Author's Note:
This was originally going to be part of my drabble collection, but it got too long. Posting it separately as a ficlet.
Also on tumblr (abstract-moth).
Reviews are always appreciated.
I own nothing.
It all started because Yuuri was frantically tearing apart the apartment.
So to his credit, there was already a high probability that something bad was going to happen.
Earlier in December, Viktor had made a magnificent return to competitive figure skating. The subsequent months were a whirlwind of morning runs, jump practices, and competitions. Viktor took his busy schedule with stride, simultaneously coaching Yuuri while working on his own programs. Viktor did his best to cover up any indication of stress or fatigue, flashing smiles and powering through the pain; but anyone could notice the way his shoulders were beginning to slump.
So today when Yakov had banished Yuuri from the rink, claiming that he needed Viktor's full attention so that they could refine his free program, Yuuri hadn't protested.
Besides, there was something else Yuuri needed to do. Something he couldn't do while Viktor was home.
His suit and tie had gone missing.
It was the same ones Yuuri had worn earlier in the season. He knew he had worn them to Four Continents. But somehow, they had disappeared between his suitcase and the closet. So far he had spent the morning searching through his drawers and tearing through all his unpacked boxes to find… nothing.
Yuuri had the growing suspicion that Viktor had hidden them somewhere, if not thrown them out entirely.
Yuuri wracked his brain. He hadn't seen them in the trash can. And unless Viktor had walked them down to the curb himself, there was no other way to discreetly dispose of them. But surely Viktor wouldn't do anything that drastic? Worlds was only a few weeks away. Certainly Viktor would have the sense to not throw away Yuuri's only formal dress clothes without having a replacement?
Nevertheless, Yuuri continued his search.
After the dressers came up empty, Yuuri had turned his attention to the bedroom closet. So far the only notable items he had uncovered were a few peculiarly shaped dust bunnies and an old dog toy. Makkachin claimed the toy almost immediately, settling on the floor beside him to properly chew it to pieces.
Yuuri realized, as he dug deeper and deeper past the nearly endless stream of designer shoes and jackets, that he might unearth something strange. After all, there was no telling what Viktor kept in the furthest and darkest corners of his home. He might have a collection of out of date magazines, or a secret journal, or even a pile of raunchy pictures.
But not this.
This was completely unexpected.
The box had been hidden near the back of the closet. It was plain black with no marking or writings anywhere on its surface. Yuuri had intended to discard it alongside the other designer shoeboxes. However when he picked it up, there was a distinctive metal clinking. Yuuri paused, his eyebrows creasing. He gently shook the box, listening as the clinking sound continued, almost like a bunch of screws knocking together. Yuuri sat back. So far everything he had encountered in this closet was an article of clothing. What could this be? With curiosity clawing at the edges of his mind, Yuuri opened the box.
It was full of pet tags.
Creasing his brow, Yuuri picked up a few to read the inscriptions.
'I have Necrotizing Fasciitis'
'Will you help me hide my peanut stash when the police come?'
'Protype 378: trial incomplete'
'WakeupWakeupWakeupWakeupWakeupWakeup'
'Dog feces make a great face mask'
Yuuri kept reading, each tag even more bizarre than the last.
After a few minutes, he set down the box, a completely different type of unease washing over him.
What was this?
Why in the world would Viktor have such a strange collection of dog tags? Was it a weird hobby? An elaborate prank? A lost bet?
"Makkachin," Yuuri said, turning to the dog next to him. "Do you know what this is?"
Makkachin looked up from her toy and simply wagged her tail.
If this was in fact some sort of weird obsession, Yuuri had absolutely no right to judge. His collection of Viktor Nikiforov posters was still secretly stashed at the bottom of his underwear drawer.
So with a shake of his head, Yuuri quickly returned the box to its hiding place.
He would just pretend that this never happened.
Perhaps in ten years or so when they decided to move out of this apartment, Yuuri would come across the box again. Maybe he would feign surprise and mild interest. Viktor would chuckle, a dazzling smile crossing his features, and explain the box and its contents.
Or maybe Viktor will chuck the box in the trash when Yuuri wasn't looking.
Whatever the outcome, Yuuri will just have to live with the possibility that this mysterious box would never be explained.
With that on his mind, Yuuri stood up and continued his search for his suit and tie.
However as the day went on, his mind remained preoccupied with the mysterious black box. Despite his best efforts to occupy himself with practice footage and stretches, there was a lingering feeling of unease in his chest.
When Viktor returned in the evening, his arms full of groceries, Yuuri tried his best to push the matter out of his mind. However as he prepared dinner, he became increasingly distracted. It was hard to pretend like everything was normal. Even harder to look at Viktor's dazzling smile and insist that he was fine.
"Is something bothering you?" Viktor asked after Yuuri had almost sent their dinner spilling to the floor.
"What?" Yuuri asked, trying to rebalance the pan. "What makes you say that?"
"You seem a bit preoccupied."
"Really?" Yuuri asked, setting the pan on the counter. "I hadn't noticed."
"Yuuri," Viktor said, crossing the kitchen and coming up beside him. "What's wrong?"
Yuuri turned away, trying his best to straighten up the counter. They were on a tight schedule. They still had to eat dinner, cleanup, review jump footage, and take Makkachin for a walk. They didn't have time to discuss this now.
Yuuri reached for some plates.
"It's nothing," he said.
Viktor stepped forward and gripped his hand. Despite everything, Yuuri couldn't find it within himself to pull back from his fiancé's grasp.
"Is it Worlds?" Viktor asked.
Yuuri shook his head.
"Did I do something?"
"No," Yuuri said. "You didn't do anything."
They stood in silence for a few moments. Viktor sighed. He brought Yuuri's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.
"You don't have to tell me if you really don't want to," Viktor murmured against his skin. "But as both your coach and your fiancé, I would very much like it if you do." He released Yuuri's hand, leaning closer to cup his cheek. On instinct, Yuuri found himself leaning into the touch. "So please talk to me."
Yuuri looked up at him. Viktor's eyebrows were creased, concern clearly written across his features. Even though he had absolutely no idea what was going on, Viktor was here. His comforting weight was beside him, ready to support him no matter what.
Viktor loved him.
No amount of mysterious pet tags would ever change that.
"I found a box," Yuuri said, his eyes fixated on the floor. "And I'm really sorry. I really should have known better. But-" He took a breath. "I opened it."
"Yuuri," Viktor said, wrapping his arms around his waist. "This apartment is yours. Nothing is off limits. Furthermore, I have absolutely no intention of hiding anything from you."
Yuuri sighed.
"I know," he said. "But I still feel bad about invading your privacy."
"Don't be," Viktor said. "If it makes you feel better, I have no idea which box you are referring to."
Yuuri closed his eyes. He focused on Viktor's arms around him. His warm breath next to his ear.
"It was hidden towards the back of your closet," Yuuri said. "The black one full of really weird pet tags."
Viktor immediately stiffened at his words. Concerned, Yuuri looked over his shoulder to see that Viktor's eyes had opened comically wide.
"Viktor?"
Viktor didn't respond. Instead he stepped away from Yuuri, his hand coming up to clasp over his mouth.
Yuuri stared at his fiancé's expression.
Was he shocked? Disgusted? Horrified?
Yuuri couldn't tell.
"Not that I think you're weird!" Yuuri blurted, panic rising inside him. "It's perfectly fine if you have something like that!"
Viktor only continued to stare.
"And it's my fault for intruding anyway! I shouldn't have even been looking there in the first place!"
Viktor raised his hand, signaling for Yuuri to stop.
A tense moment passed.
"I'm sorry," Viktor finally said. "It's just that I owe Mila so much money."
Yuuri blinked.
"What?"
"Damn it," Viktor said, shaking his head. "I really thought this was over with."
"Thought what was over with?"
Viktor just kept shaking his head. He looked away for a moment, before turning back to face Yuuri.
"Did you wonder why Makkachin doesn't wear a collar or name tag?" he asked.
Yuuri creased his brow.
"Because she's trained to be off leash?"
Viktor shook his head.
"When I first got her, she actually did wear a blue collar with a name tag specially engraved with little hearts."
"What happened to it?"
"Yuri started replacing the tags as a prank," Viktor explained. "Finally noticed when we were on a photoshoot with Prada."
Yuuri stared at Viktor's face.
He was serious.
Perhaps it was rude, perhaps it was the sudden release of all the built up stress, but Yuuri found himself chuckling.
"Don't laugh!" Viktor said, but his lips were already spreading into a wide smile. "I tried having her wear only the collar. But Yuri would just put another tag on, and I wouldn't notice. Before I knew it, everyone was giving Makkachin and I judgemental looks for having a tag that read 'I promise I don't have fleas.' So we just had to stop it altogether."
Yuuri clutched his stomach. The waves of laughter shook his entire body. Makkachin, seemingly intrigued by the commotion, came up to him and sniffed his knee.
"Oh Makka," Yuuri said, hugging her. "What have we done to you?"
Viktor crouched down next to him to rub her ears. Makkachin wagged her tail, basking in the attention.
"I can't believe I spent all day getting worked up over this," Yuuri said.
"Well, didn't you think it was weird that Makkachin never wears a collar?"
"I just thought she was a good dog!"
At the sound of her name, Makkachin nudged Viktor's cheek with her nose.
"And you are a very good dog," Viktor said, ruffling her ears. "But this was just a silly bet."
"Wait," Yuuri said. "If it was originally a prank, then how did this become a bet?"
"I confronted Yuri after I took Makkachin's collar away. Mila thought it was an excellent prank, but I didn't. So we made a bet whether or not it would come back to bite me in the future," Viktor scratched at his neck. "And I just lost."
Yuuri tugged at his lips.
"Well I'm sorry for making you lose," Yuuri said.
"Don't be," Viktor said, waving his hand. "I already got my revenge."
Yuuri sighed.
"What did you do?"
"I gave Potya a beet juice bath," Viktor said. "She scratched up my arms, but was pink for months."
Author's Note:
Special thanks to themissinglambsauce on tumblr for being my beta for this fic.
Whatever you do, do not remind Yuuri that his suit and tie are still missing.
