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“Makka-chan…” Yuuri tried not to sound frantic. “Please! I’ll let you in, just—just…” But the dog continued to paw on the door Yuuri desperately wanted to open, but would die if he were caught in front of it. Didn’t Makkachin understand that?! Death was on the line!
The poodle, though, would not budge. He stood vigil in front of Victor Nikiforov’s door, whining and scratching at it, and Yuuri could swear that his eyebrows were furrowed. Yuuri tried to back up, to retreat back into his own room, but that only elicited ever-more urgent whines from the dog.
The message was abundantly clear: Dad needs you, Yuuri. Go to Dad, Yuuri.
Yuuri slumped against the wall. Makkachin did not know what he was asking? He was asking Yuuri to invade Victor’s personal space when he was asleep without a reason to do so, just to check on him. Yuuri had no music to show Victor (though who is asleep by 10pm, anyway?!), he had no step sequence idea, he had no question about the way Victor skated an old routine to open the door with.
Nope, what Yuuri had was a concerned dog, and no better excuse to cross the threshold.
But Makkachin had never looked at Yuuri like this before, with every muscle in his body tensed, his whines high-pitched and urgent: a dog who was begging for help for a master in distress.
Oh.
Yuuri charged through the door, nearly tripping over his feet on his way to Victor’s bed, Makkachin on his heels.
What if Victor was sick?
What if he’d eaten something that disagreed with him and was actually allergic and was dying right now of anaphylactic shock?
What if a pillow had accidentally come over Victor’s face and he was quietly smothering in his sleep?
What if Victor had gotten heatstroke in the onsen?
What if…
No pillows obstructed Victor’s airways, and his chest rose and fell. But there was a tremble to his body, yet also frozen as if pinned down by an invisible force. When Yuuri’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw the way Victor’s face grimaced like he was in excruciating pain.
“Victor…” Yuuri knelt at the edge of the bed, extending his hand to Victor’s forehead; it was cool, much to Yuuri’s relief. But the grimace on Victor’s face grew starker. Then Yuuri saw them, barely visible in the dark, glistening in Victor’s eyelashes: tears.
Victor was crying in his sleep.
So this was why Makkachin had been so insistent. This was why, even now, Makkachin continued to furrow his eyebrows and stare pointedly at Yuuri, then back at Victor, then back at Yuuri.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Yuuri whispered, pleading with the dog for more instruction. “How do I help?”
But Yuuri seemed to have reached the limit to his communication ability with a dog. No, Yuuri had to sort this one out on his own. Makkachin had come to him for help, after all, and Yuuri was going to help.
Then, an idea.
Victor liked to be touched. That had become clear within a week of his appearance in Hasetsu. Victor always leaned against Yuuri, found ways to grab his hand or throw his arm over Yuuri’s shoulder (or head…). Five years in Detroit had not prepared Yuuri for that level of contact with his idol, but he’d gotten better at swallowing down his embarrassment. He’d even finally admitted to himself that he really liked the contact.
Yuuri had never been the one to touch first (save for that panic attack-induced hug when he was about to take to the ice and skate Eros for the first time). He thought about it—god, did he think about it—but was it proper? Would Victor welcome being shocked awake by Yuuri’s touch?
Makkachin harrumphed at that moment, making his opinions on Yuuri’s reluctance known. Yuuri did not like the feeling of being judged by a dog.
Then, a whimper, soft and almost inaudible, escaped from Victor’s throat. That was all it took. Yuuri’s hand was on Victor’s face, stroking his brow, caressing his cheek to his jaw, fingers parting the soft fringe of his hair. It was so small, so simple, and yet the crease between Victor’s eyes relaxed, the trembles to his body stilled, the rapid breaths slowed and…
Victor’s luminous blue eyes slowly blinked open, finding Yuuri’s after only an instant. “Yuuri?”
Yuuri tried to back away, but Makkachin blocked him (sneaky dog). Victor’s hand then covered his as recognition crystallized. “It is you.”
Oh no oh no, this was bad. What was Victor going to think? Yuuri was sitting here touching his face while he slept, like a creep. Yuuri attempted to back away again, to bow and apologize for the deep disrespect, to blame Makkachin and believing he could speak dog, to at least take the offending hand away, but he was boxed in by the stupid, mean, awful dog that lied to him and Victor was going to quit and this was Yuuri’s fault and—
Victor launched forward, enveloping Yuuri into his arms, his nose burying itself in his neck. His trembles were back. Victor sniffled as he melted into Yuuri’s arms, clinging on as if Yuuri was the only thing holding him together.
All thoughts of withdrawing, of dogezas and blaming dogs, disappeared as Yuuri pulled Victor closer. When he met Makkachin’s eyes, the furrowed brows had disappeared; apparently, the dog approved.
“I’m here, it’s me,” Yuuri hummed. “Do you—do you want me to hold you?”
Victor nodded, then let go of Yuuri, scooting himself back and making space in his bed.
This was… not what Yuuri had been expecting when he asked. Yuuri had assumed that Victor just needed a hug, maybe a glass of water, a chance to breathe, and once Victor remembered he was in Hasetsu and everything was okay, he would say goodnight to Yuuri and fall back asleep.
Yuuri crawled into Victor’s bed.
He wrapped his arms around Victor’s chest, and he pressed his chest into Victor’s back, trying not to flinch when Victor adjusted his body so that they were flush with one another, Yuuri now the big spoon and Victor the little spoon.
This is it. I upset the gods with my hubris. This is my punishment. He’s going to know how I feel about him, he’s going to figure out how hentai I am and—and does he even know how good it feels holding him? How his ass is perfect and—
(Yuuri might have been freaking out, might have.)
“I get nightmares,” Victor whispered, his words enough to shut off Yuuri’s feedback loop. Nightmares? Victor had nightmares? “Sometimes I—I remember some things that I tried to forget and… I can’t.”
Oh.
Yuuri didn’t need to ask anymore. There always had been whispers at the top echelons about elite athletes, and the people just in the dark wings. He just—he didn’t realize that Victor could have possibly dealt with—well, with that.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” Yuuri murmured back; now it was his turn to tug Victor closer, letting his face rest in the small of Victor’s neck. “Makkachin came and got me.”
Yuuri could feel the telltale thud of the guilty party’s tail at the mention of his name, somehow projecting pride in the dark. Victor shifted under Yuuri’s arm, rolling himself over so that he was now facing Yuuri, blue eyes glowing in the dark.
“Can you stay here tonight and hold me?” Victor seemed to be struggling to form the words. “Just until I fall asleep?”
Never ever in Yuuri Katsuki’s life did he imagine this moment, gazing into the ethereal face of Victor Nikiforov, alight even in the dim light, in his childhood home, in bed, and having Victor ask if he’d hold him, to give comfort through nightmares of things Yuuri could not bring himself to think about. It spread a warmth through Yuuri’s heart, and sparked a protectiveness for the man in his arms, the one that Yuuri had never truly seen before.
“Of course I will,” Yuuri answered, trying not to faint at the look of joy and relief that crossed the face of his idol. When Victor snuggled into him, Yuuri stroked his hair, letting Victor’s little sounds of happiness encourage him. “I’ll be here, as long as you want me to be.”
Maybe Yuuri hadn’t upset the gods with his hubris. Maybe this wasn’t about him at all. Maybe, just maybe, Victor was the one who cried out to the gods for help, and was delivered Yuuri—the god’s messenger? A poodle.
The next night, Makkachin was pleased to see that his message had been heard loud and clear, as his second dad plodded into his first dad’s bedroom, and took his place in their bed.
Artwork commission by arethsart