生むUmu (verb) to bear a child
有無umu (noun) or refusal. 2. existence or nonexistence)
"I don't know why they backed out." Yuuri's voice would have emotion, if it hadn't been washed out by tears. The agency had stopped sending letters, and instead called with bad news instead. It didn't make it any easier. There was no letter to tear up, no paper to ball up and throw across the room. Just the anger, left to burn up in the seat of their stomachs.
"It could have been anything. Maybe they didn't like the color of your eyes." Viktor sighed. He sounded unaffected, as if they had lost a chance to a cheap bingo game and not the chance to be a family. But that was Viktor, and that was how he dealt.
"They were open to gay couples, right?" Viktor looked up from his phone, watching Yuuri chew on his fingernails.
"Of course. It's in the application, and we sent a photo." Viktor set his phone down. "From our anniversary, in the Versace suit I got you."
That seemed to settle Yuuri's anxiety slightly.
"Do we have too many dogs?" It was nearly the same list every time. Yuuri's own insecurities, then dogs. Then he would worry if they weren't rich enough, if they were too rich. Yuuri never blamed Viktor, which made it worse. The list grew longer, but the target never moved.
"We wouldn't want a child with such cold genetic s anyway." Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri's waist, resting his cheek against his back. Yuuri was already in pajamas, but the way he was curled up on the bar stool told Viktor that he was far from relaxing.
"I'd take any genetics," Yuuri murmured softly, staring at the call record on his phone. It had been an hour.
"Third time is a charm." Viktor hummed into Yuuri's skin.
"Fifth."
"Yuuri, let's go to bed and watch a movie." Viktor rubbed his face into Yuuri's back and squeezed tightly.
"English, this time." Yuuri didn't have the energy to protest. He slid down to his feet and quietly padded toward the bedroom. He reached out to scratch Makkachin's head as it bobbed up to meet his hand, the loyal poodle following Yuuri to bed. Viktor watched, before deciding the best course of action would be to grab the pint of ice cream from the freezer before joining Yuuri in their Super King Bed.
Although he was wrapped up in the sheets by the time Viktor joined, Yuuri shifted to his favorite spot—tucked into Viktor, ice cream within reach. Viktor picked the newest American action flick off of Netflix—It really didn't matter what was on. After all, Viktor would be watching Yuuri take spoonfuls of ice cream between his own bites. He would watch the nervous tics fade and tense muscles melt into him, before Yuuri fell asleep, as always, five minutes before the main villain showed up. It was never about the movie—if it was good, then they wouldn't be watching it tangled up in bed.
However, sleep never reached Viktor as easily as it did Yuuri. The plot lost on Viktor, he turned back to his phone.
Yuuri's was still out on the counter. For some reason, they always called him with the news.
Viktor made a reminder to change the phone number with the agency.
Instagram was more of the same—summer bods, Yurio in some animal print or spiked outfit that Viktor wouldn't get caught dead in. Nothing new compared to the day before, except that today, it was five.
Five matches. No children.
No matter how much he played it off, it was Viktor who had brought up adoption in the first place. It was his fault that Yuuri took longer and longer to cheer up. Yuuri had been happy to train with Viktor until retirement, and teach after retiring with three golds under his belt. It was Viktor who watched the Katsuki family over New Years, who drank in the sight of the Nishigori triplets showing off their latest choreography on the ice. Viktor wanted to be the family for a child who lost theirs, just like Yakov had done for him.
Except, it wasn't working out that way. Yuuri had followed Viktor, moved to the same page together with him, not knowing that it was ink-stained and ruined.
Five matches. No kids.
They had worked so long, so hard for the house visits. The second bedroom was always empty, always ready.
It was getting too dark. Yuuri was snoring softly, curled against him, but that only lended so much comfort. Viktor pulled open Facebook. No one he knew used it, except for Yuuri, Phichit and a few odd American skaters. But it was the easiest place to follow for celebrity gossip and top ten lists to fill in time between flights between St. Petersburg and Hasetsu. A guilty pleasure.
He scrolled down the feed—Top ten group selfie poses—a few pictures of a toy poodle from the Poodle Owners group Viktor had joined years ago.
Viktor let the page scroll, the code slowing down until it stopped on the latest Buzzfeed article.
"Transgender man gives birth to healthy baby."
Huh.
Viktor looked under the tiny screen in his hand to his husband sleeping snuggled into his chest.
It wasn't something he thought about often. It had been years since it had come up, and Yuuri was Yuuri. Viktor took antidepressants, Yuuri took testosterone. It was life. Viktor wouldn't have it any other way.
Viktor bit his bottom lip, tapping the link. It led to a blog, with a long column of pictures that set an odd mixture of jealousy and curiosity eating at his stomach.
They had a family.
The article was positive.
They had a family, and were happy.
It was possible.
Viktor followed the trail, from blog to article, to other articles. There were at least seven families featured in news article. The oldest was in 1999, the report tucked away in an American newspaper archive that looked like it hadn't been updated in years.
By the time he reached an internet dead end, it was the early hours of the morning. Mochi, Makkachin's little brother, had come into the room unnoticed and joined them on the bed. Yuuri had curled around the poodle, his glasses skewed uncomfortably on his face.
Viktor stared, drinking in what he could see in the filtered light that came through the window. Yuuri was beautiful. Even drooling, spooning a poodle next to a sticky ice cream container. Every glance he took at Yuuri reminded him of their first year together- their first dance. He still could remember in stark detail the difference between Christmas BY (Before Yuuri) and AF (After Yuuri). Even if the details faded, he would never forget the warmth of life and love that settled in his ribs when he thought of it.
How long had it been since he'd seen Yuuri smile? A day, if he counted watching part of Yuuri's lesson with the 5-7 year olds. Privately? Genuinely? It had been a while.
Rejection stung. They had consulted several agencies, worked with a counselor. They had read every blog out there—scrubbed behind and under the toilet, moved further from the rink to get more square footage. They had a perfect answer for every question from the birth mother. They looked all over Russia, in Japan. They even considered trying an agency in Detroit. For some reason, it wasn't working out.
Which is perhaps, why the article stuck in the back of Viktor's mind. Why it nagged at him.
What if they could prove them wrong?
What if the only thing in their way was their experience? Imagine, raising the perfect child, and the agencies seeing the light. Their family would grow, and Viktor could share the love that Yakov had given to him.
It wouldn't be easy.
Viktor had been there when the anxiety got the best of Yuuri. He had watched as the dysphoria ate away what confidence Yuuri had. He had been there for the good days and the bad, just as he promised on his wedding day.
Viktor knew Yuuri worried— how he fretted over the cost of hormones and adoption agencies. He remembered the meltdown in Hasetsu, when Viktor brought up surrogacy. It was a blessing that Yuutopia had been relatively empty, so no one understood their fight over the costs and legalities. After the bitterness had burned away, Viktor went back to Yuuri, and silently sat with him on the back porch.
This is what kept Viktor from acknowledging the idea floating at the edge of his thoughts for weeks.
The day they received another packet from the agency, was the day Viktor decided to face it.
It was another family letter, another mother from somewhere in the country who maybe-maybe would consider them to take a child. Or maybe their file finally made it to an orphanage. Who knew? Viktor found it unopened on the counter, under a bill postmarked several days before.
"Yuuri, look!" Viktor had cooed, holding up the letter. Yuuri looked up, and Viktor instantly could tell that he had seen it.
"You can open it." Yuuri had said softly, not moving from the couch, going back to scheduling the next roster of classes.
"Yuuri, we always do it together…" Viktor dropped the letter back onto the counter. "Are you giving up?"
Yuuri was silent, staring at his computer screen.
"I'm just listening to the message the universe is sending." Viktor could hear the wall behind Yuuri's words crumbling.
"But this is another chance!"
"A chance for what, to be rejected? We're out of options , Vitya. We're not supposed to be a family." Yuuri's voice wobbled, and he wiped the sleeves of his sweater against his wet eyes.
"Moya zvezda …" Viktor sighed. My star, my moon, my everything in the sky. "Maybe… we're not out of options."
Yuuri sniffled, pulling at his sleeve. "We already talked about it."
"No. Not yet." Viktor crossed the room, and sat on the space of the couch Yuuri made for him. He looked suspicious, watching Viktor carefully.
"I think we should still adopt… but maybe, there's one more thing we haven't considered."
"I don't think so." Yuuri shifted uncomfortably. "What are you thinking?" He shut the lid of the laptop, and pushed it away. Viktor fidgeted, before he pulled out the packet of papers he had printed out a week or two before, when Yuuri had taken the dogs for a walk. He set them gently in Yuuri's hands.
"I never wanted to put this on you, but it's been so long. I can tell you're not happy, Yuuri. " Viktor's voice shook now. "We are a family no matter what. But I found it by chance, and I can't get it out of my mind. I know you like being in control, and this is the one chance where you'd be completely in control. It's your body, your choice. We can burn the papers, forget I ever talked about it. I swear. I just wanted to try, to see if it will break the funk you-we are in." The words poured from Viktor's mouth, and he wasn't sure they reached Yuuri. He traced the bold print of the headline with his fingers. He turned the packet over, thumbing through the multitude of papers.
Yuuri was quiet. It was agonizing, a few seconds like eternities.
"I don't want to lose you." Yuuri said softly, blinking a few tears off of his dark eyelashes. They fell onto the paper, blurring the ink of a few words.
"Are you kidding?" Fire rose in Viktor's throat—he felt sick at the thought. "We're married, Yuuri! I vowed beyond death, and I'd vow it again. I love you Yuuri! I love you when you're fat, when you're skinny, when you haven't brushed your teeth, on the ice, after the ice—"
Yuuri waved his hands, a shy half-smile like expression on his face. "But you're gay."
"Yes." Viktor said, staring blankly. "This has been a fact in the media for years."
"If I get pregnant, you won't be attracted to me anymore, " Yuuri had a morbid forced smile on his face. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Yuuri." Viktor grabbed his husbands hands, before deciding to instead take his face in his hands and tilt his chin upward. "You are my husband, the sexiest man alive."
Yuuri scoffed.
"It's true. But you are a man, and in those pages are proof. The body you were born with doesn't make you any less of a man. There's families upon families who have done it, and they're still fathers. Look." He thumbed open to the page he had stared at—the blog page with the toddlers and first graders, the family portrait with two fathers, surrounded in love.
"I want you to decide based on what you think—not based on what I think." Viktor took a moment to kiss Yuuri. "It's an idea, but not one we have to try."
Yuuri stared into Viktor's eyes, before he nodded, diving forward and hugging Viktor tightly.
"Vitya?"
"Mmm?" A week later, it was Viktor's turn to take care of planning out the weeks lesson. He was at the kitchen bar, with a mug of coffee, gray light streaming in from the windows. Mochi and Makkachin were still asleep, and Viktor had let Yuuri sleep in. Or so he had thought.
"Can you cover my afternoon lessons on Thursday?" Yuuri called from the bedroom. Viktor pulled up the excel sheet they used to keep the schedule—something Yuuri had taken from his business degree.
"Looks like it. Did I overschedule?" Viktor looked up as Yuuri padded into the room, still in his pajamas. It was almost past noon.
"I got an appointment to talk to Dr. Falin." Yuuri started making another cup of coffee.
"I thought you were good for another six months?"
"Well, I'm almost due for a refill, and I wanted to see about pausing the prescription for a while."
"Pausing… your hormones?" Viktor turned in his chair, facing Yuuri. He watched as Yuuri fidgeted, rearranging the mugs in the cabinet.
"Just for a while." Yuuri set a mug down, choosing one that had been toward the front anyway. "Just to see if anything happens."
"Anything… you mean…"
"Yeah. It doesn't hurt to try, does it?" Yuuri finally met his eyes, and smiled.
