sorry this took so long to update- college has been eating me. enjoy a longer chapter as an apology. I'll be working on updating Haze next- the chapter might not come out for a week or two, but it's coming, I promise.
tw: explicit self harm references in this chapter, along with mentions of suicidal thoughts. Please don't read this if you're in a bad place, and please try to resist the urge if you struggle with self-destructive impulses and the need to trigger yourself. My tumblr is either milkhsake or otabeshka if anyone needs to talk- i don't really post on either of them, however I'm always logged in and get message notifications
The 5am sun was peeking over the buildings, casting a faint orange glow onto the park in which he sat. Clouds of lilac, blue, pale pink were faint wisps in the sky, reflecting the rays and dancing in the slight breeze that made his hair blow softly and nearly catch on the end of his cigarette. He groaned, flicked them away again, tucked blond strands behind his ears. Exhaustion and that well-known feeling of numbness were slowly starting to settle in his bones once more.
With tired eyes he glanced down at his right arm. Yuri was left-handed, a trait he must have got from his deadbeat father's side of the family, a trait that made life that slightest bit more frustrating when it came to tackling right-handed scissors and smudging the ink of his pen as he wrote. His right hand was basically useless. Many times he wished he had the talents of ambidexterity, and many times he had rolled his eyes at the awareness that he'd have to put effort in to developing such a skill.
Even though he couldn't grip a blade properly with his right hand, his left hand functioned perfectly well in that sense, leaving his right arm the waiting victim of his 2am breakdowns and panic attacks and 6-hour-long episodes of dissociation. It was lying on his lap now, looking much more gruesome than it actually was thanks to the chunks of dried blood that clung to the edges of his cuts. Of course he had forgotten to pick up his antiseptic wipes when he practically threw himself out of his bedroom window a few hours previously.
At least they had mostly stopped bleeding now, save for a couple of stubborn ones which wouldn't stop teasing him with those red droplets no matter how many times he wiped it away with his sleeve. The stung like fuck, all of them did, partly due to the fact that his blade was pretty dull but mostly because he had cut on top of half-healed wounds and old scars.
It was a part of the process, he knew that. The sting reminded him of his pain and his fuck-ups, et cetera et cetera, however at this point he just wanted to be able to push his sleeve down again without wincing so he could go home and take care of them properly. It was a Sunday night (well, technically Monday morning now) and school started in a few hours. Mister Nikiforov wouldn't appreciate a student showing up covered in red stains.
Yet a stronger part of him just… didn't care. Didn't care about class, didn't care about his mother's reactions, didn't care about rubbing cream into his cuts and bandaging them to protect them from infection. He just wanted to sit on the bench in the park, watch the sun come up, and forget.
Honestly, he didn't care about himself at all.
Maybe it had been the last thing she had said to him that prompted this sudden realisation. For the past four years of his life he had been so desperately clinging to any hope within arm's reach; Otabek's love, the idea of finally passing his exams, wishing that maybe someday his Grandpa would miraculously regain health and the two of them could escape. Even tiny things like a hot meal every now and then, courtesy of his best friend's lunch box. Hell, if you told him 6 months ago that the canteen would soon start supplying free bottles of water, he would have marked the date into his calendar and used that as his reason to live. For four years Yuri had been relying on his survival instinct and doing whatever he could to come out alive.
And now… he didn't know why he cut anymore. It used to be so he could write his pain on his skin and use that agony as a distraction from suicide. Every cruel word and self-deprecating thought could be carved into his flesh and it hurt, it scarred and it bled like a motherfucker, but at least he knew that it was real. He knew that his pain was real and he knew that he was real. He bled like a human being and he could come out strong like a human being.
Now, as he was sitting on the cold metal bench, looking at the mess on his forearm and the blood that glittered in the orange glow, he didn't feel that sensation of calm and vague strength that usually came after a relapse. Instead he just felt empty.
All the warmth from Otabek or a hot meal couldn't melt the sharp-edged ice block that had made its home in his soul.
"Why do you even try? Why haven't you given up yet?" That was what she had said to him. Alcohol-stained breath and alcohol-stained teeth snarling at him, blond hair a ratty mess, glass eyes staring at him and daring him to answer.
And then he broke, he supposed. Who knew. He thought that realising that he had given up would have come as a shock, prompted a meltdown and a suicide attempt. In reality he had just shrugged it off and labelled it as a new stage in his life.
Before he was Yuri Plisetsky: abuse and self-harm victim, eyes of a soldier and heart of a survivor. Now he was an empty shell whose eyes were fading and his heart was choking on the nicotine and tar he inhaled with every puff of his cigarette.
Soon children would be waking up, dragging their parents out to drop them off at school, walking past the park. Perhaps wanting to stop for a quick push on the swings. Yuri couldn't subject little kids to the sight of him bleeding on a bench- he was an asshole but he wasn't heartless, for fucks sake- and so he forced his legs to take his weight and function long enough to take him back to the run down two-bedroom apartment. (His Grandpa had one room, his mother had the other. Yuri had converted the broom cupboard into an extremely uncomfortable den which included a few blankets, pillows, a string of half-working fairy lights and some cardboard boxes which held his clothes. Otabek had never been around his house and his 'bedroom' was one of the reasons why Yuri prohibited him from doing so.)
When he silently stepped through the threshold of his apartment, it took everything in him to resist throwing himself on the couch and passing out for 6 hours, so he could get the rest his body craved and so he could avoid going to school. Friday had been difficult to struggle through- Viktor was being extra annoying lately and insisted on asking everyone weirdly personal questions about their lives- and the thought of having to sit through yet another week of bullshit made his heart sink. Not to mention he now had to go to counselling on Wednesdays.
But he never looked forward to the weekend, either. How could he when all he received was beatings and new cuts and a nudge towards ending it all? School was torture, but staying at home was terrifying. At least at school he had food to eat and a friend to give it to him.
In the end, Yuri turned away from the couch, lazily bandaged his arm up, and tugged on his school uniform. His hair was greasy and he could use a shower, and he knew the school building would be empty at such an early time, but he didn't want to be at home anymore. He'd end up hurting himself again- or worse. He didn't want Grandpa to find his grandson-slash-carer bleeding out in the bathroom.
He stepped out into the early morning sunrise once more and regretfully made his way towards the promise of Nikiforov's infuriating smile.
(line break)
As much as he hated early mornings, Viktor couldn't deny that waking up in his boyfriend's arms made the ordeal less… well, less of an ordeal. More of an inconvenience that left him mentally begging for a couple of hours more sleep or at least a mug of coffee. He wasn't exactly a sleep-until-noon kind of person- the thought of wasting an entire morning more often than not encouraged him to get out of bed- but 6am was just ridiculous. Birds were barely awake at 6am. If birds weren't awake, then Viktor saw no reason why he should be awake.
The way Yuuri would nuzzle into his chest and mumble nonsensical affirmations made everything that little bit more bearable. The two of them would lay still for ten minutes, just inhaling each other's scent and smiling as their breathing synchronised. Eventually they would have to get up, argue over who was going to shower first, and eat breakfast before stumbling out the door towards their shared car. But until then, those precious few minutes just existing together did a great job In lifting Viktor's mood.
"How have your first few days been, love?" He asked through a mouthful of cornflakes, glancing up at Yuuri. The Japanese man was sipping his second mug of tea and looking like he wanted nothing more than to just curl back up in bed.
"It was good. Made a few appointments with students, most of them seem pretty co-operative. My training instructor told me that you'll always get a few stubborn kids who refuse help, but I've yet to come across that problem." He smiled as he talked, and Viktor couldn't help but swoon at the slight curve of his lip and the way the steam from the tea fogged up his glasses.
"Well, wait until you get someone from my class." Viktor laughed slightly. "They barely talk about the work they're set, let alone about personal problems." He quickly recounted over everything he had learned about his students in the past week; how defensive and rude they were, how quick they were to anger, how even the quiet ones like Minami or Guang Hong looked like they were about to have a breakdown at any given moment. "And trust me, they have a lot of personal problems."
Yuuri exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes. "Yeah? What do you know about them?"
"Y'know… technically I'm not allowed to discuss students outside of work."
"Well, yeah, but I'm the counsellor. You'll have to tell me at some point anyway. What difference would it make if we're at home, and not on school property?" He did make a good point, and Viktor nodded in agreement.
"That's true. Well, I don't know a whole lot about them. I'm not going to use names to lift a little bit of guilt, but in a nutshell: one of them came in with a black eye on Thursday, most of them seem to have anger problems, a couple are extremely hyperactive. Like, vibrating-in-chair hyperactive. Constantly forgetting what they're doing or getting distracted easily." Of course he was describing Minami and, to some extent, also Emil (who drove Viktor crazy with how often he would stand up to go and collect some paper or stationary, forget what he was doing halfway, and turn back around. Rinse and repeat three times every period and it was easy to understand why Viktor always came home with a stress headache).
"Sounds like ADHD. I can't be certain based on second-hand descriptions, though. Anything else?"
Viktor pressed his lips together and weighed up the pros and cons of disclosing the other things he had seen. On the plus side, it would take a load off his chest- keeping such secrets to himself was weighing on him greatly- and he would be able to get a professional counsellors opinion. Yuuri could give him tips regarding what to look out for, what to do in times of crisis, when to intervene and take things into his own hands.
On the negative side… What if Yuuri freaked out and insisted Viktor contact the parents? What if both of them would face negative consequences for discussing the private details of the students? What if they both realised they were way out of their depth and had no idea where to go next?
No, that was stupid. Yuuri wouldn't freak out- he was a professional. Nobody would find out that they had been talking about the students, and besides, like Yuuri said, Viktor would have to tell him at some point. And keeping it in was really dragging him down.
If the positives outweighed the negatives, then…
"There's this boy. He's very quick to anger, he's very verbally violent. Threatens to beat people up a lot, stuff like that. Would probably act on those words, too, considering how frustrated he gets at the smallest things. On Friday his pencil snapped when he was writing and he threw it at the window."
A quiet hum came from Yuuri, who was looking at Viktor over the edge of his mug. "So he has anger problems. Usually relatively simple to help with. Teach them coping methods, alternative ways to release their frustration. First thing you learn in training. Basic stuff most of the time."
"Yeah, but… I think there's… more to it? Kind of? I don't know, babe, I'm not the counsellor. He just… He has, like…"
Viktor flapped his hands, struggling to get the words out. He didn't know why it was so hard to say. Just one sentence, just a few words to reveal what he had noticed, yet they seemed to get caught in his throat and refused to move. As if there was something prohibited about it. Something forbidden, almost, and he didn't know whether that feeling was from societal stereotypes or a weird hybrid of fear and concern. In the end he swallowed deeply and settled on word vomiting.
"It was Wednesday, right, and we're painting the classroom. Like I told you I was planning to do with them, get rid of the graffiti and all. Everything is going great, I'm stood in the corner observing, and all of a sudden I hear this agonised-sounding whimper. Turns out it's coming from Y- …the boy. The one with the anger problems. He's curled up on the floor, he's fucking hyperventilating and digging his nails into his arms, and I'm like, 'what the fuck? What happened? What do I do?'"
"Right, okay. Well-"
"Oh, no, that isn't everything. So I tell the other kids to get out, go down to the canteen or the yard or whatever. Everyone leaves except his friend. Who's also kind of strange but that's another story. The boy is tensed and trembling at this point, and his friend is telling me not to touch him. So I don't. Takes him about ten minutes before he relaxes and finally looks up at me."
"What does he say?"
"That's the weird thing. Obviously all of it is weird, but for a second his façade just… drops. He looks like a scared kid and not a messed-up teenager who insists on making himself look unapproachable. Then I asked him if something was bothering him at home and he gets all defensive and angry again."
A small silence passed between them as Yuuri processed the new information and Viktor chewed on a hangnail. It was no secret that Viktor was teaching a notoriously difficult class- everyone knew that class the students of class E2 were on everyone's 'avoid at all times' list- but he still felt bad putting this all on Yuuri. Especially so early into his job.
It seemed like hours had gone by before either of them spoke again. Viktor was well aware that he was immediately throwing Yuuri into the deep end, that he was asking a lot from his boyfriend. When it was barely 7 o'clock in the morning the last thing anyone wanted to do was analyse the mental health of a teenager. Even a trained counsellor had trouble dealing with some things; Yuuri often came home stressed and upset while he was in training, usually because he had been dealing with a particularly troubling case or because the accumulation of small problems and dilemmas had built up to an unbearable level. Talking about everything from schizophrenia to mild anxiety as a job was destined to become difficult to deal with.
That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy his job, however. Viktor knew how much he loved his field of work, how much he had wanted to help others ever since he was a kid himself, how much determination and effort Yuuri put in. When he got his degree and landed a job at Sandbrook high it was celebration-worthy and one of the happiest days of his life. His endless love and compassion was one of the many things that had ultimately made Viktor fall in love with him.
Yet, as the two of them sat and stood in the kitchen, struggling to keep their eyes open, Viktor couldn't help but feel bad for just… not keeping this information to himself. Explaining how his students were always angry and restless hadn't seemed like a big deal. What teenager wasn't angry and restless? Yuuri had taken that information in his stride and had immediately proposed the concept of ADHD, he didn't hesitate to explain how anger management worked within therapy. Those first few sentenced had been easy to get out and Viktor was grateful to have someone to listen.
But explaining in detail the breakdown of one of his students had been emotionally exhausting for him, let alone Yuuri, who was no doubt mentally calculating what to do next, how to approach this, the who-why-what of the situation. That was what he had to do every second of the working day and Viktor had promised himself that he wouldn't add to that.
And the breakdown wasn't everything. There was that one other thing too, the thing that was eating him away most. Every time he closed his eyes for the past couple days he kept seeing that image branded behind his eyelids. He didn't want to tell Yuuri, although at the same time he didn't want to keep it to himself, drowning in concern and uncertainty.
Viktor had promised to be a good teacher to these kids and he wasn't about to give up this easily.
"And one more thing." The silver-haired man eventually broke the silence and looked up to meet brown eyes. "He... His sleeves rode up slightly. Just a tiny bit. But his wrists had... They were, like... covered in self harm scars." That part was the hardest to say. Viktor hadn't dealt with those kinds of situations before, he was aware of what self harm was, obviously, as most people were, but that Wednesday afternoon was the first time he had come face-to-face with the reality. After he had stuttered through his sentence he became instantly fascinated by a piece of dry skin on his lip and was desperately trying to peel it off with his teeth.
Yuuri placed his mug in the sink and ran his hands through his still slightly damp hair. "New or old?"
"Hmm?"
"Like, were they fresh cuts or white scars?"
"Oh! Well, they were white. He's a pale kid, I would have noticed if he had fresh cuts."
"Alright. When you say 'covered', are you exaggerating? Were there a cluster of them or just a few?"
Yuuri was clearly invested now, and he didn't even look annoyed. His elbows were positioned on the table, he was leaning towards Viktor, and he had a genuine expression of interest and concern on his face. All of these things were a great comfort for a very self-conscious Russian.
"I mean… I didn't count. Only a couple of inches of skin were exposed. Though I could tell that they extended past the cuff of his sleeves. I'd say there were a significant amount, maybe ten or twenty? Maybe more? They were all thin and faded and I could barely see them even when I was up close. It was just strange and it's been eating me; I don't know what to do, or even if I should do anything, I don't know if this is an ongoing thing or it happened years ago or-"
"Babe, it's okay. You're not the counsellor; you don't have to deal with this alone." Yuuri placed a comforting hand on the other's forearm and stroked his thumb up and down on pale skin.
"Yeah… Yeah, I know. It was just so weird. And apparently, his entire breakdown was just because he didn't want to do Sport class and so I…" He froze suddenly and winced, realising the mistake he had just made. "Oh. Fuck."
So much for confidentiality.
"Are you talking about… Yuri Plisetsky? The student I'll be seeing every Wednesday because you excused him from Sport?"
"Uh… Perhaps?"
"God, love, you're awful at being subtle." A small chuckle escaped Yuuri's lips and Viktor knew that he wasn't mad. "Well, okay. I'm very against contacting home until I know a lot more about the situation; some school counsellors don't realise that calling the parents can make things worse. I'll keep an eye on him. Talk to him a bit during our sessions."
"Good luck. He's a very closed-off kid. Something tells me that he's been through a lot."
"Viktor. I'm trained. I'm good at my job. Closed-off kids are my specialty." The Japanese man winked cutely and patted his boyfriend's hand. "Come on, move your ass. We gotta get to work. I've got paperwork to do and you've got marking to finish."
(line break)
They pulled up in their usual parking space, next to an empty bank of grass and nowhere near the pavement that snaked around the outside of the school in an effort to avoid vandalism to the beloved vehicle. It was an old thing, nowhere near the grand automobile that Viktor dreamed of owning, but it did the trick. It also wasn't worth a lot so they wouldn't be losing very much if some brat decided to throw a brick through the windscreen.
Very few people had arrived- that much was obvious by the fact that Viktor could count how many lights were on in the building on one hand- however the main entrance was unlocked, and that was all that mattered. A couple of janitors and cleaners nodded a greeting as the two men made their way towards Viktor's classroom. Students didn't start arriving until 8:30am usually (save from those who got in early to do homework), so Yuuri could hang out until that time. Sip on a third cup of tea to stop himself from passing out as he watched Viktor flick through half-finished essays and frown at the doodles that decorated Emil's work.
"Don't get me wrong, he's a nice kid," Viktor had said one evening while recounting the masterpiece that was a biro-sketch of Michele on a pogo stick, "but god he's nuts. You know what he said to me the other day? He looked me right in the eye, pointed at me, and just went 'math is for capitalists, and I refuse to participate.' He then literally stood up, as if he was going to leave, and pouted at me when I told him to sit the fuck down."
"Oh, wow. Do you know much about him?" Yuuri had been hiding a smile behind his hand and trying to imagine sharing a class with this kid.
"Not really. He doesn't seem too… troubled. I think he got kicked out of his normal class for shouting out too much and pissing off the teacher."
"Hmm… might be an attention thing. A lot of students who are acting up do it because they want someone to notice them."
Viktor had nodded thoughtfully in response. "That makes sense. I'll see if I can find out more. It's just hard when I've got ten other students to keep an eye on."
When he had first joined the class, Viktor thought that managing eleven students would be easy, especially since the average class had way over twenty. But then again he didn't consider that the average class wasn't full of nightmare teenagers who insisted on doing the complete opposite to everything he said. '"Pack your bags up, it's time to go"' had turned into '"no, Jean, I did not mean 'tip everything onto the floor"' far too many times.
As the two of them were approaching the E block, he couldn't help but feel like he was losing. He had yet to make much progress with them- sure, his 'rules' had created the foundations of a halfway-decent class- but he wasn't making any significant differences. At this point he had imagined that they would all respect him at least a tiny bit, that they would pretend to be interested in simultaneous equations and Lord of the Flies. Yet they remained as stubborn and rude as ever.
He had to remind himself that he had barely been there for a week. These kids were used to being continuously abandoned by teacher after teacher, they had never had anyone to make them believe in themselves, they were dealing with things outside of school and felt like they had no one to turn to. Deep down, Viktor understood that. Giving up now would go against everything he believed in. He just wished that he had a magic wand and could make everything okay.
"The E block is so quiet. Ghostly, almost." Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself as if the department was five degrees colder than the rest of the school. You had to ascend a small flight of stairs until you came to face the classrooms, all except one being empty at all times. Some strange, unidentified feeling had prevented Viktor from looking into the rooms of E1 and E3-E6. As if they were sacred territory.
A stupid feeling, of course, but when he could hear the pattering of rain outside and it was only just past 7am, he couldn't help but agree that there was a chilling presence about the place.
"There's no ghosts here, babe, don't worry."
The smile didn't quite meet his eyes.
And the smile immediately dropped from his lips when they reached the top of the stairs and saw a small, pale figure sitting outside of the brown door which had 'E2' carved into the wood.
They had their head between their knees, arms hugging their legs, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Their skin looked paper-white against the dark oak door and a few strands of blond hair had escaped from the brain that draped across their shoulder. Obviously they were a student, since they were dressed in a very ragged version of the ugly forest-green and black uniform, yet they looked so small that Viktor wondered if one of the infants had stumbled into the E block instead of the A block.
Yuuri quirked an eyebrow at him and took a step forward, but Viktor quickly held his hand out to stop him. The person hadn't seemed to notice that they were there.
There was something familiar about them. Maybe something about their posture, or their shoes (scuffed-up black combat boots; definitely against uniform regulations), or the blond hair, or the way their nails seemed to be digging into the flesh of their calves…
"…Yuri? Yuri Plisetsky?" This time it was Viktor who took a step forward, then another, and another until he was only a metre away from the teenager. His boyfriend had followed him but Viktor barely noticed; he was concentrated solely on the person before him. The fact that there was no response was instantly concerning and he placed a hand on the blazer-covered shoulder.
Sandbrook's uniform was hideous, it looked uncomfortable, and it was overpriced. The blazers had thick shoulder pads sewn into them to help retain their shape and make the students look 'smarter', or something like that. All Viktor knew was that everyone complained about them and it made them look like militant officers.
Even through that thick layer, Viktor could clearly feel the sharp shoulder bones and worryingly-prominent collar bones as he gently touched the crumpled teen. He daren't apply any more pressure or move his hand even a millimetre, since Yuri didn't seem like someone who would appreciate physical contact, however the few seconds that he spent with his hand on his shoulder did nothing to ease his concerns. It was an odd thing to recognise, perhaps, and he had bigger immediate problems than a bony 16-year-old. But something about it made him remember things that he hadn't even payed attention to before: the hollowness of his cheekbones, the gap between his thighs, how white his knuckles turned when he clenched his hands due to skin pulling taught against bone.
Viktor was a clever man. No matter how much Yuri refused to speak, how adamant he was to keep everything bottled up, there was no denying some things. Scars and hollow cheekbones were visible clues that something had been wrong for a long, long time.
Luckily they could clearly hear Yuri's breathing, which was even and relaxed and suggested that he was asleep. The two men frowned, wondering why he was here so early, and above all why he was sleeping against the classroom door, and made eye contact in a silent question of "what do we do?". Waking him up seemed cruel and they ran the risk of scaring him. Leaving him uncomfortably curled up on the dirty carpet floor seemed worse.
"Hey, Yuri? Are you here with us?" Yuuri crouched down and lightly shook the blond's other shoulder. "Yuri? It's me, Mr Katsuki, and Viktor. Can you look at us, please?" His voice was soft, not demanding or aggressive, and slightly louder than a whisper. In the close proximity there was no way that it wouldn't wake Yuri.
Sure enough, the boy groaned and wrapped his arms tighter around his legs, a sign that he was waking and that Viktor and Yuuri should back off. They removed their hands and shuffled backwards a couple of steps so they wouldn't crowd or overwhelm him with the sight of two faces staring down. Viktor actually fell back on his heels and positioned himself cross-legged, hoping it would make him look more approachable.
Green eyes blinked tiredly, and a pale hand reached up to wipe the remains of sleep away and push the hair out of his face. He was confused, that much was clear, judging by the frown on his face and the way he was looking around him as if he had forgotten where he was. Viktor and Yuuri were the last shadows he cast his eyes to- and when he did, those irises instantly widened out of fear or embarrassment or surprise and a squeak escaped his throat.
In this position, Viktor could easily see the dark circles of fatigue that sat under his eyes, the painfully dry skin on his lips, the way his skin had a somewhat grey tinge to it. Okay, maybe the grey was due to the bad lighting coming from the occasionally-flickering bulb above them; however there was no denying how unhealthy he looked. An exhausted skeleton in green uniform. And the way he was just staring, frozen in place as if he had forgotten to move only added to the concern in Viktor that intensified every passing day.
"Hey, hey. It's okay. It's okay, Yuri, you can relax. We're here to help." Yuuri's verbal comforts were always so much more eloquent than Viktor's were and he was grateful that they had decided to walk to class together.
The blond relaxed slightly at the words, and cast his eyes to the floor. He made a sound of discomfort and rubbed his hands over his face again. Ragged breathing suggested that he was either on the edge of a panic attack or had a sore throat- probably both- and it took a few moments before he could speak. In the meantime he alternated between bending his fingers backwards (ignoring Yuuri's gentle scolds of "hey, don't do that") and picking at his nails.
Which was an interesting observation. Viktor made a mental note that he liked to keep his hands busy when he was stressed.
When Yuri did eventually speak, he said the last thing that anyone would expect from him.
"Sorry."
The men shared looks of uncertainty and a frown, before turning back to him and putting on their calmest, hopefully-not-patronising smile.
"What are you sorry for, Yuri? You haven't done anything wrong." Viktor reassured. Yuri mirrored their frowns and looked back at them.
"Cut the crap. I fell asleep outside your stupid classroom. Of course you're angry at me." Not even his curses had as much bite as they usually did. He just sounded tired, and sad, and maybe… scared? Cautious? Another emotion lay deep in his tone and Viktor wasn't sure what it was.
"We're not angry at all. Actually, we're rather concerned." Yuuri spoke this time, since he was better at detecting and dealing with emotions in a trained way that his boyfriend lacked. "Can you tell us why you're in school so early?"
Yuri shrugged and turned his head away. "I just… wanted to."
"You… wanted to come to school? Even though you knew it would be basically empty?"
"Yeah, so what? I like quiet." The defensive tone was back, he was building the wall again, and soon it would be impossible to get anything out of him. Viktor knew that and tried to think of the right thing to say.
"Have you had breakfast?"
In his limited experience, he was rather proud of himself for that detour. Yuuri had once said that caring about the basic needs of a patient was often the first step in getting them to trust you. Ask them if everything was okay at home (though that didn't work for Yuri), ask them if they want something to drink, if they were warm enough, if they felt comfortable and safe in their environment. And if they had ate- and judging by the way Yuri's face lit up and then fell in a split second, the answer to the question was an obvious 'no' without him having to say anything.
"Okay. Well, it's pretty cold out here, don't you think? Why don't we go down to the counsellor's office and we'll get you fed. You can just curl up on one of the couches. Does that sound good?" Yuuri asked, quick to pick up on Viktor's intentions.
"Uh… yeah. But…"
"But?"
"I ain't got, like…. I haven't…" The blond mumbled something incoherent.
"Sorry, what was that?"
"I haven't got any money! I can't fucking pay you back, or whatever the fuck! God!" That trademark anger had returned and he fisted his hands in his hair, pulling chunks loose from the hastily-tied braid, gripping onto the strands in a way that most definitely pulled at his scalp and caused him pain. Yuuri was quick to respond and carefully tapped the backs of Yuri's hands, whispering affirmations and calming words in a mixture of English and Japanese.
"It's alright, we don't expect you to pay. Can you unclench your hands, please? Yuri? Unclench your hands for me." Only a professional had such flair and precision at talking to troubled teenagers, and Viktor was grateful that Yuuri was by his side. If he were alone, he would undoubtedly be freaking out and doing everything wrong. Yuuri's words were much more effective at helping the stressed-out boy, and after a short while Yuri relaxed once again and flexed his hands to ease any cramps. He was clearly embarrassed at having shown so much emotion, however Viktor would rather him be embarrassed than self-destructing or edging towards another breakdown.
The three of them stood, with Yuuri and Viktor keeping an eye on the blond's shaking legs, and crossed a few corridors and blocks until they located the counsellors room. Viktor had never been inside before, and immediately noticed how different it was to the rest of Sandbrook. While classrooms were full of sharp edges and wooden tables, the counsellors room- or rooms, since the main office was surrounded by doors leading to separate areas- was cushioned with beanbags, couches, pillows, blankets. Even a dog bed lay in the corner (which was rather curious; there weren't any pets to be seen). All in all, the place was extremely welcoming and the aroma of a soft lavender did a fantastic job at reducing stress and troubles.
"That room is free all day." Yuuri pointed at the furthest door, which had a poster on the front with the words 'YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL' printed on it in a big, blue font. Yuri visibly rolled his eyes at such a corny thing but made his way towards it regardless, Yuuri following behind. "Viktor will get you some food. There's beanbags and an armchair inside; make yourself comfortable. You can turn the main lamp on if you want some light, but there's also some fairy lights if you'd prefer something dimmer."
"Yuri, take the rest of the morning off, hm?" Viktor called to him before he closed the door. "Come back for last period if you feel like it. We're only watching the rest of Lord of the Flies in English anyway, and second period is math, however you seem to have got the grips with basic algebra."
Yuri nodded gratefully, and was about to disappear into the small room so he could eat and sleep, but turned back at the last minute.
"Viktor?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you send Otabek here at break or whatever?"
"I can do better. I'll send him here as soon as he arrives. Would you like that?"
A glimmer of a smile appeared on the teen's face- and disappeared as quick as it came. "Yeah."
Viktor made brief eye contact with Yuuri, signalling that he was going to go, and turned towards the exit, hoping that Otabek wasn't late to school for once in his life.
"W-wait."
"Hmm? Everything okay?"
Yuri was frowning deeply, nibbling on his lip, as if something was bothering him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could finally choke the words out.
"Uh… Thanks. For… all this. I guess."
Both men smiled, although they tried to hide it so as to not embarrass him or scare him away from showing his gratitude. Viktor nodded once in his direction. "It's not a problem, Yuri. We're always here for you. I'll come back with your food, and then I insist on you having a nap."
This time Yuri did look flustered and annoyed, and shut the door almost immediately. Viktor didn't mind. He was just grateful that he had let them help him.
It was a development, he supposed. A tiny one, and a situation that hopefully wouldn't happen again, yet it was a step in the right direction.
He should have felt comforted, knowing that Yuri was going to be looked after, but instead he just felt… he didn't even know. Stressed? Uneasy? Concerned?
He felt like he was missing something. The walls of defence had been cracked too easily, as if Yuri wasn't bothering to maintain his mask of indifference and anger. And the reason why he was in school so early didn't make any sense, either, and all of them knew it.
Time would tell whether Viktor was just being paranoid, or if he had a reason to feel so uncomfortable. He did know one thing, however: he had to pay more attention to the small details. If he had missed how skinny his student was, what else had he missed? Was anyone else self harming? Were they wearing scruffy clothes as a fashion statement, or because they had no way of getting clean uniform? Did they fall asleep in class because they were bored, or because they weren't getting enough rest at home?
He had only been in his job for a week, and he was already in the deep end.
Viktor Nikiforov: cover teacher had turned into Viktor Nikiforov: cover teacher, concerned parental figure, and most likely the only person who had ever had hope for these kids.
And he was stubborn. He was invested in their safety and comfort, their mental health and wellbeing.
He promised himself that he would help them, that he would be there for them, and that he would get them to open up so he could find out why they came in covered in bruises or why their arms were decorated with white scars.
If he thought dealing with a breakdown was hard work, then he was in no way prepared for the other things he would face as the days began to tick by.
the next chapter will be a small time skip because i dont want to write it day-by-day, however soon the plot should pick up and it'll get Juicy And Dramatic
please review if you have the time, it takes 30 seconds to be like 'ay nice one my dude'. i live for attention and it really makes me feel better when im in a bad place :~) dont feel pressured though, of course.
