“I’m not in a rush to start,” he replies. “But how is it going for you? Do you have any ideas for your—”
“You’re not retiring, are you?”
Fortunately, the table beside them bursts into loud laughter about something, giving Yuuri a few extra moments to look unaffected by the question and give a good answer. Even Victor is looking at him now though, as if he wants the answer too.
“Of course I’m not. Like I said, I’m just not in any rush to get back to the rink, especially when it’s been so crowded. I’d prefer to start training with as few cameras as possible.”
“If you want to avoid the crowds, come in the mornings.” Yuri says, shooting a glare at another table of rowdy Juniors. “I try to practice as early as I can to avoid the dumb fucks with hangovers who come in just before lunch.”
“As if you’ve never been a dumb fuck with a hangover,” Victor replies evenly.
“You’d know all about that, Nikiforov.. Neither of you should touch a drop of alcohol again, really. I’ve seen enough.” Yuri shudders.
“You made it!” Over to their table comes Mila with a group of a few other female skaters with bright, flashy outfits that put the group of suits at this table to so much shame. Mila is wearing a gorgeous diamond-studded bracelet-- she makes it look good, delicate. Yuuri’s would’ve hidden under his suit anyway.
She pulls up a chair to sit with them. Rolling his eyes, Yuri Plisetsky says he’s going to go look for a phone charger.
“So what’s up? I haven’t seen you two in forever!”
Victor relays the past year of their life together: the mutual decision to skip the 2020-21 skating season, the brilliant rehab team and the exercises that even helped Victor, home renovations, a few trips to the countryside, his latest interest in sewing of all things, the woes of Zoom meetings… Yuuri is incredibly bored, but how could he not be? Last year blurred into a long, painful memory. How many times had he hidden himself away in the laundry room to cry about his homesickness, his dislike of his weight gain, the uncertainty of his future, and now this… problem, he’s having?
God, everyone else in this room is so lucky. Even the ones who find their outfits a bit uncomfortable at the moment are better off than him. They don’t feel like they’re suffocating.
With such frustrating thoughts, Yuuri has to admonish himself. What do you want, Katsuki ? How would you show up to this event if you were a stranger to everyone else?
He’s not sure what he would wear, even if he had the confidence. Even if he was a stranger to everyone else. But for the briefest of moments, he lets his mind go there. Yuuri Katsuki, donned in the gorgeous diamonds gifted by his loving fiance, in a dark blue sequined gown—
He flinches like he’d just been red-handed, like the whole room could hear his thoughts.
When he looks around, not one person is looking at him. But it’s too late.
He can see it now: the Skating World Reacts to Katsuki Yuuri’s Bizarre Gala Statement and the forthcoming comments! If Victor’s diehard stans had a lot to say before, imagine what they’d say then .
He doesn’t know why he even thought about wearing something like that. As if he could ever pull it off anyway!
*
Dinner is served and mostly a blur. Alcohol is passed around. Yuuri passes on it but tells Victor he should if he wants to. One of them should enjoy themselves at least. With a glint of mischief in his eyes, Victor promises he’ll just have “one glass”.
That one glass quickly turns to two, then three, then four, then Yuuri decides to make an escape to the nearest hallway now that Victor is so distracted. He only drinks like this when something is bothering him. Of course, that something is most definitely Yuuri. He knows he’s been really terrible to him recently, neglecting their relationship. But in Yuuri’s defense, he just doesn’t feel up to intimacy or a relationship at all at the moment. He simply wants to disappear.
When the dining hall gets noisier, Yuuri decides to leave. He gives Yuri Victor’s keys and offers to pay him to drive later that night. Yuri tells him he’ll crash the car on purpose if Victor takes one more drink.
***
Victor: heeey where did you goooo?? :((
Victor: Yuuri
Victor: I cnant leave without you!
Yuuri: Already home. Have someone drive you.
Victor: ???
MISSED CALL
MISSED CALL
MISSED CALL
***
At one thirty, the front door unlocks and Makkachin barks lazily at the foot of the bed. Yuuri pretends to be asleep. He’d rather not explain himself to a drunk person.
After a few minutes, the bedroom door opens and Victor just stands there for a moment, probably bewildered out of his mind at Yuuri’s behavior. He’ll explain it tomorrow. He had a really bad headache. The food made him nauseous.
Victor sighs. Disappointed, it sounds like. He mumbles something to Makkachin before climbing into bed. “It was fun,” he eventually says. “You should have stayed longer. We got Yakov to dance.” He turns on his side, facing Yuuri. Probably trying to decide if he’s really asleep. Yuuri’s a night owl. One thirty is early for him during the off season.
He must’ve noticed something; an uneven breath, a movement, because next he asks, “Did I do something wrong? Is it the drinking?”
“I don’t care if you drink.” Yuuri accidentally replies. “Now, let me sleep. I’m not mad at you.”
“Okay. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
***
Once Victor’s soft snores begin beside him, Yuuri carefully reaches for his phone from the nightstand, heart pounding. He pulls the blanket over his head in case the light wakes Victor up, he wonders if his search history will be easily discoverable. He starts to type.
define nonbinary
He first noticed the word in a thread discussion of his Eros routine two years ago, praising his disregard of the binaries, and the contrast from the hypermasculine costume Yuuri wore in the season leading up to his injury. At the time, how he felt during his Eros performance, becoming the woman who seduces the playboy, there was no word for it, it was just how he felt when he danced. Then they chose the programs and costumes for the 2019 season and Yuuri decided to embrace masculinity because it more closely aligned to his music and theme of the year. He was running out of ideas anyway. And every program felt suffocating, though he was unsure why. It was a great routine, high scoring on the technical side. His presentation scores were a bit lower, but not enough to lose competitions.
In the minutes leading up to his torn ACL, Yuuri was having a vicious panic attack out of the camera’s eye, and Victor was helpless. These panic attacks had gotten so much worse recently and neither could understand why. Yuuri wasn’t sleeping or eating well. His depression got worse. But he fought through it, though it hurt to breathe even when skating onto the ice for the start of his performance. He felt the eyes of thousands burning into his body and became incredibly nauseated. He wanted to stop the program and tear himself out of his own skin.
After that disastrous season, Yuuri hoped that horrible storm of feelings would pass— considering most of his negative emotions revolved around skating that free program. But the feeling did not leave itself on the ice, if anything it has multiplied to many aspects of his life and makes everything far more confusing.
He’s looked through the labels, taken a dozen quizzes. All point to non-binary, but there’s just one issue: he’s afraid of attaching a label to himself. Labels mean permanence. He doesn’t know what he is. What if he changes his mind? It’ll be too late to take back, should word ever get out.
But yeah. Identity shit. There are mornings, when he wakes up to walk Makkachin out in the negative Russian temperatures, on which that he feels like a colonial peasant woman. There are afternoons during strength training when he feels like the strongest man on the planet, where he marvels at the muscular growth, his abs. There are evenings where he feels like nothing at all, and for months he has figured that’s the true him; just somewhere in between the genders, and any reach on the binaries is just… gender conformity. But he’s not unhappy when he feels like a beautiful woman, a strong, handsome man.
He knows he doesn’t need a label to dress in a traditionally feminine way, that clothes do not have a gender. If he wants to paint his nails or drip with diamonds, he can still be a man. But part of him fears that sometimes, he does want the way he dresses to have meaning. Sometimes, he wants clothes to have gender, to be something different. He wants to be everything and nothing at once. And he is scared of what that might mean for his future.
Victor heads to the rink early the next day to train with Yuri Plisetsky. He kisses him a little longer than usual and says he loves him. He must’ve picked up on Yuuri’s restlessness that way, helpless in dissecting his mind. Yuuri smiles faintly, eyes still closed. He starts to get a thought he’d rather not finish— so he pushes it away, and sinks down further into his blanket cocoon.
God, things are going to get worse until he lets himself address this, aren’t they?
Victor likes it when Yuuri breaks the gender norms, loves to build confidence in him whenever he can. Yet Yuuri is often too embarrassed to wear or try anything different. Because this question of identity, exploring the binaries? It feels vulnerable. Sticky. It feels like there will soon be vague tweets about him and blind gossips teasing trouble in paradise for Japan’s Ace, even if what happens never leaves their apartment. What if people would look at him and just know ?
***
Every evening, the two take Makkachin for a short walk around the block. It’s about all the poor poodle can handle at her advanced age, and some days this was the only excuse Yuuri could conjure up to leave the house. They’ve sometimes let Makkachin inside and continued that same walk, around the same block again and again because they live on a quiet street and it’s nice to not be recognized elsewhere. Yuuri looks forward to those evening walks. When they aren’t training or cooped up inside or on their way to the rink and it’s just them. He feels okay being vulnerable on those walks.
He once told Victor about the loneliness he felt in his college years on one of those walks. How lost he felt in Detroit, being so far from home and chasing a dream he wasn’t sure would ever be possible.
And Victor had asked him, then, if he felt that way when he moved to St. Petersburg. It was a cold, early sunset. Yuuri looked to him, watching the way Victor was intently listening as his gaze stayed ahead on the icy sidewalk.
“No. It was nothing like that.” But after a moment, he admitted, “Although it can be hard not to feel like an outsider sometimes.” Even though the Russian team was more than welcoming; Mila with her jokes, Georgi always greeting him in passing, complementing his jumps or step sequence before heading off to the locker room, Yakov finds him the most pleasant student in the building, his typical glare softening considerably when Yuuri is around. Even Yuri Plisetsky, who used to pretend Yuuri was the bane of his existence, doesn’t call him anything mean anymore. Sometimes he’ll ask for help with a particular move or jump because he knows Yuuri already has it down.
But it wasn’t perfect. When Victor wasn’t around and Yuuri wasn’t actively practicing, he wasn’t sure where to go or who to talk to. He would sit on one of the benches and watch the other skaters, some new to the men’s bracket, some familiar. But they all knew each other. And if they didn’t, they had the camaraderie of being Team Russia. That meant something in a place where you knew no one, even to someone like Yuuri who tends to avoid people he doesn’t know. It’s something he doesn’t have right now, living thousands of miles away from anyone else with a matching team jacket.
When he told Victor this, his eyes brimmed with tears that he would not let spill over. This feeling of being out of place was not enough to sever their relationship and he didn’t want Victor to fix it for him. It was temporary. He could go back home and visit whenever he wanted to. It was just an occasional passing feeling, and he cried because it felt good to open up. To say it out loud.
This situation is completely different. He can’t go back home to feel better. He can’t tell Victor about it, or anyone for that matter. He’s scared of what might happen if he ever says it out loud, yet every time Victor gives him that look of his, inquisitive, trying to figure him out, it takes everything in him not to beg for one of those walks of theirs so he could spill the contents of his brain onto someone else and stop overflowing.
He goes back to the rink on Tuesday. His clothes feel baggy today. He’s shapeless. He knows he’s gained a lot of weight this year and is trying to cover it up. So what if food is his only comfort?
As always, he’s greeted by everyone, peppered with questions about the upcoming season. He wishes he could go back to he and Victor’s Hasetsu days, when it was just the two of them at the rink. It’s hard to focus here as it is, let alone with so much on his mind. He needs to clear his head, and staying at home isn’t doing the trick.
But before he gets on the ice, he of course decides to check social media. Yes, he’s following himself as a Topic on his spam Twitter-- because who wouldn’t?
Sure enough, there’s a recent post. It’s in Russian, but he clicks it anyway because he recognizes his name. Then, he taps ‘translate’.
@azs9998 - Yuuri Katsuki has returned to the St. Petersburg Rink!!
Yuuri looks around. No one was outside when he arrived. Did someone passing by in a car happen to get a good look at him? Or is someone in the rink actively tweeting about him? If so, where? He’s always found it a bit creepy.
Sure, he was Japan’s Ace, but while living in Russia there hasn’t been as much attention on him. People still love Victor, but now that he’s officially retired, the press has backed off of him save for an occasional article in People or something. Plus, he trends every time he posts something, which actually isn’t that often. No, now the attention has shifted towards Yuuri , both with their relationship and his career. This is supposed to be his comeback season, so the pressure will be on. Is it worth it? Now, he doesn’t know. Everything feels messy.
He scrolls down to the comments, then browses the QRTs where some international fans have caught on and aptly started arguing with each other.
@annab12301– pics or it didn’t happen LMAOOO he’s for sure retiring. The season’s almost starting and he’s gone ghost
@yuuristans93– how would you know unless you’re at the rink 24/7? Ghosting everyone, really? HE TORE HIS FUCKING ACL!!!
@zuwujun - please be kind, everyone. we have no idea what he’s going through behind the scenes.
@annab12301– I know what he’s going through… Victor’s wallet LMAO
Oh, God. He knew those types of people were out there, the particularly intense Victor fans who wanted him all to themselves. Those comments used to bother him, nearly debilitate him, when their relationship went public. They were cruel. They made it clear Yuuri was not good enough for their beloved Victor and spent all hours of the day sending out horrible messages. While most of the skating world voiced their overwhelming support, it was the voices of those few that stuck with him. And they still exist and still hate him like this.
Now, he imagines what kinds of things they might say if they ever found out he was struggling with his identity all while bombing a comeback season…
“Hey, are you ready to get started?” Victor’s hand is on his shoulder, and Yuuri flinches. Only, he didn’t mean to flinch. He was just so intensely lost in what he was reading, so upset, that the physical contact wasn’t welcomed. Still, flinching is suspicious. He tucks his phone away.
“Yeah. I’ll start warm-ups.”
“Go easy on yourself, Yuuri. I’ll be right there.”
For the first time, he hates the way his body feels when he moves around on the ice. It wasn’t nearly this bad the first time he stepped onto it post-ACL surgery. It’s not even about his weight or his clothes or what other people are thinking about him. He just doesn’t want to be perceived, not even at home. To think that someone else is looking at him makes him want to permanently disappear and he couldn’t even give a solid reason as to why. He just hates it.
Thankfully, he’s come at a time of day when most skaters are just leaving their morning practices, so the rink greatly quiets down by the time he’s finished warm-ups and everyone has had their eyeful of Yuuri on ice.
He does whatever Victor says during practice because, in truth, his mind is somewhere else. He’s not into practicing right now, but stopping means having to admit that something’s wrong.
He starts working on a few simple jumps. At this point, his mind is so busy that he hardly notices his skates making contact with the ice. A triple loop becomes a single. Yet he doesn’t stop to breathe and continues on. Victor… Victor’s probably watching him right now, completely bewildered. But he usually gives him his space when needed, he’s gotten good at figuring out when to press and when to step away. Yuuri wishes Victor would figure it out for him today, because he honestly doesn’t know what he wants.
Okay, he’s going to attempt a quad flip. The rink has considerably cleared, and he needs to keep up his completion rate for this jump. How else will he ever place in a competition with all the promising young skaters? Promising young normal skaters who aren’t having a crisis about their identity, who are confident they can win. Yuuri closes his eyes.
What if he started experimenting with his gender? People would talk. Really, they would do more than that. He’s seen the way celebrities are talked about after coming out as trans or non-binary. He’s not strong enough to take that kind of criticism regularly. But really, what’s worse, what he’s been desperately trying to push from his mind that now bursts to the surface as he takes off for his quad flip— Victor won’t want to be with me anymore if I ever admit this. He’ll finally decide he can’t put up with me anymore. I’m too much work.
He flubs the jump, his elbow hitting the ice hard enough to make his head spin. Instinctively, he grabs his knee, but it’s fine. He’s fine. Victor is about to jump over the barrier, but Yuuri shakes his head and gives him a thumbs up. He’s fine. Victor’s shoulders lower. He smiles and nods. “You didn’t under-rotate this time, love. But let’s go lighter on the jumps for now and work on the step-sequence.”
It’s been over a month since they’ve been intimate. Yuuri doesn’t want to be, not when he feels this way. And Victor’s noticing. He’s keeping his distance. He probably wants the distance. And if Yuuri were ever to admit that hey , sometimes I want to go by different pronouns and present as a different gender , that would surely be the final straw. How could he bear to stick around? Despite having the inkling that there’s a chance Victor might accept him, he doesn’t care. Victor is so confident in himself and his body and could never understand. He doesn’t have to worry about his image like Yuuri does, because everything he does seems so… effortless.
He wants to be alone. He wants this feeling to go away.
Yuuri pushes himself up off the ice.
***
Yuuri goes home first. Makkachin is too lazy to get up from her bed, but her tail thumps on the floor when she sees him walk in. As terrible as he feels, he can’t resist giving a few pats to her head.
He desperately needs a shower.
But when he tugs off his shirt and is left staring at his figure, nausea rises into his throat. Nothing looks the way– no, he doesn’t even know what he wants to look like, but it isn’t this. He wishes he could tear all his skin off. Because what could he change? He’s never going to feel any better about what he sees. Man, woman, non-binary, he would hate his body as much as he hates himself right now. He can feel himself spiraling out of control but doesn’t have the strength to stop it.
And when he steps into the shower, he sits on the floor and lets himself cry. He’s good at crying, at least.
Why is everything falling apart now? Life was supposed to be good after he took silver at the Grand Prix, back when their relationship was new and Yuuri thought he found himself. But after being locked up with himself for a year all he’s found is that he doesn’t even know who’s looking back at him in the faucet’s reflection. He can’t go on like this, and he can’t face Victor when he comes home, no doubt scolding him for overdoing it during practice, or worse, complimenting his completion rate. He’ll lock himself in the guest bedroom tonight. And if the universe makes him wake up tomorrow, he’ll figure it out then.
He locks the guest bedroom door just as Victor gets home. He’s bundled under the comforter, his eyes still puffy from the crying that couldn’t seem to stop once he got out of the shower. He’ll have to come up with a reason why if he’s caught. Sad movie on TV. Feeling a little homesick. Something like that.
Twenty minutes later, Victor knocks. Yuuri, of course, doesn’t answer. But instead of walking away and respecting that Yuuri doesn’t want to talk, the doorknob is fumbled with before it slowly opens. The smell of takeout fills the room. Victor hesitates at the door for the briefest of moments before walking in, Makkachin trailing behind him. She jumps up onto the bed and curls herself up at Yuuri’s feet. Victor opens the takeout bag and makes Yuuri a plate. The idea of eating right now might actually make Yuuri sick.
For a while, Victor sits on the side of the bed and has his dinner. Maybe he’s waiting for Yuuri to open up. He’s not going to. He just wants to lie here. Victor shouldn’t waste his time on him anymore. There’s good TV to watch. People he could be out with that weren’t such an embarrassment.
Still, Victor doesn’t leave. When he finishes, he places his hand on Yuuri’s middle. “You know I love you, right?”
Yuuri wants to pull away from him, because if he doesn’t, it will be obvious he’s been crying.
“If you don’t know it, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distant. I wanted to give you space, because I know you were going through a hard time and… it seemed clear you wanted space. Even if you still need space, I just wanted you to know I’m here for you, whenever…” He trails off, “Or however you need me. Okay?” He gently rubs his arm. “I won’t leave without an okay.”
Yuuri wipes his eyes with his tee-shirt before emerging from his cocoon. Victor fluffs his hair.
Then, Yuuri whispers an ‘okay’. Meets Victor’s lips.
Victor stays. Yuuri lies in the crook of his arm until his body, exhausted from the tension, finally puts him to sleep.
In the morning, he will tell Victor he isn’t ready to start training for the upcoming season and ask to go travel home for a week or two. Maybe then he can be alone.
But tonight, he lies still in Victor’s arms and wishes more than anything that life could always be this simple.