I’m thinking of re-editing and reposting an old Naruto fanfic of mine in ao3??? Like, it’s got potential and my 12 year-old self definitely worked hard on it but it’s also sort of a cringe-fest???
read it on ao3: (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032333)
Picture this:
Victor is ten years-old, laughing as he sits on the floor in the space between his mom’s long legs, playfully blowing away the silver hair strands that fall on his face and tickle his nose. There’s a cake set on the tiles in front of them, covered in blue frosting with ten lit candles on top. The apartment is littered with balloons and torn gift wrappers. It’s a silly sight but Victor’s mom said they’re allowed to be silly because it’s Victor’s birthday and people are allowed to be silly during their birthdays.
“Mama, Mama, Mamaaaaa,” Victor chants, tugging a little on his mom’s long hair. His ocean eyes are fixed on the dancing flames of the candles, entranced with the bright orange glow. “Sing the song, Mama. The candles will melt!”
His mother chuckles. “Alright, alright,” she concedes, making a show of leisurely clearing her throat, and then laughs once more when Victor whines. “Happy birthday Vitya, happy birthday Vitya,” his mother finally sings, her voice a soft melody right next to his ears, “Happy birthday, little ice prince”—she interrupts the song as she reaches the high note to blow a raspberry on his cheek, grinning when Victor squirms with a squeal—“Happy birthday to you.”
Victor claps his hands giddily. “Can I blow out the candles now?”
“Go ahead, solnyshko,” His mom hides a fond grin against his hair, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. “Make a wish.”
Victor’s wide eyes press shut, his face scrunching up in determined concentration as he makes his birthday wish. I wish Papa comes home soon, he wishes. I wish Mama’s sickness gets better. I wish I can keep making her laugh. I wish I can be good enough to join the Junior champions this year.
With a puff of his cheeks that makes him look like a chipmunk (he knows this because his mother laughs again), Victor blows out his candles.
“What did you wish for?” His mother asks him later after she’s peppered his face with kisses and painted Victor’s nose with a swipe of frosting.
Victor blinks.
His mom is silly. Everyone knows wishes don’t come true if you say them out loud. Nonetheless, Victor burrows himself further into his mom’s hug and makes the least sacrifice, “I wished I can skate better.”
His mom hums. “I’m sure you can do it, solnyshko.”
Picture this:
Victor is fifteen, sitting on the floor with his mother in front of him and there’s a blue birthday cake between them. There’s a gold medal around his neck, marking his fourth consecutive win, and his braided hair reaches up to his collarbone now. There are balloons bouncing gently on their apartment floor, getting noticeably fewer and fewer in each passing year. But as he holds his mother’s cold hands in his warm grip, Victor notes that he doesn’t particularly care.
“Happy birthday Vitya, happy birthday Vitya,” his mom sings in a teasing lilt, as always, and it makes Victor grin fondly as he watches her instead of the flickering candles. She’s gotten thinner, but not alarmingly so; her cheeks are just the slightest bit sunken, her skin paler than before. Victor rubs at her hands, trying to help her poor circulation. If Victor is going to be honest, the only thing keeps him from worrying too much is the way her smiles still light up her brown eyes. His mother is still beautiful, still so full of life even when sickly, even when his father never came back after leaving them so suddenly all those years ago.
“—ppy birthday, Victor.” The greeting pulls him back to reality, and Victor blinks to see his mother smiling at him. She beckons him forward and leans over when he does, meeting him halfway so she can kiss his forehead. “I’m so proud of you, solnyshko. Make a wish.”
Victor peers down to where the candles are glowing back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to close his eyes. I wish the medicine they gave you will work this time, Mama, he thinks, squeezing her hands briefly, I wish I can keep making you proud. I wish you’ll be okay.
Victor blows out his candles.
When he lifts his head and his mother asks him what he wished for, Victor shrugs with a smile and says, “I wished for a puppy.”
His mom raises an intrigue eyebrow. “We’ll see,” she answers, and then quickly swipes her finger across the cake and smudges it on Victor’s face, yelling in triumph when Victor leans away with a yelp.
“Mama! Mama, wait—this is ridiculous,” Victor protests, laughing helplessly as his mother spreads the frosting further on his skin. It’s silly, Victor muses, grinning as he gets his revenge by wiping his sticky blue face on his mom’s cheek and his mother’s laughter echoes melodiously in their apartment.
Victor will have it no other way.
Picture this:
Victor is sixteen, sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chair for god knows how long now.
There are no balloons on the cold, pristine floor. No torn wrappers littering their room.
Instead, there’s Victor hunched over his mother’s frail sleeping form on the hospital bed, tears blurring his vision.
There is no “Happy Birthday” song.
Instead, there’s Makkachin’s sad whining by the door, curled up into a tiny ball of brown fur. There’s the dull sound of the heart monitor, beeping every 3.5 seconds (Victor knows, he timed it down, and every moment it misses the pattern, Victor chokes on the lump of fear stuck on his throat). There’s the silence, the white noise, ringing painfully in his ears, and the only thing Victor wants is to hear his mother’s laughter again.
There is no blue cake this time.
No candles to blow out.
But Victor still squeezes his eyes shut, swallows back a quiet sob, and wishes.
Please.
Please.
Picture this:
Victor is eighteen, and he has stopped celebrating his birthday.
Picture this:
Victor is twenty-six, coming home from the bar with the stench of vodka and a bone-deep exhaustion he can’t seem to shake off. When he opens the door, it’s the hollow silence that welcomes him home, along with the sight of a too-clean, too-peaceful apartment. A quick glance to the side confirms that Makkachin is asleep on top of the living room carpet.
There are no balloons, no presents waiting to be opened.
I’m too old for silly things anyway, Victor decides, sighing inaudibly, and makes a beeline toward the kitchen as soon as he closes the door. He drops his bag on one of the chairs and sets down the paper bag he’s gripping tight on the counter, too, before carefully taking out the small box inside. Victor takes off the lid and stares at the blue-frosted cupcake that sits there. A white candle rolls out of the bag, hitting the side of the box. It’s all nothing more than a sad, pathetic attempt to recreate what he once had.
It’s been years since he stopped celebrating, and Victor doesn’t exactly know what urged him to start doing it again. Boredom, maybe. Or drunkenness. Well, it’s either those, or the crushing weight of loneliness that makes his chest want to cave in into itself. Victor almost wants to laugh, if he didn’t feel so much like breaking down sobbing.
Something bumps into his leg then and Victor looks down, managing a weak smile. He releases a breath he doesn’t even know he’s holding. “Makkachin,” he whispers softly, reaching down to scratch behind the poodle’s ear. Victor pretends there aren’t tears sliding down the side of his face. “Did I wake you, boy?”
He makes a snap decision to raise Makkachin’s front paws up and put them up on a chair so that his dog is standing on its hind legs, at eye level with the cupcake. The sight is ridiculous enough to make Victor snort into his palm, and he grins when Makkachin barks at the cupcake, wagging his tail excitedly.
“Let’s try this again, okay?”
With trembling fingers, Victor buries the candle in the middle of the cupcake and lights it with a match, bathing him and Makkachin in a soft, orange light. Victor holds on to Makkachin’s furry paws, takes a deep breath, and looks at the flickering flame.
Softly, in an achingly hushed voice, Victor sings.
“Happy birthday Vitya, happy birthday Vitya—”
I wish Makkachin would never leave me. He’s the only one I have left.
I wish I won’t be alone anymore.
“Happy birthday, little ice prince—”
I wish I can remember what it’s like to be happy.
“Happy birthday to you…”
I wish—
I wish—
Victor closes his eyes and blows out the candle.
Picture this:
Victor is twenty-eight, a thousand miles away from Russia, and he wakes up with his nose buried against soft hair strands and a sleep-warm body inside his embrace. The room is silent, still dark and peaceful. Just as Victor wonders what woke him, his phone vibrates on the bedside table. He gropes for it, squinting at the too bright screen and reads the blurry message.
From: Yura
To: Me
Sent at 12:00 a.m.
happy aging day, old man
Victor blinks sluggishly. He almost forgot that tomorrow—well, today, is his birthday. Victor waits for the sting brought about by Yura’s greeting. He waits for the crushing ache and the bitter feeling of being reminded.
But Yuuri is pressed flushed against his side and the room is still and dark and peaceful, and no such thing comes to him. There’s nothing there save for a deep sort of quietness inside his chest, like something once lost has been returned to him and for a moment, it lulls him back to sleep.
When he wakes up again, Victor is twenty-nine years-old.
There’s sunlight streaming inside through the window, bathing the figure next to him in gold, and Victor’s face shifts from sleepy confusion to a slow, indulgent smile. He doesn’t think twice before he presses his lips against the sliver of skin just peeking above the shirt collar of his bedmate.
Said bedmate sighs and scoots backwards, deeper into Victor’s arms. “Victor,” Yuuri yawns, definitely still half-unconscious. He reaches for Victor’s hand and threads their fingers together. “Hi.”
It feels too surreal all of a sudden, too soft, too beautiful—it feels a little like Victor is still dreaming.
It makes Victor smile a little wider, fall a little more in love. “Hello,” he says and presses another kiss on Yuuri’s nape, purposefully moving his mouth lower. “Good morning, solnyshko.”
“It’s too early,” Yuuri complains, but doesn’t stop Victor from pressing more kisses against his skin. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” Victor says and shifts to glance at the clock. It’s only 6 a.m.—definitely too early for Yuuri, especially on a free day—and he knows Yuuri will kill him if he says it. (Maybe not kill him. Yuuri loves him too much for that. But Yuuri will definitely be unhappy and Victor doesn’t like Yuuri being unhappy.)
So Victor says, “The clock says it’s time for you to kiss me.”
Yuuri snorts. “It’s too early, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Victor hums.
Yuuri picks up his glasses, puts them on, and turns to read the time himself. After he does, he regards Victor with a raised eyebrow and a badly suppressed smile. It’s supposed to make him look stern, Victor knows, but Yuuri’s nest of a hair ruins the intended effect.
“It’s 6 o’clock,” Yuuri says. “In the morning.”
Victor grins brightly up at him without shame. “I love you.”
Yuuri gives up and shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. “I love you, too,” he says, and really, Victor can never get tired of hearing it. Yuuri kisses him then, without any warning, and it takes the breath out of Victor’s lungs so sweetly that it hurts. Yuuri keeps it sweet and chaste but Victor closes his eyes and drowns in it all the same, reveling in the sensation of Yuuri’s soft lips against his own and Yuuri’s gentle hand splayed warm over his jaw.
When they pull apart, Yuuri looks down on him with an almost victorious sort of smile. “Thank you for waking me up.”
It’s Victor’s turn to snort. “Really?”
“Really,” Yuuri says, and then gets up and out of bed without further explanation.
“Where are you going?” Victor asks, confused, but Yuuri only says “I’ll be right back!” and then Victor is left alone in their room.
Victor sighs. There really is no stopping Yuuri when he puts his mind to it.
He grabs his phone, remembering Yura’s text, and reads it again. It sounds a lot meaner now that Victor is fully awake. Trust Yura to turn a birthday greeting into something insulting. Victor shakes his head but replies with a “Thank you!” anyway, and proceeds to flood Yura’s inbox with glittery heart emojis just to piss him off.
Victor puts down his phone, satisfied, and when he looks up at the doorway again, there’s Yuuri slowly approaching with a cake slice balanced in his hands and Makkachin trotting right behind him.
Victor’s breath catches in his throat.
“Yuuri—“
“I slipped out of bed, last night,” Yuuri admits sheepishly, allowing Makkachin to pass through first and greet Victor with a slobbering kiss. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“I—,” Victor stammers, absentmindedly petting Makkachin and staring wide-eyed at the cake. “Yuuri, I’m—you didn’t have to—“
“You didn’t really think I’d forget your birthday, did you?” Yuuri says, kneeling on the bed in the most careful way possible. He smiles shyly, and the sight—along with the cake and all that Yuuri is doing right now—does bad things to Victor’s heart.
“I tried my best,” Yuuri says, worrying his lip as he watches Victor’s reaction. “It didn’t really look that great at the end, but I hope it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks?”
Victor swallows back the lump in his throat and looks down at the cake. It’s an unnatural shade of blue, white frosting smeared rather unevenly around it. Yuuri has extraordinary talent as a skater but that clearly doesn't apply to baking. Victor can't even tell what flavor it is. It’s ugly and it’s perfect, and Victor’s eyes are starting to sting.
When the tears fall, Yuuri's mouth drops open in panic and he almost lets go of the plate. “V-Victor?! Victor, don’t cry, I’m sorry—“
Victor laughs.
It stops Yuuri in whatever panicked thought he’s gotten himself into this time. Victor laughs, wet and a little painful, but every breath that goes out of him feels cathartic. He laughs until Yuuri has stopped panicking and has settled for staring confusedly at him, until he has tears slipping out of his eyes and down to his cheeks.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Victor chuckles, smiling. When he looks at Yuuri again, his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy but Victor smiles like he hadn’t ever before. The cake is such a familiar sight and Victor doesn't understand how it can feel so different this time around. “It’s perfect,” Victor says, almost breathless. “I love it.”
“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks. He uses one hand to wipe away Victor’s tears and cups his cheek. “Victor?”
“Yes,” Victor says. He tugs at Yuuri’s hand until Yuuri sets the plate down and Victor can kiss the life out of him. “Yes.”
The cake is blue and ugly and Victor has laughed like a madman and has cried his eyes out and he’s a thousand miles away, in an onsen in Japan with the love of his life right in front of him asking him if he's okay. It's silly. But it's Victor's birthday and people are allowed to be silly on their birthdays.
So Victor is okay.
He’s very much okay.
Picture this:
Victor is twenty-nine years-old.
When they settle back down on the bed and the hysterics have calmed down, Yuuri lights a candle atop the cake and asks Victor to make a wish.
And Victor turns to him with a soft smile and whispers, “I wish for this. Always.”
Victor Nikiforov, international hunk and sex icon, impulse-buys more lingerie than necessary to impress the boy who stole his heart before flying across the globe.
He clearly didn’t think that through.
(Teen And Up Audiences)
The first thing Victor Nikiforov does after buying his ticket to Japan is to go lingerie shopping. He wants to pack only the best underwear as he leaves on his international booty call, and so he wants to make sure he has variety at his disposal.
(”Go with red,” Chris said. “You can’t go wrong with red.” But black looks better on his skin? And Yuuri seems to be more of a cool-tones kind of man – and the vivid fantasy of Yuuri praising his lavender underwear – “how did you know that’s my favorite color?” he’d ask – before them making sweet, passionate love all night until the break of dawn had basically made him decide on getting as many colors as he could get his hands on.)
If he’s getting his ass wrecked by the hottest man on earth, he might as well be wearing the most exquisite piece of underwear while he’s at it. It’s a way of showing Yuuri his admiration and how smitten he is, because he can’t hide how he’d been dreaming of that moment since the banquet, and he’s definitely had the time to plan for it.
It comes to a point where he doesn’t know which one he wants to wear first, and the fact that he impulse-bought a 12-colors selection when his extensive research on Yuuri’s favorite color was inconclusive.
Okay, so I get why Victor Nikiforov would be constantly weak for his Husband™ Katsuki Yuuri i mean, have you seen him but I don’t believe for a second that Yuuri wouldn’t be the same for Victor. Like, he’s literally engaged and living with his idol??? what a role model????
Imagine:
The two of them doing tedious everyday chores and Victor will be washing the dishes or cleaning the kitchen counters and Yuuri can’t walk past him without giving him a kiss first??? Victor is just too beautiful, Yuuri can’t help it????
And Yuuri will walk past him, like, 50 times.
Yuuri buying groceries and just so happens to walk by a flower shop for no reason at all and ends up coming home with a couple of red roses for Victor
Yuuri blushing and grinning like an idiot when Victor takes the roses and kisses the ever living shit out of him
(A few weeks later, Victor pulls the same stunt on him and Yuuri is so touched by the flowers and so in love with this beautiful man he almost cries)
Victor and Yuuri eating dinner, and Yuuri plays footsie with Victor under the table. When Victor looks up to do Suggestive Eyebrow Wiggles at him, Yuuri will most probably be breathless with laughter because it looks so ridiculous but it also weirdly turns him on and he’ll raise his foot a little higher until it’s rubbing the inside of Victor’s thigh.
Victor coming out fresh from the shower, hair still wet and with only a pair of skimpy black underwear on (yes, this is completely on purpose) and Yuuri’s eyes just. fucking zooms in. like a hawk.
not five minutes later, someone tackles someone else on the bed and they don’t come out of the bedroom after two hours
Victor ends up taking another shower
Victor having mannerisms that Yuuri shouldn’t find so hot but does anyway, like when Victor is bored and he keeps touching his lips and absentmindedly rubbing them with his fingers and Yuuri is sitting right next to him on the sofa slowly dying.
Victor cuddling up to him while sleeping and they’re so close Yuuri can count how many eyelashes Victor has and Yuuri absolutely loves it
Victor and Yuuri walking Makkachin at the park during a cold afternoon, holding hands and wearing matching scarves and looking rather adorable. When Victor laughs at the sight of Makkachin valiantly tugging on his leash to chase after birds, Yuuri will stare fondly at him all the while with wonder in his eyes and so much love in his heart that Yuuri wonders what he did right to deserve someone as wonderful and brilliant and breathtaking as Victor Nikiforov.
I loved everything about it, from the pacific rim au itself (I love those), to the BAMF! Katsuki siblings, to Chris, to Viktor and Minako and just. Everything? And I really loved how the whole ‘holding hands’ motif was used so much I couldn’t help but try to draw it.
The Kasuki siblings in: their first time seeing A Kaiju, versus the first time they see their Jaegar (or the first time they get into it anyway).
Read it here on ao3: (http://archiveofourown.org/works/12590728)
It isn’t a well-known fact that Katsuki Yuuri knows how to bake.
Maybe that’s because a) Yuuri doesn’t particularly like sharing facts about himself, and b) he’s only done on a few occasions before. Those occasions being that time in college when he seriously thought he was going to fail in Macro-economics class, that time he waited three hours for a blind date before realizing he’s been stood up, and the time after he had just blown his then once-in-a-lifetime chance of competing in the Grand Prix Finals. There’s clearly an unspoken theme going on here.
hc that victor sometimes doesn’t know what goes on in yuuri’s head, but he tries his best and his best is really great. AKA i can’t stop drawing random domestics help
Read it here on ao3: (http://archiveofourown.org/works/12590728)
It isn’t a well-known fact that Katsuki Yuuri knows how to bake.
Maybe that’s because a) Yuuri doesn’t particularly like sharing facts about himself, and b) he’s only done on a few occasions before. Those occasions being that time in college when he seriously thought he was going to fail in Macro-economics class, that time he waited three hours for a blind date before realizing he’s been stood up, and the time after he had just blown his then once-in-a-lifetime chance of competing in the Grand Prix Finals. There’s clearly an unspoken theme going on here.
And today, Yuuri’s baking again.
…It hasn’t been a good day. Clearly.
(Or a good week, if Yuuri is going to be honest, and at this point he’s simply too exhausted to be anything but honest with himself.)
It hasn’t been a good day, no.
If anything, it’s been the complete opposite of a good day, it’s been utterly terrible; Yuuri kept flubbing jumps left and right during practice—enough times that Yurio didn’t bother to cackle at him anymore and actually looked kind of concerned at the end. He’d forgotten to pick up groceries like Victor had reminded him to do, he tripped on a crack on the sidewalk on the way home and gave himself a bruised knee, and tonight, he somehow managed to fuck up their dinner.
I made Victor burnt chicken breast, Yuuri remembers and resists the urge to bang his head against the kitchen counter. He settles for pounding the doughy mixture in front of him harshly.
Honestly, the only other reason Yuuri’s even stressbaking (is that a word? It better be. Yuuri’s too done with things to care about whether it’s a word or not) is because he wanted to make it up to Victor.
Which is proving to be impossible now, because things seem to be going very wrong very quickly for Yuuri, and the dough won’t cooperate. It remains clumpy and goo-like, regardless of the amount of flour Yuuri keeps adding to keep it from sticking.
This is it, Yuuri thinks darkly as he kneads and kneads and kneads the stupid dough, this is how Victor’s going to kick me out of his house. I’m going to be baking him shitty bread after burning dinner and he’s going to break up with me. I’ll be homeless in Russia and my fiancé will leave me and I won’t be able to see Makkachin again—
His glasses slip down from the bridge of his nose and falls lens first, right into the sticky mess of dough.
Yuuri stares at it for a moment, and then forces himself to take a slow breath. He just can’t do anything right, can he? He messed up. He messed up again, for the millionth time today, and no matter how many chances he’s given, Yuuri won’t be able to make it any better because he’s such a sad, pathetic—
“Yuuri.”
Yuuri turns, hands clenched and lips pursed, and sees Victor coming out of the bedroom while glancing at the glasses stuck in the dough. It makes Yuuri’s face burn in humiliation, being caught in the act of messing up. Victor looks slightly amused but mostly worried, which says a lot about what Victor thinks about this situation. He offers Yuuri a tired smile as he comes close. “My, my. What happened here?”
“Nothing,” Yuuri snaps before he can help himself and immediately feels like the world’s biggest asshole when Victor blinks in surprise. “Sorry,” he says and shakes his head, looking down to his hands and away from Victor. The supposed-to-be apology dough looks like it’s mocking him. “I meant it’s fine. Everything’s fine. My glasses just slipped, is all.”
“Oh,” Victor says, and then grins. “I’ll clean it for you.”
“No need.” Yuuri picks up his glasses with a plan to set it aside only Victor beats him to it, plucking the dirty glasses out of Yuuri’s hand.
Yuuri sighs. “Victor—”
“Let me,” Victor insists and kisses Yuuri’s cheek as he passes by him on the way to the sink. Yuuri watches as Victor thoroughly rinses the dough off the lenses and the frame, before using the hem of his shirt to wipe the glasses dry.
There’s something in the way he does it that makes Yuuri’s heart hurt—Victor dries it meticulously, carefully, like Yuuri’s glasses are just as important to him as Yuuri is.
Finally, Victor inspects the glasses, deems it good enough, and walks toward Yuuri with a satisfied grin.
“You didn’t have to,” Yuuri half-heartedly protests.
“I wanted to,” Victor hums back. He stops right in front of Yuuri to put his glasses for him, sliding it on with utmost care. There’s a tiny smile on his lips as he does so. “There. All clean.”
“Thanks,” Yuuri says and then proceeds to push his glasses up with a dough-covered hand. Yuuri stops breathing. He freezes, horrified, and shuts his eyes tight in regret. “Oh, god, I’m sorry—”
Victor huffs out a laugh, taking off the glasses again.
Yuuri has half a mind to stop him. “Victor, I’m so sorry—please don’t, just leave it—”
“Let me,” Victor repeats on the way back to the sink, turning a deaf ear to Yuuri’s words. With his back to Yuuri and his expression indecipherable, Victor opens the tap. “It’s okay,” He says, even though Yuuri knows it’s anything but.
As Victor rinses his glasses for the second time around, Yuuri turns back to the dough with a grimace. It’s already becoming more like dough and less like batter, but Yuuri is pretty sure he used too much flour now and the bread will end up dry. So much for an apology bread, Yuuri thinks, crestfallen. He resumes kneading it anyway, trying to salvage what he can and ignoring the frustration that’s welling up within him.
Not even an hour with Victor again and he’s already made a douchebag and an idiot of himself. Yuuri thinks of all the messes he caused throughout the day and swallows heavily. Though he’s been so patient and so sweet, surely Victor is sick of having to clean up after him all the time?
Yuuri can almost see it—just one more mistake, one more slip up, and Victor will frown instead of laugh, will finally reach the end of his patience and drop the smile he’s been putting on for Yuuri. Victor will finally stop saying that it’s okay.
If Yuuri’s lucky, maybe Victor will just leave him alone until he can get his shit together.
If not, maybe Victor will leave for good, maybe he’ll realize that this was a mistake, that being with Yuuri is a mistake, since he’s clearly unable to do even the smallest things properly—
“Yuuri!”
Yuuri startles and looks up. Victor marches in front of him again, smiling proudly as he holds up Yuuri’s clean glasses. He stays perfectly still as Victor slides his glasses on, tucking it carefully behind his ears. When Victor grins, bright and loving, Yuuri suddenly gets a very real fear of touching his glasses again, or having them fall again, making them dirty once more after all the effort Victor exerted to clean them.
Yuuri’s heart sinks to his gut. Knowing his luck today, he’s bound to commit a mistake. Victor is bound to end up disappointed in him.
“You didn’t have to clean it,” Yuuri mutters just as much, looking tiredly at Victor, and hopes Victor understands the apology behind his words. “It’s just going to get dirty again.”
Yuuri half-expects Victor to roll his eyes, or at least to say, “I know.”
Instead, Victor’s smile melts into something tender. He looks at Yuuri, cradling his face in his hands, and brushes the hair away from Yuuri’s eyes fondly.
“Then I’ll clean it again,” Victor says, soft and sincere, like it’s a promise, a love confession, instead of a casual reassurance. His fingers curl themselves around Yuuri’s nape, playing with the dark hair. He leans forward to press a kiss on Yuuri’s forehead. “However many times you need.”
Yuuri stares at him, at a loss for what to say.
He glances down at Victor’s warm hands against his cheeks, holding him as if he’s something worth taking care of, as if Yuuri is worth all the effort in the world despite everything he’s done wrong. Yuuri’s chest aches with something he can’t name. He looks back up at Victor’s lovely ocean eyes.
Victor’s smile crumbles apart in confusion and worry alike. “Yuuri?” he asks.
There’s a tight lump of emotion forming in Yuuri’s throat. It’s difficult to breathe, all of a sudden. Yuuri blinks, once, twice, and then Victor becomes a blur and there are tears falling down his face, fogging up his glasses, and he’s crying inside Victor’s hold before he realizes it.
“W-Would you r-really?” Yuuri hiccups again.
“Yuuri,” Victor breathes out as he tries to wipe away the tears with his thumb. “Of course! Anything for you, love. I’d clean them a million times.”
Yuuri chokes on a relieved sob, and closes his eyes tightly, feeling lost and broken and fixed all at once.
Victor is so sweet and kind and wonderful that some days, Yuuri still doesn’t believe he deserves this man. Still can’t believe that this isn’t some dream that’ll end as soon as he makes a mistake, but somehow Victor always finds a way to prove him wrong.
It’s a mess again.
Yuuri’s a giant mess. There’s flour and sticky batter everywhere, his glasses are probably dirty again, and the dough still refuses to be a perfectly smooth dough and goodness, this isn’t what Yuuri thought would happen at all.
But then there’s Victor pulling him closer until Yuuri is safe and warm in a hug, gentle hands rubbing soothing circles on his back and Victor’s low voice whispering reassurances in his ear, and it’s better than anything Yuuri could have imagined. Victor smells like aftershave and freshly laundered clothes and feels so much like home that Yuuri doesn’t ever want to be anywhere but inside his arms. Yuuri’s so tired. God, he’s so, so tired.
“Thank you,” Yuuri manages to croak out as he holds on and hides his face against Victor’s shoulder. “Thank you, thank you.”
“It’s okay,” Victor soothes, kissing his hair, kissing his temple, kissing Yuuri wherever he can reach, “I’ve got you, honey. I’ve got you.”
They reach a standstill with Yuuri’s face plastered against Victor’s shirt and Victor with his mouth pressed into Yuuri’s hair, both of them breathing slowly, quiet and soft in the middle of the kitchen. The tears stop soon and make Yuuri’s eyes feel sore and tired but god does it feel cathartic to let it out.
Finally, Yuuri shifts in place and raises his head just a little, enough to look at Victor. “Thank you,” he says again, breaking the silence.
“Anytime, solnyshko. I’m here for you.” Victor glances down at Yuuri and smiles. Then, as if remembering something, he furrows his eyebrows. “Is this about the glasses?” Victor asks seriously, still confused about the situation. “Because you know, it really isn’t a big deal to me. I’ll clean them for you every day if it’s what you want, Yuuri. Are they being a hassle? Should I buy you contacts instead—”
Yuuri barks out a wet laugh, blinking wetness away from his eyelashes. There he goes again. How can Victor turn such simple words into the most touching statements and do it with a straight face?
“Is it about the glasses?” Victor asks insistently, a hint of whining making its way to his voice the more Yuuri grins at him. “Yuuri. Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuuuuriiii, answer meeeee.”
Yuuri shakes his head, smiling a real smile for the first time since the day began, and pulls Victor down for a proper kiss. They taste like tears and flour but Yuuri can feel the adoration from the Victor presses in for more, lips soft and hands warm as he curls around Yuuri out of habit.
When they part, Yuuri lets out a sigh and rests his forehead against Victor’s. “It’s not the glasses,” Yuuri tells with a smile that says it doesn’t matter anymore, “but I’m okay now. Thank you for asking anyway. You’re too sweet.”
“Not true,” Victor defends, even as he cuddles Yuuri impossibly closer. Yuuri laughs. “I’m the right amount of sweet.”
Yuuri grins. “Too sweet,” he whispers.
In response, Victor kisses him again until they’re both laughing and covered in flour and dough and Yuuri has never felt happier.
(Later, Yuuri will still bake the stupid dough and it will still come out as a stupid, dry bread. But Victor will exclaim “Wow!” and take pictures of it to post on his Instagram anyway as they cuddle on the couch with Makkachin, so for now, Yuuri simply smiles and lets it go.)
this fic is inspired by this fan art (http://haedraulics.tumblr.com/post/164235525655/its-not-about-the-glasses-hc-that-victor) by haedraulics who is an awesome artist. Thank you so much for giving me the permission to write a fic for your art! <3
Read it here on ao3! (http://archiveofourown.org/works/12578480/chapters/28650268)
Yuuri is eight years old when the first Kaiju sprung out of the ocean and breached the surface of the Earth.
It is during a school break that he and his family visit Tokyo for the first time, and Yuuri admires everything he sees with undisguised wonder. They stay by the coast after lunch, and it’s when their mom and dad leave him and Mari to go inside a nearby store that Yuuri notices something odd.
There’s a black thing swimming in the ocean.
He sees it with his own eyes as he stands by the sidewalk with an overlooking view of Tokyo bay, and the movement of something rising from the water gets his attention. It looks harmless enough from a distance, nothing more than a disfigured lump that keeps on inching closer to the shore. Yuuri blinks in curiosity and tugs at his sister’s sleeve.
“Mari-nee-san,” Yuuri says, eyes fixed on the figure that swims steadily towards the beach, getting larger as it gets close, “Mari-nee-san, are there sea monsters in Tokyo?”
It’s his first time in the city and Yuuri doesn’t know any better.
Mari frowns down at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Look, right there.”
His big sister turns to look at what he’s pointing and goes deathly still, her face suddenly draining of color. Later, Yuuri will come to know that this is what fear looks like when it’s reflected in his sister’s expression.
“Yuuri, hold my hand.”
“What? Why—“
“Just do what I say,” Mari snaps. Yuuri does as he’s told, wincing when his sister’s nails dig sharply into his skin.
“Okaa-san,” Mari calls as the people around them slowly discover the looming shadow that casts a spreading darkness over the bay. “Okaa-san!” Mari calls again. The ground shakes as if it’s coming alive out of sheer terror and Yuuri feels the tremors of the earth underneath his feet. People start stumbling away from the sea.
“Okaa-san!” Mari screams.
Yuuri turns back to the shore and loses his breath.
The monster has grown big—bigger than any other creature had the right to be, with a mutated face Yuuri can’t tear his gaze away from. When the monster takes its first step on dry land, the ground shatters, crumbling into dust as the thing releases a bellow that rings deep within Yuuri’s bones. Suddenly, there are screams everywhere, and Yuuri’s world explodes into deafening roars and chaos. Salt water rolls like a tidal wave toward them, crashing into people, drowning out their gasps for help.
“Don’t let go of me!” Mari yells at him. A ball of cold nausea quickly forms in his gut as Mari harshly pulls him by the wrist and begins running.
“Wait!” Yuuri says helplessly as Mari drags him away and he almost makes them both fall when he turns back to the store his parents had entered earlier. He can taste his heartbeat in his throat. “Nee-san, we can’t—Mom and Dad are still—!”
“I know!” Mari shouts. Her voice breaks with emotion. “Yuuri, we’ll find them, okay? Now run!”
Yuuri trips twice and sprains his ankle but not once does Mari’s painful grip loosen—not when Mari herself skins both of her knees when she stumbles on the gaping cracks of the road, not when a deep gash in her forehead bleeds as she shields Yuuri from the falling debris and makes him duck his head low, not when the terrified people threaten to shove them apart and bury them alive in the stampede.
Not even when Tokyo falls into ruins around them.
It’s Yuuri’s first time in the city. Later, he will realize it will also be his last.
Later, he and Mari will find their parents frantically screaming their names in the sea of lost people looking for their loved ones. Later, they will get out of Tokyo bleeding and scarred but alive, buried in their father’s worried arms and their mother’s relieved sobs echoing in their ears as the authorities send them back to Hasetsu, and their parents will have no plans to ever leave their hometown again.
Later, Yuuri will stare hollowly at his bandaged foot, recalling the sickening crunch of bone against asphalt. He will realize it didn’t come from him—instead, it belonged to the man who had stumbled and shrieked by his far left in the midst of the panic, and was crushed underneath the claw of the behemoth.
Later, Yuuri will discover he can no longer stomach the scent of the sea without hyperventilating. He will come to know that this is what fear feels like when it has solidified in his very being.
Later, Yuuri will still be latching on to his sister’s hand and Mari will forever be unwilling to let go of his.
Later, Yuuri will realize that witnessing death is how soldiers are born.
The people call the monster Kaiju.
Japan mourns the ones they’ve lost as the rest of the world calls it a tragedy, an unfortunate accident involving a freak of nature. It takes months before Tokyo can rebuild itself back to its former glory but the Japanese are nothing if not patient and resilient.
The incident leaves its mark in Japan’s history, and the people slowly learn to move on from it.
Until six months later, it happens again in San Francisco.
And again in Manila.
And again and again and again.
And the world stops calling it an accident and starts fighting back.
Yuuri is twelve when he first hears the word Jaeger.
He stares at the television screen, watching the news report with bated breath as it features a gigantic robot beating a 300 feet Kaiju into the ground. To this day, the sight of a Kaiju still chills Yuuri down to the bone. He swallows with difficulty, clenching his fists in his lap so they won’t tremble, and worries for the robot. All around them, the city’s buildings look fake, like miniatures made of paper and aluminium foil instead of glass and concrete as they crumple and break during the course of the brawl.
“Delta Specter!” Someone gasps and Yuuri glances up to see Yuuko plopping down to sit next to him, her eyes already glued to the screen. “Wow,” Yuuko breathes in awe, “I’ve never seen it in action before.”
“Delta Specter?” Yuuri repeats, looking back at the TV. The robot has a choke hold on the Kaiju, its grip unbreakable even as the reptilian horror thrashes around violently and opens its jaws to bare its fangs.
“Yeah,” Yuuko says, nodding with fervor, “it’s one of the first Jaeger models they’ve designed! There’s Scarlet Rogue and Thunder Luna and—oh! Did you know Delta Specter holds the highest record of Kaiju kills? They’re amazing!”
Yuuri watches as the robot—the Jaeger—jerks its arm to the side and audibly snaps the Kaiju’s neck, letting it drop boneless and dead on the wreckage. The resulting crash is loud, echoing in the dining room of the onsen even with the TV’s volume turned down, and onscreen, it sends an explosion of smoke and dust to rise from the ruins.
And just like that, the fight is over.
In all of his life, Yuuri has never seen something so unexplainably terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
The camera cuts off to an interview of a young man in a metallic suit, a ponytail of silver hair swaying behind him as he keeps a helmet tucked under one arm. “We received the distress signal at 0800 hours,” the man says in English and even when he doesn’t understand the words, Yuuri notes the smoothness of his voice, boyish still and not unlike Yuuri’s own, but tinged with an accent Yuuri can’t name. “Yakov and I were the first ones to be deployed on the miracle mile.”
“Who’s that?” Yuuri asks under his breath, refusing to look away from the screen.
“That’s Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuko whispers back, just as quiet, and Yuuri can almost note the smile of amazement in her voice. “They say he’s the youngest Jaeger pilot in history.”
“Really?” Yuuri exhales, eyes wide and entranced. “That’s incredible.”
“Mr. Nikiforov,” the reporter says in English, “you have just successfully defeated another Category III Kaiju, codename Reckoner. This marks Delta Specter’s sixth Kaiju kill. Can you tell us what you’re feeling right now?”
Victor Nikiforov gives a soft laugh, shaking his head, and Yuuri takes note of the way long eyelashes flutter delicately as Victor Nikiforov blinks on the screen. “Terrified,” Victor answers with a grin. The reporter makes a noise of shock, and Victor smiles even wider. “Absolutely terrified.”
Yuuri’s breath escapes him in a slow sigh. Next to him, Yuuko gives an empathic hum and says, “He’s beautiful, isn’t he, Yuuri-kun?”
There’s a moment of silence as Yuuri studies the face displayed on the screen, taking in the sharp slope of Victor Nikiforov’s nose, the soft curve of his jaw, and his blue, blue eyes, as clear as the morning sky, without any trace of fear whatsoever.
“He is,” Yuuri says finally. He smiles a little, and marvels at the way his heart beats steady in his chest for once, despite having just watched a Kaiju attack. “He really is.”
Yuuri proceeds to spend the rest of his days following the battles of Delta Specter on the news and watching with unwavering loyalty every single interview of Victor Nikiforov, desperately trying to learn English in between so he can finally understand the foreign words coming out of Victor’s mouth.
His parents note his sudden interest in the news—more importantly, his lack of anxious fear at the sight of Kaiju rampages.
“I’m getting better,” Yuuri says simply when his father asks and smiles when his mother worries. “I promise, I’m okay.”
It goes on for months and months until Mari joins him in the dining room one night, sitting beside him as he watches a talk show with Victor as the guest interviewee, and Yuuri smiles as he carefully deciphers broken fragments of Victor’s answers.
“Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri introduces the man to his sister distractedly, and misses the sound of acknowledgement Mari makes. “He’s Russia’s hero and the youngest person to ever pilot a Jaeger.”
“I see,” Mari says.
“He has a record of eight Kaiju kills now.”
“That’s impressive.”
“It is,” Yuuri sighs wistfully, and the conversation dies away as the two of them watch the rest of the show in silence. When the show cuts to a commercial, Yuuri turns to smile at his sister. He pauses at the look Mari gives him.
Yuuri blinks. “What?”
“Yuuri,” Mari begins in a careful tone, “you know what they do is dangerous, right?”
“I—,” Yuuri takes a hesitant breath, and then nods in confusion. “I know.”
“And you know I’m here for you, don’t you?”
“O-Of course, Mari-nee-san.”
“Okay.” Mari drops her eyes to the floor between them for a moment. “As long as you know,” She says, glancing up to look at Yuuri straight in the eyes, as if she knows something Yuuri doesn’t. Mari stands up before Yuuri can say anything else. “That’s all. Good night, otouto.”
“Good night,” Yuuri calls out reluctantly, staring at his sister’s retreating back, “nee-san.”
Yuuri is still twelve when the Mark-2 Jaegers are launched.
He is fourteen when the Peru and Alaska Shatterdomes are established and during the same year, the news covers Victor Nikiforov’s sudden decision to cut his hair short. Victor looks different with short hair, Yuuri notes when he watches the news. He looks older; his jaw is sharper, more defined, his cheeks have lost their softness, and his eyes—Yuuri is concerned to see—are more tired.
He is fifteen when rumors of developing Mark-3 Jaegers are spreading. The news reports the death of Alexei Vasiliev, Victor’s second co-pilot, who passed away after being diagnosed with stage four brain cancer only three months ago. Victor gives a short eulogy about his partner, voice so soft and vulnerable as he speaks that it reminds Yuuri of a younger version of Victor, three years ago. Yuuri cries over it for days. Another Shatterdome is established in Australia. Not months later, Victor takes on another co-pilot and a new Jaeger.
Yuuri is sixteen when Japan opens the Tokyo Shatterdome and begins to recruit rangers. The news does a feature about the Jaeger Academy in the US and Yuuri hears over dinner that new slots have been opened for interested students. It is then that Yuuri understands what his sister had meant.
“Nee-san, I want to be a Jaeger pilot.”
In the open area of the hot springs, Mari takes a long drag from her cigarette, a cloud of smoke curling out of her mouth as she breathes out. After the attack in Tokyo that left lasting scars on both of them, Mari had taken up smoking—that, and taekwondo. Yuuri doesn’t understand how either of those help her cope but he isn’t about to question her. After all, he’s the one who spent years terrified of the ocean and avoiding any news of Kaiju attacks, only to follow them now for months as he obsessed over a certain Jaeger pilot.
Mari doesn’t look at him—not yet, at least. Her movements are slow and sure as she drops the cigarette to the ground and snuffs it under her shoe, and it’s then that she turns to Yuuri with a smile.
“Took you long enough to decide.”
Yuuri is sixteen when he enlists in the Jaeger Academy. Mari is twenty-three.
It takes both of them less than a year to soar through the ranks and dominate the Kwoon Combat Room. The instructors compare notes about them, staring at their battle simulation scores with something akin to fearful wonder. They end up at the top of their respective classes, and the name Katsuki soon spreads like wildfire among the students, whispered in between breaks and in the hallways like an urban legend.
The scores are out—that genius Katsuki aced the exam in Kaiju science again.
Whaaat? I thought Kwoon bushido was Katsuki’s specialty.
Also, have you heard the news? They say Katsuki’s got the highest record of 45 drops-45 Kaiju kills in the simulation.
No way! The last record was 43-40! That’s crazy.
I’m pretty sure it’s true. My buddy Wei Hui was matched against Katsuki in combat class the other day. Poor kid didn’t stand a chance.
Yeah, I bumped into Katsuki in the sleeping quarters last night. She was intimidating as hell. I thought I was gonna die.
…“She”? Katsuki isn’t a chick. He’s the smart dude with the glasses in my Kaiju science class who’s got a really scary face when he fights.
Um, no? Katsuki is the beefy Japanese girl who aces Jaeger engineering in MY class and kicks ass like a motherfucker.
Yuuri is sixteen when he joins the Academy. Mari is twenty-three. The instructors speak of them with respect; the students, with amazement. In response, both of them keep their heads low, their mouths shut, and let the fire in their eyes do the talking.
It isn’t until the final compatibility test held in the Kwoon that everyone puts two and two together as Katsuki Yuuri and Katsuki Mari, siblings set seven years apart, face each other on the mat. There’s a wave of incredulous whispers—what the fuck, man, did you know they were fucking related—but as the fightmaster signals for them to take their positions, both Yuuri and Mari assume the fighting stance.
The murmurs die down into complete silence.
The thing about drifting in a Jaeger is that everyone can do it with almost anyone else. But it’s the trust between the pilots and the bond they share that strengthens the compatibility, makes it impossible to break the neural connection even under the most extreme circumstances.
Yuuri remembers how the instructor compared drift compatibility to the ability to hold someone’s hand—how it takes immense courage to reach out, how it takes a dose of confidence to keep one’s grip strong but delicate finesse to prevent yourself from crushing your partner’s hand and overwhelming them.
How it takes an infinite amount of trust to keep holding on.
Yuuri remembers the Kaiju attack in Tokyo like it happened just yesterday. He remembers the way Mari made him hold her hand, the way her fingers closed surely around his. He remembers how terrified he had been, running blindly within the chaos, but Mari’s grip on him never faltered.
In front of him, Mari smiles, just a little, and Yuuri sees the teasing glee in his sister’s face.
Yuuri grins and takes a deep breath.
Mari-nee-san, he thinks, there’s no one I trust more than you.
And Yuuri strikes.
Later, their scores will be 3-4, in Mari’s favor, and Mari will be smug about it for the years to come but more importantly, they are drift compatible, and they leave the Academy as certified Jaeger pilots.
They get stationed at the Tokyo Shatterdome under Marshal Okukawa Minako. As soon as they arrive on the base, it’s all Yuuri can do not to drop his mask of professionalism and bounce on his toes like a giddy schoolboy at the sight of his wildest dreams turning into reality before his very eyes. It’s there that they see their Jaeger for the first time, a magnificent Mark-3 model made of iron and a double-core nuclear reactor. It’s built very differently compared to Delta Specter—where Delta is heavy and intimidating in its bulk, the Jaeger standing before Yuuri is designed to be lighter, sleeker, metal flowing smoothly over curves and ending in sharp joints. It’s painted a striking shade of blue, like the ocean during a calm day, with greys coloring the inner armor plates.
Next to him, Mari smiles and shakes her head fondly, turning to address the Jaeger-Tech Chief in her accented English. “What’s it called?”
“We haven’t named her yet,” The blond Swiss man who introduced himself as Christophe Giacometti says, throwing in a wink charming enough to make Mari let her guard down a little, “I’d like your opinions on what to call her, actually.”
“What do you say, Yuuri?” Mari glances at her brother, who is still busy marvelling at the Jaeger, and smirks. “Should we just call it Victor?”
Yuuri swivels his head back down, mortified. “Nee-san!”
“Nikiforov?” Christophe barks out a surprised laugh, and Yuuri’s face explodes tomato red. “My, my. Someone has a crush. He’s an old friend of mine, you know? I could set you up, get you to meet him—”
“It’s admiration,” Yuuri forces out, sounding gravely serious despite the color that rests high on his cheeks. “I respect him a lot. And yes, I want to name it after him. Victory,” Yuuri suggests, turning to look at their reaction. “Victory Riser.”
Mari hums in consideration.
“Victory Riser,” Christophe repeats, testing the words on his tongue, and grins wide. “Sounds like a champion.”
The first time they get deployed to a handle a Kaiju—codename Hageshī—it’s to one of the biggest Category III’s that has ever been recorded. Standing at 375 feet and weighing 2,500 tons, Hageshī is only 30 miles away from reaching the bay and wreaking havoc within the city. Yuuri is nineteen and terrified out of his wits, his thoughts going haywire in his head as he and Mari trudge their way deeper into Tokyo’s ocean territory. There’s static noise filling his mind, a chorus of what if what if what if playing on repeat.
Mari spares him a quick glance. “Stop thinking,” She tuts at him, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as Victory Riser steadily marches forward despite the current that fights against them. “You’re screaming in my head.”
“Can’t help it,” Yuuri grits out. His limbs move on autopilot, completely in-sync with his sister’s but his brain is a different matter. They’re 10 miles away from the Kaiju. It’s even more menacing up close, with its violent thrashing and ear-splitting shrieks, and when it swerves around to face the Jaeger, Yuuri’s heart stops in a false heart attack. “Nee-san, what happens if we can’t contain it?”
The Kaiju lets out a horrible scream as it sees them and charges, rapidly closing the distance. Yuuri remembers how it felt to be 8 years-old and frozen in fear. Hageshī gets 9 miles away, 8 miles away, 6 miles away—
Mari swears under her breath, grimacing. “We will, Yuuri. Now, focus—“
5 miles away.
“What if we don’t? What if it reaches the city? What if—”
“I said focus—“
4 miles.
Yuuri chokes around a gasp of panic. “What if—“
Yuuri, his sister’s voice rings crystal clear in his head, and it shuts him up. For a deafening moment, all he could hear is a heartbeat, drumming slow and rhythmic in tandem with his racing one, and then Mari says, trust me. We can do this. She takes a deep breath and Yuuri’s lungs stutter in reflex, sucking in air. They breathe out at the same time. “Yuuri, we can do this.”
The Kaiju is 3 miles away. 2 miles. 1 mile—
The Jaeger breaks into a run. Yuuri pulls back his arm and so does Mari, and the Jaeger follows like a puppet, iron limbs drawn taut with tension. Mari jumps, and Yuuri feels his legs tighten as they leap into the air, diving headfirst towards the monstrosity that bares its glowing fangs at them.
“We can do this.”
Yuuri swallows his breath, closes his eyes shut, and slams his fist down.
The fight is over before they realize it.
“Yuuri, Yuuri, wait.”
Yuuri is holding up Hageshī by its thick neck, jaws clenched as he empties the clip of their left cannon into the Kaiju’s torso, when Mari slows her movements and lets their left arm drop. He turns to her in question, all ragged breaths and drenched in sweat in his body suit. It has taken them painfully long moments before they were able to pummel the Kaiju into surrender; Yuuri’s not about to stop now and risk it thrashing around again. There’s a phantom sting of a bite on his forearm where the Kaiju had bitten the Jaeger and Yuuri ignores it in favor of looking at his sister. “What?”
“I think it’s dead,” Mari says, sighing in relief. She looks as drained as he feels, sweat clinging to her forehead.
“You think?” Yuuri frowns, inspecting the unmoving Kaiju in their grip. “Shouldn’t we make sure?”
Mari looks at him in surprise and snorts, quiet at first, and then it builds into full-blown body laughter. “Yuuri,” She snickers, “you’re literally holding the decapitated head.”
“Oh,” Yuuri says, and then balks. “OH.”
He takes notice of the blue Kaiju blood dripping from underneath the detached neck he’s holding and makes a face, dropping it back to the water with a disgusted shudder that Mari feels through the neural connection. It makes her laugh even more until she’s wheezing and out of breath and the combined relief and happiness wells up in Yuuri’s chest, incredible and overwhelming.
Soon, he’s laughing as well, voice high and just the slightest bit hysterical. He can feel tears burning behind his eyes. “We killed a Kaiju,” Yuuri manages in between croaks of laughter. “We killed a Kaiju, what the fuck.”
“I know, holy shit,” Mari gasps, and that makes them crack up again.
They laugh and laugh and laugh, bending in half and clutching their stomachs, happy and banged up and shaken to the core. When Christophe’s voice bursts out of the comms, asking them whether they’re alright, neither of them can break out of giggling long enough to give a coherent reply. Minako orders them to get back to the Shatterdome for a psych evaluation, post-haste. Mari and Yuuri simply laugh harder.
Later, after Mari has given their statement on the attack, the reporter holds the mic to Yuuri’s direction and says, “This is Victory Riser’s first successful Kaiju kill. Can you tell us what you’re feeling right now, Katsuki-san?”
The question takes him aback, leads him to a comforting sort of déjà vu. Years before, Yuuri had been a younger boy watching a news report in repeat, staring in awe as Russia’s legendary hero answered a similar question with a smile. Now he’s the one standing before a camera that’s probably recording a live newsfeed, being asked what he feels after defeating a 375 feet tall monster while piloting a ridiculously huge killing machine. Everything feels surreal.
I feel like crying, Yuuri wants to say. I feel hysterical. His knees are creaking ominously from the shock, threatening to buckle under his weight. There’s a tremor to his hands that resemble small earthquakes. He feels alive, very much alive, to his disbelief.
He glances at his sister shortly, looking for an answer, and Mari gives him a smile that’s thin and breaking at the edges. She looks as if the reality of what they had done has just dawned to her. Distantly, Yuuri thinks he understands Victor’s answer from all those years ago.
“Er, Katsuki-san?” The reporter repeats after a moment of his silence. “C-Can you tell us how you feel right now?”
“Terrified,” Yuuri answers with a smile, and laughs softly when the reporter stares at him in confusion. “I’ve never been this scared before in my whole life.”
Yuuri is nineteen when Victory Riser kills its first Kaiju. The city of Tokyo hails its new champions and the Katsuki siblings become some sort of celebrities as the pioneers of Tokyo Shatterdome. That year, the Academy receives an influx of Japanese candidates hoping to be Jaeger pilots. Marshal Okukawa is pleased enough that she gives them the biggest sleeping quarters in the Shatterdome.
He is twenty when they reach their fifth kill. The Shatterdome becomes their permanent residence as the attacks grow frequent by the month; both of them agree that it’s much better for everyone if they stay near just in case, and they find themselves in a whirlwind of activities as they split their time doing interviews, facilitating the training of rookies, visiting Hasetsu, and getting deployed into combat. Christophe becomes just Chris to them and he keeps on flirting still, with either Mari or Yuuri. Turns out, Chris isn’t picky with his partners. Marshal Okukawa slowly becomes Minako-sensei.
Yuuri is twenty-one and Tokyo remains unbreached for the longest time. Victory Riser has eight kills under its belt and Japan acknowledges the pair of them as national heroes. The name Katsuki spreads throughout the Pan Pacific countries, and other Shatterdomes begin to call for their aid in urgent times. They get deployed to Seoul, to Manila, to San Francisco. Guiltily, Yuuri wishes they would get deployed to Vladivostok, Russia, but no such thing happens.
What does happen to Yuuri, is Minami Kenjiro, a rookie pilot in the Shatterdome who looks younger than he actually is and has taken to following Yuuri around like a puppy. Chris and Mari find it endlessly amusing—Yuuri doesn’t.
He is twenty-two when Victor Nikiforov declares his retirement as a Jaeger pilot. The news breaks Yuuri’s heart, upsets him enough that even Mari can feel the pain in her own chest, and she spends days lingering by Yuuri’s side, worrying for him. Chris makes several attempts to cheer Yuuri up to no avail. During their interview after handling their tenth Kaiju, the reporter asks them of their opinions regarding Victor Nikiforov’s retirement and Yuuri’s hands quiver shamefully.
“Nikiforov-san was a brilliant Jaeger pilot, and he has given his country and his people a great service.” Mari’s statement is short and polite, her expression schooled into neutrality; Yuuri almost envies her composure. “His decision to retire is his to make, and no one else’s.”
When the reporter turns to him, Yuuri only barely manages not to show his dismay. “Victor Nikiforov was my hero,” he admits, so painfully sincere that he stuns the reporter and the camera crew. “It was thanks to him that I was able to overcome my trauma of Kaiju and realize my dream as a Jaeger pilot. I’m happy,” Yuuri says, swallowing past the lump in his throat, “that he can finally rest. The job of a Jaeger pilot is tiring. He’s done more than enough for the world already.”
“A-Ah, I didn’t know Katsuki-san felt this strongly about Nikiforov-san,” the reporter frets after hearing his answer, laughing off the seriousness, and embarrassment makes Yuuri’s ears burn with heat. “It seems like someone has a crush!”
Next to him, Mari bristles with annoyance. “It’s not a crush,” his sister snaps for him. “It’s admiration—“
That’s as far as Mari can speak before Yuuri takes the microphone from the reporter’s hand, much to everyone’s shock. Yuuri breathes calmly despite his nervousness, and tells the reporter, “It’s more than that. What I have for him is respect. Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri declares, looking directly at the camera lens in a rare moment of confidence, “all that I have done, all the battles I’ve won—I dedicate them to your name. Arigatou gozaimasu!”
The video goes viral, and goes on to have several more copies and links in different websites. Yuuri absolutely refuses to look at a single one of them.
Yuuri is twenty-three and he comes to accept that certain things simply change. Whether the change is for better or for worse is another thing entirely.
For example, Minami Kenjirou finally stopped treating him like an idol, and has started treating him like a mentor figure instead.
Mari has given in to the temptation of flirting back at Chris.
The Anchorage Shatterdome in Alaska is shut down, its Jaegers decommissioned.
Georgi Popovich, a Russian Jaeger pilot, declares his retirement after seven years of service.
Yu-Topia onsen remains the sole onsen in Hasetsu that’s still open for business.
Victor Nikiforov remains retired.
Yuuri is twenty-three when he realizes that change is unavoidable. Whether the change is for better or for worse is another thing entirely.
Yuuri is twenty-three, and the first Category IV comes out of the breach.
“Victory Riser, report to bay 03, level a-12.”
The alarms blare urgently overhead and Katsuki Mari is already halfway out of her bunk before the announcement is even through, movements brisk and alert as if she hadn’t been woken up from sleep. “Yuuri,” she calls as an afterthought, throwing a shoe at the top bunk bed and grinning when she hears a startled yelp. “Wake up, grumpy. We’re being deployed.”
“What?” Yuuri pokes his head out of the covers, squinting angrily at his surroundings. There are dark shadows painted under his eyes, his mouth turned down into a grimace. His hair is sticking in all directions when he finally climbs down from his bed to dress in haste. “But it’s 2 a.m.”
Mari shakes her head as she laces her boots and glances up at her grumbling brother, snorting at Yuuri’s deep scowl. “I don’t think the Kaiju cares much for your beauty sleep, otouto.”
“I’m going to rip it apart,” Yuuri grunts under his breath, sharply looping his belt. “It’s going to regret ever coming out of the breach.”
“Victory Riser, report to bay 03, level a-12,” the alarm sounds again, “Kaiju Codename: Kyodai. Category IV.”
Both Yuuri and Mari freeze.
“Did they,” Mari begins cautiously, frowning at the comms, “…did they just say Category IV?”
“That’s not good,” Yuuri murmurs.
They exchange a fleeting glance and waste no more time getting dressed before they’re out of the door and marching into the launching bays. A flurry of activity greets them as soon as they enter the chamber and at once, Jaeger technicians surround both Yuuri and Mari, attaching metal plating to their body suits and securing the steel spine onto their backs before they’re escorted towards the Jaeger cockpit.
Yuuri takes his position on the left and breathes deep, forcing his muscles to relax against the tension that rests deep within his gut. They’ve fought bigger and fiercer Kaiju before, Yuuri reminds himself as the technicians mess with the control systems behind them. A Category IV should be no different than a slightly more massive Category III Kaiju.
“Stop it,” Mari scolds without skipping a beat, “I can hear you thinking.”
“We’re not even connected yet,” Yuuri protests.
Mari shoots him a look. “Exactly my point,” She deadpans.
The comm in between them bursts into static, interrupting their conversation, just before a deep voice flows out, smooth and suave, “Good morning, sweethearts. How’s my favorite pair of pilots today?”
Yuuri presses the button to reply. “Tired,” he groans.
“Ignore him,” Mari says with a roll of her eyes as Chris’s laughter rings from the speakers. “How are you doing, handsome?”
“Oh, you flatterer,” Chris purrs, “I’m doing good, darling. Had a fantastic time last night.”
Mari grins. “Oh?”
Chris gives a husky chuckle. “Without a doubt.”
“Your date went well, I presume,” Yuuri sighs fondly, shaking his head. “Skip the details, please. I don’t want to know.” Over the years, Chris’s flirting never faltered. It didn’t help that Mari’s now encouraging it, too. Humming in consideration, Yuuri pipes in again, “Come to think of it, Mari-nee-san went on a date last night, too.”
“You don’t say,” Chris drawls out all-too innocently and if possible, Mari’s smile spreads even wider. “Was it a good date, Mari?”
Yuuri makes a face. “Now I really don’t want to know.”
“Oh, it was good,” Mari agrees with a leer. There’s the slightest hint of a pleased flush on her cheeks, as if she’s recalling last night’s events. “It was very good, Chris. Better than yours, even.”
Yuuri stares at her with mild disgust.
“Ooh, I doubt that,” Chris says. “Mine was mind-blowing.”
She glances at Yuuri and gives a high cackle that leaves him confused as to what’s particularly funny. It’s only when Chris laughs alongside her and says ‘darling, don’t make fun of him’ that Yuuri makes the connection.
“Wha—” Yuuri stammers, turning a dangerous shade of red and whirling around to yell at the comms, “Did you sleep with my sister?!”
“That I did,” Chris hums without missing a beat, “She was a very good bed mate, too.”
“You’re too sweet, Chris,” Mari teases just as Yuuri lets a choked noise of mortification.
“Oh, god, no,” Yuuri sputters out. He feels his face drain of color at the same time the back of his neck heats up in embarrassment. “No, no, no. This is not happening. What—You and Chris?! Chris and you—how—what—“
“Don’t be upset, Yuuri,” Chris tells him, “You can have your turn.”
Mari bursts into uncontrollable laughter as Yuuri screeches a mortified and resonating NO!, shaking his head violently.
The hysterics die down immediately as the Marshal enters the control room, and Mari and Yuuri hear the sudden change in Christophe’s demeanor through the comms, the humor of his voice fading as he announces, “Marshal Okukawa is on deck. Engaging the drop now.”
The conn-pod secures and once Marshal Minako gives the signal, the cockpit drops down and fits with the rest of the Jaeger.
“Pilots, this is Marshal Okukawa Minako,” the comm delivers Minako’s voice, as calm and collected as ever, “Prepare for the neural handshake. Starting in 15 seconds.”
“If I see a single mental image of you and Christophe, I’m never climbing inside a Jaeger with you again,” Yuuri warns in an undertone as the countdown begins, and he and Mari switch on the pilot controls.
Mari grins without remorse. “Looks like we’re having an early retirement.”
The neural handshake commences, and Yuuri dives back into the drift with his eyes closed and his pulse steady, welcoming the wash of nostalgia and familiarity with practiced ease. He manages to avoid focusing on any of Mari’s memories from last night, thankfully, and when they finally latch on to each other in the drift, Mari reads Yuuri’s awkwardness and grins. “Don’t be like that, Yuuri. Chris had been the perfect gentleman to me—”
It makes both of them fall into combat mode without a word, and the moment of silence is all Minako needs before she commands, “Your orders are to hold the Miracle Mile off Tokyo bay. Kyodai is a Category IV, first one ever, and moves quicker than your usual Kaiju. Keep your eyes peeled and be careful. Do you copy?”
“Copy that, Marshal,” Yuuri answers. At the feeling of distress radiating from the neural bond, he turns to see Mari frowning at the hologram screen in front of them, eyes locked at the red dot that’s glowing insistently near where the Kaiju is.
“Marshal,” Mari says, “there’s still a civilian vessel out in the sea.”
“Katsuki, the city holds over 9 million people,” Minako points out sternly despite the worry clinging to the edge of her tone, “You will not compromise their safety for the lives of 10. Do you understand?”
Mari frowns. “With all due respect, Marshal,” she begins, and next to her, Yuuri pales at his sister’s stream of thoughts, “I don’t think that’s the right—“
Yuuri presses the comms.
“We understand, Marshal,” He says, ignoring Mari’s betrayed glance.
“Yuuri,” Mari snaps.
“Katsuki Yuuri over.” He turns off the comms before things get heated further. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri faces Mari’s scowl and, despite his own uncertainty, says, “We’ll be fine.”
“We’ll be cowards,” Mari mutters. That’s all she says before they start moving.
They march into the open sea in silence with nothing else but the crashing waves rumbling underneath the Jaeger echoing in their ears.
They reach the Miracle Mile when Yuuri breaks the tension between them.
“Mari-nee-san, I can hear your thoughts, you know,” he starts as they march past the 10th mile away from the shore, which has Mari craning her head to frown at him. Yuuri keeps his eyes in front of him. The ocean is restless today, waves stubbornly shoving against the legs of the Jaeger as if to deter them. Yuuri doesn’t believe in premonitions. But there’s something in the way the sea desperately pushes them away that makes him whisper, “It’s a dangerous thing to do”, despite knowing his sister won’t change her mind once she has decided.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Mari argues quietly. She’s got her eyes trained forward, chin up and back straight, ignoring the current unlike Yuuri. “Our job is to protect the people from Kaiju attacks. And that means everyone.”
She glances at the hologram. It shows the Kaiju’s position, only 8 more miles ahead of them. The boat is alarmingly close to it. Mari clenches her teeth. “Even the Marshal knows that.”
“I said it was dangerous.” Yuuri repeats distractedly, scanning the turbulent ocean for any signs of a small boat. He sees it out of the corner of his eye, bobbing in the distance, and changes course. Mari follows him on automatic. “I never said it wasn’t right.”
Mari snorts. “The Marshal won’t be pleased.”
“Minako-sensei is more forgiving of me than you are,” Yuuri answers back.
He tells himself his sister’s grin is worth the risk they’re taking.
They reach the boat just in time, scooping it up from the sea as Kyodai bursts from the surface of the water, letting out a bellow that echoes painfully inside Yuuri’s ears.
Yuuri realizes their mistake too late. The Kaiju isn’t classified as a Category IV for nothing—as it rises to its full height, Kyodai ends up towering over them by a good 50 feet, something even the largest Category III has never managed to accomplish. It chills Yuuri down to his core, his heart dropping like a stone to his gut. By his right, Mari turns ashen grey and loses her breath.
“Shit,” Mari swears, and Yuuri swallows hard in agreement.
Kyodai lunges for them.
It charges forward, jaws wide open and claws bared, and Mari manages to make them dodge the attack by the skin of their teeth in the last minute. They bring up the Jaeger’s fist, hitting the Kaiju in the jaw, and Mari orders Shoot it! at her brother through the neural connection.
“Can’t!” Yuuri yells. “I’m holding the boat!”
“Then fall back!” Mari shouts.
Yuuri forces his legs to move, and Mari jerks with him, the two of them stumbling back hastily until there’s distance between them and the Kaiju. It’s risky, retreating so close to the shore, but it’s the only way the boat will have a chance of escaping safely. They bend down to drop the boat on the next rise of the waves, letting the ocean current carry it away from the fight, and they whirl back around to see Kyodai too big, too close—
Their collarbone explodes in searing agony.
Yuuri grits his teeth and Mari cries out and both of them swing blindly at the Kaiju in outrage. It has its jaws clamping down on the Jaeger’s shoulder with a force strong enough to tear out their entire arm. They punch it once, twice, three times—it doesn’t budge.
Kyodai yanks them forward by its teeth, clawing violently at the Jaeger’s chest. The sting of it resonates like a knife cutting their skin open and fuck, it hurts.
Mari hisses. “Son of a—”
Yuuri buries down a flinch, activates the left cannon, and shoots the monster in the eye.
The Kaiju shrieks in anger.
It releases its bite on them, stumbling back as it shakes its head. There’s glowing blue blood trickling down from Kyodai’s eye. Yuuri and Mari waste no time attacking again.
Yuuri raises their foot up and kicks Kyodai in the stomach.
Mari delivers a quick right hook and then another uppercut to its jaw.
Yuuri brings a fist against the Kaiju’s torso.
Mari pulls it down by the head and bashes it against their knee.
Yuuri shoots it in the mouth when it snarls.
They fall into the same brutal rhythm, fighting in sync, exchanging hasty orders in the drift.
Dodge left.
Right jab, Yuuri—
Duck—
They miss the claw swiping for the Jaeger’s head.
On your right, nee-san—
Got it. Watch out—
They lock their elbows in place when Kyodai charges forward. The Kaiju bears its entire weight against them, leaving Mari and Yuuri straining to shove it back while simultaneously avoiding the Kaiju’s snapping jaws.
I have a plan, on three—
Aim for the head!
Just as Kyodai attempts to bite them again, they step back and let go of it, slamming their hands down on the Kaiju’s head when it pitches forward. It sends Kyodai nose-diving into the water and it lets out a pathetic shriek when Mari kicks it in the face—once, twice, three times—
And again and again and again, until the Kaiju stops moving.
The sea around them falls quiet, tainted a glowing blue from the monster blood. The sudden calmness of the ocean is unnerving.
“I—nee-san,” Yuuri says around a gasp of air, heaving with effort. Their foot dangles in mid-raise just before Mari can kick the Kaiju again. “Nee-san, I think it’s dead.”
Mari inhales slowly, catching her breath as they drop the Jaeger foot back into the ocean and she scrutinizes the unmoving thing in the ocean with a glare. There are bullets of sweat beading in her hairline under the helmet, exhaustion scribbled in her expression. Yuuri knows he has the same chalk-white pallor on his face that matches his sister’s.
“Well,” Mari sighs after a second of nothing bursting out of the ocean to scream hellishly, “we should report back to the Marshal now, shouldn’t we?”
“Agreed,” Yuuri says. He flips the comms online again. “Marshal, this is Katsuki Yuuri speaking. We’ve got Kyodai under control—”
“KATSUKI!”
The comms burst into violent static and high-pitched shrieking, sending both Mari and Yuuri yanking their heads away from the speakers. Marshal Okukawa’s furious shouts ring in their ears.
“What the hell did you just do?” Minako bellows. “Giacometti has a reading of your cannon discharge within the Miracle Mile!”
“The Kaiju was stronger than we thought,” Mari says, not quite lying, “it shoved us back into the coast—“
“Don’t mess with me right now,” Minako snaps. “We see the boat’s location, you can’t lie to me. You disobeyed a direct order! I should have your asses on probation for this!”
“Minako-sensei—,” Yuuri stutters.
“No offense meant, Marshal,” Mari interrupts, giving her brother a reassuring glance, “but we intercepted a Category IV Kaiju and successfully defended Tokyo Bay while saving all those people in the boat. I don’t see what we did wrong.”
“You have to admit, Marshal,” Christophe joins the conversation as Minako gears up to yell again. His voice soft, deliberately careful with his words, “That was a pretty heroic feat they just did.”
There’s silence in the other side of the comms.
Yuuri waits with bated breath, exchanging nervous looks with Mari. His sister’s expression remains neutral but Yuuri can feel her hopefulness through the neural bond.
“We’ll talk after you get back,” Minako finally grounds out. Yuuri sags with relief in his place. He turns to Mari and says through the drift, ‘Thank god Chris is on your side’. Mari’s answering smile is tired and fond. “I want Victory Riser back to the Shatterdome immediately.”
“Yes, sensei,” Yuuri hurries to say. “Thank you. Also, we’re very sorry. Aren’t we, nee-san?”
Mari shrugs. “Sure. We’re sorry, Marshal.”
“Oh, spare me the cute act,” Minako grouches. “Just haul your asses back here.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Neither of them bothers to switch off the comms as they turn away from the unmoving Kaiju and march back to the direction of the Shatterdome. Now that the fight is over, Yuuri can feel how sore his muscles are from the strain, twinging in protest at his every movement. Mari doesn’t seem to be any better judging from the exhausted frown she has.
“The boat’s safe, right?” Mari asks, just to make, and receives a snort.
“Yes, Katsuki,” Minako answers with a heavy sigh, the one that suggests Yuuri and Mari have given her a migraine yet again. “They’re only a mile off the bay now. We’re sending choppers to rescue them.”
Yuuri heaves a breath. “Good to know—”
“Kaiju signature rising!” Chris shouts all of a sudden, breaking the peace that has settled. There’s a distinct panic in his voice that jerks everyone out of their stupor. “Victory Riser, that thing is still alive!”
Mari and Yuuri stumble back to whirl around to where Kyodai is supposed to be.
The Kaiju corpse is gone.
There’s no movement under the ocean aside from the current and the glowing Kaiju blood that’s spreading around the area in a rapid pace. The sea is turning into an unnatural shade of neon blue. “Marshal, we’ve got no sign of it,” Mari says as Yuuri scans the water. “Chris, where’s the signature?”
“It’s closing in towards you!” Christophe warns.
“We can’t see it—“
Something bludgeons the Jaeger’s side and then, there’s a throbbing pain radiating from their torso, knocking the air out of them. Yuuri cries out, clutching his left rib by instinct. Kyodai breaches the ocean surface with a piercing shriek, filling their ears with a bloodcurdling noise, and sprays neon blue acid out of its mouth.
“Katsuki, I want you to get out of there!” Minako orders into the comms, alarmed. “Do you copy? Get out of there now—”
“We can’t!” Mari yells, pressing buttons none too gently in her haste. She grits her teeth. “We need back up!”
Mari aims her cannon at the Kaiju but it grips the weapon with its claw, shoving the cannon to the side as plasma shoots out of it. It uses its other claw to dig into the Jaeger’s chest and Mari winces at the sharp sting it leaves.
“Yuuri!” Mari shouts. “It’s got my arm, you have to shoot it!”
“I’m on it!” Yuuri clenches his jaw and bears the pain, raising his arm shakily. It’s as if everything is happening too fast and they can’t keep up. He aims and shoots at Kyodai, missing its head by a wide fraction and only managing to graze it on the neck. The Kaiju screeches in anger, turning to bite Yuuri’s hand. Mari takes the chance to shoot it in the eye. Kyodai roars, provoked, and whirls around once more.
“Keep going!” Mari yells. “It’s working!”
Yuuri readies his cannon again for a second shot only this time, the Kaiju moves faster, brutally swiping a claw in front of the Jaeger to bash the weapon away. The resulting blow breaks open the hull and the harsh wind sweeps into the exposed cockpit, leaving Kyodai to stare at them from where they are inside the Jaeger.
Yuuri’s heart jumps to his throat.
On the other side, Mari stares up in disbelief, eyes wide with fear. “It broke the hull,” she chokes under her breath, just before she shouts at the comms. “Marshal, it broke the hull!”
Kyodai lets out a deafening bellow.
It sounds all the more terrifying now that they’re no longer enclosed safely inside Victory Riser’s helmet and it sends chills down Yuuri’s spine. What if, Yuuri thinks in cold dread, and for the first time since they started fighting as pilots, Mari’s agreement joins him in the drift. What if we can’t stop it? What if we die fighting?
The Kaiju brings its claw down on them, too strong for Yuuri’s arm to block it, and it hits the open cockpit where Mari is connected to the rest of the Jaeger. Electricity travels down her spine, crackling angrily, as the body suit dents inward, into her back, and Mari’s eyes widen, breath catching—
What if.
Yuuri screams.
“Victory Riser!” Minako barks into the intercom. There’s a solid ball of fear building in her throat and she refuses to choke on it. Her best pilots aren’t dead. They can’t be. “Victory Riser, answer me! I’ve sent the Red Samurai as your back up. ETA, 5 minutes. Do you copy?”
Static leaves her question dangling unanswered in the air. Minako bangs her fist against the desk.
“Do you copy, Victory Riser?”
All around her, the mechanics and technicians have stricken expressions, distraught at the thought of their champions defeated by a Kaiju.
“Marshal,” Giacometti says. When Minako glances down, she can see the heartbreak painted in his eyes. “Marshal, I’ve lost all signatures of them.”
Minako grits her teeth. “The Kaiju?”
“No signatures of it either.”
“Dammit!” Minako slams her hands down once again, and the noise rings hollow inside the HQ. She shuts her eyes and clenches her jaw, forcing down the sinking feeling that’s overtaking her. This isn’t what was supposed to happen. Her pilots are supposed to survive.
“Check in with the Red Samurai,” she tells Giacometti. “Ask them to report back.”
Her chief technician presses the button with a trembling hand. “Red Sam, what’s your status?”
“Minami Kenjirou reporting! We’re three miles off Tokyo Bay.”
“We’ve lost the signatures of Victory Riser and the Kaiju,” Christophe says, “Where are they?”
“Five miles away. We’re too late for the fight, Giacometti-san. Victory Riser is already marching back towards the shore—“
Giacometti’s eyes snap wide open.
There are resounding gasps inside HQ.
“What?” Minako snatches the microphone in shock and demands with desperate hope, “Say that again.”
“Victory Riser is marching towards the shore,” Minami says, confused. “They look okay—whoa, wait, they’re collapsing! Victory Riser is down! I repeat, Victory Riser is—!”
“I want rescue choppers on them right now!” Minako barks out. The headquarters explodes with action, people rushing back and forth to contact the rescue teams. “Giacometti, take care of this. I want my pilots back in one piece—”
“On it,” Christophe says, already out of his seat and running out the door.
Minako takes over his seat and drowns out the noise of her technicians, willing her heartbeat to slow. There’s a tell-tale sting at the back of her eyes that she won’t acknowledge. The Katsuki’s are alive. That’s all that matters right now. “Red Samurai, I want you to check on Kyodai. Make sure that thing’s dead. Keep us posted.”
“Copy that, Marshal. Minami Kenjirou over!”
If asked about it in the years to come, all Yuuri will be able to remember is the pain—the burning sensation inside his skull, as if his brain is being fried by electricity, and the white hot feeling of being split apart.
He doesn’t remember how he managed to kill Kyodai.
Nor does he remember how he had the strength to pilot Victory Riser alone.
What he does recall is Mari, lying on her back on the wreckage of their cockpit, breathing shallowly and reaching a weak hand out to him. “Yuuri,” Mari murmurs and it’s all that takes for Yuuri to crawl towards her, collapsing by her side.
“Yuuri,” Mari says. Her helmet is broken like his, revealing a deep forehead wound and unfocused eyes. There’s blood pooling around her. “Otouto…you’re not supposed to pilot a Jaeger alone.” She reaches to touch Yuuri’s face feebly, and her fingers come back stained crimson. “Your nose...”
“Don’t care,” Yuuri croaks out. His lungs feel like they’ve been set on fire. He grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers together clumsily, and tries to blink away the tears that are threatening to spill out of his eyes. “Hold on, nee-san. You’ll be okay. They’ll find us soon.”
“Can’t feel my legs,” Mari coughs. She draws in a breath, wheezing, and her eyes flutter shut. “I can’t feel anything, Yuuri…”
“You’re going to be okay. We’re going…going to make it out of here, I promise. Just hold on.” He clings to her hand as his vision darkens. “Please hold on.”
Mari coughs again, and this time, a little bit of blood comes spilling out of her lips. “…don’t know if I can.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t let go of me, nee-san,” Yuuri begs.
He feels her grip slipping and it scares him to death. Everything is turning hazy. For a moment, Yuuri thinks he can imagine Christophe’s voice calling out for them, but that might just be a hallucination, like how everything keeps spinning no matter where Yuuri looks. He feels lightheaded, all of a sudden.
“…still bleeding…” Mari murmurs. Her hand twitches inside Yuuri’s grip. “…you’re still bleeding.”
Yuuri blinks, slow, slow, slow, and the world loses color.
“Don’t let go of me,” Yuuri whispers as his eyes fall halfway closed. The taste of blood is on his tongue. “Don’t let go of me, nee-san.”
Mari lets out a wounded noise, choking out his name. “Yuuri…n-no—”
Ok so you know how you hc that Victor is a morning person? Agreed, BUT! Eventually Victor becomes a night owl because he matches Yuuri's (unadjustable) schedule.
Hahaha, that would be interesting to see actually! It’s such a Victor thing to do, too. I can imagine the first time Victor tried staying up late to be something like this:
Victor @10 p.m. : “Yuuri! ₍₍ (̨̡ ‾᷄♡‾᷅ )̧̢ ₎₎ I’ll stay up with you tonight so you’re not lonely, zolotse!”
Victor @12 a.m.: “So this is what staying up late is like! What game level are you at again, Level 24? Woooohhhoowww–hm? That wasn’t a yawn. I wasn’t yawning.”
Victor @1 a.m. : “We’ll stay up just a few more minutes, right? You’ll finish that level and then we’ll go to sleep, right, Yuuri? …Yuuri?”
Victor @1:30 a.m., discreetly pinching his own arm: “No, I’m *stifled yawn* not sleepy. You’re sleepy.”
And then of course, not five minutes after that weirdly defensive answer, Yuuri finds his right arm numb from the weight of Victor slumping against him. His fiance’s out like a light, no surprises there. It makes Yuuri smile impossibly fondly anyway because damn if he isn’t weak for this beautiful, perfect man who insists on doing the sweetest things.
“Good night, Victor,” Yuuri whispers, presses a tender kiss against Victor’s wide forehead if asked about it, Yuuri will never admit to this thought, and snuggles under the covers closer with the love of his life. Yuuri sleeps earlier than intended, for once.
(In the morning when Victor wakes up groggily, blinking sleep away from his eyes, the first thing he’ll see is Yuuri, peeking out from under the covers with a shy smile.
“So this is what waking up early next to you is like,” Yuuri will whisper, and it will be all too brilliant a sight–Yuuri’s dark hair splayed against the white of the sheets, the sunlight hitting his brown eyes just right and revealing the speckles of gold within them. He has never looked more breathtaking.
Victor will have no choice but to smile back, say “Good morning, solnyshko” and fall head over heels deeply in love with Yuuri Katsuki once more.)
