St Petersburg, 07:00
Throwing his phone down beside him on the sofa, Victor put his head in his hands.
Makkachin, sensing his upset, whined and butted her head against his knee. When Victor didn't respond, she put her paws on his lap and whined again.
"I screwed up, Makka," Victor whispered, finally meeting her gaze. "I really screwed up this time."
Makkachin cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look.
"I got mad at Yuuri and now he's not coming. You were looking forward to seeing him, weren't you, girl?" He scratched her chin affectionately and felt Makkachin relax, convinced that all was well with her human. "You don't understand anything, do you? It's much simpler that way." Running his fingers through her tightly curled fur, Victor wished for a moment that he and Makkachin could swap places. Dog emotions were easy to deal with; as long as Makka was fed and walked and groomed, she was happy. Human emotions, now, those were much more difficult.
Victor sighed and swung his legs up onto the couch, readjusting himself so that Makkachin's head was resting on his stomach. The warmth and weight of it was a comfort Victor wasn't sure he deserved, not after what he'd said to Yuuri.
It wasn't all his fault, though. Yuuri's jibe about Nationals had really stung. It was all right for him; he'd finished thirty points clear of Minami Kenjirō, untouchable, golden. He had stood at the top of that podium looking more at ease than Victor had ever seen him – looking, for perhaps the first time, as if he truly believed in his right to be there. As long as he avoided injury, Yuuri could only climb. Worlds would be a close contest, but Victor would have staked his soul on Yuuri taking the gold.
Yuri would take silver, and he would be left fighting over scraps. Perhaps, trailing in the wake of their two bright stars, he would manage to cling onto bronze. Or perhaps Chris would finally eclipse him as he had been waiting to do ever since a younger, freer Victor had blithely thrown down the gauntlet. There were plenty of others snapping at his heels; that arrogant idiot JJ, for one. Losing to him would be a far greater ignominy than ceding his place on the podium to Otabek or Cao Bin or even Georgi. There was Phichit, too, incandescent in Beijing, tenacious in Barcelona, relishing his entry onto the world stage just as Victor found himself pushed into the wings.
Makkachin whined again and thumped her tail on the floor. She was probably just bored and in need of a walk, but she had an uncanny knack of interrupting just before he could slide into the depths of self-pity. He wondered sometimes if she understood more than he gave her credit for.
"All right, girl, up you get." Victor manoeuvred himself off the couch and stood up slowly, wincing at the tension in his shoulders and back. A walk wasn't going to cut it; he needed a run, preferably one long enough to clear his mind of everything but the burn in his lungs and the steady beat of his shoes against the ground. "You up for a proper run, Makka?"
Makkachin let out a joyous yelp and bounded over to the door. Victor envied her that endless enthusiasm. He wished he could be more like her, but he didn't have the energy. "Wait there. Good girl."
He dug through the laundry basket until he found the tracksuit he'd tossed in there after his last impromptu run, the day after Nationals. He'd meant to do the laundry before now, but – like so many things – it had slipped out of his grasp. Well, now that Yuuri wasn't going to be here after all, it didn't matter if he never did the laundry ever again –
Stop that. You need to get going. Makka's waiting for you.
Deliberately, he picked a fresh set of running clothes out of his wardrobe and stuffed the old ones back in the laundry. He'd put the washing machine on when he got back – after he fed Makkachin, of course.
She was pawing at the door already. So impatient – she probably got that from him. He called through, "Coming, girl!" and the pawing changed to the sound of her tail thumping against the hall floor. She was his lifeline, really. What was he going to do when –
No. Stop it. He picked up his running jacket, then threw it on the floor with a sigh. The cold would do him good. Or at least it might stop him from thinking so damn much. He picked up his keys and opened the door. "Ready, Makka?"
He realised, as he stepped out into the freezing air, that he'd forgotten to warm up. He paused for a moment, deciding whether or not to bother, then set off at a jog with Makkachin bounding ahead of him. Yakov would tear him limb from limb if he pulled a muscle doing this, but he didn't much care. Yakov was a bloody hypocrite, anyway. Victor had spent a week at the old man's bedside when he'd drunk himself into hospital after Lilia finally left him; this was nothing. And besides, it wasn't as if a pulled muscle would be enough to keep him out of Worlds.
Makkachin was pulling ahead of him, her brown figure already blurring into the shadows of the street. Victor lengthened his stride and closed the gap a little; it wouldn't do to lose sight of her, just in case. Revelling in the way the ground seemed to fly away beneath him, he didn't slacken his pace even as he caught up to Makkachin. He felt he could run forever. Perhaps he would –
Enough. Don't think, just run. He kicked his pace up another notch and focussed on the movements of his body rather than his mind, keeping his head level, his breathing steady and even. He didn't slow down even when his feet began to ache and his lungs to burn, just spat into the frozen grass to clear the taste of bile from his mouth and kept on going. Wiped the sweat from his forehead before it could trickle into his eyes, and kept on going. Nothing mattered except the pounding of his feet against the pavement and Makkachin's panting as she loped alongside him.
He was paying no attention to his surroundings; it was only when he recognised the buildings of Esperova Ulitsa that he realised Makkachin had brought him home again. You clever girl. Kicking into a final sprint along the straight, empty road, he came to a stop outside the front door of the apartment building and leant against it, his breath heaving. He fumbled for the key and almost tripped over Makkachin as she bounded inside.
Legs shaking, he stumbled over to the sink, nausea washing over him in an unrelenting wave. He didn't throw up, but God, he felt awful. He grabbed a glass of water and stood there sipping it slowly, methodically, until the pounding in his temples and the acid in his throat had receded enough for him to register that he was, in fact, freezing. Not only that, but his skin was sticky with sweat, and his legs ached as if he'd just come off the ice. A shower, he needed a shower, needed to get some heat back into his body now.
Makkachin was sitting by her bowl, eyeing him expectantly. He made himself smile at her. He could feed her once he'd showered. He had to shower now, or he'd lose his motivation and end up falling asleep on the couch, unable to get himself to bed. Mentally, he went through the steps: go into the bathroom, get undressed, turn on the water. Three steps too many with the weight of his and Yuuri's argument crushing him, but if he convinced himself that he wasn't allowed to feed Makka until he'd showered, he'd be able to force himself through it. Twenty steps to the bathroom. Almost there. Peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt and shorts, and almost joining them on the tiled floor, but it was too cold for that. He didn't want to stay standing, but at least the blast of hot water stopped him from shivering. Perhaps he would stay here forever, instead, and just let the water wash him away little by little, or maybe he would keep turning up the heat beyond the numbers on the dial and burn himself down to bones. But for now he just stood.
How long he stood there, he couldn't tell; it might have been minutes, or it might have been hours. But all of a sudden the sound of Makkachin barking cut through the haze of heat and water. Reluctantly, he turned the shower off, and was just in time to catch the sound of his ringtone before it cut out.
He was going to have to change that ringtone now that he'd fucked things up with Yuuri; even that short run of notes, the last line of Stammi Vicino, was enough to send a pang of guilt through his chest.
He was tempted to turn the shower back on and let whoever it was call him back if it was important. But what if – it wouldn't be, there was no was way it would be, he would be back home with his family now and quite rightly ignoring Victor's very existence – but what if it might be Yuuri?
Or worse, what if it wasn't Yuuri, but a member of his family, calling to tell him that there'd been a terrible accident and Yuuri was hurt and it was all his fault for telling Yuuri to go home instead of coming here and it never would have happened if he had just managed to convince Yuuri that it didn't matter how late he arrived, it just mattered that he did -
Throwing a towel around himself, he dashed through to the living room and snatched up his phone from the sofa. He checked the call register.
The last call had been from Yuuri.
Relief flooded through him as he dialled Yuuri's number and hit Call. He didn't care if Yuuri had only called just to yell at him some more; it was enough that Yuuri was still speaking to him, that he was okay.
"Oh my God, Yuuri, I'm so sorry, babe - wait, I probably shouldn't call you that, should I - "
"I don't think our relationship has quite reached that level, no."
"Mari?" What was Yuuri's sister doing with his phone? Did that mean something had happened to Yuuri after all? But she sounded too calm -
"Yes." She sounded faintly amused; surely she couldn't have anything too awful to say?
"Can I speak to Yuuri?"
"What?"
"Yuuri. Is he okay? Is he there?"
"Of course he's not with me. He's on a flight from Seoul to Nur-Sultan right now. I was under the impression that he'd told you he was coming."
"Well he did, but... I thought he'd changed his mind. I - we argued - "
"Yuuri told me."
Victor gulped; Mari's tone was hard as ice. If she was about to scold him, he utterly deserved it.
But all she said was, "He'll be landing at St Petersburg at five tomorrow, so you'd better make sure you're there. Oh, and make yourself obvious – not that that should be a problem for you. He left his phone in the toilets, so he won't be able to contact you."
"He left - then why do you have it?"
Mari sighed. "Because I drove back to Narita and harangued a staff member into picking it up for me, because I actually care about my baby brother."
Ouch. There wasn't much he could say to that.
"He was in a right state when I heard from him, so I need you to look after him, okay? I don't care whose fault the argument was and frankly it's none of my business. But if you hurt him in any way, I will make you wish you were never born. Is that clear?"
Victor swallowed nervously. "Crystal."
"Good. Oh, and by the way..."
"Yes?"
"Merry Christmas, Nikiforov."
Before Victor could return the greeting, Mari hung up.
Victor stared down at his phone, Yuuri's face grinning softly back at him from the screen. So he hadn't fucked things up completely after all; Yuuri still loved him, and he was still coming home. And Victor had approximately twenty-four hours to make sure that home was as welcoming as it could be.
Okay. First things first, he had to feed Makka. A proper breakfast, not the toast she'd stolen from him hours ago. Securing the towel around himself, he dripped through to the kitchen and took down a tin of dog food from the cupboard. "Here, girl!"
She bumped against his legs as he scraped the food into her bowl and dumped the spoon and empty tin in the less-than-empty sink. He would rather have sat and fussed over her, but he had work to do.
He ran hot water and made himself work methodically through the pile of washing that had been sitting there since before Nationals. Yuuri was no clean freak, but Victor couldn't let him see the apartment in this much of a state. Every time he felt like giving up and joining Makkachin on the floor, he reminded himself that he wasn't doing this for himself. This was all for Yuuri.
When at last the pile of grimy plates had been cleared away, he surveyed the rest of the apartment. It needed hoovering, for one thing. But there were things all over the floor, so he'd have to tidy up first. God, how had he let things get this out of hand? Yuuri had only been gone for a few weeks, and besides, Victor was usually the tidier of the two of them.
The thought of tidying the whole apartment was draining, but it had to be done. "Don't let me stop until it's ready for Yuuri, okay, Makka?"
She looked up from her bowl, her head cocked quizzically. Victor laughed and scratched her behind the ears, psyching himself up for the imminent assault on the living room.
Some of the mess was easy to get rid of; clothes went in the laundry basket, cups went in the sink, leftovers went in the bin.
Holding his nose as he dropped yet another rancid takeaway in the bin, he wondered how many proper meals he'd eaten in the past three weeks. How many nights he'd actually slept through, instead of waking in the dark and knowing he wouldn't be able to drop off again. How many times he'd brushed off Yakov's concerns with a pretend version of the airy confidence everyone associated with him, a confidence he hadn't felt in - years, if he was honest. Yuuri's presence made it easier to cope, but it was only in his absence that Victor could admit that Yuuri was right. He needed help.
He wasn't sure how that was going to work. But he knew someone who might.
Pushing aside the heap of clothes he'd dumped on the sofa, he dug out his phone. "Hey, Chris? It's me."
"Oh, hello, Victor darling."
Chris sounded surprised, and not pleasantly so. Victor caught a few hurried words in French, and another man's voice, too distant to be understood. His heart sank. Of course Chris would have company - it was Christmas Eve, after all. What was he thinking, calling Chris out of the blue to beg him for help? Clearly Yuuri had been right about his selfishness, too.
"Victor?"
Chris's voice startled him, and he panicked. What was he supposed to say? 'Oh, sorry, I just realised I shouldn't have called you, goodnight?' Goodnight? Good morning? He didn't even know what time it was any more.
"I just wanted to say Happy Christmas. You know, since I'm going to be busy tomorrow, what with Yuuri coming back and all. Just making sure I don't forget."
"How very considerate of you," Chris laughed. "I suppose it's already Christmas for you over there?"
He glanced at the clock on his screen, his heart sinking as he realised that Chris was right. He had spent the whole of Christmas Eve tidying the apartment, and he wasn't even halfway done. "Mmm. Just about."
"Just as well. You always were an impatient one."
Victor laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah, I know."
There was a beat of awkward silence. "Well, Merry Christmas, Victor."
"Thanks. You t- I mean, tell Masumi I said Merry Christmas too."
"Of course. Same to Yuuri."
"Right. Thanks. Night, Chris."
"Sleep well, darling."
He wouldn't sleep a wink until Yuuri was home safe, but Chris wouldn't have thought of that, not with Masumi right there. He murmured a thank you anyway, and hung up.
What now? Yuuri was arriving in fourteen hours, and it would take about an hour to drive to the airport in this weather. That left him thirteen to make this place habitable again, which would have been plenty of time if his body were not made of lead and his mind full of a fog that he had to fight his way through with every thought.
Right. One thing at a time. Pick up the clothes off the sofa, dump them in the laundry basket. Drag the laundry basket into the utility room and upend it into the washing machine. Put the washing machine on, get the hoover, stop to pet Makka, sit down, and stay down here where he didn't have to do anything -
His phone beeped.
Yuuri he thought instantly, on his feet before he remembered that Mari had Yuuri's phone and anyway, Yuuri was thirty thousand feet up somewhere between Korea and Kazakhstan. But perhaps Mari was calling about Yuuri. Perhaps, while he'd been lying around feeling sorry for himself, Mari had been tracking Yuuri's flight. Perhaps something had gone wrong - the plane was delayed, or there'd been some kind of accident, and Yuuri was -
He snatched up his phone, almost breathless with worry. "Hello?"
"Victor."
"Chris? What's up?"
"There's no way you called me just to say Happy Christmas. You don't even celebrate it."
"Chris - "
"Cut the crap, Victor. What's going on?"
Victor sighed. "You know me far too well."
"Not well enough to read your mind, Vic. Help me out here."
"Honestly, Chris, it's fine. I just - I need to talk to you at some point. But it doesn't need to be now! I mean, it's Christmas Eve, I don't want to disturb you and Masumi - "
"He's gone to sleep. Spit it out, darling."
"I'm... I've not been doing so well."
Silence from the other end of the phone. Victor's stomach sank. Of course he'd been wrong to start this conversation; it wasn't as if Chris was going to be able to solve everything, and anyway, it wasn't fair to him.
"Not to sound too harsh, but... no shit, Sherlock."
"What?"
"Come on, Vic. I've been telling you for years. Even when I was going through hell myself, I could see that you weren't in a good place." Chris paused. "Sorry, I'm not being very helpful, am I?"
"No, it's... It's fine. Sorry, I just... It's taken me a long time to get to this point, I guess. And now I'm here I don't have a clue what to do. I didn't really have a plan beyond calling you, to be honest."
"Sounds like a perfectly good plan to me. I'm sorry I was, er, distracted when you called me earlier," Chris laughed.
"Wait, you and Masumi were - oh my God, Chris. You should've told me. Actually, no, I'm glad you didn't, that would've been awful. Oh God. I'm... sorry, I guess?"
Chris chuckled. "No harm done. He's staying with me for a couple of weeks, so we'll have plenty of time to make up for - "
"Yes, yes, all right, I get the picture. I'm very happy for you, Chris, but I didn't call to talk about your sex life."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry, Vic. So you wanted my help?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. I suppose I... need your help with getting help? Like, I've never done this before, never been to therapy or anything - "
"Clearly."
"Quit it, Chris. I know I'm late to the party, you don't have to rub it in. I just... You're the only one I know who's done this whole therapy thing and actually got something out of it. Yuuri's... I know he used to go, but from what I've heard - it sounded horrible, Chris, it seemed to just make everything even worse. It wasn't - it wasn't like that for you, right?"
For a long time, Chris didn't answer. Then he sighed, and said, "Not in the end, no. In the end, things got better, and I know they wouldn't have done without therapy. Without you pushing me to go. But Vic..." He sighed again. "You have to understand that it's not easy, especially not at the beginning. I know it's not what you want to hear, but I have to be honest with you. It's really fucking hard work."
Hugging the towel around himself, Victor reached for Makkachin, desperate for her warmth. "What am I supposed to do when everything goes to shit? What do I do when I'm in pieces and Yuuri's in pieces and I have to be there for him and I can't because I can't even look after myself - "
"What have you been doing up until now?"
"Not enough!" He said the words so vehemently that Makkachin started and gave him a baleful look. He patted her on the head by way of apology, and tried again. "I've been failing him, Chris. He falls apart in front of me and I just stand there, not doing anything, because if I try to help him I'll just make things even worse! I'm useless to him. He deserves someone who can look after him properly - "
"Listen to me, darling. Yuuri can look after himself just fine. What he needs is someone who can support him - and it's no wonder you feel like you're falling short when you haven't been getting any support yourself. I know that telling you not to be so hard on yourself is like telling you to spend less on clothes - "
"I'm a public figure, Chris! If I slack off, there'll be a cover story in Secrets of the Stars crowing about how I've lost my touch. And anyway, look who's talking! I'm not the one who spent all my prize money on sunglasses."
"I have delicate eyes," Chris protested, affecting an indignant tone. "You wouldn't understand, coming from a place that gets three days of sunshine a year." He laughed. "What I'm trying to say, darling, is that you're already doing great, and the fact that you want to do better just shows how much he means to you."
"Okay, but how do I actually do better?"
"Have you tried asking him what he needs?"
"When he's in the middle of it, he's not exactly responsive. And when he comes out of it I don't want to risk bringing him back down, so I sort of don't mention it."
"You might find he doesn't mind talking about it, Vic."
"Even so, what am I supposed to do this time? I can't reach him without his phone. Mari said he's already in a state, and she basically threatened to murder me if I make things worse for him once he gets here."
"You need to talk to a Katsuki expert."
"Mari scares the shit out of me, Chris, I can't - "
Chris laughed. "I'm not talking about his family, Vic. I'm talking about someone who knows Yuuri better than both of us combined. Someone who put up with his massive and obvious crush on you for five years and is still best friends with him despite having to live through that."
"Oh thank God, you mean Phichit. I thought you were going to make me have awkward coach chitchat with Celestino or something."
"You'd still have done it if it was what Yuuri needed - "
"Of course!"
"Relax, darling, it wasn't a test. I know he means the world to you, and I don't doubt your commitment to him in the slightest."
Victor exhaled slowly. "So... I suppose I should go and talk to Phichit, then."
"He might be able to help, that's all I'm saying."
"Okay. Thanks, Chris. I'm sorry about... stuff."
"Nonsense. I'm always here for you, darling, you know that."
"Okay, well... Merry Christmas, then."
"Merry Christmas, Vic. And good luck."
As soon as Victor had hung up, he messaged Phichit while he still had the guts. Maybe it was selfish of him, but if he started thinking about time zones and trying to remember whether or not Phichit celebrated Christmas, he would lose what little courage he had.
Hey, can we talk? This is a Yuuri-related matter and I need your help.
Almost instantly, a FaceTime call came through. Holding the phone as far away from himself as he could, conscious of how much of a mess he looked, he clicked 'accept'.
"Hi Victor!" Phichit grinned as he appeared on the screen. Then his eyes went wide. "And, uh, hi, Victor's dick."
Victor looked down, puzzled, and realised far too late that at some point, the towel he had wrapped around himself had fallen off. "Oh fuck." The towel was nowhere to be seen and if he stood up to look for it things were not going to go well for him. "Phichit, oh my God, I'm so sorry." Fuck. The evening just kept getting better and better. "I didn't mean - "
"Didn't realise this was a booty call, Victor. I wonder what Yuuri will say." Smiling malevolently, Phichit fiddled with his phone.
"I'm sorry!" Victor threw down his phone, which didn't stifle the sound of Phichit's giggling nearly enough, and dashed through to the bedroom. He grabbed a shirt tried to force it on, only to realize that the arms were too short. What the - He looked at it properly and realised that it wasn't his shirt; it was Yuuri's.
It would probably make excellent kindling for Phichit's Instagram fire, but it didn't actually fit him, and Phichit had already seen far too much of his body as it was. He dug out a shirt and a pair of trousers that actually belonged to him and dressed as quickly as he could before rushing back through to the living room and picking up his phone.
Phichit was still smirking, and he now had a message notification. From Mari.
Victor gulped, and clicked through.
NIKIFOROV, EXPLAIN TO ME RIGHT NOW WHY CHULANONT JUST SENT MY BROTHER A DICK PIC. OF YOUR DICK.
"Phichit, what the hell?!"
Phichit grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "I'm doing Yuuri a service. I'm sure he misses you."
"He doesn't have his phone - "
"Then it'll be a surprise for him when he gets it back. Don't you dare delete it, it took me ages to find the right filter."
"I don't have his phone either!"
"Then who - "
"Mari does."
Phichit at least had the grace to look sorry about it. "Oops?"
"So if you get an invitation to my funeral in the next few days, you know what happened."
To his surprise, Phichit didn't laugh. His face fell almost exactly like Yuuri's tended to when his thoughts began to spiral, and his shoulders sagged. "I overstepped a boundary again, didn't I?"
He looked so stricken that Victor didn't quite know what to say. "I mean, I'd prefer to be told before you send a picture of my penis to someone else, yeah."
"I'm really sorry," Phichit said quietly. "I'm trying to get better at – all this. Boundaries, I mean. Yuuri's great at letting me know when I've messed up, and I am learning. But sometimes I forget."
"It's okay. Really." Victor tried a smile. "You weren't to know that Mari had Yuuri's phone." Oh right. Mari. Still have to deal with that. "Give me a sec, Phichit."
Long story short, I had a wardrobe malfunction, and Phichit says he's very sorry.
A wardrobe malfunction would imply you actually had a wardrobe to begin with, Mari shot back.
It won't happen again. Or at least not while Mari was still in possession of Yuuri's phone, anyway.
A horrible thought occurred to him.
You haven't read any of his other messages, have you? It was already going to be difficult to look Mari in the face next time they met; if she'd seen some of the things he'd written to Yuuri, well, he might as well pack up and move to Siberia immediately.
I have basic respect for my brother's privacy, unlike certain other people I could mention.
I suppose I walked right into that. But thank you. This was going to be one weird conversation to explain once Yuuri got his phone back.
"Sorry about that, Phichit," Victor said, flipping back to the FaceTime screen. "I think I might have earned myself a stay of execution, though."
"Oh good." Phichit's usual smile was back, although he still looked a little guilty. "Now, why did you want to talk about Yuuri?"
Why wouldn't I want to talk about him, Victor almost said. He's everything. But gushing about Yuuri would not change the fact that Yuuri was due home in a few hours, and Victor was terrified.
"It's embarrassing to admit this when we've been together for more than a year, but I still feel like I'm useless to him when he most needs me," Victor said after a moment.
Phichit frowned. "What do you mean?"
"When he gets anxious, I'm - I'm terrible at dealing with it. I only make it worse."
"You don't tell him to calm down or anything, do you?"
"Only once. I didn't make that mistake again." Victor winced at the memory.
"Okay, that's a good start," Phichit smiled. "It took me much longer to realise that wasn't helping."
"So what does help? Nothing I've tried seems to work - "
"Sometimes nothing does. If there was something that worked every time, he wouldn't have anxiety attacks, right?"
"Are you saying there's nothing I can do?"
"No. Not at all. Just being there for him will be helping him more than you know," Phichit assured him. "But sometimes that is all you can do."
"And at other times?"
"Reminding him to breathe is the most important thing. Get him to breathe with you. It might take a while, but that usually stabilises him."
"Sorry to be quizzing you like this, Phichit," Victor said, shamefaced.
"Not at all! We both want what's best for Yuuri, right?"
"Of course."
And Victor listened as Phichit related the things he'd learnt from his time with Yuuri in Detroit - the times Celestino, well-meaning but gauche, had sent Yuuri into a tailspin with an offhand comment during training; the exact ratio of coffee to sleep that Yuuri needed; the signs that would tell Victor when the best thing to do, no matter how much he wanted to help, was to give Yuuri space until he was ready to be around people again.
"Thanks, Phichit," he said as the list came to an end with the stern reminder not to let Yuuri near a bottle of champagne unsupervised. "I know I should have asked about all of this before - " Before I fell so catastrophically in love with him that I couldn't bear to bring it up in case he didn't want to talk about it and I accidentally ruined the one thing that's actually brought me sustained happiness in the past two decades?
Jesus, he really did need help.
Phichit waved away his concern. "You're asking now, which means you really care about him." He smiled. "You'll tell him I said Happy Christmas, won't you? I'm not gonna risk messaging while Mari's got hold of his phone, just in case."
Victor laughed. "Of course I will. Happy Christmas, Phichit."
As the screen went blank, Victor sat back on the sofa and sighed. Still ten hours until Yuuri arrived, but the apartment was as clean as it was realistically going to get, and he'd gone shopping a few days ago, so there were no more errands to run. He couldn't sit around here waiting any longer. The commercial clutter of the airport might at least distract him.
"Ready to go, Makka? We're gonna pick up your favourite person!"
Makkachin whuffed happily and bounded over to the door. Victor cast an eye over the apartment again, comforted by the thought that, next time he saw it, Yuuri would be there. He slipped into his coat and, letting Makkachin out, closed the door behind them.
...
The drive to the airport was just long enough for the silence to close in around him the way the air in the apartment did when Yuuri wasn't there to keep it from suffocating him. Makkachin was curled up on the back seat, asleep, too far out of his reach to provide any comfort.
Sighing, he flicked on the radio. He didn't care what was on; he just needed to hear another human voice.
The voice that emerged was that of some old American crooner; it was vaguely familiar, but Victor couldn't be bothered digging around in his memory to come up with a name or a face. He concentrated on the English words, straining to pick them out against the lush orchestral accompaniment.
I'll be home for Christmas
You can plan 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
Victor scowled and switched the channel.
...
Drumming his fingers on the grubby Formica tabletop, Victor wished he'd ordered something simpler.
This was the only airport cafe he'd found that didn't have Christmas music playing. But no sooner had he placed his order than the inoffensive Russian pop had changed to some maddening song about driving home for Christmas.
Everything seemed determined to remind him that, while other people were already at home with their loved ones, Yuuri was still stuck in a stuffy aeroplane, certainly uncomfortable and quite possibly anxious as hell. And it was Victor's fault for insisting that he move to St Petersburg, for uprooting him from his family and his home and dragging him across a continent and a half just to make himself happy.
He knew, rationally, that the move had been Yuuri's decision as much as his. But it was hard to convince himself of that, sometimes.
I'm driving home for Christmas
Oh, I can't wait to see those faces
He tangled his fingers in Makkachin's fur and hoped his food was going to be worth the wait.
...
Still six hours until Yuuri's plane was due to land. It hadn't been delayed again, which was a small blessing, but Victor didn't know what to do with himself anymore. Makkachin was sleeping on the floor next to his chair, exhausted from pacing alongside Victor up and down the long airport hallways. It hadn't tired him out nearly enough, and now he was trapped here until Makkachin woke up again.
His mind wandered to what Phichit had told him. You have to remind Yuuri that he's loved. He knows, but his brain makes him forget things. If you want him to thrive, you have to remind him.
When Yuuri finally arrived, Victor would hold him right and not let go. It's okay, my darling, it's okay, he would tell him - not to chase Yuuri's fears away, because only Yuuri could do that, but to help Yuuri stay on his feet as he weathered the storm. You're going to be all right. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. He would lace his fingers through Yuuri's, feeling the comforting clink of Yuuri's ring against his own. You are more precious to me than anything, my darling, my love, he would whisper in Yuuri's ear, drawing Yuuri's face towards his own so that Yuuri could not see the stares or hear the whispers. I'll never let anyone hurt you. He would kill anyone who dared to try. He would feel the warmth of Yuuri's skin beneath his fingers, marvelling at the miracle of him, at the fact that Yuuri was his, to have and to hold, and that he was allowed to be Yuuri's. You're perfect, Yuuri. I don't know what I did to deserve you.
Nor I you, whispered the Yuuri in his mind's eye.
Victor smiled and finally drifted into sleep.