"Thank you, Yakov. I... thank you."

They looked at each other, this coach and student, with the help of the rear-view mirror.

"Don't worry about the dog. I'll keep him as long as you need me to. And, Victor? We... we really need to talk. You know?"

Victor sighed. "I know, Yakov. I hope that everything will calm itself down soon. I... I'm sorry. For telling you, all of you, like this. It's not how I..."

"Will he be okay?"

"I... think so. I hope so. He found out yesterday."

Victor was holding on to Yuuri in the backseat of Yakov's car. He had been inconsolable ever since he unfurled, there at the rink. Now, only sobs and whimpers could be heard from him, but Victor knew. Knew very well how the sorrow orchestrated Yuuri's reactions and emotions. There was going to be another outburst soon enough, and Victor wanted him to be home before it happened.

"How long have you known?" Yakov's voice was stern.

"For three weeks. A little more."

"Three weeks?!"

"I know, please don't lecture me. It's just that it was impossible to do, to say, anything up until now. I wanted him to win, Yakov. He wouldn't have if I'd told him." And I wanted us to experience that. At least once. Together.

"And you got married too. Victor..."

"I said, do not lecture me! Not now!" He just doesn't understand.

Yakov frowned. Victor saw it in the rear-view mirror. After a while, his expression softened, and he spoke. "So, what happens now? Are you getting treatment?"

"Starting tomorrow."

"You put that on hold too? Boy... What if it's gotten worse?"

Victor said nothing in response. He looked down at the broken shard that now was Yuuri, thanking some higher power that he couldn't possibly understand the conversation. Worse, huh? What if it has? Is it even possible? He got pulled back to reality as Yakov pulled over.

"Are you going to be okay? Victor, call me. Anytime you need something. Anything. I'll help you. Both you and Yuuri."

Victor leaned forward and squeezed the older man's shoulder. "I will. I promise." He directed his attention at Yuuri. "Come. Let's go. We're home."

Yuuri felt numb. Detatched. He sensed Victor's hands on him, just barely. It was like his body belonged to someone else and that he was experiencing their interaction from afar. Not being inside himself. But that was Victor's arm around his shoulders, the other holding his hand. He knew it, he was sure of it. Although it felt so distant.

They took the lift up, Victor had loosened his grip for just a moment to press the button. It felt good having him close. Like he was slowly finding his way back with the help of a steady frame around him. He felt afraid, though. He knew what it meant to find his way back. What he wound find, once he did. He recognised the pattern, the dance, from earlier. From the day before. He hoped that he could be lost for just a little while longer.

"Can you take off your shoes?"

Victor. His voice sounded from afar, but why? His cheek was almost next to his.

Yuuri managed to kick them off, somehow. He got help removing his jacket. At least, that's what it felt like. He was guided to the sofa, felt a blanket being wrapped around him. And then, arms. And legs too. Being enveloped in something that made him feel safe, if only for a moment.

Hands, stroking his hair. A slow, warm exhale caressed the nape of his neck, again and again. Maybe it would be okay to find his way back. At least this once?

"I'm sorry it ended up like this." He sounded closer now. Not as... turbid? "I'm so sorry for all of this."

He's sorry? Sorry? Sorry for what?

There was a shift. In emotions, in presence. He felt... angry? As he started to get dominion over himself, he felt it as a prickle. It became something else, something more. Like a jab, a slash, a rupture. A gushing wound that seeped resentment, hostility and bitterness. The more he came back, the more he found himself, the fiercer the feeling became. He wasn't just angry. He was furious.

He surprised them both as he fought his way out of the coccoon he'd been in. Wrestling away the blanket, struggling to get out of the embrace. No, not embrace. The corporeal cage. Staying close to him had a whole other meaning than a few seconds ago.

"I'm sorry too," he said as he got to his feet. Looking down at him.

He looked beautiful as he sat there, totally caught off guard. The blue eyes wide, in astonishment. The silver hair, messy after being close to him for so long.

"Yuuri?" He sounded guarded. Like he was preparing himself. Like he knew what was to come. He was tense, ready to leap out of the sofa and... What?

"I'm sorry too," he resumed. "Sorry for a lot of things." He was boiling. "Like... like how I've let myself being attached to you. Especially now!"

Yes, he was definitely ready to take action. But he said nothing. Remained seated.

"Why would you do that? Tie me closer to you when you know that you're going to leave me?! How can you be so cruel?!"

He got up, to his feet. There was anger in his eyes too. It felt good seeing some kind of emotion course through him. Yuuri had seen no emotions, no outbursts, not up until now. Up until now, he had just been there. Been there without doing anything else than staying close.

"I'm cruel?" Narrowed eyes and a sharpness to his voice. "If you feel tied down, consider yourself lucky! Lucky that neither my country or yours recognise what we have. What we have done. Consider yourself free if it makes you happy! If that's what you want, go ahead!"

He wondered what boomed in his ears. Victor's voice, or the silence that followed afterwards.

The looked at each other, anticipating the next move. Go to arms, admit defeat. Call a truce? As the anger waned, like someone had cut him in the right place for it to bleed out, out of him, he came back. Came back into himself and all that was still within him. All the things that never left. As he felt the tears burn underneath his eyelids, he ran for the bathroom, only to slam the door behind him. Before he slid to the floor, with his back against the door, he locked it. Creating a divide, for no purpose at all.

He tried to catch up, but he was unprepared. The few paces he had as a head start made all the difference. He thought of calling out to him, calling out to make him stay and not run away but he couldn't make himself. He felt hurt, and he understood that, on the other side of the bathroom door, he was hurting too.

"Yuuri, open up! Open the door!" He felt the handle. Of course it's locked.

He sat down on the floor, not realising that he was doing the same on his side of the door. Not realising that their backs would be touching if nothing was in between them.

He tried all the possible negotiating tactics he could think of.

He tried to plead. "Please, open the door."

He tried to question. "Why are you doing this?"

He tried to threaten. "If you won't open the door, I'll..."

He tried to overwhelm. "Do you know how this makes me feel?"

As he calmed down, he understood that his tries were unnecessary. He could hear him crying from within. In the same desperate way he'd been crying since yesterday. He understood that he never meant what he'd said. That his words were a reaction, a reaction to the hopelessness, fear and despair that ravaged him. Now, he really wanted to get in there. Be there with him. For him.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen. Got a knife our of the drawer and with it, he managed to unlock the door from his side.

Yuuri sat in the shower, on the other side of the room. Behind the wall of frosted glass. He looked so small, so vulnerable, being curled up with his legs tucked close to his chest. His head buried behind them, as if he was warding himself. Against the outside world, Victor thought. It was painful, yet endearing to see.

He got close. Put a hand on his back just to let him know that he was there. He sat down behind him and took him in. He wanted to try his best to absorb him and all his pain. When he felt his embrace being reciprocated, he understood that he needed Yuuri too. Comforting him made him feel like he was comforting himself in a way.

They went through rises and falls together. They weren't few, but not countless. After a while, Victor decided to investigate if he was there, listening.

"I'm having treatment tomorrow. Chemo. Do you want to come along?"

He was there. He listened. He tried to speak, but it took a while. "I'm sorry. I'm too afraid."

"It's okay. You don't have to."

After a while, his voice was more steady. Not as affected by his exhausted vocal chords. "Treatment, is that the same as a cure? Will you be cured?"

Victor felt cold. That was something he hadn't even thought of asking. He had just assumed that they were the same thing. Hearing Yuuri's question, he realised that he was wrong. There was a difference. A life-depending one.

"I... I really don't know. I don't know, Yuuri."

Yuuri sighed in response.

"All I know," Victor continued, "is that I'm having chemo. Three times a week for a week, then probably three weeks off. It's going to be like this for a while now. Six months, I think they said."

"And... and after?"

"We'll see."

He felt Yuuri's arms tighten around him. Are you comforting me, now? I love you.

"Anyway... You're not going to slow down, Yuuri. I want you to know that I won't let you. You'll have a break, and then it's Nationals before the race to the GPF and Worlds starts again."

"I can't. Not without you."

"I'll be with you. We'll just have to make it work. Hey..." Victor found his face, tucked in against his chest. He made no effort to hide as he tilted his chin upwards. "It's not contagious, you know."

Their lips met. Soft and tentative, like it was their first time. In a sense, it was. At least as husbands, together in their own home.