lost and found (ao3) - written for @estellie for braving through a bad day <3 (the banner was made by her, I’m shook at how cute it is)
One of Viktor’s gold medals has gone missing. Not any gold medal, either—it’s his first Worlds championship in the senior division. Yuuri remembers watching the medal ceremony on the grainy TV back in Hasetsu like it was yesterday.
He could swear that he put it on the coffee table, right next to the TV remote, his phone, and the leftover pizza boxes from last night’s dinner which he had to throw out into the bin downstairs when Makkachin tried to bite them into pieces.
Even the kitchen towel he placed it on is still there!
It’s not on the floor. Not on the couch. Not under the couch. Not on the breakfast bar nor the kitchen counter. Not back in the medal showcase, either.
Shit.
Contrary to popular belief, Yuuri isn’t the ‘sit in the corner and rock back and forth’ panic kind of a guy.
Oh, no, no, no.
He’s the ‘I will turn this entire apartment upside down until I find the medal’ man—and that’s exactly what he’s in the middle of doing when Viktor finds him two hours later. He’s semi-stuck under the bed when the door to the apartment open. He looks towards the bedroom door just in time to see Makkachin jump off the bed and disappear in the living room.
“Here’s my girl!” Viktor’s voice rings through the hall. Something drops in Yuuri’s stomach at the sound of it. “Here’s my champion!”
Viktor’s home and he hasn’t found the medal yet. Shit, shit shit shit shit—
“I’m home~!”
“Yeah!” Yuuri shouts back and hits his head on his way back out from under the bed. His elbows are covered in gray smudges—a sign they really need to vacuum under there sometime soon. No sign of the medal, though.
“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice comes closer and closer, accompanied by the sound of his footsteps. He appears in the doorway, finally, shoes and coat off, hair mussed with the cold St. Petersburg wind. “Everything—“ he starts, but the question dies on his tongue as he takes a look around the room.
Yuuri feels himself jerk alive again and glances around, too, actually seeing, for the first time since he came into the bedroom.
The room is a mess. The drawers are half pulled out or set on the floor completely. Their contents are upturned (what if Yuuri dropped the medal there when he was searching for something else? Did he even have the medal in the room? He doesn’t remember, maybe he did? Maybe he didn’t? It was safer to check), previously neatly folded underwear and socks piled on the bed, some scattered on the floor. The wardrobe is wide open, some hangers empty. Even the top of the chest of drawers, usually meticulously void of anything but their wedding photo, is littered with god knows what.
“What—what happened here?”
Yuuri’s cheeks grow hot. “I—” Shit. “I was just—cleaning up?”
Everything’s completely quiet for a long moment—so long that Yuuri gathers enough courage to glance at Viktor.
Viktor, who looks absolutely surprised, with a small smile playing in the corner of his lips. “I can see that,” he says, a gentle note of teasing curling around his words.
Yuuri groans and drops his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, I was just—I wanted to clean the medals but then had to take the trash out so Makkachin wouldn’t—“
Wait.
The trash.
“Oh no,” Yuuri breathes and jerks his head up to look at the door. In the next moment, he jumps to his feet and runs out of the bedroom, past Viktor, who only calls his name again, but Yuuri’s not listening. He runs to the coffee table, looks at the TV remote and the phone and the kitchen towel, looks around, and remembers...
The pile of cartoon boxes from the pizza they ordered last night. He put the medal next to them, then grabbed the boxes and went out to the outdoor trash bin, threw them out—
Was the medal there?
No, of course it—
...maybe?
Oh god. He can still get the medal back—
Except no, no, he can’t, the boxes are gone now, he’s seen the trash truck arrive—
“Yuuri?” Viktor asks again—it’s a good thing he’s there because, suddenly, Yuuri feels weak. “Yuuri, are you okay?”
Makkachin whines somewhere close but Yuuri doesn’t see her, can’t see anything. His head fills with bright, thick cotton, so bright it nearly overshadows the single high note ringing in his ears as his balance shifts—
“Hey hey hey,” somebody—Viktor—mumbles, his voice muffled and quiet as Yuuri loses control over his knees and they bend under his body weight, “Yuuri—Yuuri, what’s going on? Yuuri.”
Almost as if his body isn’t his, Yuuri’s only vaguely aware that he’s being moved; his legs lose their footing completely and for a second his instinct to fight back kicks in, only to be calmed when he’s sat somewhere soft—on their couch.
What has he done?
Viktor pulls at his hand and, in the next moment, Yuuri feels the warmth of Viktor’s chest underneath his palm, the beat of a heart pulsing directly under his hand.
“That’s it,” Viktor murmurs encouragingly and finally, finally Yuuri hears his voice and doesn’t have to guess the meaning of his words. “Breathe, sweetheart, breathe with me.”
And he does. He follows Viktor’s exaggerated breaths in and out. In. And out. With every another minute, the fog in his mind dissipates, and even if his heart still constricts with shame and panic of what a mistake he’s made, his nerves aren’t so on edge anymore.
His hands feel cold, but the warmth of Viktor’s protects them from shivers.
“There you are,” Viktor says oh so softly, Yuuri’s shoulders shake with it. “What happened? What made you so upset?”
Yuuri takes a shaky breath in and looks past Viktor at the coffee table—only to look him back in the eye when Viktor cups the side of his face and gently moves it back.
“I’m sorry,” Yuuri chokes, and for a moment it seems like he’s going to back where he’s just managed to get down from, like the panic claws its way back at his heart—but Viktor gets up from where he knelt on the floor, sits down on the couch next to him and pulls him into his arms.
It should feel confining, but it doesn’t. Chest to chest, hearts beating against each other—Yuuri presses his face into the crook of Viktor’s neck and breathes. Viktor’s running his fingers through Yuuri's hair, a soothing gesture. Makkachin whines next to them—and stops when Viktor reaches to pet her, too.
“Your medal,” Yuuri mumbles finally.
For a second, Viktor’s hand stills on his head and Yuuri thinks, “This is it”, but it continues to move just a second later.
“What about it?”
Yuuri clenches his eyes and curls his fingers around the fabric of Viktor’s sweater. It’s one of his more expensive ones, Yuuri shouldn’t be pulling at it—but he can’t help himself. It’s like he’s preparing for Viktor to leave but doesn’t want to—can’t let himself be alone.
“I lost it,” Yuuri whispers.
He’s had enough time to imagine what Viktor’s reaction would be to finding out. Anger. Disappointment. Sadness. Disbelief. Up till this moment Yuuri’s thought he could deal with any of these—but Viktor’s quiet for a long time again. Yuuri can’t even see the look on his face because he’s still holding onto him with all of that weak strength left in his body.
“Yuuri—”
Yuuri shakes his head. “I—I think I threw it out.”
Viktor’s sigh feels warm against the top of Yuuri’s head when he puts his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders and gently pulls away. “What are you talking about?”
“Your gold medal.”
“The one Makkachin’s drooling on right now?”
What?
Yuuri quickly searches for the poodle—she’s right there, her head perched on Viktor’s thigh. She perks up when she notices Yuuri’s finally paying attention.
Red ribbon dangles from her muzzle. And at the end of it there’s—
“Makkachin!” Yuuri jerks away from Viktor and towards the dog, but Makka’s faster. She jumps to her feet and darts back into the bedroom.
“Yuuri—”
“Come here, give it back!”
“Yuuri!” Viktor calls, pulling at his T-shirt until Yuuri overbalances and once more falls back onto the couch. Makkachin barks from the other room, but Viktor’s hands move Yuuri’s face towards him again. “Is that what you’ve been worrying about? A medal?”
Yuuri stares at him, disbelief clear in his eyes and heavy on his shoulders. “It’s not just any medal,” he says, nearly scoffs. “It’s—it’s your first gold in seniors! The first time I saw you, I watched you win it.”
Viktor looks at him incredulously. “Yuuri,” he drawls. “I don’t care about any medals.”
“But—”
“No.” He shakes his head and brushes Yuuri’s hair away from his eyes. “No medal has ever given me what I found in you. They’re not worth you being so upset at all.”
Oh.
“What did you find in me?”
Viktor smiles and takes Yuuri’s hand in his. For a moment, he simply holds it and strokes his thumb over the ring on Yuuri’s finger. The warmth seems to seep through the metal and envelope it even after Viktor places their joined hands on his chest, right over his heart.
“This,” Viktor says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like his words don’t carry as great of a meaning as he puts into them. Like Yuuri’s own heart doesn’t grow calmer with the comfort of slowly, slowly beginning to understand. “Can you feel it?”
Warmth. Life. Love. Softness washes over Yuuri, easing all his muscles into rest with every single beat of Viktor’s heart.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
He whispers, “Yes, I can.”
“There were times when I felt like it wasn’t here anymore,” Viktor murmurs. “And then you appeared and I felt it again. I’ve been constantly aware of it ever since.” He tightens the hold. “Every day. Every minute. Every second.”
“Oh, Vitya,” Yuuri breathes, quiet enough for the words to get lost in his own heartbeat. He gently pries his hand away and hugs Viktor as close, as tight as he can.
They breathe together like this, calm without the storm, fingers playing with each other’s hair and the fabric of each other’s clothes. It’s a treasured little moment even when it’s not rare to them at all.
“Don’t be upset with Makka,” Viktor says eventually. His voice is light; Yuuri can hear the smile in his words, yet still pulls away to check if it’s really there. “I used to play with her this way, you see. She’d hide my medal and I would search for it.”
Yuuri can’t quite help the small sound in the back of his throat; it translates in two ways: Those are your gold medals!, is one, and the other, How can you be this adorable, I don’t understand?. Both are completely correct.
Viktor chuckles and leans in, and Yuuri can’t help but follow until their foreheads press against each other. “Don’t tell her you know it from me,” he says and lowers his voice to an exaggerated whisper, “but she’s not that great at hiding things. She just lies down on them and doesn’t get up.”
Yuuri frowns and thinks back to when he barged into the bedroom in a desperate search of Viktor’s medal, right before he turned the place upside down—and Makkachin didn’t even try to get his attention except for her tail waggling whenever Yuuri as much as looked in her direction.
He closes his eyes and breathes a soft laugh. “Looks like she won this time."
Email your professor you won't be in class tomorrow, says the sticky note on Yuuri’s phone, right under Take your meds.
“No,” he grunts to himself. He takes the paper off, turns off the medication reminder alarm, and rolls onto his other side.
YES, says another post-it note, this time shaped like a speech bubble, stuck to the stickman painting Viktor insisted they hang on their wall. At first, Yuuri found the idea ridiculous – the painting was a joke, a prank, why would Viktor ever want something like this in their bedroom when Yuuri could paint him whatever he wished for?
Well, here is his answer. Even when Viktor is at work, he still finds ways to talk at him. On most days, it's very appreciated. Yuuri loves waking up to notes saying Good morning! or Have a nice day! or even It's your turn to buy bread J seemingly coming right from the enormous red heart-mouth of the stick figure.
(One time Viktor wrote him a pun-question on a post-it note stuck to the painting and Yuuri only found another piece of paper with the answer to it three hours later when he opened his lunch. The photo of him laughing with his head lying on the buffet table, exasperated beyond measure, remains one of Phichit’s most popular Instagram photos, simply captioned “when bae makes you snort tea all over the place #thatslove #thatpunwasnteventhatfunny”)
Today, though, Yuuri wishes the notes weren't an option.
“I feel fine,” he grumbles. “I'm still going to the class tomorrow.”
He glares at the painting, daring the YES to turn into NO, or the stick figure!Viktor to tilt his head and give him the that was not a suggestion smile. Nothing like that happens, so he only grunts and turns back to his phone, feeling as victorious as a human being can be when drenched in sweat and having a 39°C fever.
He swallows the antibiotics Viktor left on the bedside table for him and ignores the fruit bowl with a churn in his stomach. It's 4PM already and he hasn't eaten anything since he tried a slice of bread this morning, only to make an emergency use of the bucket Viktor set by the bed for him. He downs the bottle of water and falls back on the pillows, a groan punched out of him at the impact. His head explodes with hot ache, so he curls on his side again and presses his temple against his pillow.
He hates being sick.
...not that he's sick enough to miss class.
When he wakes up, the room is dark but for the swath of light on the living room floor flowing from the bathroom. For a moment, he doesn't know where he is, and when he hears the sound of retching, he jerks on the bed and grabs at the empty bucket. It takes him a minute leaning over the edge of the bed to realise he's not the one vomiting.
“Makkachin?” he calls, cringing at how weak his voice is - he barely hears himself.
It's enough for Makka, though – she whines in reply and appears in the bathroom light, looking at Yuuri, only to go back to the other room.
If it's not Makkachin who's being sick—
“Viktor,” Yuuri breathes, weakness and discomfort forgotten. His bones ache when he carefully sits up, the world shifting dangerously before settling into an order that's much better known for him.
In the bathroom, Viktor throws up again, the sound followed by another whine—not Makkachin’s this time.
“Viktor?” Yuuri exits the bedroom and manages the distance between the door to the bathroom in several steps.
Viktor is kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, gripping the edges of it like his life depends on never letting go. His left arm is still stuck in the sleeve of his brown coat and his scarf has fallen off his neck and onto the floor.
“Oh, Viktor…”
Viktor shakes his head, body trembling with the exertion. “Don't come near,” he says and grimaces right after at the foul taste in his mouth. He dry heaves for a second and Yuuri can't help but look away. Nothing more lands in the toilet, though. Still, the sight and smell alone work just fine to trigger Yuuri’s own sickness.
“Will you be okay?” Yuuri asks, eyes clenched and nose consciously blocked.
For a moment, his question is only met with silence. He makes sure that his nausea is in check and opens one eye, just when Viktor flushes the toilet.
“Teeth,” Viktor mumbles only, lips snapping together when the word is out.
With the mess no longer there, Yuuri reaches him as fast as he can while trying not to get too dizzy and helps him to the sink. “Will you be okay by yourself?” he asks, handing Viktor his toothbrush and the toothpaste despite his question. Only when the man nods does he let go. “I'll make you some camomile tea. It’ll make your stomach less upset.”
Viktor nods again, and so Yuuri leaves Makkachin to watch over him.
Viktor is already in bed, still dressed in his work clothes, with Makkachin resting at his feet, when Yuuri walks in with two cups and a thermos full of camomile tea. With shaking hands, he pours each of them half a cup and leaves them on the bedside table to cool. There’s enough tea in the thermos for one or two cups more so he stores it next to the bed for later.
Viktor’s lying on his side, facing the painting. Yuuri winces inwardly as he follows his eyes, right to the post-it note still stuck to stickman!Viktor’s mouth. He should have taken it off.
“Did you send the email?” Viktor asks, his weak voice muffled a little by his pillow.
I already told you I won’t do it, thinks one part in Yuuri. He’s stubborn, he knows, but he also knows that he can take one class tomorrow—despite how weak he gets when he stands for too long.
Viktor makes a small sound in the back of his throat and tiredly closes his eyes. “I thought so.”
“Nevermind me,” Yuuri says and sits down by Viktor’s side. As much as he knows that moving is the last thing Viktor wants to do right now – and he knows – Viktor should really take off his clothes. “Let’s get you changed into your PJs.”
Viktor’s forehead creases at the thought alone. “Yuuri…”
Yuuri smiles softly and tsks. “That was not a suggestion, love.”
“Yes, I’ll tell him. Thank you again,” Yuuri says to the phone. When he hangs up, he’s met with a weak, yet wide smile on Viktor’s face. “What?”
“I can’t believe you just called Yakov to tell him I won’t be in school tomorrow.” After a small chuckle, Viktor’s smile gets even broader. “You’re like—Mama Yuuri calling the headmaster. Which you actually did. Because I’m sick.”
Yuuri rolls his eyes and smiles, too. “He told you to get some rest,” he says and half-heartedly ruffles Viktor’s hair. “So rest.”
They’ve just managed to doze off, only to be shaken awake by the sound of the doorbell.
Yuuri opens his eyes and winces. “Oh no—” he manages, right before Makkachin shoots her head up and barks.
Barking is not good. Barking is hell when his head is already pounding.
Viktor seems to agree with him on that, if his prolonged groan is anything to go by. “Who and why?”
Yuuri rubs at his eyes and reaches out to pet Makkachin to make her calm down—but she’s already off the bed and in the hallway, probably sitting by the door. He sighs falls back on his pillow. “Must be the food delivery.”
“You ordered food?”
“Just chicken soup and some light sandwiches. We need to eat something.” He moves to sit up just as the doorbell rings again. He’s stopped by a hand on his chest.
“I’ll go,” Viktor says and gets up. “You rest.”
He’s as wobbly on his feet as Yuuri feels whenever he walks.
One minute later, Makkachin stops barking and the apartment is filled with silence once more.
The food sits still in their stomachs for now, a fact both of them are glad about as they lie on their bed facing each other. Makkachin is snuggled between them, her body heat too much and not enough at the same time. They won’t make her move away, though, and neither will she do it on her own accord, not if it means putting a stop to the pets she’s getting from both of them – their fingers are intertwined on her head as they scratch behind her ear.
The room is flooded with soft, dimmed light coming from one of their bedside lamps.
“I don’t want to go to my class tomorrow,” Yuuri admits in a whisper, like it’s something to be ashamed of. To him, it is. It only proves that, yes, he is weak if all it takes to get him down is a slight fever.
Viktor hums, the sound breaking just after a second with a grimace on his face. It’ll take a moment for the painkillers to start working. “Good,” he says quietly. “I already emailed your professor for you.”
Yuuri frowns and lifts his head off his pillow—and promptly regrets doing that. “When?”
“When you were talking to Yakov.” Viktor gives him a small smile. “That’s nice… Cancelling each other’s classes.” His eyes blink tiredly until they fall shut. “Shame it’s ‘cause we’re sick.”
Yuuri breathes softly and gently squeezes Viktor’s fingers.
Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t go to the class. He probably couldn’t focus for longer than eight minutes. At home, though, with Viktor and Makkachin… Even feverish and with a skewed balance, he can still take care of them both.
“We’ll take care of each other,” Viktor murmurs on the verge of sleep, like he can hear Yuuri’s every thought.
Maybe he does, Yuuri thinks and closes his eyes, ready for some much-needed rest. It wouldn’t be so bad if he could.
In the morning, Yuuri wakes up to a sleeping Viktor and a new post-it note on the painting, one with three words only:
take my heart (I don't need it anyway) (ao3) 7.3k for @extranikiforov
Working in a pet store, Viktor expects many things: crazy dog owners, old cat ladies, escaping hamsters and parrots - everything. He doesn't, however, expect Yuuri Katsuki. (And neither does Yuuri Katsuki expect Viktor Nikiforov.)
20. ‘You can borrow mine.’ in the 100 ways to say ‘I love you’ series.
There are perks to owning a pet store. One, you are the first person in town to get your hands on a hot deal for your dog. Two, you get to make those hot deals happen if your dog and wallet are in need of them. Three, people bring their animals with them so you get to give free headrubs and sometimes receive a newfound affection in return.
There are also several disadvantages, though, the first being the urge to buy everything in the store for your own dog, the second having to remember to restock and actually doing it, and the third – being responsible enough to keep talking to the customers even when he walks by. He, being black hair and glasses and a passing glance at the photo of puppies on the store's window.
If you asked Viktor, he couldn't tell you when he started paying attention to that one man in particular. All he knows is one day the man stopped by the store to pet the dog Viktor’s customer left outside and didn't leave until the dog was taken away. From then on, Viktor has considered himself lucky if he caught a glance of the man.
Those have always been lovely days.
Those are rare occurrences, though. Mostly, the man runs by Viktor’s store, not even giving it a look.
One day, though… He probably won’t forget that day for the rest of his life. One day the man glances at the window display, then turns his head away—like he always does—and then stops and looks again, eyes wide and staring. It would make Viktor laugh if he weren’t on the other side of that window, falling victim to the thrill that the brown eyes awakened, as though they were staring at him and not at something else entirely.
The man jerks a bit, looks in the direction he was walking in, then back at the window.
“Come in,” Viktor utters under his breath.
“I’m sorry?”
In a blink of an eye, Viktor remembers why exactly he can’t go out to meet the young man – he has a rather excited Chihuahua, Pinky, waggling her tail on his counter as he blindly tries to put a collar over her head. He just smiles in apology at her owner, Mrs. Lewis, and secures Pinky’s new collar on the dog’s neck.
“Here,” he says and lifts the dog’s front paws so she stands on her hind ones. He chuckles and gives the paws a gentle swing, as to make her dance. “All pretty.”
Mrs. Lewis eyes the collar critically, humming and clearing her throat repeatedly in tune with the bells jingling in the store.
“I’m not sure…” she says. “Red isn’t her colour, don’t you think? Do you have any browns? Or golds?”
Viktor rubs Pinky’s head as he removes the collar and disappears in the backroom to fetch different colours. Mrs. Lewis is one of his best customers, after all; she pampers her doggo even more than Viktor does Makkachin, and that's saying something.
Ten minutes later, Mrs. Lewis is gone and the shop is only filled with the screeching of many parrots that live in there.
“Yum time!” screeches Cecily, one of them.
Viktor looks at the wall clock. 2pm, right on the dot. He sighs, accompanied by other parrots echoing the first one. “Yes, yes, I remember.”
He didn't a moment ago, but Cecily doesn't have to know about that. He grabs a box of parrot treats from behind the counter, making a mental note to refill the container in the following days, and walks out to feed his charges. Cecily gives out a victorious screech and flies away from the little door in her cage. She knows better than to get out by now.
“You're a little menace, you know that?” he coos after he's poured a reasonable amount of feed into her bowl. He slides his hand into the cage and gently strokes Cecily’s head, smiling at the way she pinches his thumb in reply and flies to the bowl.
Viktor tsks at that, relocks the cage, and moves on to other parrots. He’s just rounding the corner of one of the shelves to reach Tu-Tu and Peek-a-Boo’s cage when somebody grows out of the ground right in front of him.
He acts on instinct - like any sane person would - and like any sane person, he yells and jerks his arms, completely forgetting the unlidded box in his hand.
The stranger yelps and jumps himself, probably more startled by Viktor’s reaction than his presence.
A mix of wheat and a variety of dried vegetable pieces rains on the man, landing on his coat, scarf, even getting stuck in his hair.
As if that weren't horrifying enough, the man looks up at him and Viktor realises with a sinking heart that - oh Mother Russia - that's him. It's the man Viktor has been looking forward to spotting out his window every day of the past weeks.
Black hair, brown eyes, glasses—blue glasses—and everything.
“...fuck,” croaks Cecily, very helpfully.
Viktor wants to tell her to shut her beak but he can't move, can't look away from the man.
He looks positively frozen now, a piece of red fabric he's clutching to lifted like a shield—and then—
“I'm sorry!”
He's… apologising?
“I didn't mean to scare you,” he pleads almost, eyes still wide and round, “I was just… looking at… things.” He looks down at the red fabric and hurriedly puts it away on the shelf full of similar designs.
Viktor just stares. The man whose entire life he's made up in his mind in his free time is standing right in front of him, shifting from foot to foot, wringing his fingers, avoiding his eyes.
He touched one of the dog kerchiefs in Viktor’s store. He won't sell that one to anybody, no matter the price.
“Yum time!” calls Tu-Tu and Peek-a-Boo parrots him. Soon enough all the other parrots are screeching again and Viktor realises in the back of his mind that for one moment there, the store was surrounded in perfect silence.
Blue Glasses jerks back to life. “I'll clean this up,” he says at the same time Viktor reaches out and picks a stray corn kernel out of his hair. He freezes, eyes widening even more.
“You don't have to help,” Viktor says, plucking three more kernels and brushing the grains off the man’s scarf and shoulders. “I'll sweep it all right up, don't you worry.”
‘You don't have to help’? Does he want to get to know the guy or not?
He doesn't need to help, though. It was Viktor’s clumsiness that caused the entire mess in the first place.
Once Viktor’s done with removing the feed from Blue Glasses’s shoulders, he crouches down and saves what he can into the feed box.
“I… I'll pay, then! For the—for what you—what I made you spill. I'm really sorry.”
Viktor looks up and gives him a smile. “That's truly unnecessary. I have more in the backroom.”
The next several seconds are heavy with silence and palpable discomfort easing off the man. He moves from one foot to the other, glances around the shop, fidgets with his hands.
This is his chance, Viktor thinks. Nothing could make this situation more uncomfortable. He can very well go for it.
He gets up to his feet. “I'm Viktor, by the way.”
“I'm sorry,” is what Blue Glasses says, nearly at the same time, and rushes out of the shop.
What just…?
...
Oh well. It… could have gone worse?
Was it something he said? Something he did? Maybe he should have—he doesn't know what. It was a very awkward moment for sure and he didn't even get to know Blue Glasses’s name.
For the next three days, whenever Viktor catches a glimpse of him passing the store, Blue Glasses’s always rushing and more often than not, he passes by with a hand shielding his eyes from the view, like he can't even stand looking anymore.
On the fourth day, he halts briefly, eyes fixed on the window display again, only to quickly resume his walk.
On the fifth, he's accompanied by another man clad in a maroon hoodie and a green hamster hat that Viktor envies even just for a second. The two stop at the store and from what Viktor can see over the grumpy Seung-gil Lee’s shoulder, the Hamster Hat is lively gesticulating, only to shake his head at whatever Blue Glasses says in return.
Viktor rings Seung-gil up, adds a packet of dental dog treats for the man’s sweetest, Meong-Meong, for free, and when he looks up, Blue Glasses and Hamster Hat are gone.
The weekend passes in a blur, quite literally - as always when Christophe drops by for a visit. Before Viktor even notices, he's selling the red kerchief from the window display and changes the entire decor for the upcoming winter. He's pretty proud of the way he arranged everything, it truly looks like Santa's Christmas factory with the elf dog costumes, cat collars with bells on them, and the red-and-green accessories for small rodents.
Maybe Blue Glasses will look at the display and be so amazed that he'll come in again?
He does come in the very same day. Just like the day he walked in for the first time, a passing glance turns into a wide-eyed double take and he stands there like that for the minute that it takes Viktor to show Yuuko’s triplets how to properly groom their new kitten.
Damn. The display must be better than Viktor thought if it enchanted Blue Glasses so much.
Yuuko buys the cat brush and her daughters cheer and try to make her buy the bell collar as well but she puts her foot down and they soon make their leave.
Just when Viktor gathers enough courage to goddamn move, he's right there, apologise!, the man jerks awake and rushes into the store.
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
“Where is it?” he asks the second the door opens. His eyes are frantic, running over the room like he's not exactly aware of Viktor standing right there.
Viktor blinks. “Where is... what—?”
“The red thing!”
Viktor glances to the side, then back at Blue Glasses and tilts his head in confusion.
“The dog scarf. That you tie around a dog's neck. The—the thing. The red one.” Blue Glasses points at the window display. “It was still right there yesterday. It was there.”
Viktor perks up. “You came by yesterday? We're closed on Sundays.”
“I know.”
Oh…
Ouch.
They stand in silence for a moment. The man’s cheeks are slightly redder than when he entered the store. (Not that Viktor has been looking.) He opens his mouth once or twice, like he wants to say something but decides against it.
That's okay, he doesn't need to say anything.
‘The red thing’.
...wait a minute.
“Do you mean the red kerchief that has been on display for the last two weeks?”
Blue Glasses nods, looking at him intently, so unlike the first time they talked.
“It sold out.”
“It—,” The man visibly deflates and looks away for the first time since he entered the store. “Oh.”
It's as though a heavy weight fell from Viktor’s shoulders along with that stare, leaving him empty. He wants the intensity of it back.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it's—” Blue Glasses frowns and glances up, his eyes softer now, pleading. “Will you—restock?”
He looks so hopeful. Viktor wants to give him the world.
It's unfair how beautiful he is.
“It was a seasonal offer,” Viktor says as softly as he can. “I bought the last units from the warehouse which is why I got them pretty cheap in the first place.”
If it's possible, the man looks even more resigned now. “Oh.”
Don't do it.
Viktor takes in a breath and clenches his fists as the man turns around.
It's impossible. Do. Not. Do. it.
The bells chime softly.
...do it.
“What's your name?”
The man turns his head, his hand still on the doorknob. He hesitates for a moment but eventually says, “Yuuri.”
“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats. He knows Blue Glasses’s name. “I'm—”
“Viktor,” Yuuri says. “I remember.”
Viktor’s heart skips a beat.
Oh no.
“I'll see what I can do,” Viktor says, still in the same breath. “With the kerchief. For your dog.”
Yuuri flushes, his mouth opens again but he instantly shuts it close, nods, and walks out.
Yuuri.
The bells chime just when Viktor is picking up the loose change from the floor.
“I'll be with you in a sec!” he calls as he rushes to collect all coins.
“Um… Viktor?”
He promptly lets go of the coins.
“Yuuri!” he means to say but as he rushes to stand up, he bangs his head against the counter. What comes out instead is “Yuu—ow!”
“Are you okay?!”
Yuuri is leaning against the counter, trying to look over the edge when Viktor finally emerges, both his head and pride aching. He massages the first and quietens the second.
For a moment, he swears he can see Yuuri’s eyes in great detail but they soon move away.
He breathes again. “I'm alright.”
“I should really stop doing this,” Yuuri mumbles into his scarf as he worries his fingers over the counter. “Scaring you.”
Please, never stop.
“You don't scare me,” Viktor says. “You surprise me.”
“What's the difference?”
“The difference is…” Viktor smiles. “I like surprises.”
‘I like surprises’?
I. like. surprises.
“O—oh,” Yuuri says, and then, “I see.”
Viktor doubts he does.
“How can I help you?” he asks when silence stretches over them again. Somehow, it always comes up during their brief meetings; ironically, when Viktor has the most to say.
“Oh—right… It's—” Yuuri softly taps his fingers against the counter and laughs, a forced sound. “It's embarrassing, to be honest...”
Viktor leans against the counter, intrigued. “More embarrassing than spilling bird feed all over you and banging my head when you called me?” When Yuuri immediately stands straighter, he waves his hand. “Don't apologise. So?”
Yuuri sighs and drops his eyes back to the counter. “Actually, it is more embarrassing. See…” He takes a breath, glances up, and says, “I lied to you.”
When did he even have a chance to lie? He spoke so little both times.
“About… your name?”
“What?” Yuuri frowns and shakes his head. “No, I—I don't have a dog.”
“Oh…” Viktor’s heart sinks a little bit. “You poor thing! Did you want to get a pet? Sadly, I can only offer fish or birds or rodents but I can give you the address of the nearest animal shelter if you're interested in cats or dogs!” He doesn't give Yuuri a chance to react before he pulls out a flyer with all the information printed. “It's a very good shelter, good conditions, the animals are well taken care of. Trust me,” he adds with a wink, “I have an inside source. My cousin volunteers there.”
Yuuri gawks at the flyer, then back at Viktor, then at the flyer again.
“Unless,” Viktor says, lowering the flyer, “You want a brand new dog. A puppy? I know several breeders in this town. One of their dogs has just given birth to a litter of the cutest Cocker Spaniels you've ever seen! You'll have to wait to buy one but I can give you the owner's contact—”
“Viktor!”
His brain melts at the sound.
Yuuri has the worried frown on his face again. It's different from his confused frown; Viktor feels strangely accomplished that he can spot the difference.
“I can't have a dog,” Yuuri says. “My landlord doesn't allow pets.”
Viktor’s heart breaks in two in sympathy. He puts his hand over it and massages the ache away. “What a horrible human being,” he says.
Yuuri hides a smile in his scarf and mumbles, “And to think that we're living in the 21st century, right?”
Viktor laughs; the short sound startles him with how sudden and true it is.
Yuuri made a joke.
Don't people joke with those they feel comfortable around?
“Such a cruel fate,” Viktor agrees and positively grows when Yuuri buries his face even further in his scarf, his eyes crinkling a little. “But if you don't have a dog, then why are you interested in the kerchief?”
Yuuri’s smile slowly ebbs away.
“Is it for somebody else? A gift, perhaps?” Viktor supplies immediately.
Yuuri stills for a second and nods, a minute gesture, but Viktor notices it straight away.
And then Viktor does that. Again. “I'll see what I can do,” he says. And he will, doesn't matter if he has to stalk those of his clients who bought one of the damned things to get it back. Or knit it himself. For some reason, just a flutter of Yuuri’s eyelashes and the reddening of his cheeks is enough to convince him even further.
Yuuri’s ‘thank you’ is barely audible from beneath the heavy wool of his scarf and then he's on his way out before Viktor’s mind is able to process that their conversation is over.
“I'll see you soon!” Viktor calls after him. The door shuts close before he gets a reply. He sighs. “I guess…”
“...fuck,” croaks Cecily from the perch in her cage.
Viktor nods. “Tell me about it.” He sighs again and shakes his head, finally looking away from the door. He frowns at the parrot. “You, my dear, are not allowed to talk to Yuri ever again. He only teaches you obscenities.”
Cecily tilts her head. “...fuck?”
“My point exactly.”
“I lied to you again,” are the first words Yuuri utters Thursday morning when Viktor does his rounds around the store, feeding the animals and cleaning their cages. It's the earliest Viktor’s seen him yet.
It's no surprise that he ends up with hamster bedding all over the floor, startled, as always.
No, not startled. Surprised.
Yuuri’s there in two seconds. His face falls as he looks at all the mess. “I'm so sorry,” he mumbles, resigned, shoulders drooping. Before Viktor gets to take all the blame on himself, Yuuri unwraps his scarf and takes his coat off.
Standing there, with his coat hanging over one arm, clad in the softest-looking sweater Viktor’s ever seen, Yuuri is—he's simply—Viktor doesn't stand a chance.
He never really has.
He agrees, of course he does, and after he gets them both brooms, they get to work.
Yuuri is a quiet sweeper, unlike Viktor. Viktor likes to hum or sing and sometimes dance as he cleans - Yuuri approaches mess methodically, brows furrowed, almost as though he's planning his strategy for overcoming an enemy. Quiet and focused. Viktor lets him do that and doesn't disturb him.
Only when they're done, does Yuuri look up at him. The scarf is gone from around his neck so he can't hide anymore—he still tries before sighing and shaking his head.
“I don't want to get the kerchief for a friend's dog,” Yuuri says quietly, hands wrapped around the stick of the broom, joined together at the top of it. He's looking at his fingers rather than at Viktor. “Actually, none of my friends even have a dog. One of them has several hamsters but that's it.” He pauses. "I mean—my friend's boyfriend does have a dog but we're not that close and—" He sighs. "Never mind."
Viktor swipes hamster bedding onto the dustpan and looks up.
“Why lie about it, then?” he asks as he gets up. “Do you want to buy the kerchief?”
“Yes,” Yuuri answers at once, looking up at him—only to deflate when their eyes meet. “...No.” He groans and drops his head. “I don't know. It's weird. I'm so sorry. You—you're going through all that trouble and I'm—I'm just...”
Viktor tilts his head in confusion. He takes the broom out of Yuuri’s hands, nods at him to follow him, and goes back to the counter to throw the dirt away.
“Yuuri,” he says after all is done. He can continue taking care of the pets later. “What's the matter? Why do you want that kerchief? I've seen you looking at it for a long time. Why that one?”
Yuuri sighs and cradles his coat to his body, hands hidden under the fabric where it hangs over his arms. “It's because of my dog.”
Viktor frowns. “But you told me you didn't have a dog? Or was that a lie, too?”
“It wasn't.” Yuuri gives him a small, apologetic smile. “I don't have a dog now but I used to have one. He died several months ago.” He swallows down and lowers his eyes. “His name was Vicchan. He had the same red kerchief as the one on the window display. He loved it. I guess it just—reminded me of him.”
Oh.
Viktor’s heart aches at the story. He tries to imagine what it would feel like to lose Makkachin—and has to stop himself right away. She’s been there for him ever since his teenage years.
And Vicchan—it's only been months. Of course Yuuri is still affected.
“Yuuri,” Viktor says, as gently as he can, and when Yuuri doesn't look up, he puts his hand over his shoulder. It's not a very comfortable position with the counter between them but it doesn't matter. “I understand. The wound is still fresh. It must all be very confusing.” He lets his breath out and shakes his head. “It mustn't have been easy to say goodbye.”
“I didn't get to do that.”
Viktor’s head jerks up, focused solely on Yuuri’s eyes now. Sad, sad eyes. “What?”
Yuuri bites his lip and glances up, then away. “I'm originally from Japan. I couldn't take Vicchan with me when I moved to the States, the travel would be too stressful for him and the landlord didn't allow pets. Besides, I came here to study. With all the classes and exams and everything, I wouldn't have been a very good caretaker. So I left him back there with my family, where he was fed and taken care of and got all the time and affection he deserved.
“When he died, I was in the middle of exam week, I couldn't fly back.” Yuuri tips his head even lower. “I haven't been home since then.”
Of course.
“It makes it feel like a bad dream,” Viktor guesses. “Like it didn't really happen.”
Yuuri nods slowly and breathes in wetly through his nose. He forces a small, short laugh at that, a human weakness, and pulls one of his hands from underneath his coat to dry his eyes. “I'm sorry.”
Viktor gives him a soft, pained smile. “It's alright. Would you like a tissue?”
Yuuri jerks his head in a no—but then closes his eyes, looks at Viktor, and nods. “Yes, please.”
Viktor immediately starts searching for a pack of tissues. He vaguely remembers it being on the counter but it's not there. He shuffles the few things that are on display, then quickly checks the floor. “I could have sworn they were there,” he mutters to no one in particular and gets on his crouches to look through the drawers. Nothing but dry pet treats in the first one.
“You don't have to,” Yuuri says, “I can just go home.”
Viktor shakes his head and opens another drawer which is full of receipts and store management notebooks. He closes it and pulls open the last drawer, one hardly ever used.
There's an open ten pack of tissues, alright. Viktor grins up at Yuuri, grabs the tissues and gets up.
“Here.” He gives Yuuri the tissues who pulls one out of the pack and gives the rest back, mumbling a quick ‘thank you’ before his face disappears behind a flutter of white.
“I'm really sorry,” Yuuri says after blowing his nose. His voice sounds a little clearer now.
“It's really okay.”
“I just miss Vicchan a lot.” He crumbles the used tissue in his hands. “I know it's silly since he's…”
“Yuuri.” Viktor shakes his head. “I have a dog myself, I can imagine.”
That gets Yuuri’s attention. He looks up, eyes a bit wider than before. “You do?”
“Makkachin,” Viktor says proudly. “She's a puppy, really. Always so excited and eager to play.”
Yuuri smiles and sniffles. “Does she do the thing when you're sad where she doesn't leave your side?”
Viktor laughs and nods. “All the time! But I don't mind at all, I love her very dearly.”
Yuuri slowly nods his head, his smile getting softer and smaller with every second until it only dances in the corners of his eyes. He sighs. “I miss having a dog.”
The words curl around Viktor’s tongue before he can even think about them.
“You can borrow mine.”
And they're out.
Yuuri’s eyes snap back up to his and he stares for what seems like minutes. “What… What did you say?”
Viktor’s face grows impossibly warm despite the cold of the morning. Did he just sell Makkachin?
No, he thinks, he's not selling her. He's helping a fellow dog lover. Makkachin will be happy to meet such a lovely person.
“I said,” Viktor drawls, “You can borrow Makkachin. Not literally but… You could join us for walks?” As he says that, his world seems to shift a little.
Oh dear lord. This is such a great idea.
“You could spend some time with her.” And with me. “She'd love you.” And I'd… And it would make me very happy, too.
Yuuri makes the move like he wants to hide in his scarf again, cheeks and nose pink, but, to Viktor’s delight, there is still no scarf around his neck to hide behind.
He gives Yuuri time to think it over. He grabs the tissues and drops them back into the drawer—but before he closes it, something else catches his attention.
There, pushed to the deepest corner of the drawer, a piece of red.
He touched one of the dog kerchiefs in Viktor’s store. He won't sell that one to anybody, no matter the price.
Viktor looks up at Yuuri, at his reddened eyes and nose and his glasses, brows furrowed as though it's not an offer of a walk he's mulling over but a matter of utter importance. Yuuri, who has recently lost a dog while being away from his mother country and hasn't really found his peace ever since.
Viktor made an uncertain promise to him four days ago and it looks like he can keep it after all.
He pulls the red kerchief and pushes the drawer shut.
“Yuuri.”
He was supposed to keep the thing for himself, he thinks as he cradles the kerchief to his heart, but when Yuuri looks up from the used tissue in his hand, Viktor knows exactly what to do.
He offers Yuuri the fabric. There's still a tag on it so he rips it away and throws it aside. “Here.”
Yuuri gawks at him, as still as a photograph. If Viktor didn't know any better, he would reach to him and poke a finger against his cheek to make sure he's still real. But he does know better. They cleaned the floor together before. Yuuri joked with him. Yuuri told him about his dog. Yuuri teared up and blew his nose.
He blew his nose in front of him. Such a human thing to do.
“But—this is—”
Viktor smiles and nudges the folded fabric against Yuuri’s hand. “For you. I know it's not the same, but… Whenever you miss Vicchan too much to bear, you can have it within your reach.” With his free hand, he unfolds Yuuri’s hand, removes the tissue and places the kerchief there instead. He curls their fingers around it. “It's alright to remember. It helps with grieving.”
Yuuri’s eyes are fixed on the fabric. He sniffles again, glances briefly into Viktor’s eyes and drops his look again. When he tightens their hands together, Viktor’s heart sings.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “How much—”
“It's free,” Viktor cuts in with a gentle smile. At Yuuri’s confused look, he gathers all of his courage and adds, “It's been yours since the moment you walked in that first time.”
Makkachin loves the park just around the corner. She always busies herself with sniffing all the new smells and tracking them to other dogs still roaming around the place. Viktor enjoys his time there as well. Even though he mostly works in solitude, only talking with customers—and lately, Yuuri—he enjoys sitting in silence among nature. Seeing Makkachin even more excited than usual fills him with joy, too. She's always made friends easily, unlike Vikor. It takes him time to establish new, meaningful relationships and it feels like a failure if somebody ever leaves dissatisfied.
Like a relationship between a shopkeeper and his clients; that is his life.
Makkachin barks cheerfully and rushes towards him - she bites on the loose leash he's holding in his hands and pulls.
Viktor chuckles and pulls the leash back. “No, Makka,” he says. “We're waiting for Yuuri. We're meeting him here, remember?”
She lets go of the leash and sits down patiently, tongue lolling out.
People stroll through the park, leaves crunching underneath their shoes. Viktor pays them no mind, just as they pay no attention to him.
“Good girl,” Viktor praises Makkachin and rubs her behind her ear. Her tail starts thumping against the coloured leaves blanketing the ground as she visibly perks up. “You need to be on your best behaviour, alright? I like him a lot. You'll like him, too, I'm sure. We need to make a very good impression.”
Makka barks and gets even more animated. Viktor boops her nose with a laugh.
“You already did, you know,” somebody says in a familiar voice, causing Viktor to drop the leash and twist around.
Yuuri stands there, hands pushed deep in his pockets, face half-hidden behind his scarf. Only the tops of his blushing cheeks are visible. His eyes are smiling.
Viktor jumps to his feet and breathes out in relief. He grins. “You came.”
Makkachin is already on Yuuri, though, so whatever he has to say in reply is lost in surprised yelps and slobbering, overexcited dog.
Seconds pass before Viktor manages to grab Makka’s collar and pull her away. Yuuri still ends up on the ground among a mix of yellow, orange, and red leaves.
“I'm sorry.” Viktor offers him a hand and helps him get up. “Normally she's a well-behaved dog but when it comes to meeting new people...”
“N-no, it's fine.”
Makkachin struggles a bit in Viktor’s hold and whines but eventually, she sits down again. She must have realised patience is the key in getting free again. Viktor nods at her and gives her a head rub.
“She's not a puppy,” Yuuri blurts out after a moment and promptly flails his arms. “I mean—!”
Viktor laughs. “Oh no, she is.” He leans a little closer. “Especially when you mention a B-A-L-L,” he spells out in a hushed tone. He lets go of Makka’s collar, fully prepared for her jerking away and jumping in front of him. He gives Yuuri an ‘I told you so’ look and reaches for the ball in his pocket.
Yuuri’s face is fully uncovered by the scarf and he doesn't seem to notice it at all. His lips are stretched in a gentle smile as he watches Makkachin, the space between his eyebrows wrinkled. It's such a conflicting look, it takes Viktor a moment to decipher the emotion behind it—but when he finally does, he feels like a fool. Yuuri has lost a dog, of course he's feeling bitter-sweetness right now.
“I miss having a dog.”
“Do you want to play with her?” Viktor asks and offers him the aged ball. There are marks of dog teeth on it but he made sure it's clean exactly for this purpose.
Yuuri twitches slightly, like he seems to do every time he’s lost in thought, and takes the ball without a word. He comes a little closer to the clearing, no benches separating them anymore. If not for the ball, Makka would be on him again and Viktor would have to help him up one more time.
Not that he'd complain about it.
As it is, Makkachin is already in front of Yuuri, her spine stretched down and tail flying right-left-right, panting with excitement, eyes fixed on the ball as it's held, then raised and—
She's off the second Yuuri throws the ball. Viktor isn’t even watching her take off but he can clearly pinpoint the moment in Yuuri’s face.
What a sight it is, his lips split in a wide grin, biggest he's seen yet, and chuckling with glee.
Maybe it's too personal. Maybe it's not his place, but Viktor still finds himself asking.
“How are you doing?”
Yuuri glances at him briefly then back at Makka and pushes his hands in his pockets.
“Strange,” he says. It sounds honest. “He was a poodle, too. Toy poodle, a little darker fur. But he had the same eyes.”
Viktor nods. “Is this too much?”
Makkachin chooses the moment to trot back. She drops the ball into Yuuri’s hand and accepts the awaiting head rubs.
“No.” Yuuri smiles up at Viktor and laughs when Makka gives him a doggy kiss on the cheek. “It's perfect.”
He throws the ball again. Makka’s off in an instant.
Viktor takes a seat on the bench. “You know,” he says, watching the dog this time, “She's not usually that affectionate with everybody.”
Yuuri chuckles and sits down, too. He reaches to his pocket and rummages in it for a second. He pulls out a tissue, then his phone (the tiny diode on it lights up every several seconds, Viktor notices; his fingers itch to open the message so it stops), and then a packet that looks suspiciously like…
Viktor laughs. “Dog treats?”
Yuuri smiles, guilty as charged. “I had to come prepared. What if she didn't like me?” He glances at the blinking diode on his phone but stuffs it in his pocket without checking the message.
Viktor’s impressed—and if possible, even more enamoured with him.
“Is that okay?”
“Hmm?”
Yuuri lifts the packet. “The dog treats. I can just hide them again.”
“Oh,” Viktor drawls and shakes his head. Makkachin has probably already smelled them on him. “She ate very well at home, you can treat her if you want.”
When Yuuri rips the pack open, Makkachin is on her way back to them. She freezes, her ears moving up a little, then drops the ball and rushes to their bench like her life depends on it.
“Makka,” Viktor scolds her—wants to scold her but she's already licking her treat from Yuuri’s fingers. “Where's the ball, Makka? Where's the ball?”
Yuuri laughs. “Where's the ball, girl?” He gives her another treat and rubs her behind the ear, like she did a good job.
Viktor can't help thinking that Yuuri wasn't truly the one who taught Vicchan how to behave at the Katsuki household if he spoils Makka like that. He shakes his head with a breathy laugh and gets up. Somebody has to get the ball, after all, and it sure isn't going to be Makkachin.
“Thank you for this,” Yuuri says as they stop at the exit of the park and Viktor attaches the leash to Makka’s collar. The bottom of Yuuri’s face is hidden behind his scarf again but his cheeks hold a healthy glow, unlike any other time Viktor has seen him. “It truly means a lot.”
Viktor smiles up at him. “No need to thank me.” He pats Makkachin’s back and gets up. “We've had a lot of fun.”
Yuuri nods. “Me, too.” He sighs and adds, much softer now, “Most fun I've had in a while.”
They stand there in silence for a moment. Makkachin sits down between them, looking up at them with her tongue out. She behaved in such a lovely way around Yuuri, running after the ball and bringing it back to him. Doesn't matter she was getting treats in return. She gave Yuuri her paw when he offered his hand and sat still when he shook it. And she licked at his nose one time, surprising him so much he fell backward and landed on the ground again.
(For that, Viktor gave her a treat himself.)
Damn it. He doesn't want their meeting to end. There must be something more to do.
“Do you want to get some coffee?” Viktor asks. Coffee is good. Coffee means conversation and good company and warm interior and no scarves to hide behind.
“I don't really drink coffee.”
“Oh.”
Was that a little too obvious?
“I mean.” Yuuri frowns. “Not this late in the day.”
Oh. That's not bad. Maybe…
Viktor plays with the leash, curling it around his fingers. “What about dinner? Would you like to—grab something to eat? With me?”
Makkachin whines.
“With us?” he corrects.
Yuuri glances over Viktor’s shoulder, a little to the side, and then back to Viktor. He's quiet for a moment before he seems to get to some conclusion and shakes his head.
“I'm sorry,” he says, “I have dinner with my roommate tonight. It's my turn to cook.”
There's a sound of a hand hitting skin somewhere behind Viktor but he doesn't pay it any attention - right now he's fully focused on the sting of rejection.
“I see,” he mutters. He looks at Makkachin, then back at Yuuri.
And then he smiles.
He’s had a lovely time regardless. Yuuri agreed to meet him and Makkachin and there were no expectations on him whatsoever. He doesn't owe him anything.
“Thank you for joining us today. We really enjoyed your company,” he says. He curls the leash around his wrist and nods at Makkachin. “We should go eat something, too. Although I doubt you'll eat a lot after all these treats, huh?”
Makka stands up as well and waggles her tail.
Viktor gives Yuuri a smile. “Have a good evening, Yuuri.”
Yuuri seems distracted for a moment but when Viktor only starts moving, his eyes jump back to him.
“Let's do this again!” he calls. As Viktor stops and looks at him, Yuuri blushes. “I mean—could we do this again? Could we…” He glances around at the park behind Viktor and then back at him. “Could we meet here again? With Makkachin?”
Viktor tilts his head. “Would you want to do that?”
Yuuri quickly nods. “Yes! I would! And…” he squints a little, just a little to the left of Viktor’s face.
He's been doing that quite a bit, Viktor realises with suspicion.
“A phone!” Yuuri adds, quite hysterically, startling Makkachin. Instinctively, Viktor pats his right pocket to make sure his mobile is still there. “Could I give you—no, I mean, get your number?”
Viktor frowns at Yuuri’s behaviour and turns his head to look behind his own back against his better judgment.
Seung-gil Lee is sitting at one of the benches in the park, his dog nestled on the ground next to it. He gives Viktor a stiff nod when their eyes meet. Right by his side is Hamster Hat, who...
Has his right hand by his ear. In a “call me” gesture.
As soon as he sees that Viktor is looking, his eyes grow wide and he drops his hand slightly—before giving him a wave.
Viktor blinks. “What's going on?” He turns to Yuuri, whose cheeks seem to not know whether they're blushing or growing pale.
“I don't—”
Something heavy and unpleasant drops in Viktor’s stomach.
“Is this a joke?” he asks, doing his best not to sound hurt.
What if it is? Everything he knows about Yuuri, lies?
“No! No no no, I promise it's not!”
Viktor frowns. “Then why…?”
Yuuri looks between Hamster Hat and Viktor, body tense before he visibly deflates. “I was—” he starts, looking at the ground, then shakes his head, steals a glance at Viktor’s face, and looks down again, brows furrowed. “I was nervous about meeting you—so Phichit offered to come with me. As emotional support.” He looks up, eyes wide with apology. “I don't usually go out with people I don't know—not if I can help it—but I really wanted to meet you. And Makkachin. And I'd really want to meet you again.” He bites his lip. “...without Phichit this time.”
This Viktor can understand when he thinks about it. They are strangers—or were until today. Yuuri had no way of knowing that Viktor was as harmless as Makkachin during her nap or that his intentions were pure (even though not entirely selfless).
He even started doubting Yuuri a moment ago. That's what strangers do.
But they don't have to stay strangers forever.
“I really had fun today,” Yuuri adds quietly after a moment.
Viktor smiles.
“Me, too.” He curls his fingers around Makka’a leash. “Could you give me your phone?” At Yuuri’s hesitant face, he smiles again and adds, “I'll just type in my number.”
“Oh!” Yuuri scrambles to pull out his phone and hands it to Viktor with only a glance at it.
The diode still blinks from time to time and when Viktor unlocks the phone, the first thing he sees are unread messages from Phichit.
Hamster Hat.
>>Everything going ok? 18:28
>>*Viktor, apparently 17:46
>>Seung-gil approves of ur date, says Victor’s always sweet to Meong-Meong 17:45
>>If u want to go home just yell ‘marmalade’ & I got u boo 17:31
He blushes when he catches himself reading the texts and swipes away—only to gasp at the background picture of a puppy lying on his back and offering its belly for all the rubs.
“Is that Vicchan?” he asks before he can stop himself but when Yuuri only nods with a small smile, he coos and strokes the middle of the screen. “So cute!” And because he can't help himself, he crouches down and puts the phone right in front of Makka’s snout. “Look how cute!”
Yuuri lets out a startled laugh at that and then hides his giggle behind his scarf when Makka surges forward to lick at the screen.
Viktor immediately pulls the phone away. “No, Makka, no licking!” He gets up and finally opens a new contact, then types in his number and saves it under his name. Before he gives it back to Yuuri, he dials his number and cancels the call when his own phone vibrates in his pocket.
“Thank you,” mumbles Yuuri and looks at the contact with a smile before he pockets the phone away.
When they finally part ways, the skip in Viktor’s step is even more noticeable than before their meeting.
This evening, when Viktor’s relaxing on his couch with Makkachin as he’s waiting for dinner to finish cooking, he gets a message from Yuuri’s number.
>>Could I borrow your dog more often?
He smiles and immediately types back.
<<Depends. Can I come, too?
>>Of course :D
“Good girl,” Viktor coos at Makkachin and gently rubs the bridge of her snout.
<<Well, then. You can borrow us anytime you want.
Was it too bold?, he starts to worry after minutes of no reply.
But then—
>>Saturday afternoon?
>>We could also eat lunch if you want…?
>>It’d be my treat. For the kerchief and everything.
If it wasn’t for Makkachin lying on his knees, Viktor would have been kicking his legs.
<<Saturday it is ♥
He burns dinner that night, too busy hugging Makka and laughing his heart out.
First, he forgot to charge his phone so his alarm didn’t ring in the morning. He was late to university. He missed his exam, the one he’d been studying for weeks in advance. He can only retake it in several weeks when his tired brain will get rid of everything he’s managed to learn.
Second, the only place that offered katsudon just like his parents made it was closed down during the weekend which meant no authentic comfort food for him for an indefinite period of time.
Third, his laptop refused to properly turn on ever since he got home. All he sees is a briefly lit screen, then he hears a regularly beeping noise, only for the computer to shut off again. He has his half-written thesis on the damned thing and today is his back-up making day.
And now this - he’s done laundry and is changing the bedsheets and the damned things just don’t want to cooperate. He’s already on the breaking point; he tries his hardest to show the fitted sheet who’s the boss here, yet whenever he moves to the other end of the bed, the two opposite corners get unhooked and jump back to the middle of the mattress.
“Fuck!” Yuuri yells and punches the mattress when it happens again. His body feels heavy with negative energy flowing through him. It’s too much, too much, he can’t take it.
“Yuuri?”
He sniffles and looks up through his teary eyes. Viktor’s form is blurred and swimming on the background of the rest of the room. Yuuri hasn’t even heard him coming back home.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. “It’s the—the sheet, it won’t—it won’t stay in place.”
Viktor’s right there in the next moment - he takes two corners of the sheet and stretches them over the mattress. The other side jumps from where it’s been tucked in, just like it did when Yuuri attempted it on his own.
“Come on, darling,” Viktor says, “Help me out?”
Yuuri nods and secures the remaining corners. With their joined work, the sheet stays in place. Yuuri pulls his sleeves down his palms and uses them to wipe his tears away from beneath his glasses. Before he’s even done, Viktor wraps his arms around him and hugs him, as strongly and gently at the same time as only he can.
“What’s going through that head of yours?” Viktor asks and kisses his forehead, but Yuuri just shakes his head. He doesn’t really want to talk about it yet.
Instead, he whispers, “It’s been a long day.”
Viktor, bless his heart, understands.
They talk much later, after Viktor’s cooked and Yuuri’s made them both hot tea. And after the storm of hurt and confusion and so many bad things happening all at once, everything starts looking clearer.
(One: it takes one e-mail to the exam coordinator to find out he can take the exam with another group during the weekend. Two: It’s only for two weeks that the katsudon place will be closed; Viktor talked to the owners. Three: Yuuri saved his thesis online before passing out yesterday—and Viktor saved it again before turning the laptop off.)
Sometimes, it takes two heads to make things better; just like with the fitted sheet.
Summary: It's nearly midnight. Tomorrow morning is the day Yuuri has to give his speech in front of the entire class. He's not prepared at all. He can't do it. He can't. He can't. Fortunately, Viktor thinks differently.
94. ‘You can do it.’ in the 100 ways to say ‘I love you’ series.
“You should take a break.”
Yuuri shakes his head, not even hearing the meaning of the words. He knows what Viktor is saying, though, because he has been trying to pull Yuuri away from the books two times now, without much success.
“I have to prepare the speech,” he says mechanically, looking at the materials spread before him. He sees no words, just the pages with text of I have to read this. And this, too. And this. And this. And this. Oh God, and these, too.
He glances at the clock on Viktor’s DVD player. 23:54.
The speech is tomorrow morning and he has nothing.
“Yuuri, you’re shaking,” he hears Viktor say. In the next moment, he’s covered with a heavy blanket and arms are pulling him close. “Come on, darling, you need to eat something and get a good night of sleep. I’m sure your professor will understand.”
“She won’t,” Yuuri mumbles, shaking his head, but Viktor only pulls him closer so he doesn’t have much room to move. There, sitting on the couch with his face pressed against Viktor’s neck and his body slowly warming up, something clutches at his lungs and squeezes. There seems to be not enough air so he does the only thing his mind deems helpful. He grips onto Viktor’s shirt and holds on tight, taking as much undeserved comfort as he can get, because Viktor is offering. “I’ve had a full month to prepare this,” he chokes out, and Viktor’s arms tighten around him, “I forgot, I forgot about this, and now I can’t do it—“
He can feel Viktor’s lips pressing to his hair. He can feel the warmth of his breath and for a moment it seems to seep through his scalp and into his brain and it calms him just a little. It takes another moment to hear Viktor’s soft shhh and to realise that they’re rocking on the couch, softly and slowly.
“You can do it,” Viktor murmurs to him, rubbing his hands over the blanket covering Yuuri’s shoulders. “I know you can.”
“No, I—I can’t focus, I don’t understand what I’m reading.”
“Take a break, then. Even a short one. Don’t read anything.”
“I’m not reading now.”
“But you’re still thinking about it.”
And yeah, Viktor is right. Of course, he’s right.
“I can’t help it, though...”
Viktor sighs and gently pulls away. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he says, fingers curling around the edges of Yuuri’s blanket. He pulls at it and kisses Yuuri’s temple before pressing their foreheads together. “We’ll go to the kitchen. You’ll make tea and I’ll reheat dinner for you. We’ll sit in front of the TV and when the food is gone, we’ll prepare the speech. Sounds good?”
“You don’t have to stay up with me...”
“Sounds good?” Viktor repeats and Yuuri knows there’s no point in arguing now.
He smiles the tiniest smile – that’s all that stress lets him do.
“Sounds good.”
As Yuuri finishes the reheated lasagne and Viktor sips at his herbal tea, Phichit texts them both a screenshot of an email from Yuuri’s professor.
Tomorrow's class is cancelled.
Cancelled.
For a moment, the entire apartment seems frozen in time. No sound reaches Yuuri, who just stares at his phone, breathlessly checking the email address of the professor because what if this isn't true? People have joked around like that before, creating email accounts so similar to those of their professors that they looked the same at the first glance.
The address is correct, though. That means... He has no classes tomorrow.
No speech.
Yuuri doesn't even realise that he's crying, overwhelmed with relief and tiredness – this is all he’s capable of feeling when adrenaline leaves him.
Without a word, Viktor turns the TV off, puts the tea away and closes all of Yuuri’s books, using clean tissues as bookmarks. He pulls Yuuri up and leads him to his bedroom.
When Yuuri wakes up in the morning, he doesn’t remember changing his clothes or actually getting into bed. He doesn’t remember turning his alarm off so it doesn’t pointlessly wake him up way too early. He doesn’t need to remember it because he probably wasn’t the one who did any of these things.
He turns his head back and can’t help but smile.
Viktor is right there behind him, one arm wrapped around Yuuri’s middle, the other cushioning his own head. He’s still asleep.
Yuuri didn’t mean to stay the night. He was supposed to get back to his and Phichit’s apartment so he could at least change for the new day.
He has nowhere to be, though. Not now, not for the rest of today.
Besides, he thinks as he turns around underneath Viktor’s arm and cuddles close, it’s not like he’d want to be anywhere else.
