CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY TWO
Viktor did as he said he would, waiting well over an hour, until he was certain his husband was deeply asleep, before moving even an inch. The entire time, however, he kept the man close, kept his arms around him, breathed in the scent of his hair and skin, taking in everything he could before he knew he'd have to leave.
This really was the worst possible time to decide to go somewhere without him... The Russian thought to himself, cringing nervously as he knew his time was running out, Everything that happened after I talked to Uncle Mimi just...makes this so hard...
He drew in a deep, quiet breath, and started to unravel from where he'd let himself get intertwined with his partner, gently putting a pillow under Yuri's head where it was previously resting on his chest. He gave a soft stroke against that raven hair, kissed his husband's forehead, and hesitantly moved away. He took a quiet shower, dressed, and grabbed the bag he'd barely finished packing before he let his husband take him. Snatching up his dress-shoes, he walked in socks towards the door to make less noise, and reached for the handle...
"...Viktor..."
Blue eyes stayed low, watching his hand's refection in the curved brass doorknob for a moment before looking up and then back, turning his head over his shoulder.
Yuri was barely peeking over the headboard, fingers curled over it in front of his cheeks, an anxious look on his face.
Viktor turned side-face, "You weren't supposed to wake up."
"I couldn't help it. No pillow in the whole world could ever be half as comfortable as you." He answered, pulling up a little higher to reach an arm out and wave down, beckoning the man closer.
The Russian couldn't help it, and turned on his heels to step back into the room, dropping everything in his hands so he could reach them around his partner instead. He could feel skinny arms coming up around him in return, and he held tighter, "You're just making this harder, Yuri."
"I could come with you to the airport and see you off properly." The younger figure offered, "Just give me two minutes to throw some clothes on an-"
"No...I'd never leave if you came with me." Viktor stopped him, pulling back and reaching up to push strands of black hair from his husband's face, "Or I'd find a way to smuggle you onto the plane. Either way, it wouldn't go well...I need you to go to Sapporo like we planned." There was a twinge of sadness in his voice, and Yuri could sense it.
"Okay..."
"Try to get some sleep tonight. I'll be watching the Exhibition from Moscow tomorrow." He huffed a slightly laugh, "...So give it your best despite this, alright?" A hand slid down the younger athlete's side, touching gently to the ripe, waffle-sized bruise on Yuri's outer hip.
"This makes it twice that you've left before the end of a competition to go home for family." Yuri pointed out, resting his forehead against the crook of his partner's neck and shoulder, arms still around his sides, "At least this time it isn't an emergency." He pulled back and nosed Viktor's chin, "Give Mikhail grief for being on that roof in the first place."
"I planned on it."
"I love you." He followed, lifting brown eyes to look into blue one last time.
"I love you, too," Viktor smiled and kissed him, "Bojus', čto mne pora. Do svidanija." Another kiss...then one more...and he finally pulled away, feeling Yuri's fingers trailing down his arm until they were at the limits of their reach with their fingertips. Viktor paused to gather the things he'd dropped, and shuffled his way back towards the door, glancing back one more time as he opened the door...smiled...and reluctantly stepped through.
Yuri slouched back down to the blankets, pulling up the pillow that Viktor had put under him before and squished it to his chest, "Ki wo tsukete."
Both of them suddenly felt incredibly alone.
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Yuri awoke the next morning under a pile of Viktor's clothes, the black and red runner-jacket wrapped over his head. He found it was the only way he could sleep; finding things that still had the man's scent on them and surrounding himself with them. The blankets themselves weren't enough.
His phone was ringing on the table ahead of him, and he fumbled a hand forward to find it, realizing it wasn't even his alarm-jingle...it was the sound of someone calling. It wasn't Viktor though...he was going to be on a plane for another 2 hours...it was Yurio.
Grumbling from listless-sleep, Yuri clicked into the call, "Hey."
"When are you coming down from your Ivory Tower?" The teen asked abruptly, "It's 10am. The Ice Dancers are about to start, and the Exhibition is an hour after."
"I know, I know..." Yuri grumbled, rubbing his eyes, "I'm coming."
"We'll meet you in the lobby."
"Alright..." He lowered the phone to his leg and closed out of the call, yawned, and looked around the room. It was an even bigger mess than he thought he'd left it...but apparently in his quest to find things to bury himself in, he'd opened literally every suitcase they had.
I'm going to spend half the afternoon just putting all this stuff back together... He thought nervously, hiding back behind the headboard so the mess would be out of sight. His phone suddenly beeped, noting a new text message, and when he looked at the screen...
Yuri Plisetsky:
[QUIT MOPING AND GET OUT OF BED]
He gaped at the message, looking around like he thought the teen was somehow spying on him, but then let his thumbs do the talking, [I AM]
[GO FASTER, WE'RE HUNGRY]
[Okay! Sheesh! I gotta shower first!]
[You've got 30 minutes, Katsudon, then we're leaving.]
Yuri raised a brow and gave the phone quite the look, but then huffed a sigh, [I'll be down in 15.]
[Setting a timer...now.]
"Chikusho!"
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The elevator was going as slow as it possibly could be, and when the doors finally opened to the Lobby level, Yuri was busting-ass to get out. Scrambling to stay on his feet as he vaulted towards the doors, he spotted Yurio and Otabek standing just outside. Yurio had his phone in-hand, watching the seconds tick by his timer.
"I'M HERE." Yuri heaved as he pushed through the revolving door, "I MADE IT."
The Russian teen just held up his phone so he could see; 16:43...44...45...46...
"AHHHHHHHHH."
"Forget it. Let's just go." Yurio said, pocketing the phone again...and pausing to gawk at the older skater, "You really are pitiful."
"Huh?" Yuri blinked at him, then at himself, "What, you're gonna make fun of me for wearing Viktor's team-jacket again?"
"Wearing it isn't going to change the fact that he's gone."
"I know that." Yuri grumbled, pulling the lapels up a little higher around his neck, sinking into them like a turtle pulling its head into its shell, "I just want to wear it."
"We'd better go." Otabek interrupted, trying to be the voice of reason between the three of them, "I don't want to skate on a full stomach."
The Russian Punk agreed and turned around, revealing the backpack behind him. Yuri gaped at it, but then shook his head and dismissed it.
He's not going back to the Ritz-Carlton after the show...I don't know why I thought he was carrying anything other than his travel gear.
They started moving towards the row of idling shuttles, looking for the one that would take them towards food.
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Not even First Class could offer Viktor respite from his nerves, and when he disembarked from the plane at Sheremetyevo International Airport...he looked like he'd been awake the entire time.
Did I sleep at all? He wondered, looking around the terminal like there was some kind of weird Instagram filter overtop of it, making everything look like it was bubble-wrapped, Can I see sounds now? What day is it...?
He turned his head and started making his way for the car-rental desk...only to stop half-way in a daze and look instead for the exit. A taxi would probably be a better idea. When he found one, he practically fell against it, holding out a piece of paper with his Uncle's address on it and dropping into the back seat. He wasn't sure that he noticed when the car started moving, since when he sat up again to look around, they were far enough away from the airport that they were inside the city proper.
[Rough flight?] The cabby asked, then cracking a laugh at his expense, [Or did you have too much to drink before you landed?]
Viktor blinked one eye at a time in his daze, but reached up a hand to rub his face a little, [I just couldn't sleep.]
[What do you call what you just did back there then?] Eyes were in the rear-view mirror.
Viktor wasn't really in the mood for small-talk, and leaned his head back against the seat as he yawned again, and closed his eyes, [Death by exhaustion.]
When he opened them again, it was only because the cabby was trying to get him out of the back seat, shaking him by the shoulder. Slate-blue irises yielded to the light of the early, overcast morning sky, pupils getting tiny. He blinked a few times to adjust, rummaged around in his pocket for his wallet, handed the man the money he was owed, and stepped out of the car. Looking around, Viktor realized he was in front of a high-rise apartment building...and a rather fancy one at that.
[This is the right place?] He asked idly.
[This is the address you gave me. Whether or not it's the place you're looking for? Who knows.] The man answered, getting back into the cab and starting to move away.
Viktor watched it pull out of the parking lot, but then turned his eyes back up at the building. He vaguely recalled how his Uncle had mentioned having a time-share in Moscow.
I didn't think it would be this fancy though. Who would want to pay rent on a place they don't even live in? He paused then, recalling even in his exhausted haze how he was still making monthly payments on the hovel in Barcelona that he'd leased to claim residence for his and Yuri's marriage certificate, and puffed a laugh at his own expense. He shrugged his bag a bit higher onto his shoulder and started walking towards the doors.
There was a weird feeling of déjà vu as he moved through the building. Not necessarily because of the way the place itself looked...that was all brand new...but the feeling of going to where he knew his Uncle was staying, even if only temporarily. He went up the elevator to the 14th floor, looked back and forth to orient himself to the numbers going down each hall, and eventually found himself outside the door he'd been looking for. It felt strange then, even worse than before, the familiarity of knocking on that panel, knowing who was behind it. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment and shook his head, thinking he was just overtired, and raised his hand up to rap his knuckles on the white-varnished entrance.
He waited a moment, taking a step back, and soon heard the sound of locks being undone on the other side. When the door opened though, Viktor tilted his head, not seeing the man he'd expected.
Instead, he saw himself.
"...Počemu ty ostavljaeš' menja?" He asked quietly, eyes closing, too heavy to hold open anymore.
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The silver-haired child at the door was in complete hysterics, but the 34-year-old looking down on him knew it was his fault and could do nothing for it.
"Počemu ty ostavljaeš' menja!?" The boy screamed again, tears falling from his face as he rushed in through the entrance hall, latching to the man's leg like he thought it would stop him.
[Vivi...] Mikhail said, his voice ragged, [I can't stay here anymore. I'm sorry.]
[It's not fair!] The boy sobbed, words broken up by his tiny body trying to catch a breath between cries, [You have to stay!]
The 1989 Volkswagen Jetta was packed full to bursting already, the driver's side door open and the engine already on. Mikhail kneeled down where the child had blocked his way out of his house, pulling him into a tight hug, feeling how his cheeks were sopping wet with tears. He cupped one hand around the boy's head, trying not to cry as well, [Maybe when you're older, you'll understand.] He pulled back and looked into the slate-blue eyes, tinted red from hysteria, and tried to rub a few tears away with one thumb, [But it won't be forever. I'll come back one day and see you, okay?]
[WHEN!?] The boy begged, tiny fingers clenched to the older man's jacket.
Mikhail looked out past the child's shoulder, seeing Tatiyana and Konstantin there, the big black dog that followed Viktor everywhere...it even seemed like half the town had come to watch him go. None were as desperate for him to stay as Viktor though. He turned grey-green eyes back down on his tormented nephew, [Vivi...I don't know...]
[THEN DON'T GO! YOU CAN'T GO!]
[I HAVE to. There's nothing LEFT for me here. I'd take you with me if I could, but...]
[JUST TAKE ME! I WANT TO GO WHERE YOU ARE!]
[Viktor, don't torture your Uncle that way...] Tatiyana said, coming into the doorway and reaching down to pick up her hysterical son, [We've told you already. Mimi wants to go abroad. You have to stay here.]
It really wasn't so simple, but Mikhail wasn't going to complicate things for the boy. The dog barked where he stood in the muddy roadway; it was summer, but it was often still wet in the woods. The silver man finally stepped out, pausing only to kiss his sister's cheek and muss his nephew's hair one more time before making a hasty retreat to the waiting car. His heart wrenched to hear Viktor screaming all over again, writhing and wiggling in his mother's arms until she had no choice but to put him down. The door closed with half a slam, and started pulling away, making a big U-Turn in front of the weather-worn house and heading down the drive to the old main road in front of it. He turned his eyes up to the rear-view mirror to see the boy running after the car.
[UNCLE MIMI!]
He turned his eyes away for a second, only to turn them back again and see Viktor trip and fall face-first in the mud. Losi bounded up next to him and whined, tail wagging anxiously as Tatiyana went rushing after him as well to hoist him up. Konstantin just stayed here he was, leaning lazily on a tall walking-stick, a pipe hanging from his mouth.
The boy was just crying out incoherently after that, reaching for the car as it disappeared from sight.
"...Ne hodite...Djadja Mimi..." Viktor mumbled, face-down on the couch in front of the big flat-panel television.
Mikhail glanced at him from the kitchen, hearing something but not sure what. He finished drying the glass in his hands before filling it with water from the fridge-front filter-tap, and walked it out into the livingroom to set it on the coffee table. His iPad was next to it, connected to the Cup of China Stream already; it was playing reruns from the day before, showing highlights of all the medaling skates from each of the disciplines before the Exhibition. The older Russian sat on the edge of the couch and pat his nephew's shoulder, [Hey, Vivi...you okay?]
"...Huh...?"
[You were mumbling something. Are you sick?] He pressed his wrist to the younger man's forehead, but found him to feel normal, [No fever... When was the last time you slept?]
[...Uh...Saturday night...?]
[I'm surprised. I thought you were going to say Friday. You're hopeless.]
Viktor pushed up with one hand, at least managing to flip onto his back, [...I made it...]
[Barely.] His elder chided, [You got to the door and then fell in. If I hadn't been standing there when I was, you'd have gone face-first into the door.] He reached a hand over and brushed the skater's bangs from his eyes, [Have you called Yuri to tell him you landed?]
[...What is phone...?]
[Jeeze, you're completely delirious. I'll call him then so he doesn't worry.] Mikhail said, standing up again to go find his phone in the bar-area of the kitchen. A moment or two later, he got the answer, and waved at where he saw the younger skater on the other end of the FaceTime feed, "Hey Yuri, I thought I should let you know that your husband made it in one piece."
"Yeah? That's good. Where is he?" Yuri wondered; he was in the prep area of the Sports Arena, with Yurio standing just behind him talking to someone off-screen. The skater turned his head and poked at the blonde's shoulder, "Hey, it's Mikhail, say hi."
"Dobroe utro, stáryy perdún." He said, turning his head back and waving with a smirk.
"Watch your mouth, kid. I'm not that old." Mikhail retorted; at least it all seemed to be in good fun. He was carrying his phone around to the couch again, and turned it so the face-plate would face the exhausted figure practically writhing on his back, "Say hi, Viktor."
"Yuuurriiii..." He moaned, trying to sit up.
Mikhail shook his head and sat back where he'd been before, and held the phone more at his nephew's level so he wouldn't look so ridiculous.
Yuri seemed to think it was a bit funny, "Viktor, you look like you've been awake for days. You should go to sleep."
"Sleeping is when the remembers come back." He answered, not entirely aware of what he'd said, "The Exhibition-"
"It can wait. You can always watch it later." Yuri explained, looking a bit worried then, "You really need to get some rest. I'll call back when Yura and I are about to leave from the airport, okay? It'll be in the afternoon for you by then, instead of practically dawn."
"It's 8am here, Yuri." Mikhail corrected idly from behind the screen, "Not that it really makes much of a difference, but...yeah."
"Davaaaaaaiii..." Viktor called, reaching for the screen like he thought he could reach through it, "I'll stay awake until I know what show you picked...!"
"I picked the shortest one! Now go to bed!"
"Is your leg bothering you still?"
"Not as much as it did right after my Free Skate, but it's still sore, yeah." The younger skater answered, "Now please go to bed. I'll worry about you if you don't. You know what happens when I worry!"
"What? Nooooo. Don't worry! I'm fine!"
Mikhail finally turned the phone around to face him, "I'll fix him up. Go do your thing. Congrats on belting out Gold, too. That was one Hell of a show you put on yesterday."
Yuri's cheeks flushed a little, and he smiled brightly, "Thanks! And sorry if it seems like you're babysitting him. I know that's probably not what you expected when he said he was coming to help you out."
"He'll be fine once he's had some time to recover from the weekend." The elder answered, noting that the LiveStream was starting to connect to the event, "Oh, the Exhibition stream is finally working. Have fun! I'm looking forward to what you've got in store for us."
"Alright, and thanks. Bye Uncle Mikhail. GET SOME SLEEP, VIKTOR."
The video ended, and the screen went dark again a moment later. Mikhail set it face-down on the table and took up the iPad in its place, moving to slouch back into the corner just ahead of where his nephew was still splayed out on his back. He barely had a moment to cross his ankles and get comfortable before he felt Viktor drop his head on his lap, facing the television and desperately trying to keep his eyes open.
"Y-Yuri...dav..ai..."
The elder Russian shook his head and sighed, patting the younger's shoulder, "Go to sleep, Vivi. You got what you needed."
Viktor was out before he'd even finished hearing the words.
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Bojus', čto mne pora = I'm afraid I have to get going
Ki wo tsukete = Take care
Počemu ty ostavljaeš' menja? = Why are you leaving me?
Ne hodite...Djadja Mimi = Don't go, Uncle Mimi
Dobroe utro, stáryy perdún = 'Morning, old man/geezer