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Yuuri wakes up to an empty bed.
It’s as silent and pitch black around him as it was when he drifted off to sleep -- two hours ago, he squints at the clock on his bedside table, the gleaming red digits the only source of light in the room. The clock, with its bright, overlarge numbers, was a gift from Viktor to help Yuuri check the time without having to go cross-eyed trying to read the clock from two feet away while in bed. Yuuri had laughed at the small gift, but it proved to be a useful and thoughtful present on Viktor’s part.
Speaking of Viktor.
Yuuri sits up slowly, sleepiness floating away from him the longer he stays awake. He can fall back to sleep easier when Viktor is cuddled up to him, but Viktor is gone. He leans his body on one hand, the other skimming over the place in their bed Viktor likes to curl up in. It’s still warm, meaning Viktor has only just left their bed. It’s not an unusual occurrence for Yuuri to wake up alone -- Viktor is a night owl. It’s often that Yuuri ambles out of bed in the middle of the night to find Viktor on the couch in their living room, reading a book, or finding inspiration from a dream and working out a step routine around their dining room table at two in the morning.
But this time, Yuuri realizes with a smile, he knows exactly where Viktor’s gone off to.
The air in the house is cool on his sleep-warm skin, the soft hum of the heating system a white noise in the background as Yuuri slides off the edge of the bed. He pats around his nightstand for his glasses, finding them and shivering when the cool plastic touches his face. He stretches and winces when he hears a loud pop in his back -- the closer he gets to his thirties, and the longer he goes without being involved in the competitive figure skating world, the more strange noises his body seems to give. He’s not quite old yet, he knows, but after -- mostly -- staying in tip-top shape for the majority of his life, his body isn’t quite used to not running five miles a day, or skating nonstop for the better part of his afternoons. It’s another part of life he’ll just have to learn to accept, he thinks as he runs a hand through his already bed-tousled hair.
Although he’s lived in this house for nearly two years, he still has trouble finding his way through the dark. He stumbles over what he’s sure is a pair of Viktor’s pants, because he knows better than to leave clothes on the floor. He’s going to have to admonish him again for not just throwing his clothes in the hamper, because it’s two feet away from where you threw it on the ground, Viktor, just throw them in the hamper! He knows Viktor will nod seriously and promise to aim better next time, but Yuuri also knows he’s just going to drop his clothes carelessly on the ground the next day. He’s going to spend the rest of his life cleaning up after Viktor, but the thought isn’t honestly so bad.
Their guest bedroom turned nursery is only two doors down, so it’s a short walk for Yuuri, who smiles as he sees the door is already cracked open. The soft glow of the nightlight gleams through the crack in the door, giving him a little light to see where he’s going. He knows Viktor too well, he thinks as he softly pushes the door open. It doesn’t make a sound, his entrance going unnoticed at first, allowing him a few precious moments to gaze at the picture before him.
The crib is a pure, pretty white, gleaming in the soft light of the nightlight plugged into the wall on the opposite side of the room. It matches the rest of the bedroom furniture; the dresser, the changing table, the second dresser, the wardrobe. Yuuri had thought all of it to be a bit excessive -- he was sure he’d only had one dresser as a baby, surely their baby didn’t need that much space for their clothes. Would they even need that many clothes? They’d wear one outfit and grow out of it the next day. He was only trying to be reasonable.
But after seeing the look on Viktor’s face in the middle of the furniture store as his hand softly brushed over the smooth wood of the pretty white crib; a look of amazement, of pure joy, eyes sparkling, Yuuri couldn’t tell him no to the second dresser. He did put his foot down on the third dresser, however, but he thinks Viktor was just being silly.
Makkachin, old, faithful Makkachin, sits at Viktor’s side, resting his soft, fluffy face on Viktor’s knee where he’s sitting criss-crossed on the floor. Viktor’s got one hand curled in the fur on Makkachin’s head, the other pushed through the bars on the crib, resting just above their sleeping baby’s head, fingers gently touching the top of her soft, downy hair. Viktor’s sitting as close as physically possible to the crib, head pressed against the bars as he watches their baby breathe softly in her sleep. Yuuri’s sure that, when Viktor pulls his face away, there will be an imprint of the bars on his face.
Yuuri feels all full up as he leans against the doorway, crossing his arms with a smile. His family had taught him the love of Agape before he’d even realized it, the unconditional love that he’d carry with him for the rest of his life. Viktor taught him the love of Eros through his figure skating and katsudon, of all things, and later showed it to him personally in their love life. The love of Philia was given to him from his friends, both newer and older, with affection and support he could always count on.
The parental love of Storge wasn’t one that he thought he’d feel for a long time, but it’s the one he’s felt most deeply since being introduced to it, her finally coming home only two weeks ago. After almost a year of going back and forth with the adoption agency, and buying clothes and furniture and food and everything they might need for their beautiful new baby, they finally got to take her home. He’d never thought he could love one person more, not a friend nor a lover, until he was introduced to his daughter. He knows, watching Viktor ever so gently caress their daughter’s head through the bars of her crib, that he feels the same. He loves Viktor deeply, passionately, eternally, and the love he feels for his daughter is so different but no less ardent. He’s never loved two people more in his life.
He finds himself walking forward, bare feet nearly silent on the carpet, but Makkachin hears him. He lifts his head and watches him come closer, thankfully silent -- he doesn’t want him to wake the baby. Viktor doesn’t notice him until he’s kneeled down on his other side, his arm brushing against Viktor’s arm. Viktor tears his gaze away from the baby -- Yuuri was right, there’s a faint indent on his face from the bars, and Yuuri finds it hopelessly endearing -- and smiles a tired, heart shaped smile at him.
“Yuuri,” he whispers, voice barely there, but Yuuri hears everything Viktor wants to convey in the one word; love, happiness, wonderment. Yuuri smiles at him and ducks in to press a kiss to his lips, feeling Viktor smile deeper into the smile.
“Let’s go back to bed,” he says softly, patting Viktor’s knee. Viktor immediately frowns, looking like a kicked puppy. “She’ll still be here in the morning, I promise. We’re going to want all the sleep we can get in the coming months.” Viktor sighs but nods, eyes sliding back through the bars for one last look at their daughter before bed. He whispers something soft to her in Russian that Yuuri can’t hear, but it’s probably an I love you.
Viktor stands with a silent sigh, helping Yuuri up and keeping a hold on his hand as they make their way out of her room. Yuuri sees Makkachin stand but look torn, looking from Viktor to the baby, and laughs softly when he sits back down next to the crib, resting his head on his fluffy paws.
“He’s already picking her over us,” Yuuri whispers to Viktor, nodding at Makkachin already starting to fall asleep. Viktor smirks, stopping in the doorway for one last look back.
“I would leave us for her, too,” Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s hand, thumb rubbing against Yuuri’s ring in a familiar way. Yuuri grins, secretly agreeing and letting Viktor pull him into the hallway, back to their bedroom and into their bed. Viktor immediately cuddles up behind him as Yuuri places his glasses back on his nightstand, the large red letters of his clock going blurry before he closes his eyes to sleep again.
He hasn’t felt this happy in his life, and he smiles as he drifts back to sleep knowing he’s going to feel like this for the rest of his life.