And now, the standard disclaimers from years yonder: I do not own Yuri! on Ice, any of its characters, or its story. The rights go to everyone at Studio MAPPA, writer Kubo-sensei, director Yamamoto-sensei. This is a work of love towards their efforts, and no profit shall be made off this work by me or anyone. Please attribute to me and them if you plan to refer to this work, as a courtesy.


Vika would stomp straight back to her room if she could, but as it is, with her femur fractured and unable to handle weight, she has no choice but to endure all these pitying looks as she is slowly paraded by through the open area in the front of the ryokan.

She had prepared so hard for this season, just to have it all shattered during warmups right before her first event at Skate America. It made her so angry, that she would lose this season entirely, miss out on the Grand Prix circuit and Nationals, which makes her disqualified for 4 Continents and Worlds. The timing could not have been worse. Just because someone didn't watch out trying a jump and crashed.

Vika would have been bitter at Natalia Koroleva, who skated away with only bad bruises, which seems entirely unfair to Vika. The whole world watched her carried off the ice, crying with a broken leg, saw her season crumble around her, and will be enshrined forever on the internet when it eventually makes its way there. It's enough to make Vika want to scream. But she knows she had her part of the blame to shoulder too. She should have been more aware, moved away and cleared the space when she saw Natalia approaching, instead of showing off for her fans. It somehow feels worse, knowing that she could have avoided this mishap.

Obaasan waited at the doorstep, while okaasan ran straight to envelop Vika in an embrace that was too tight, and they made their way slowly to the back room, where obaasan has katsudon waiting for them. Vika tries to eat, but her throat would not open. She fights back tears and the disappointment, the sorrow emptying into her stomach and shrinking it such that she has no appetite anyway. After 15 minutes of uncomfortable silence, she could not stand the scrutiny any more, and excuses herself to her room. Which means otousan helping her limp back, giving her a shoulder to lean against while she struggles along the corridor. She feels so helpless, so impotent.

Once in her room, otousan asks her is she needs anything, but Vika just curls up in her bed and faces the wall, back to the room. Otousan quietly leaves and slides the door closed, and Vika is left alone in the dark to brood, just like she wanted. Except she doesn't want to, not entirely, but the pained looks on everyone's face is just so much worse to bear.

Vika wakes up to knocking on her doorscreen. She doesn't remember falling asleep, but sees that it has been a few hours since she last remembered checking the time. The knocking continues, and she hears obaasan's soft voice calling through. "Vicchan, can I come in? I have laundry to put away in your room."

That's strange, Vika thinks, why would I have laundry? But she calls to say come in, and true to her word, okaasan comes in with Vika's clothes in a basket, warm out of the dryer. The lights come on, and Vika sees that they are the clothes she packed for Skate America. Obaasan answers knowingly, "I went ahead to wash all the clothes from the trip."

Obaasan places the basket down and takes out an ironing board and iron from the basket, plugging it in. Then, she sits down on the floor and sets up to start ironing, right there in the middle of the room. It's quite all quite bizarre, since the ironing usually gets done in the laundry room. In fact, it's always done there, and folded before being brought out. Before Vika can quite get to finding some sense in what is going on, Obaasan turns to give a sweet smile and asks, "Would you help me fold these while I iron?"

"… Yes." Vika agrees to the request, more out of inertia of the unfolding scene than her own understanding.

So they begin, obaasan ironing and humming, and periodically handing a garment over to Vika to fold. The song is a simple Japanese folk song, the same one okaasan would sing to her, and sometimes even otousan and papenka would hum it together too sometimes, when they were cuddled up together. It brings up memories of happy times, even though the lyrics are inexplicably sad, about some acorn that misses its tree after rolling downhill. The jolly little tune always puts a smile on Vika's face, and though she isn't in the space to be happy, the song tugs on her cheeks, easing some tension away.

Halfway through the small pile of clothes, the song finishes, and obaasan doesn't restart or continue on with another song. The silence that creeps up after feels hollow and empty, like a warm light had just been put out while the rapidly fading afterglow, at odds with the rush of darkness, disorients the senses. Vika suddenly wants to say something, anything, to make some noise to fill in the space, but doesn't know what to say, can't make her throat work.

She doesn't notice the next item being handed to her, but obaasan sees Vika's slight frown. She sets down the iron, folds the shirt herself, and places it on the pile. Then, she proceeds to the next piece of clothing, as if nothing was wrong. It startles Vika a bit, and she catches herself in time to receive the next piece to fold. Obaasan doesn't restart her humming, but the silence becomes more bearable, with the rhythm of the work taking hold and distracting Vika from her thoughts. It is only till all the clothes have been ironed and folded that obaasan stands up and Vika is pulled back to her senses about how strange this whole process is.

Obaasan proceeds to move about the room, putting the clothes back to where they belong, asking Vika where what should go, even though she knows just as well. The question and answer provides for another distraction, and thought it's over too soon, Vika feels somewhat more at peace. Okaasan then comes to sit down on the bed, next to Vika, and fusses with her hair, telling her it has become a mess after sleeping in her braid and to undo it so she can tidy it up.

As their hands work together in undoing and brushing and then redoing the hair, okaasan finally speaks up. "Vicchan is just like your otousan. Needing to run off and do something to take the mind off an issue." She continues her running her hands through Vika's hair, deftly braiding it together into a fishtail.

The statement rings true, resonates like the heavy bell in the temple, reverberating deep into Vika's body. Suddenly, she understands obaasan's point of doing the ironing in her room, and folding and putting away the clothes the way it happened. She's grateful, in a way, for obaasan to recognize this need and handle her emotionality this way, instead of having her suffer through agonizing gazes from others. Worse still because now she's dependent on them for mobility, and feels so helpless on her own. Obaasan must have recognized that, to give her a task she could do, even if it was just folding her own clothes. Vika feels tears prick at the edges of her eyes, thankful for the reassurance she was just given, that she isn't worthless.

It's so simple, a household chore that they did together, but obaasan's love shines so strong through it. In a short sentence, obaasan told Vika that she is understood, that she is cared for, that she can ask for and be asked for help, that it doesn't need to be a big gesture. The small things count just as much.

Obaasan finishes the braid, collects her items, and steps outside Vika's room. But she turns around at the door and smiles the same soft smile, saying "Take you time and rest, Vicchan. You'll be ok." Then the screen slides closed, and footsteps fall away, but the blooming warmth stays, and Vika knows, knows that she'll be ok.