It was late, three in the morning to be exact, and Victor knew that he should've been sleeping. Yuuri was in the bed next to him, sleeping, along with Makkachin. And it was quiet, too. There wasn't a sound, not even a peep, and it was so quiet and still and sleepy that you could hear a pin drop. However, something felt off. Something felt wrong, wrong as in something big was about to happen within a few moments.

Victor knew this feeling, this tingle in his stomach that traveled up his spin and into his brain when something was about to go awry. What that awry thing was; he didn't know. The Russian man just knew that he had to mentally prepare himself for something.

So, as carefully as he could as to not wake the beautiful man who was sleeping next to him, Victor stretched, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and forced his sore from practice legs to stand up. He wobbled a bit, but he managed to steady himself after a few moments. With that, he began to pace, hands behind back, face deep in contemplation.

Then, he decided.

He would make tea. Something within Victor told him that he'd need it. He didn't know what purpose the tea would serve, but he knew that he needed it. It was a gut feeling, an instinct, and so far, he hadn't been wrong when it came to gut feelings. He had a good gut feeling about Yuri when they had first met while Yuri was wasted at that post-Grand Prix banquet a couple of years ago, and now he found himself engaged to a beautiful Japanese man who was shy off the ice, but on, well damn, you'd better get your nosebleed tissues ready.

He had a good feeling about adopting Makkachin when he had encountered the dog during a cold, Russian winter night, and now he had the best dog in the world.

Something had even told him to move out of his parents' house as soon as he realized he was gay, and boy oh boy was he glad that he did, because he got to witness his mother and father, who had already been cold and distant while raising him, rage over social media after he came out of the closet. Well, at least he got to keep Yuuri after all the dust had settled.

Moral of the story: gut feelings aren't as useless as one thinks, and this time was no exception.

That was how Victor found himself in the kitchen, pot of tea boiling over the stove, and China tea cups neatly set on the table, all to quell that growing feeling of dread and anxiety that festered in his stomach. It wasn't his own fear, though. No, no, this was something entirely different. It was as if he was feeling the apprehension of someone else entirely.

Suddenly, there were several loud, solid knocks on his and Yuuri's door, causing for Victor to jump a bit.

"Open the door!" said a familiar, unmistakable voice.

Yakov? What was he doing here? Yakov only paid Victor check-up visits before competitions, and never this late at night. And why the hell was he in Japan right now? The last time Victor checked, Yakov was still coaching in Russia. Surprised yet curious, Victor wandered in the dim hall lights to the front door, felt around until he could unlock the knob, and swung open the entrance of his home.

"Victor, I think I'm having a midlife crisis."

That was what Victor heard as soon as his mind was alert enough to comprehend words.

For a few moments, or possibly minutes, Victor just stood there, the sound of boiling tea within the background, dumbstruck by what Yakov had just said.

Finally, Yakov broke the seemingly unbreakable wall of silence, "Well, are you going to let me in or not?" He sounded grumpy, but the usual edge of his voice had been smoothed. This made Victor very worried. The last time the edge had been smoothed off of Yakov's voice, the older man was going through a divorce.

"Oh, yes, yes," Victor stepped aside, and Yakov shuffled in.

Yakov was better-dressed than Victor at the moment, but to be fair, a loose green robe was more common wear at three in the morning than your daytime clothes.

On the whole, though, Yakov wasn't looking too hot. His appearance, despite him being better-dressed than Victor, was disheveled. His jacket was in wrinkles, his hair was an array of grey, tangled wires, and the already prominent wrinkles on his face looked even deeper than usual.

There, the two men stood, Yakov fully clothed and Victor barefoot and wearing nothing but the loose robe he had kept from his first trip to Hasetsu, and Victor's hair was also more scrunched than he would've liked. Even at this time, he still liked to look somewhat presentable, but as much as he wanted to change into at least some pants and comb his hair, Victor sensed an atmosphere of urgency radiating from Yakov.

"Here, sit down," Victor lead Yakov to the living room. Victor had turned only one of the kitchen lights on because he didn't want to disturb Yuuri or Makkachin, so the little light that did creep from the kitchen made it too dark to really see Yakov's features that well. Victor saw the shadow of Yakov's hands fold themselves, and after rushing to the kitchen, he asked Yakov, "Tea? You look like you could use some. It doesn't have any caffeine if you're worried."

Victor then entered into the room Yakov was sitting in, two steaming cups of the beverage in his hands.

"Thank-you," Yakov sighed when Victor handed him a cup.

"Careful, it's still very hot," Victor commented absentmindedly, a casual comment meant to defuse tension.

"What type of tea is it?"

"Not sure, actually. Yuuri took some the last time we were in Japan," Victor replied. Victor sat down as well, his body now next to Yakov's.

"Tell me, what brings you to Japan, and at such a late time at that?" Victor inquired.

"I told you, I'm going through a midlife crisis," Yakov huffed like a grumpy teenager. Yakov tacked on another sentence, his voice almost a mumble, "Also, I felt as if none of the other skaters would understand, so I took the soonest flight I could find to Japan."

"Aww!" Victor cooed affectionately, and he brought his hands to the side of his face in excitement. His eyes sparkled, and he broke out into his classic heart-shaped smile, "So does that mean you feel a sort of kinship, a connection to me?"

"Absolutely not."

There was a pause, then a sigh, then Yakov's rough hand setting the tea cup down.

"But Yakov, how are you going through a midlife crisis now? You're past seventy," Victor tried to inject in a little humor for Yakov's sake, but it didn't work. Instead, Yakov's tone grew more serious.

"Then I'm having a seven-eighths life crisis."

"I wouldn't say that you have that short to live, alright? Slow down on your death prediction," Victor hummed.

"That's not the point," Yavok grumbled once again. "Victor, I know that you went through a midlife crisis of sorts before you met Yuuri. You even quit skating for a while, but you were able to lift yourself out of it. How did you do it? How did you get out of this slump?"

"Hmm," Victor would have to think about this for a while. "Well . . ."

There was another pause. Victor didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he could say. He was usually the one consulting his coach for advice, not the other way around.

"You could try experimenting with homosexuality if you want," Victor chuckled. "It worked out pretty well for me."

"Thanks, no," Yavok said curtly, clearly not amused.

"In all seriousness, though," Victor continued, "why are you in a midlife crisis?"

"I don't know," Yakov took a deep, probably annoyed breath. "That's why I'm talking to you right now, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Victor agreed. "That's the first step to dealing with a midlife crisis, though. You have to know what the root cause is." Victor took another sip of tea, and he sighed happily as the warm drink ran down his throat.

"I just realized my crisis twelve hours ago. Is that a start?" Yakov replied.

"Yeah, it's a start," Victor nodded as he set his empty tea cup down. Yakov did the same, and the tea sat on the small table in front of them, forgotten. Victor resumed speaking, "How did you feel when you first realized that you had an existential crisis?"

Yakov thought for a moment about the tense situation, and before long he spoke, "Scared? Angry? Confused? I feel as if I've lost myself. Ever since I stopped coaching as much, really. I'm getting up there in age, so I thought that taking some breaks would help, but I think that it's made this feeling I've always had within me worse, because I have nothing to distract myself from it."

"Interesting," Victor chimed in. "That's new to me. My work was actually what had caused my midlife crisis, or to be more specific, the lack of passion I had in it. Did you lack passion, this entire time?"

"No, of course not," Yakov sounded almost offended.

"Point taken."

Then, silence.

Victor looked at the clock. Neither he nor Yakov had said anything for the past five minutes, but this silence wasn't suffocating or awkward. Victor knew that he just needed to give the older man some time to think.

"Victor, what should I do?" Yakov finally asked, letting the silence not defeat him but letting himself defeat the silence. Yakov was like that. He didn't let anything stand in his way, whether it was a stubborn skater like Yurio or the crushing silence and awkwardness that came when talking to someone over half your age about an existential crisis.

"I mean, what I did was take a vacation, a break of sorts, and I went to Japan to do what I really wanted and needed to do. It helped me find myself. Maybe something like that could do the same for you," Victor suggested.

"But I've been taking more breaks lately. It hasn't been working," Yakov said, a tinge of resistance in his voice, almost as if he was afraid of the idea of a vacation.

"True, but," Victor was currently trying to warm Yakov up to the idea of an actual break, "you've been around us all. You still hang around the rink during your quote on quote 'breaks.' You haven't had an escape for a long, long time. You could use it. You have the money and time. Go to Japan, the Bahamas, Thailand, Belgium, something, anything. Let yourself get away from it all. That's what you need, although whether or not you'll accept my suggestion is completely up to you, kay?"

"Okay," Yakov nodded, his face indicating that he was deep in thought.

"But I believe in you," Victor smiled gently. "Know that, at least. Nothing, absolutely nothing, has defeated you in the past, so I'm confident that you'll find yourself again. The world may be incredibly stubborn, but it's nothing compared to the fight you have."

Then, wordlessly and in the dark, Yakov stood, there being a creak as he did so, and he walked out the door.

The next day while at practice, Victor heard that Yakov was apparently on route to Vietnam. Strange choice, but it worked.

I don't really know what to think of this short piece, but if you'd like, I'll update. It's a plot bunny I've had for months, and I just couldn't resist writing something down! Whether or not I'll write more is still up in the air, since I feel like this story can stand on its own, but I can also definitely add more, especially since I'm on summer vacation now and have more time than I know what to do with. Tell me what you think!

Please read and review if you enjoyed this chapter, and have a nice summer! :)