горько adverb. bitter
Their breath floated on the air likes clouds as they trudged back through the cold winter air to their apartment. It was getting so cold that even Makkachin and Mochi were refusing to go outside, but Yuuri had demanded a trip to the drug store down the street. It was so cold that even Viktor, a born and raised Russian, was cursing the Viktor that had told Yuuri about the 24 hour pharmacy. It was nearing midnight, but when Yuuri put his mind to something there was no use fighting it.
"Did we really need three?" Viktor asked, the paper bag crumpling in his hands. Yuuri had on three coats, a scarf and a hat, all borrowed from Viktor once they realized that Hasetsu's damp winter was no match against Russia's chill.
"They're all different." Yuuri said firmly, giving Viktor a look that shut him up.
"I know, the blue one cost three times as much as the pink box." Viktor wanted to say, but he just let out a sigh and looked skyward. "Let's get a drink?"
Yuuri turned, a sharp look on his chapped face. His nose was pink, and it brought up conflicting feelings—he loved how it made Yuuri look, but he hated that it meant that he was unwell, even on a cellular level.
"A coffee, " Viktor continued. "Decaf."
Yuuri had been so careful. No drinking, no caffeine , and he had even ordered prenatal vitamins on Amazon. He had scrubbed the label off, but he took them every morning.
He softened, and nodded, leaning into Viktor's side as they turned left instead of the right that led home.
Viktor hadn't wanted to leave the café. It was warm enough that he could intertwine his fingers with Yuuri's and feel his bare skin instead of gloves. It was warm enough to melt away some of the stress from Yuuri's shoulders. Viktor relished in watching the man wrap his fingers around a white porcelain mug, his face peaceful. Even Viktor's best cooking couldn't rival the look on Yuuri's face as he sipped the latte. The smell of the café was comforting, too. It was reminiscent of the months before, when Viktor would have the French press ready to draw Yuuri out of bed. It had been a hard habit to break, but Yuuri's determination was even harder.
It would've been better to spend another ten minutes in the café.
Another ten minutes of nervous excitement and wonder, instead of disappointment.
"It still could be early," Viktor held Yuuri, his arms wrapped around him from behind. The layers of coats were shed by the door in a heap. Yuuri was barefoot, despite the wood floors.
Yuuri didn't speak until the third negative result faded on to the screen.
"I'll order some to come next week." Viktor said, even as he felt Yuuri's chest shudder. He didn't let go even as he felt Yuuri's stomach head and shoulders rack with held back sobs. He waited until Yuuri quieted and twisted out of his arms.
Viktor stepped out of the bathroom. Yuuri had reached his limit of shared distress. Viktor moved into the kitchen, doing the only thing he knew that would distract him from the heavy sick feeling in his stomach.
By the time he had finished cooking , Yuuri had slunk into bed. Mochi had curled up into his stomach, and Makkachin took her role as big spoon. Her tail beat the mattress, wagging happily as Viktor came into the room. He slid onto the bed carefully, as to not spill the mug of tea sitting on the plate. Yuuri opened his puffy eyes as Makkachin rolled out of the way.
"Here." Viktor steadied the steaming plate.
"I'm not hungry." Yuuri said weakly, his fingers massaging Mochi's ears.
"Lilia would make me blini when I was upset. She said… a little sweetness can help take the bitterness out of life."
While Viktor reminisced, Yuuri shifted in bed, sitting up. Viktor set the plate of cinnamon crepes in his lap. He had rolled each one up carefully, but the arranged bundle of roses had been lost somewhere between the kitchen and bed.
"Its hard to imagine her saying that." Yuuri said quietly, his voice thick. He took a sip of the tea first. It was thin and milky, some remnant of taste Yuuri had gained in his college years in America.
"Now, maybe. We haven't had dinner without Yurio, have we?" Viktor felt lighter as Yuuri took a bite and chewed slowly. "Lilia was like a mother to me. She tends to become the person someone needs from her."
"What did you need from her?" Yuuri mopped up the cinnamon syrup that leaked onto the plate.
"Sometimes comfort. Mostly, she taught me control."
"If she taught you control, why do we have four jars of Nutella?" It sounded bitter, but Viktor laughed. Yuuri had indulged him at the grocery store every time, and had been next to him every time as he debated which one to use.
"Because of her, I was able to grow up in a competitive sport without losing my head." Viktor shook his head. "I may have taken it too far, but I will never regret it. It helped me meet you."
Yuuri smiled, but his eyes betrayed him. He blinked quickly, tears sliding down his cheeks.
He took in a shaky breath, his lips quivering. "What if I can't do it?"
"I told you, zvezda . If you don't want to, we won't."
"No. Not like that. What if I can't get pregnant? I've been on hormones for so long…"
"We're still registered at the agency." Viktor felt sick. This felt bigger than Yuuri's other crises. "But this is the first time we tested. It took one family a year."
Yuuri blanched.
"I can't do this for two years."
"Two?"
"Nine months for the baby. It's been three months since…" Yuuri abandoned eating, biting his nails instead.
"Then we won't." Viktor said simply, his hands in his lap. Mochi slowly inched toward the half-full plate.
"Isn't this important to you?" Yuuri bit out, his eyes streaming with fresh tears.
"Of course it is," Viktor's spine straightened. "But you are important too, Yuuri."
"Then stop acting like we can just adopt or get another dog. Like it's easy." Yuuri hiccupped.
"I know it's not." Viktor could feel the strange prickling and warmth in his eyes. "I know it's not easy. I… I just don't want to hurt my Yuuri."
"I'm not hurt." Yuuri said stubbornly through the tears.
"I can tell you are hurting."
"It's got nothing to do with you. I've dealt with it all my life. I can handle it." Yuuri bit out.
Viktor let the tears fall into his lap.
"We're married. I want a family together." He felt his mouth fold into anger—a twinge at Yuuri and himself, both at once. "I don't want to be the reason you fall apart."
"Never, Vitya," Yuuri sobbed. The tea nearly got knocked onto the mattress. Yuuri set in clumsily on the nightside table, catching Mochi before he went after it.
Viktor slid his arms around Yuuri. Makkachin nudged her way into the hug, pressing her weight into Viktor's chest.
"I think you should go to the clinic." It had been weeks, and the subject hadn't been breached since. They had stopped the timers and calendar tracking, but hadn't mentioned any doctor until now.
It was the third day Yuuri had gone without eating. The second day that Yuuri struggled to get out of bed. This time, Viktor had refused to let Yuuri drag himself to the rink for the morning session of lessons.
"It's nothing. I'll get over it." Yuuri lay in bed, the plate of crackers and cold tea still left over from the evening before. He had managed to eat some toast, and crackers and the odd cup of tea that never made it past the next morning.
"You're not improving."
Yuuri had nothing to say in return.
"I'll call Dr. Falin." Viktor retreated into the living room, calling the office and the rink to cancel the afternoon's classes.
"I don't know any virus that operates on a schedule, but I can give you a confirmed diagnosis."
"What?" Yuuri looked toward Viktor , as if this was another cultural misunderstanding.
"Your blood sample should confirm it, but there's a high probability that you are pregnant." Doctor Falin straightened the papers on Yuuri's chart.
"But… the tests were negative." Yuuri stuttered in disbelief.
"You've been testing? When was your most recent test?" The doctor readied his pen.
Viktor counted, his lips moving silently as he kept track on his fingers. "About six weeks ago?"
"Well, we may be further along than I thought. I'll send you down to Obstetrics to get an ultrasound."
"Okay," Yuuri said, stunned. Viktor took his hand as they walked down the hall to the elevator. He stopped when Yuuri did, short of the waiting room. It was full of children's toys, brightly colored pamphlets… and women.
"Are you going to be sick?" Viktor turned as Yuuri sunk back around the corner. "The bathroom—" He pointed down the hall, but he stopped when Yuuri waved his hand.
"We're in St. Petersburg," Yuuri kept his voice low.
"Yes, the other side, but we are," Viktor said slowly.
"What if we see one of our students?" Yuuri did look like he was about to be sick.
Viktor frowned, deep in thought. Yuuri fretted, until Viktor decided to go with the first thought that had crossed his mind. He pulled his Louis Vuitton sunglasses from his front pocket and slid off his coat. He took Yuuri's glasses and parted his hair on the side.
"I can't see anything." Yuuri whispered as Viktor pulled up the hood. "But I know I look suspicious."
"We will figure it out before the next appointment, I promise." Viktor hissed.
"What about you?" Yuuri hesitated as Viktor took his hand and led him back toward the waiting room.
"I am accompanying my friend to the appointment that I made for their nervous self." Viktor said flatly. Yuuri did look a little suspicious, but no one seemed to question pregnant people.
Yuuri fidgeted until it was their turn in the office. Viktor had checked in and made sure that the nurse called Nikiforov, instead of the full Nikiforov-Katsuki. He thanked at least twenty saints for his skill in acting cool, as his head swam and heart beat fast. Yuuri was pregnant?
Yuuri was pregnant.
Viktor returned his glasses to him, but Yuuri still squinted at the grainy screen. His stomach was tense—either from nerves, or the odd sensation of the gel and instrument pressed into it.
The tech said something, and Yuuri's head immediately snapped back to Yuuri.
"Eight weeks." He translated, although the meaning didn't reach him consciously.
"Eight?" Yuuri stared at the screen. "But it doesn't look—"
"It's a girl." Viktor translated, like a machine, before he felt a shock run up his spine at Yuuri's expression.
"It's a girl!" Viktor jumped up, punching the air. Yuuri sat, stunned, taking the towel the tech handed him to wipe off the remainder of the gel off his stomach.
Viktor took each result and print out with a large grin, nearly forgetting to give Yuuri his coat before they left the tiny room. Yuuri let Viktor drape his coat over his shoulders, his arms bent and hands resting on his lower stomach. He couldn't tear his eyes away, his brain working to reconcile what he had just seen, the results on the paper and the body before him.