"I'll stay here unless Yura doesn't want me to." Despite Otabek's level tone, Viktor heard the pace of his heart pick up for an instant, betraying the boy's nerves.
They sat around the kitchen table. Yuri was staring down at the wood, tracing the scars and whorls with a fingertip as if the secrets of the universe were trapped within its surface. Otabek's eyes flicked between Viktor and Yuri, dark with worry.
Viktor nodded.
"Yuri?" He would have preferred to talk to Yuri alone, still wasn't quite sure how the dynamic had shifted under his feet when their household had become three instead of two, but it was time for him to do more listening and less… organizing.
"It's okay, Beka," Yuri said quietly, without lifting his eyes. Otabek, however, seemed unconvinced – he seemed caught between motion and immobility until Yuri brushed a hand against his arm, a silent conversation passing between them in an instant in the private language that wasn't quite Yuri and wasn't quite Otabek, but was somehow completely Yuri-and-Otabek.
Viktor wasn't surprised to hear Otabek make his way to Yuri's room, instead of the basement, when he left the kitchen. He waited until the door closed, the bedroom's soundproofing giving them privacy even with their sensitive hearing.
"Yuri, I think I know what happened," said Viktor. Pure mental exhaustion kept the frustration and distress from leaking out, the same numbness that used to let him smile for the cameras, impress the judges with his passion and emotion. "Can you please tell me why?"
"I was angry," muttered Yuri. He worried at the side of his thumb, picking at the ragged nail.
"That was the night after you and Otabek… met in the city, yes?" Viktor sighed. Had he known the history between them, he could have handled that situation more delicately – or, more likely, he would have sent Otabek packing without a second thought. Yuri blinked slowly in acknowledgement, and Viktor dug deeper into his memory. The five or six weeks had passed like years, remodeling the landscape of their lives more effectively than any earthquake. "And you were unhappy when I invited Yuuri over for - to - dinner."
"I thought you were going to get yourself killed when you went out looking for slayers," Yuri retorted, running his fingers through his hair, winding the long strands into coils. "I was pissed off and fucking terrified, I wanted- I wanted to get back at you, and when I figured it out I hated the stupid questions he was asking because you liked him and he was just- it felt like he was using you, and then when Phichit showed up I didn't know what to do because you'd freak out, so I kept- kept lying, and now Yuuri's leaving, and you're supposed to be mad at me, someone finally made you happy and I ruined it-"
Yuri's voice rose, tangling and tripping over itself as he unconsciously gripped the back of his neck, and Viktor leaned across the table to touch his wrist gently.
"Take a minute. One thing at a time." Viktor tried to comb the sentences into some semblance of order, pulling on the first thread he found. "I'm upset that you lied to me, but I was the one who decided to- Chris explained it?" Yuri nodded. "He told me it was a bad idea, by the way. You didn't make me do that."
"You wouldn't have if I hadn't- if you didn't think… I tried to tell Yuuri it was my fault, so he'd know, I thought he wouldn't be mad at you then. But he's quitting. He's leaving."
"I'm going to be sixty-nine years old in three days, Yura. You're twenty," Viktor said. Guilt tasted bitter, he thought, like childhood memories of boiled cabbage. "You did the wrong thing, and I know you did try to tell me. I should have known better. You can't take full responsibility."
"But he's- he was looking at plane tickets to Japan, you called and he didn't answer-"
Oh.
"It's okay, it's not like it was for you." He paused. "With Otabek."
Yuri jumped in his seat, startled. "You know it was him?"
"I guessed, the night you two made up," he admitted. After a week of hoping you'd just work things out. "And I asked him later, to be sure."
They talked about other things, too, one of the many days they'd crossed paths, unable to sleep with the sun high overhead, until Viktor could say he almost knew the quiet, solemn boy. He's so young, Viktor found himself thinking every time, an echo of the moment Yuri became a part of his life.
He took out his phone, which had been almost – but not quite – eerily silent and passed it across the table to Yuri.
KY: i need more time to think but i want to talk. can i call you tomorrow night?
VN: I understand. Tomorrow is fine. Thank you.
KY: if yurio agrees, phichit and i want to talk to him too. he said some things we need to think about. and please tell him i'm staying in berlin for now.
"We'll work this out, Yuri," Viktor said softly. "And if Yuuri and I can't- it's not your fault. And I'm not going to scold you, because I think you feel bad enough already."
"I'm sorry," Yuri whispered. "What can I do?"
Viktor sat back in his chair and rested his elbows on the table, contemplating.
"I'd like you to apologize to Yuuri and Phichit," he answered slowly. "Properly, without yelling. Talk to them about what it was Yuuri mentioned. If… if Yuuri agrees, I want to help them get their work back on track – I'm afraid I've delayed it, and I might need your assistance with that."
"Okay," Yuri agreed, and Viktor wished he could record the lack of argument for posterity (or blackmail).
"And," Viktor added, "I… I'd like you to start going to therapy again."
"What? But-"
"I'm not saying you're where you were two years ago, котик," Viktor reassured him. "I won't force you, but I'm asking you to please consider it."
"Fine," he grumbled. The lines of his shoulders relaxed slightly as if a weight had been removed and Yuri scowled, trying to hide the spark of relief. "I'll call her tomorrow."
They stared at each other, drained, but tension Viktor hadn't even consciously noticed had melted away.
He could only hope his talk with Yuuri would go as smoothly.
:: :: ::
Yuri stumbled to his room. Every joint felt like it was made of elastic and held up with tension, ready to snap and collapse at any moment – he briefly wondered if Otabek would find him draped bonelessly across the stairs, too exhausted to finish his ascent.
He'd been prepared for a trial by fire, but instead he was dropped into a river, carried by the current and spat out on a distant bank, wrung out and shaking.
His knees decided to cooperate. Yuri opened the bedroom door, unsurprised to find Otabek curled up on top of the blankets with two cats sprawled across his legs and Zoyenka tucked up against his chest; he'd begun to fall asleep unexpectedly, finally making up for the hours lost to relentless anxiety and cut short by nightmares he wouldn't discuss. The medicine beginning to take effect, he assumed.
"It's… quieter," Otabek had said when Yuri asked. "Like I can think again. Or I can stop thinking."
He blinked sleepily at Yuri, moving to sit up until Mitya grumbled and shifted on his hip, claws catching at the fabric of Otabek's jeans.
"It's okay," Yuri said quietly, before Otabek could ask. He picked up Zoyenka, ignoring her chirps of protest as she was resettled on the other side of the bed, and crawled into her spot, pressing his face against Otabek's shirt. "Yuuri's not- he's not leaving."
"Are you okay?" Otabek's voice was a low rumble deep in his chest. He pulled Yuri closer until he could feel the pulse in the hollow of Otabek's neck, whispering I'm here I'm here I'm here.
"Viktor wants- he asked me to go back," mumbled Yuri. "To therapy."
Otabek paused for a moment and Yuri listened to the soft flow of his breath.
"… Will you?"
"Yeah." Yuri closed his eyes. "I hurt him, and maybe if I was- I stopped going as soon as I could, before. I wanted to show I was better, and Viktor- he worried it was too early. And now I… if I'd stayed with it, maybe I wouldn't have fucked everything up so much. With him and Yuuri. And you, at first. I, um, I thought about it when you started, but I didn't- I thought it-"
"You wanted to show me you were okay," Otabek said, picking up the idea while it was still only half-formed in Yuri's mind. Yuri felt a brush of warm air as Otabek kissed the top of his head gently, as if afraid that more than the lightest touch would break him. "Now, what was that you said before, hmm… it's okay not to be okay?"
"Asshole," grumbled Yuri, trying to erase the tiny gap between their bodies. There were benefits to not having to breath, he thought, snuggling closer.
"I'm sorry." The words were worn and familiar against Otabek's lips. "What you said to Yuuri earlier. If I could change one thing-"
"Beka, no." I don't want to talk about this, Yuri thought. I don't want to remember how much I hurt you too, not right now. "There's a lot I'd change, but we fucking can't."
"I know. I just…" Otabek sighed, slow and heavy. "I don't want you to feel like that, ever. If I'm not here, it's because- because I didn't have a choice. I love you too much to walk away again, no matter what."
"I do know." Yuri felt the feather touch of Otabek's heart, the promise that he's here, he's still here. "I love you too much to let that happen."
Even without looking, Yuri could see the small smile curve across Otabek's face, wishing they could both forget the sadness behind it. But for now…
Yuri fell asleep listening to Otabek's breath deepen and slow, and for the moment, everything was okay.
:: :: ::
"Can we talk, um, in person?"
An olive branch.
An unwilling battle.
A new beginning – or an end.
"There's a café near Kottbusser Tor. It's open late."
Viktor readied his white flag; Yuuri armored his heart against the coming blows.
"Green tea, please."
Yuuri watched Viktor across the small table.
Don't hide from me, please.
"Nothing for me, thanks."
I don't want to hide from you.
Without the props of humanity, he felt vulnerable and exposed, managing a close-lipped smile as the waitress nodded.
Viktor was used to fighting the way one fights a river, letting himself be dragged along by the current, city to city across the years, fighting for survival but never the forgotten dream of control.
For Yuuri, every step was a battle, had always been a battle, always would be – but the only true enemies lived inside his mind, whispering to him about fears and horror with the voices of his mother his father his sister Minako Yuuko, you'll never be anything, you'll never succeed, you should give up now, it's already over. He didn't know how to stop fighting when the entire world would close in on him if he paused to take a breath.
"I'm sorry."
Sorry for lying sorry for hurting you sorry for not listening.
"I know."
Are you sorry that it wasn't real, or sorry that it was?
"Please, Yuuri, tell me- tell me what I need to say, what you need to hear."
Who do I need to be to fix this?
"Just the truth. I don't want you to pretend anymore, I want… I want you to be you."
Silence.
Yuuri's heartbeat marked the seconds; Viktor wished for his own to thud to life, give him something to listen to other than the shocked void of his thoughts, his self.
I can't do that. I don't know how. I've only ever been what people wanted me to be, what they needed me to be. But…
Maybe I can be myself for you, this time.
"I thought you wanted me to be human." Why don't you? "That helping didn't mean helping… us."
Because it wasn't ever so simple, something for nothing, action without reaction. Everything in Viktor's life was an exchange, a bargain: this many blisters for a gold medal, a favor for a favor, building his existence on stacks of debts and connections and ulterior motives, this action so guilt would be satisfied.
Christophe and Viktor used to be more similar, until Yuri fell from the air and broke not just himself but the basis of Viktor's world, in which caring had been a luxury that must be given up when the price rose too high, empty passion and calculating eyes. When had he stopped being Vitya, the boy who loved the ice and believed that it loved him back, and instead decided that the universe wasn't caring, it simply was?
"I hoped that you believed me. Believed in me."
But why should you, if I've never been able to believe in myself? After all, I'm just… Yuuri.
The river wasn't carrying him anymore. It dragged him under, thrown by the current, pulling him away away away. Away from Yuuri. And for the first time in his life, Viktor fought the water, reaching out for shore.
"I did. I do. I always have." There were hunters for a reason, though. Viktor had seen those reasons. And, in a sense, he was that reason. "I wanted you to believe in us, that we're not all waiting to become monsters. And I wanted to… be with you. Spend time with you. I wanted you to believe in me, but I didn't know how to do it without- without lying."
In his first professional show, Yuuri had danced a battle, fallen to an imaginary blade. During rehearsal, his partner had always extended a hand to help him up from the floor. The fight was only an act, a performance, and he didn't want to pretend.
A bridge was being built. Clumsily, unstable, nowhere near complete, but a growing promise that wouldn't let Yuuri look away from Viktor's pale gaze.
"The stories Chris told me. They're why you went with it, didn't confront us or chase us out, even when you thought we were dangerous." If it was only Viktor by himself, Viktor who took risks the way others cooked dinner, with a half-empty fridge and a clumsy recipe and a heavy dash of fuck it, he would have thrown himself after Yuuri, followed him across oceans the moment their eyes locked in the dark little bar so many weeks ago. "The rain, that was…"
"Yuri." The moment Viktor understood that his own survival was due as much to pure luck as careful choices. "He went for a walk in a storm. I always- the rain made me uncomfortable, it felt wrong, so I always carried an umbrella, a coat, and never thought about it, but he never learned to think of fear as anything except a challenge."
The droplets of water, trick-trick-trickling down the window, tiny waterfalls and branching rivers as spring asserted its damp presence.
"I didn't realize that rain – it's running water. When he didn't come home, I went out looking."
Viktor had thought that he'd missed something again, stepped out the door with a growing panic that Yuri had run, had left. Only reflex caused him to pull on the waterproof jacket, lift an umbrella over his head.
It had been that close.
"It was almost dawn when I found him in the park, asleep on a bench, and he wouldn't wake up."
Hair soaked, clothing soaked, limp and unresponsive as Viktor picked him up. They didn't put the pieces together until later, when Yuri said he'd felt sleepy, numb, a wind-up doll without the energy to move.
"What else was real?"
Not the stories, the fears, the hopes – Yuuri's words sought an answer to the warm glances, fleeting touches, the soft, chaste kisses.
"All of it."
The white flag was folded and hidden away, armor discarded, olive branch merely a decoration. It had never been a battle. It was always a dance, even if they hadn't known the steps.
Viktor reached across the table, his open hand a promise and an apology.
"I'm Viktor Nikiforov. I used to be a competitive figure skater, and now I'm a vampire. I live with my adopted brother, his five cats, and a young man who is probably his boyfriend but I'm really not sure. In two days, I'll be sixty-nine years old, and I understand if that's a problem. I want to help you write your book, and I want- I want to date you and dance with you, and kiss you without pretending I don't have fangs."
Yuuri took his hand, warm skin against the cool fingers.
"I'm, um, I'm Katsuki Yuuri. I used to be a dancer, and now I'm a twenty-nine year old graduate student writing a thesis with my best friend and translator for a department that doesn't officially exist, and I'm afraid we're not doing a very good job of it. And I… I'd like that."
