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There are days when everything is bad again. They're not as frequent as they were before, when Yuuri was still in college, and the world seemed to actively fight against him every other day; but – even though they had stopped, at first, when Victor had moved in – there's still something that doesn't seem to go right in his head, that wins him over, no matter how hard he struggles.
They haven't even settled in properly in Victor's old apartment the first time his anxiety overtakes him once again. Yuuri has never figured out what is that sets him off: the therapist he was seeing during college once said that panic attacks are often set off by triggers, but he doesn't seem to have any. There's no explanation for the fact that he was cleaning up his closet one moment and the moment after he was having trouble breathing. It makes him so mad at himself, how helpless he is.
It isn't as bad as it could have been: he's just stuck, fallen to his knees in front of the still open closet, clutching one of his old shirt so tight he hears – or maybe he imagines hearing – the fabric starting to rip. He's gone through this enough times to know what to do, to remember it even if he feels like he's floating into goddamn outer space and he can't get back to Earth. He closes his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat that has him choking on thin air. His hands shake so much the shirt falls from his numb fingers: that brings him back to reality a tiny bit, the sound of the fabric rippling on the floor. He's numb, but he doesn't feel like he's falling through a dark hole made of his worst thoughts, so there's that, at least: he knows, he knows it could be worse, but that doesn't make him any happier.
Suddenly his eyes are open against the nearly blinding light of the bedroom's lamp, and the shock of it is so unexpected that it cuts through the cocoon of nothingness surrounding his limbs. He forces himself to feel what tangible objects surround him, trying to anchor himself back to reality: he does feel, faintly, the bite of the cold floor reaching the skin of his thighs even through his sweatpants, the traces of Victor's cologne that are everlasting in the bedroom, the words he doesn't understand coming from the living room, where the radio is playing music. It may not be helping him breath with ease, but it at least erases the dizziness in his limbs.
He doesn't know how to pull himself out of this. Truth be told, he doesn't think there's a way to do that: he just has to wait that his mind stops fucking fighting him and settles back down. He hates himself for that, also, but he can't help thinking that this better stop before Victor comes back home. He doesn't want to be seen like this, helpless, weak. He doesn't want to show himself like this to anyone.
But then Maccachin barges into the room, and Yuuri figures that a poodle doesn't, in fact, count as someone: if there's something he's learned about his damned anxiety after years of dealing with it, is that pets help him. Back when he lived in Hasetsu, when anxiety was still the slight tremble of his hands before a local competition and nights he couldn't sleep no matter how tired his body was, it was Vicchan that helped him through it. Now, if he closed his eyes and held the poodle currently licking at his face, there would be no difference. He doesn't close his eyes, because god knows what would happen if he added his melancholy on top of his anxiety, but he does held Maccachin closer.
The ice rink has always been his safe place. It's kind of unbelievable, since competitions are probably what make him anxious the most, but it's true: when anxiety hits him while he's skating, it's somehow bearable. Sometimes, it doesn't even dare to hit him, because the rink is too familiar and too dear to him, enough that it will keep it at bay. He doesn't remember one single time he felt properly anxious while at the Ice Castle, or even in the Detroit rink, which was way different from its home's. So, when he finds himself stuck and unable to move in the middle of the St. Peterburg rink, he feels like he's broken for good.
It's early enough that he's alone: not even Yakov is there. It's just him and Yuri, stretching on the other side of the rink. Victor is nowhere to be seen. Yuuri closes his eyes and forces himself to release the breath he's holding but, before he can make himself inhale again, he's already faced by a partially puzzled Yuri. Yuuri thanks someone in the heavens that it's him and not Victor: he doesn't think he could stand physical touch, not now.
“Yuuri”, he hears, and it's not his hyped mind's fault if he can hear Yuri's fear beneath the words, in the way he doesn't use a stupid nickname. Even if his mind is going at miles-a-second speed, he knows him well enough to notice that Yuri at least suspects what's going on with him. “Are you okay?”, he asks, and when Yuuri can't reply – he tries to, but all that comes out from his mouth is a frankly worrying sound – he just shakes his head and murmurs, “Stupid question”. He hesitates the slightest bit before asking, “Do you think you can get out of here?” and this time Yuuri just nods.
Once they're sat on the benches, silence stretches out between them in the most uncomfortable way in forever. Yuuri has calmed down enough that he can think properly: he's no longer worried about himself, because that wasn't bad as it could have been. He can't stop thinking about the way Yuri had immediately recognized that something was off, though. He's aware that someone who had never gone through something similar couldn't have suspected, not when the only sign was his sudden stillness; not even Phichit, who had known him for years, could understand what was going on when he acted like that.
Yuuri is almost sure he was around Yuri's age when he started having trouble with anxiety. “Are you okay?”, he asks suddenly, and Yuri whips his head around and looks at him like he's grown a third eye or something like that. “Are you stupid?”, he shrieks in reply, “You're the one who's just had a panic attack while skating!”
He could deny it, but he won't. He hates to be this weak, but he also hates to hide. He has to choose. “That wasn't a proper panic attack”, he says instead. Yuri's eyebrows arch. “It wasn't?” He shakes his head, then hides his face in his hands. “Not for me, at least”. He feels so tired.
“You should go home”, Yuri states. “I know”, Yuuri replies. His eyes are fixed to what he can see of the ice through his fingers. “You won't”, Yuri says, and it's not a question, so Yuuri doesn't feel the need to reply. It's just a fact, thrown in the conversation because, as much as Yuri likes to deny it, they're too similar for their own good. “Does Victor know?”, Yuri asks, voice just slightly lower than before. Yuuri could reply that he does, that he's already had a breakdown in front of him, but that's not what Yuri's asking. “He doesn't”, he says. He doesn't thank Yuri when he grips his arm, light enough that it doesn't make him flinch, in a gesture that brings him more comfort than it should.
God knows Yuuri doesn't want to talk with Victor about it. He is almost sure he won't get it. He doesn't want to worry him, and he doesn't want to sound like he's exaggerating things, and he just wants to ignore it like he's been doing all his life. He wants to curl up on the sofa with his soon-to-be-husband and pretend there isn't a weight crushing his lungs and sneaking up on him when he least expects it, pretend they're having a nice afternoon with nothing tugging at the corners of his mind without ever stopping. He wants to continue dealing with it as best as he can on his own, burying his face in pillows when he can't stop crying, curling up in blankets when he can't move.
But it isn't fair. It isn't fair to him, not since when he has understood that being this blind will slowly destroy him from the inside. It isn't fair to Victor, neither as his coach or as his lover or as his fiancé. It isn't fair, and he has to talk before he will explode or chicken out again.
He shuts off the tv, turns around so that he won't have to look in his eyes as he says it. As soon as Victor opens his mouth to ask him why he's acting so strange, he says, “We have to talk”. Victor's loose embrace tightens around him, his hands grip him tight by his hips, and it's enough pressure to ground himself before his mind can start running off. “I-” Yuuri starts, voice hoarser than it was a moment before. He clears his throat. “I have been struggling lately”, he manages.
Even if he can't see Victor's face, he can hear the wheels turning around in his mind, examining and tearing to bits everything that's happened in the last months, and it makes his lips curve in a phantom of a smile. “It's not anything you've done”, he adds quickly, before Victor can start rambling, and somehow – maybe it's the knowledge that Victor is just as insecure about some things, perhaps even more than him – he turns around so that he can, effectively, face him. “I'm just- I've-” they're not hugging anymore, but they're still touching: Victor's foot has somehow ended up beneath his thigh, and Yuuri, who's leaning in for some reason, has steadied himself with a hand on Victor's knee. “You know I have anxiety”, he breathes out, and Victor's eyes gets so soft and worried Yuuri knows he has to look away, or he'll start crying and never end this conversation. Suddenly, one of the plants hanging from the ceiling gets really interesting, and he keeps his eyes fixed on it. “It had- it was better, but now- it's just gotten- harder, again”, he spits out, and the tension in his shoulders disappears along with the words. “I don't know why, or what to do”.
For the slightest moment, he's afraid. He doesn't exactly know what he fears; there's nothing to fear, really, in the calm silence of the room, but he's still irrationally terrified. He barely register Victor's hand gripping his, but it also reassures him on some hidden inner level. “Okay”, Victor says. “Okay. What do we do?”, he asks, and Yuuri can pinpoint the moment tears fill his eyes. It hits him in the chest harder than his anxiety ever will, the way Victor says “we”, how ready he is to be dragged into this mess he is. He should tell him how much he loves him; instead, he replies, “I haven't figured that out yet”. “Okay”, Victor replies. “So, what can I do?”
That's what does it: Yuuri is crying, now, which was quite inevitable, and he's thrown himself on Victor's lap, hugging him so tightly he doesn't know how he's still breathing. “You just-” are wonderful, Yuuri thinks, and I don't deserve you. Instead he says, “- stay here, be patient”, and almost misses Victor's whispered “Always” that gets lost in a kiss on his neck.
The therapist Yuuri has chosen is minutes away from the rink. The sea is visible from all the windows in her office: if he loses himself far enough in the memories he can almost pretend he's still in Hasetsu, explaining to his mom why he's not feeling great, staying silent while Yuuko tries to take his mind off whatever's bothering him. He never understood how much the sea actually calms him; now he does, and he glances out the window every time he feels like he can't breathe or think or talk, and the slow ripple of the waves soothes his shaken nerves.
Even as he wishes a good evening to his therapist and exits her office, the first thing his eyes face is the beautiful view of the sun turning the sea water red and pink. The second thing he sees is an even more astonishing view, that fills his heart with a certain kind of tenderness nothing else can overcome. Victor sits on one of the chairs outside the office, evidently waiting for him as he lazily scrolls down his phone. It seems like he hasn't moved since Yuuri had begun the session, almost an hour before, and suddenly Yuuri is dying to kiss him.
He does so, sliding into the seat near his and distracting him with a peck on the cheek, which is enough to have Victor turning his head in surprise. Yuuri captures his lips in a proper kiss, that makes Victor's phone fall in his lap as he reaches up to hold his face in his hands. They break away when their smiles make it hard to keep on kissing without their teeth clashing, and Victor's voice is soft and low as his eyes search his face. “Hey”, he greets him, “how was it?”
“Not bad”, Yuuri shrugs. “You didn't have to stay here, though, you know that?” Victor shakes his head, a fond smile gracing his lips. “I didn't want you to be alone”, he replies, and Yuuri blushes. “I don't deserve you”, he whispers back, and Victor looks at him with a kind of passion he will never get used to and says, “You deserve so many things, Yura”. Yuuri has to restrain himself not to jump him right there, in a public place; instead he kisses the grin off his mouth, careful to keep his own lips shut, so that he won't be too tempted to turn this indecent. “We should go”, he says as he rises up, offering Victor a hand.
Victor gets up and stretches his arms, all the while looking at Yuuri, who's replying to a text from the other Yuri. He takes his hand as soon as he puts his phone away and asks, looking at the sea, “How are you?”. Yuuri smiles sweetly and tilts his head at the side, like he does when he's thinking hard about something. “I'm good”, he replies, and he means it. “I'm okay”.