I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow
And mistletoe
And presents under the tree
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the lovelight gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
– Kim Gannon, 'I'll Be Home For Christmas'
Tokyo, 09:00
Mari put her hand on Yuuri's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Hey. Breathe. It's okay."
Yuuri stiffened and jerked away from her before he could stop himself. No, it's not, he wanted to snap, but he swallowed the words. None of this was her fault. He gripped the handle of his suitcase so tightly it hurt, and stared mutinously down at the linoleum floor.
He heard Mari bite back a sigh. "Stay here," she said, her tone carefully cheerful. "I'll go and see if there're any seats up ahead. You never know – they might've announced your flight by the time I'm back!"
As soon as her footsteps had faded, Yuuri looked up at the departures board again, scanning the rows of white and red lettering in desperation. Come on, come on, come on. New York, 08:40, cancelled. Manila, 09:20, cancelled. Paris, Helsinki, Madrid, Venice, delayed, delayed, delayed, cancelled. All of them meant to have left hours ago, but hampered by the heaviest snow Tokyo had seen in years. There was still no sign of the St Petersburg flight. Compulsively he watched the screen tick round again once, twice, three times.
The characters had begun to blur into meaningless smudges by the time Mari re-appeared beside him. "C'mon, there're a couple over this way." He let her steer him gently but firmly towards the vacant seats, mumbling in half-hearted protest when she tugged his backpack off and hefted it over her shoulder. "Ouch, kidda, what've you got in here? Bricks?"
She had draped her coat over the two seats to mark her place, and now she drew it back with a flourish. Yuuri forced a smile as he collapsed gratefully into the hard plastic chair.
"Want a drink?" Mari asked, dumping the rucksack on the other seat.
The only thing I want is to get on that plane, he thought, but all he said was 'Mmm'. At least a drink might distract him for a while from this maddening wait.
"I'll be right back." Mari gave his shoulder another gentle squeeze before hurrying off again.
For God's sake, get your act together, Yuuri scolded himself as he dug in his pocket for his phone. Mari had come all the way to Haneda with him just to see him off; the least he could do was be nice to her, instead of behaving like some stupid sullen teenager.
Two texts and a missed call – all from Victor, of course. He skipped over the messages and called him straight back.
"Yuuri, babe, hey! I'm so sorry about the flight –"
"Hey yourself," Yuuri laughed, feeling some of the tension uncoil from his stomach and shoulders as Victor's voice greeted him. "How did you –" He stopped, and sighed fondly. "You're on some kind of flight tracker, aren't you?"
He could picture the sheepish look on Victor's face as he said, "I can't help it, babe. I worry about you when you're not here with me."
"Good thing I'm going to be seeing you soon, then."
"But what about your flight?"
"I can wait." Things weren't so bad now he'd spoken to Victor again; the knot in his stomach was loosening already, and each breath came more easily than the last. "I mean, it has to show up eventually, right?" He laughed. "It would be nice to know when, but –"
"What do you mean? It's been cancelled, it's not going to – "
"Cancel… what? How –" Yuuri glanced up at the nearest departures board just as the screen changed, and there it was at the bottom of the list, in stark red characters.
St Petersburg Pulkovo via Moscow Sheremetyevo, 07:00: CANCELLED
"Oh fuck –"
"Babe –"
"What am I going to do, fuck, fuck –"
Mari chose that exact moment to reappear, triumphantly clutching two steaming Starbucks cups. "Got you the usual. Well, decaf, obviously, since we can't have you any more wound up than you already –" She stopped, her face falling. "What's up, kidda?"
Yuuri gestured at the board, barely listening to her.
"Babe? You still there?"
"Fuck, what do I do now, I don't know what to do, everything's cancelled, everything –"
"Shit, Yuuri –"
Victor's voice? Mari's? The two of them at once were overwhelming. His fingers tensed around his phone as panic pulled its cords tight around his chest again.
"Yuuri?"
'Your attention please. Due to the continued heavy snow, all flights departing from Tokyo Haneda between 05:00 and 12:00 have been cancelled. We apologise for the inconvenience…'
"You still there?"
"Where else would I fucking be!"
Victor's hurt gasp finally pierced through the fog of fear in his brain, too late for him to snatch back the barbed words. "Shit, I'm sorry, I…" He cast about desperately for an excuse, but Victor was waiting and Mari was waiting and he didn't know what to do or what to say, he didn't know how to make this right, he didn't know he didn't know he didn't know – "I'm sorry, Victor, I'd better go." He hung up before Victor could reply.
He turned to Mari, helpless, and was met with a raised eyebrow, and a coffee cup held out in his direction. "First you're going to drink this, and then we're going to sort out this mess, okay?"
Yuuri nodded and took the coffee without a word; he had a feeling she wasn't just talking about the flight.
His appetite had all but evaporated, but the last thing he wanted to do was seem ungrateful. He concentrated on taking tiny sips of the too-hot, too-sweet liquid, glad of the brief reprieve from having to think.
He was only halfway through the coffee when Mari, who had been tapping away furiously at her phone, let out a sigh of annoyance. "Bad news, kidda. All the flights via Moscow are off."
He waited, tense. Mari gave another sigh. "There are flights from Narita – "
Yuuri stood up, kicking his bag over in his haste. "Great. Let's go."
" – but they have about four layovers each and they're super expensive and you can't seriously be thinking – "
"I promised Victor I'd be there for Christmas." A pang of guilt hit him as he realised he still hadn't apologised for his outburst. He reached for his phone, then hesitated. Was there any point in calling until he knew what was actually going on? I should probably at least text him.
Really sorry for freaking out. I'm looking at other flights now. Will let you know when everything's sorted x
Victor's replied arrived before he'd even dropped his phone back into his pocket. As he opened the message, Mari put a hand on his shoulder.
"Yuuri. Be sensible."
That stung. He was trying as hard as he could, but there was only so much he could do when it felt like the world was on fire, and Mari should know that.
"Are you sure you want to spend Christmas Eve on a plane? You could just come home, you know."
"Hasetsu isn't home." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
Mari drew back her hand, silent. Yuuri knew he should say something – take it back, deny it – but he couldn't. Hasetsu wasn't home, not anymore. Not when he'd spent less than six months there in the past six years. Detroit and Phichit and Celestino had been his home for most of that time – and now there was Victor, waiting for him in their apartment in St Petersburg with Makkachin and a thousand plans that were all going to go to waste if he couldn't get on a bloody plane.
"I promised Victor," he said again, weakly.
"Okay." Mari's slight smile didn't mask the hurt in her eyes. "But next year Victor comes to us for Christmas. Deal?"
I should talk to him first – what if Makkachin can't travel – what if Victor already has plans –
"Deal." He could worry about the finer details later. Gulping the rest of his coffee down, he skimmed through Victor's texts.
You don't need to apologise for anything!
It must be really stressful.
Wish you were here so I could give you a hug!
Oh, I guess if you were already here then you wouldn't be stressed in the first place, right?
I'd still hug you though!
Anyway, I hope everything gets sorted out soon! Can't wait to see you xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Yuuri managed a smile as he typed out I can't wait to see you either – and Makka of course! Victor would be there when he finally got to St Petersburg; maybe everything was going to be okay after all.
…
"Oh God. What are we supposed to do now?" He wanted to give up, wanted to simply sink to the floor and refuse to move. His arms ached from dragging his suitcase behind him, his heart was hammering at the back of his throat, and he could feel tears pricking at his eyes. "I can't believe the trains – "
"I know, kidda." Mari was still calm, but she'd lost her smile, and he could see the doubt in her eyes.
He ignored it. Victor's waiting for me. I have to be there. I'll walk there if I have to.
Rationally, he knew that trying to walk across Tokyo was a stupid idea, but with the trains not running, what else could he do?
"Alright, let's get you in a taxi." Mari sighed, scanning the airport station for a sign to the taxi rank.
Idiot. Why hadn't he thought of that? Idiot, idiot, idiot. He could have punched himself. Why on Earth Victor puts up with you –
"When's the first flight out of Narita?" he forced himself to ask before his thoughts could spiral any further.
Mari scrolled quickly through her phone. "There's one in a couple of hours. Pricey, but only one change outside Russia, and with the time difference you'll just about make it to St Petersburg for Christmas Eve."
"Great. Thanks. Let's go." It came out curt, rude even, but he trusted Mari to pick up on the tightness in his voice, the way his hands had begun to tremble.
She gave him a pat on the arm and picked up his suitcase. "This way. C'mon."
He trailed after her, his back aching with the weight of his rucksack. At least he'd be able to put it down soon – put it down in a warm taxi that would take him to Narita, one step closer to Victor. It had barely been three weeks since the final, but he missed Victor as if they'd been apart for years. He smiled to himself. And you tease him for being the soppy one –
He almost crashed into Mari, who had stopped dead in front of him. "What – " As he peered around her, his stomach sank.
The taxi rank was still almost half a mile away, but the corridor in front of them was jammed with people in a snaking, barely-moving line.
Yuuri let go of his suitcase, startling himself as it crashed to the floor at his feet.
"Yuuri – "
There was no way he'd be able to drag it all the way to Narita. His skates were in his rucksack, along with his medication and his presents for Victor and Makkachin; everything else he could live without. He had no idea how long it would take him to walk to the airport, especially in this weather, but he had no other choice. I shouldn't have gone back to Hasetsu after Nationals. I should've seen this coming and caught the earliest flight out.
"Yuuri, where are you going?"
"I have a flight to catch."
Mari stared at him. "What are you gonna do, skate there?"
He bristled, too tense to be joking around. "It would probably be quicker than – than this!" He gestured vaguely to the queue ahead of them, which was moving at a glacial rate towards the still-invisible taxi stand. "I have to get on that plane. I promised him – it's our first Christmas together, I can't let him down, please – "
"Hey you, get a move on! Some of us have places to be!" A shoulder barged into him, and he tripped over his suitcase and fell against Mari.
"Oi, knock it off!" Mari scolded the man who'd pushed him, helping Yuuri up. "You okay, kidda?"
Yuuri clung to her, shaking, his heart beating so fast that he thought he might pass out. He shook his head stiffly. If he opened his mouth, he was either going to throw up or start crying, and he couldn't bear the thought of either. He was vaguely aware of Mari slipping the rucksack off his shoulders and picking the suitcase up off the floor, but he wasn't sure why she was doing that, or where they were going, only that his feet were moving him forwards and somehow, somehow, the floor beneath him was staying steady. Okay. He could do this. As long as the floor held out, instead of tipping away under his feet, he could do this. On step, then another. Keep going forwards, although he didn't know where 'forwards' was leading. There was a hand on his shoulder, guiding him; maybe that was why he hadn't fallen over. He concentrated on the comforting weight of it as it – they – steered him along the corridor, out into a wider room, over to a seat. Sit down. Go on. But his legs wouldn't bend, or maybe he'd forgotten how to bend them; he could only stand there, locked in place, as his heart clambered up into his throat and tried to force its way out through his clenched teeth. No no no no no –
"Here. Let me help you." Gently, the hand that had been resting on his shoulder moved back to the back of his knees and manoeuvred him into the chair. The cold, hard surface beneath him felt good, steady.
"Okay, kidda, that's it. I've got you. You're doing great."
Mari, he thought dimly, but there was still too much noise in his head for the thought to carry any meaning.
"Breathe with me, yeah? Okay. Breathe in. That's it. Okay, now breathe out. Steady now. And in again? Good. Great."
As he followed the directions of Mari's voice, he felt the pressure in his chest lessen slightly. Still, it was an age before he was breathing normally again, before he could stop gripping the edge of his chair and trust it not to tip suddenly sideways and send him sprawling to the ground.
"Hey, kidda. That looked like it was a bad one. You okay?"
Yuuri nodded. "I think so. Just need to… sit for a bit."
Mari put her arm around his shoulder, and he leant into the softness of her coat, exhausted. "Hey, Mari, I'm really – "
"Nope."
"How'd you even – "
"I know what you're like, kidda. I know you're about to start apologising, and if I let you start, you're not gonna stop until you're through security. For the record, you don't have to apologise for anything, but if you really want to, wait until you've landed in St Petersburg, okay?"
Yuuri snuggled closer. "I've missed you."
"Me too, kidda. Now, I wonder where the nearest Rent-a-Car is?"
…
"Hey, er, you sure you wouldn't rather come back to Hasetsu for Christmas?"
When he didn't answer, Mari sighed and switched on the radio. There was a song playing, an old Bing Crosby number he vaguely remembered Phichit crooning at a karaoke bar in Detroit their second Christmas together. Please have snow and mistletoe… He was too on edge to follow the words properly, but the tune tugged at him, sentimental and nostalgic and cruel. For a moment he thought he might cry. Then the itch of tears was gone, frustration seething in its place as he stared through the windscreen at the line of cars crawling along ahead of them. Stupid snow. Maybe Mari was right, and he should have stayed in Kyushu after all. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe he should never have expected the move to Russia to go smoothly, because when had things ever gone smoothly when he was involved? If he couldn't even leave the country without having his worst panic attack in months, how was he supposed to make it all the way home? What if he forgot something, what if he got stopped at customs, what if he had a panic attack on a plane full of strangers with no Mari or Phichit or Makkachin to calm him down?
"Yuuri. Breathe." Mari spoke without even turning her head to look at him.
Victor will be there, he told himself sternly. There'll be WiFi on the flight, you can message him if you really need to. But what about when he landed? What then?
"Breathe." Mari's tone was firmer now.
He tried to obey, but his breath kept catching in his throat. You know what happens when you panic in front of Victor. You know how useless he is.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket in such a hurry that he almost dropped it underneath his seat. His hands were shaking again. He'd already missed a couple of messages from Victor, short ones asking hopefully if there was any news, if he was okay. And here he was complaining to himself about Victor when Yuuri was the one who had left him hanging – it had been more than an hour since they had spoken.
He wanted to call and apologise, but he didn't trust his voice to hold steady, and if Victor knew he was upset then he would only worry, and what was the point of that? Victor would try to comfort him, of course, but Yuuri didn't deserve it, not with the way he'd been doubting Victor. And he wouldn't be any good at it anyway –
He started typing furiously, trying to silence the thoughts howling through his head.
Hi love, sorry for not getting back to you earlier. I'm still not sure what flight I'm going to be on – Mari and I are on our way to Narita now instead, but the weather's crazy and we're stuck in a traffic jam. I'll call you when I've sorted out my ticket. Give Makka extra cuddles for me and tell her I'm on my way. I love you.
He'd never usually be this demonstrative, at least not in writing, but he owed it to Victor.
Victor responded almost immediately. A photo of himself with Makkachin on his lap, nose practically pressed up against the screen. Half a dozen more followed, each one a little less of Victor and a little more of Makkachin, until finally the screen was filled with a shapeless black mass that Yuuri assumed was Makkachin's nose. She saw me taking selfies and wanted to join in, read the accompanying message.
Tell her she's the best girl, Yuuri wrote back. Phichit's going to be so jealous – he never managed to teach any of his hamsters to take a selfie.
She's actually supposed to be in time-out right now for stealing my breakfast. But she took one look at me and I had to let her out.
Yuuri laughed fondly. Both he and Victor were too soft on Makka, he knew, but really, what was the harm in spoiling her? She was getting on in years, but she still acted like a puppy, and besides, neither of them could bear to deny her anything after that scare with the manjū.
He sent the photos to Phichit, along with a teasing, Looks like Makka beat the Three Tenors to it on the selfie front.
Phichit didn't reply straight away – he'd be at morning training, Yuuri realised – but it must have been break time, because five minutes later he messaged Yuuri back. His response said simply :((((((
"Hey, looks like the traffic's getting lighter up ahead. You might make that first flight after all."
"Great." Yuuri considered letting Victor know, but he didn't want to jinx anything. Best to hold back until he was at the gate, boarding pass in hand; until then, he couldn't let himself believe that he was actually going to make it.
…
God, Yuuri hated it when his anxiety was right about things.
"It's completely sold out? There are no cancellations or anything? You're absolutely sure?"
The immaculately-dressed woman behind the counter gave him a sympathetic but professional smile. "I'm sorry, sir. There's nothing I can do."
"Okay. Okay." Yuuri turned away from the airline counter so that the woman couldn't see the panic on his face. His head was a mess. Shit what do I do now –
"When's the next flight?" Mari asked the woman smoothly, placing a steadying hand on Yuuri's arm.
"Let me just check that for you." The woman tapped away at her computer, the sound drilling into Yuuri's skull and setting his teeth on edge. "There's one in four hours with layovers in Seoul and Nur-Sultan – oh, but there's only one seat left, I'm sorry."
"That's okay." Mari stepped in before Yuuri had a chance to string a sentence together. "I'm just here to drop my brother off. I'm not actually travelling myself."
"In that case, would you like to pay and check in now, sir?" the woman smiled, shifting her attention from Mari to Yuuri.
"I – um – " Calm down. She's only asking whether you want this ticket. Yes or no question, idiot. "Er – " he could feel his face heating up as the woman waited for his answer; her smile never slipped, but a look of bemusement was creeping into her eyes. He nodded vigorously. "I. Um. Yes please. Yes, that would be great. Thank you. How much is it?"
He knew that the pat on the arm Mari gave him was supposed to be comforting, but it only reminded him what a terrible job he was doing of acting like a normal, functioning human being. Irritation stung at him and he had to concentrate so hard on not letting it show, on not swatting Mari's hand away, that he missed the woman's answer. She was looking at him again, waiting for a response.
"Um, can I pay by card?" he asked, hoping that he had enough. He'd have to sort out the claim for the cancelled flight somehow, and he'd been meaning to talk to Victor about opening a joint account. He wasn't sure how to do either; it was Celestino who had smoothed over any problems with his or Phichit's travel expenses before, and as for the account, how was he supposed to bring it up? What if Victor thought that Yuuri just wanted access to his money? That's ridiculous. I don't even know how much he has. But the thought wouldn't leave him. And what if it's not even legal?
"Here, let me," Mari said into the silence that Yuuri had missed under the noise of his own thoughts. She pulled out her wallet.
"Wait, no, you can't!" Yuuri reached frantically for his own wallet, but he couldn't reach the pocket of his rucksack where he'd shoved it, and Mari had got her card out before he'd even managed to take his bag off.
"Yuuri, I work full-time. I owe you something to celebrate Nationals. And most importantly, you're my baby brother. So yes, I think I can." With a wicked grin at Yuuri, she handed her card to the woman at the counter. "If you want to pay me back, you can take some of my shifts at the onsen in your off season."
Wait. Does she think I'm coming back to Hasetsu when the season's over? Do Mum and Dad not realise I've moved out for good? Does this mean they don't really believe that Victor and I –
"I'm joking, kidda." Mari's playful shove was only gentle, but it was enough to startle Yuuri into dropping his rucksack.
"Sorry," he muttered, hurriedly picking it up again and hugging it against his body like a shield. His blood was pounding in his ears again. It wasn't until Mari lifted his suitcase onto the conveyor belt that he even realised the woman had already started checking him in.
"May I see your passport, please?"
He slipped his hand into the front pocket of his rucksack and felt his heart stop.
His passport wasn't there.
He felt around in the pocket desperately – perhaps it had just slipped behind his phone or his wallet – but found nothing. He started to take out the contents of the pocket one by one: phone, wallet, the keys to his and Victor's apartment, meds. Still no passport.
Just as he was about to turn his rucksack upside down and tip everything out on the floor, Mari turned around from the luggage belt. "Your passport's in your coat pocket, Yuuri. You took it out in the car to check it, remember?"
He couldn't remember having done that – the whole of the drive was a whiteout of panic – but he put his hand in his coat pocket and, sure enough, there was his passport. He all but threw it down on the desk, his hands shaking. "Um. Sorry."
The woman waved away his apologies, but he could feel her eyes appraising him, the high colour in his cheeks, his ragged breathing. He wished he could spirit himself away somewhere he wouldn't feel judgement scalding him – Ice Castle Hasetsu, his Detroit dorm room, the apartment in St Petersburg. Victor might have no idea how to deal with his panic attacks, but at least he recognised them for what they were.
But he still had to get through this flight. Three flights. He took a deep breath and tried to convince himself that everything was going to be fine.
The woman handed back his passport, his boarding passes tucked neatly inside. "Have a good journey, sir." Yuuri nodded politely, biting back the automatic 'You too' just in time.
He turned to Mari. "I guess I should say goodbye at this point."
Mari's smile softened, and she enveloped him in a tight hug. "You sure I can't convince you to stay?"
I almost wish you would. Yuuri just hugged her back, steeling himself for the journey ahead. He let go before the lump in his throat could betray him. "Merry Christmas, Mari."
"Merry Christmas, kidda. Let me know when you get there, okay?"
"Of course." He hesitated. "Thanks. For everything."
"You owe me one," Mari grinned. "But we can sort that out once you're on solid ground again." She punched him lightly on the arm. "Now have a safe journey!" And, with a wave, she was gone.
Despite himself, Yuuri smiled. Mari had always been bad with goodbyes – even worse than he was.
He had a few hours to kill before his flight, but it was probably worth going through to his gate as soon as possible; even if he'd wanted to go on a shopping spree, it wasn't as though his suitcase would carry any more. He'd already bought his present for Victor weeks in advance, and there was no-one else in Russia who would be expecting anything from him.
Security always made him nervous, but this time, things went off without a hitch. There were no arguments over medication, or putting his skates in his carry-on; instead he was greeted by name and waved through with unfamiliar speed. It was only in the past year that people outside Hasetsu had started recognising him by sight; it wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling, but he had to wonder. Would they still have recognised me if I hadn't won the gold? Would people still be pointing him out to each other when he failed – as he inevitably would? Or would they allow him to fade into anonymity?
Mentally, he shook himself as he headed for the departure gate. You have a chance at real success now. With Victor –
Victor, who was probably frantic with worry by this point. Yuuri still hadn't called him back. Depositing himself on the nearest available seat, he quickly dug out his phone.
"Hi, love – "
"YUURI!" In the background, he could hear Makkachin barking; clearly, she didn't like the volume any more than Yuuri's eardrums did. "Did you get your flight sorted?"
"Yeah. Well. Flights, actually. Plural." Mari sorted it for me, because apparently I'm too pathetic to manage that by myself, he thought, but didn't say.
"Amazing! I'm so glad! So is everything all right? What are your flight numbers? What time are you getting in?"
"Uh, one sec," Yuuri mumbled, realising with a jolt that he'd never actually checked the flight times. He rifled through his bag and pulled out his passport. "So the first leg is flight number KAL1103, leaving Narita at 15:00. Second leg is KC873. Third leg is DP557, arriving into St Petersburg Pulkovo at… Hang on, that can't be right." He stared hard at the figures on his boarding pass, trying to corral the black lines into something that made sense. Had they failed to calculate the time zones properly? Was there some kind of misprint?
"Babe? You still there?"
"Yeah, I, um… Could you check something for me?"
"Sure, what's up?"
"I'm leaving at three, but my boarding pass says I don't get into St Petersburg until five o'clock on Christmas Day. That's got to be a mistake. The flight I was supposed to be on would be halfway to you by now."
Silence but for Victor's breathing and the tapping of his fingers on a keyboard. Knowing him, he'd have been scanning the flight trackers even before Yuuri called; it wouldn't take him a minute to put this right.
"KAL1103, KC873 and DP557, yeah? No, that's right. Taking off from Narita at 15:00, layovers at Seoul and Nur-Sultan, and then landing here at 17:00 on Christmas Day, total flight time 32 hours." Victor let out a low whistle. "That's a hell of a journey, babe – you going to be all right?"
"What do you…" Frantic, Yuuri flipped through the boarding passes, scanning the times on each one. They matched what Victor had said. "Shit. Shit."
"What's the matter?"
"What's the matter? The matter is that I'm not going to get to see you until Christmas is nearly over, Victor, which means I've gone and ruined everything – "
"Don't be silly! The only thing that matters is that you get back safely – "
"How can you say that?" Yuuri could feel people's eyes on him, and he lowered his voice. "It's your birthday, Victor."
Victor's humourless laugh made Yuuri's heart sink. "I'm turning twenty-nine, Yuuri. That's hardly something to celebrate."
He had said almost exactly the same thing when Yuuri had tried to congratulate him on his silver at Nationals. 'I lost to someone twelve years younger than me. That's not something to celebrate.'
You didn't lose, you won silver, Yuuri had said then. But Victor had remained implacable. Yuri Plisetsky's inconvenient triumph had bruised him, and Yuuri didn't dare aggravate the pain by pushing the point, then or now.
"Okay, but's it's also our anniversary."
"I know, babe." Victor sounded brighter, probably glad to be off the subject of Nationals – and in truth Yuuri was, too. He couldn't shake the feeling that Victor would have won gold – and won it easily – had he not been coaching Yuuri at the same time. "But you don't need to stress about it. It's not like you forgot it or something. And you're still going to be here for it – "
"For seven hours of it! We were supposed to have the whole day!"
"It's okay, Yuuri. You'll be home for part of the day, and for all of the days after that, and besides, it's only our engagement anniversary, right? You can start worrying once we're actually married and we have to celebrate properly."
Although Yuuri knew that Victor was only trying to comfort him, Victor's easy laugh grated on his nerves. "You know we might never be able to get married," Yuuri said, hating the truth of the words, hating himself for voicing them.
Victor coughed, and was silent for a moment. "Anyway, Orthodox Christmas isn't until the 7th of January." His laugh this time had an edge of unease to it.
"You're not Orthodox, Victor."
"No, but Yakov is. And he's invited us both over for a meal, remember? So you'll be able to spend Christmas – "
"I don't want to spend Christmas with your sodding coach, Victor! I want to spend it with you."
"And you will – "
"Yeah, all twelve minutes of it."
"Don't exaggerate, Yuuri."
"That's rich, coming from you!" Yuuri burst out before he could stop himself.
"What do you mean?" Victor asked sharply.
"You know perfectly well what I mean! Who phones their partner in tears and tells them their career's over because they just won a fucking silver medal?"
"Yuuri, you know what was at stake – "
"Your pride, that's what!" Yuuri could feel people beginning to stare again, but he couldn't stop himself. "Have you forgotten where I ended up last year? Eleventh place! Eleventh place, Victor! And did I immediately retire? No! You just can't face the fact that you're not the Great World Champion anymore, can you? Can't believe that anyone could be better than Living Legend Victor Nikiforov – "
"He's sixteen, for God's sake! He's got years – why couldn't he have stayed in Juniors for one more season – "
"Because not everything is about you!"
"Yuuri – "
"What, you can't bear not to be the centre of attention even for a second – "
"That's not fair – "
"Not fair? Stop acting like a child – "
Victor barked out a bitter laugh. "I'm not the one losing his shit over being home a bit late."
The words stung like a slap. "A bit late? I'm missing the whole of Christmas!"
"What's the big deal? Christmas isn't all that important – "
"It is to me!" Yuuri winced at the petulance in his own voice. He was about to apologise when Victor cut in.
"Well then maybe – maybe this was never going to work! Maybe you should just have stayed in Hasetsu!"
A pit of fear was opening up under Yuuri's feet. What if Victor was right? What if this life they had just begun to build for themselves wasn't going to work out, and they were both wasting their time and throwing away their careers for nothing?
"Maybe I will," he snapped back, and hung up.
Now that he no longer had the call to concentrate on, Yuuri was suddenly hyper-aware of the sidelong glances. The muttering. The empty space opening up around him as the other passengers in the departure lounge gave him a wide berth. And no wonder; who would want to be around a stranger yelling down the phone at his partner on Christmas Eve, like some drunk salaryman being kicked out of a bar? His face burning, Yuuri made for the toilets as fast as he could.
Perhaps he shouldn't have been so sharp with Victor. Perhaps this wasn't the time, or the place. But he and Victor did need to talk about these things, about the way their needs kept colliding with each other, and Victor kept refusing. He was so stubborn, and he would never just listen. Especially when he knew Yuuri was about to bring up Victor's black moods, his insomnia, his tendency to paste a too-bright smile over the cracks that both of them could see but that Victor would not admit to. It would have been exhausting even if half of Yuuri's energy was not already spent on corralling the mess in his own brain into something manageable; as it was, he doubted he could keep it up for much longer.
For a fraction of a second, Yuuri toyed with the idea of carrying out his carelessly-flung threat. Walking back out of the airport, getting on the first train or bus that was running, and going back to Hasetsu.
But he knew he wouldn't, had known it even as he snapped wildly at Victor. For one thing, Mari had paid for his ticket; for another, his suitcase would already be tucked away in the hold of the plane he was supposed to be boarding in two hours. And, most importantly, he did want to see Victor. Had to see him. They just needed some time to cool off first.
Yuuri would have to talk to him later, of course. But right now he didn't have the strength to apologise, the energy to be patient. He sighed, and put his phone down next to the sink so he wouldn't be tempted to call Victor back straight away and risk making things even worse than they already were. Neither of them would say anything new until they had put some daylight between themselves and the argument.
Taking a deep breath, Yuuri surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror. There were bags under his eyes and a tightness to his hastily-composed smile that betrayed the fear underneath, but he'd seen much worse. At least he hadn't cried this time.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. As long as he didn't run into any reporters who recognised him, it would be fine. He would talk to Victor when he felt a little calmer. Right now, what he needed was a nap.
Picking up his rucksack from where he'd unceremoniously dumped it, he headed back out into the departure lounge, half-expecting all eyes to be on him. In fact, no-one so much as looked up as he hurried over to a vacant seat and curled up with his head on his rucksack. He considered setting an alarm, but decided not to bother; if the flight announcements didn't wake him, the general commotion of boarding would. He never slept deeply when he was this ill at ease. He closed his eyes and drifted into a fitful doze.
He was awoken an hour and a half later by the bright, featureless voice of a woman announcing that the KAL1103 flight for Seoul was ready to board. Groggily he sat up, pushing his glasses back up his nose, and recovered his coat from under his chair. He was still yawning as he joined the queue, and he barely noticed the time it took him to reach the front of the line and make his way through the airport tunnel onto the plane.
As he took his seat, he reached into his pocket to switch his phone to flight mode.
It wasn't there.
Perhaps it was in his bag instead, or a different pocket? There was no need to panic yet. His passport had turned up, after all. If he could just think through where he'd been –
Oh. Oh no.
He knew exactly where it was.
It was sitting next to the sink in the men's toilets.
Oh God, he was such an idiot.
"Are you okay?" asked the man sitting next to him as Yuuri put his head in his hands.
Without looking at him, Yuuri nodded stiffly and started rummaging through his bag to stop the man starting a conversation with him. If he could just keep his head down – keep his hands busy with meaningless rifling through the clothes he'd ended up stuffing into his rucksack because he was terrible at packing and they wouldn't fit in his suitcase –
"Sir?"
Yuuri jumped as a flight attendant appeared at his shoulder.
"Please put your belongings under the seat in front of you, sir."
She was just doing her job, of course, but Yuuri heard recrimination in her voice, felt his face burn as hotly as if he were back at the Detroit rink, taking a rare scolding from Celestino in front of his rinkmates. He quickly shoved his bag back under the seat in front, flushing as half of its contents scattered across the floor. Trying not to swear, he gathered up the bits and pieces in a pair of boxers that had spilt out of the bag – why did it have to be the poodle ones – and struggled to close it, his hands fumbling with the zip. He kicked the rucksack hard until it lodged under the seat in front.
The flight attendant was still standing there watching him. As Yuuri looked up at her, she gave him a tight smile that seemed to say what an idiot.
As soon as she had bowed and moved away down the aisle, Yuuri took a deep breath, closed his eyes and collapsed back into his seat. Seoul might only have been an hour away, but he could tell it was going to feel like a long flight.
…
The minute the plane touched down, Yuuri unclipped his seatbelt and yanked his bag out from under the seat in front. His left leg would not stop bouncing. As soon as he saw someone a few rows in front get out of their seat, he leapt up, almost hitting his neighbour in the face as he swung his rucksack onto his back.
A phone. He needed a phone.
Released at last into the departure lounge for connecting flights, he all but ran the length of the long plate-glass wall, searching for a payphone. Did they look the same in Korea as they did in Japan? He couldn't remember. What if there weren't any?
He rushed over to the first airport employee he saw. "Excuse me, is there a payphone here?"
The man stared at him blankly, and Yuuri realised he had spoken in Japanese.
"Oh, um, sorry," he fumbled, trying to make his brain switch to English. "Er… phone. Payphone. Is there – "
Looking bored, the man pointed at a green payphone a few feet away – how had he missed it – and walked off.
Yuuri bowed to the departing figure out of habit and hurried over to the payphone. His heart sank when he saw the instructions. Of course it only took Korean currency.
He was about to start looking for a bureau de change – would there even be one this side of immigration? – when he realised that there was a phonecard machine next to the payphone. Fumbling with his card, he bought the most expensive one, just in case, and slotted it into the machine.
Shit. He had no idea what Victor's number was.
The only numbers he could remember were his parents' home phone, the number of Minako's studio, the rink phone, and Mari's mobile. He punched in Mari's number and waited.
He'd almost given up hope of her answering when there was a click and Mari's voice came through the receiver. "Hello? Who is this?"
"Oh thank God, Mari, it's me, I'm so sorry, I left it at Narita, and now I can't phone Victor and – he thinks I hate him and I'm not coming home and I've got no way of telling him, you see, because I left it – "
"Yuuri? What's wrong? Tell me slowly, okay?"
Yuuri took a deep breath. "Well, Victor and I had an argument, and I was really unfair to him and now he hates me – "
"Yuuri. Just tell me what actually happened."
"Okay, okay. I was going to phone him to let him know that I was still coming back to Russia, you know, that I hadn't given up on him and gone back and I didn't hate him and I was sorry – "
"Yuuri."
"Yes?"
"Breathe."
"Yes. Breathing. Okay." Yuuri waited until the receiver stopped shaking in his hand. "So I was going to phone him."
"But?"
"I. Um. Left my phone at Narita," he said in a small voice.
Mari sighed. "You're absolutely sure?"
Yuuri nodded, then realised how pointless that was. "Yeah. I went into the toilets to calm down and I left it by the sink."
"Okay. I'm still in Tokyo because the trains are still all over the place, so I'll phone the airport and see if anyone's handed it in, yeah?"
"Thanks, Mari. You're the best."
Yuuri could almost see her narrowing her eyes. "There's something else you want me to do, isn't there?"
"Um. Could you… could you let Victor know I'm on my way?"
Mari gave an exaggerated sigh. "Anything for you, kidda."
"Thank you so much – "
Before Yuuri had even finished speaking, the phone began to beep, demanding coins he didn't have. He sighed and hung up the receiver.
The need to talk to Victor and make everything right again was a physical ache in his chest. Yuuri knew he probably deserved the pain, but still, the next thirty hours would be torture.
…
"Sir, I need you to step this way, please."
"Can I ask what this is about? Yuuri said, much more calmly than he felt. This wasn't exactly the introduction to Kazakhstan he'd been hoping for.
The grim-faced security officer only repeated, "This way, please."
Yuuri had no choice but to follow him. He fought to keep his breathing steady, fought not to let the dread in his stomach consume him. The more nervous he appeared, the more suspiciously he would be viewed, he knew. I haven't done anything wrong. It'll be okay.
The officer opened a steel door in the corridor wall and ushered Yuuri through, then slammed it shut.
They were in a tiny windowless room furnished only with a metal table and two chairs. Yuuri's stomach flipped over, and for a moment he thought he would throw up. This is it. I'm just going to disappear and no-one will ever find me. Victor will never know what happened, he'll think I just walked out on him –
"Have a seat, sir," the officer said, interrupting the stream of panic tearing through Yuuri's mind.
Yuuri sat down stiffly, every muscle in his body tense. He tried again to ask what was going on, but his throat had completely dried up.
The officer sat down opposite him. Even seated, he towered over Yuuri, and Yuuri was uncomfortably aware of the gun strapped to the man's thigh. Wordlessly, the man put his hand into his pocket and took out a white packet which he tossed onto the table between them.
Yuuri bit his lip, hard, to stop himself from swearing. His medication. Of course.
The officer was still watching him silently, apparently waiting for him to explain himself. Yuuri swallowed. "Those are – "
"Drugs," the man interrupted.
Yuuri shook his head desperately. What was the word? He couldn't remember the English, only the Russian. "Лекарство." Medicine.
The security officer stared at him for a long, heart-stopping moment, and then his expression softened. "Do you have a prescription?" he asked. The accent was unfamiliar, but the language was unmistakably Victor's.
Relief hit Yuuri with the force of a wave breaking across his chest. "Yes. Yes." He reached into his bag and pulled out the plastic pocket of medical documents he always travelled with these days. Sliding the prescription out of the pocket, he handed it to the officer.
The man glanced over it and then put it down on the table, nonplussed. "I can't read this."
Yuuri groaned inwardly. Why had he left the only Russian copy of his prescription with Victor? Idiot. Idiot. Still, he hadn't been expecting to have to go through customs in Kazakhstan of all places. "I'm sorry. My flight – there was snow – I didn't – here – direct flight – " Yuuri's chest began to tighten as the sentences broke apart in his head, and he cast an imploring look up at the officer.
Scowling, the man picked up the prescription and Yuuri's medication and strode over to the door. "Wait here." He paused. "Please."
As he left, the door slammed shut behind him.
Yuuri tried desperately to slow his breathing. Nothing good would come of panicking. If he let himself panic, he'd forget the little Russian he knew, and since his brain had apparently given up on English, that left him only Japanese and Thai for explaining himself to the police – or whoever the officer had gone to fetch – and if he couldn't make himself understood then nothing would stop them from bundling him onto the next plane back east –
It's okay, my darling, it's okay.
Through all the noise of panic, he could hear Victor's voice in his mind, as clear as if Victor was right there with him. He closed his eyes.
You're going to be all right. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise.
He could almost feel Victor's breath on his cheek, Victor's hands on his shoulders. He knew exactly how Victor's fingers would trail around the spot between his shoulder blades, gently softening the stubborn knot of tension there. Yuuri allowed himself to feel Victor's fingertips pressing carefully into his back, allowed himself to hear the words that were murmured in his ear.
You are more precious to me than anything or anyone, my love. I'll never let anyone hurt you.
Yuuri imagined himself turning his head to press his lips against Victor's cheek, imagined the soft warmth of Victor's skin and the little run of notes that made up Victor's laugh.
You're perfect, Yuuri. I don't know what I did to deserve you.
Nor I you, Yuuri murmured back.
He was startled out of his daydream by the door opening.
The security officer was back; he was alone, and he was holding out Yuuri's medication and prescription with one hand while keeping the door ajar with the other. "Everything checks out. You may go. Take these."
Yuuri hastily got to his feet and took his things from the officer with what he hoped was a smile. "Thank you. I'm sorry to have caused you trouble."
The officer looked almost amused. "Just make sure you have your documents translated beforehand next time, yes?"
"Yes, of course." Yuuri bowed and hurried out into the corridor.
He didn't realise how tired he was until he sank into a chair in the departure lounge – the last one of the trip, he reminded himself – and felt his legs give way beneath him. He wasn't hungry, or thirsty, or even particularly anxious; he was simply exhausted. It was all he could do to drag himself over to the line when boarding for St Petersburg was finally, finally called.
He was asleep before the plane left the runway.