car·ing
adjective
1.
displaying kindness and concern for others.
noun
1.
the work or practice of looking after those unable to care for themselves
Viktor stretched as he slowly woke up to the world. He reached out, feeling for the warmth and solid form of his husband. Viktor could count on one hand the times Yuuri had been awake before him. They had always been on Christmas—Viktor's birthday—and always because Yuuri was making breakfast for him. Today, the kitchen was silent, and the pile of blankets were empty and cold. Makkachin and Mochi had forsaken Viktor as well. Makkachin was laying in the doorway of the master bathroom.
"Yuuri?" Viktor called out, slipping out of bed and pulling on the plush scarlet robe Yuuri had gifted him long ago.
No answer.
He stepped carefully over Makkachin, as she wagged her tail and scrambled to sit up. Viktor froze, his hand subconsciously reaching out to scratch her head. A reward for playing guard over Yuuri, who was asleep, stuck uncomfortably between the toilet and the bathtub. His cheek was pressed against the porcelain tank, his arms wrapped around Mochi. The toy poodle was the closest thing Yuuri had to a blanket, laying on his back and stretched out over the top of Yuuri's stomach. Viktor's heart swelled and broke at the same time. It was precious and terrible at once—Yuuri would be hurting from the position on top of the morning sickness that had forced him to camp in the bathroom in the first place. They weren't in their twenties anymore, after all. But seeing his family curled up like that—and even the small bump under Yuuri's sleep shirt made him want to immortalize the moment.
Instead, he scooped up Mochi, setting him down on the bathroom mat, before trying his best to extract Yuuri without hurting him. With some jostling, Viktor managed to pick Yuuri up. Before he could navigate the door, Yuuri sleepily called out his name, still as limp as a rag doll.
"Are you trying to replay gala nights, darling?" Viktor cooed, grateful that Yuuri usually took a good fifteen minutes to wake up. He sidestepped out of the bathroom and tucked Yuuri back into bed. Yuuri looked sick just at the memory. Viktor pushed Yuuri's hair out of his eyes, his hands lingering tenderly as his husbands eyes drifted closed.
"We should go to the doctor, Yuuri." Viktor said softly. They had switched teaching morning and afternoon lessons, but Yuuri was struggling to make it through even half-days.
"I'm okay, I promise." Yuuri didn't open his eyes.
"What did you eat last?" Viktor tried to bite back annoyance at the moment of silence.
"I'm getting you something to eat." Viktor stood up, pausing as the hand on his arm. His fingers were cold.
"No more crackers," Yuuri groaned, having seen their return too many times to count.
"What are you in the mood for?" Viktor looked hopeful—it had been days since Yuuri had shown any interest in food.
"Okayu.." Yuuri's hands slid off of Viktor's and back under the blankets.
"Mother?" Viktor squinted in confusion. Makkachin pressed her nose into his hand, impatient for a morning walk.
"O-ka-yu." Yuuri grumbled in a google-it-or-I'll-kill-you tone.
Viktor took his phone from the nightstand, tapping through the multiple keyboards in order to find a recipe. He found one when he reached the kitchen, pulling open the 'Japan' cabinet. It was a corner of the apartment devoted to Home. They had a cloth bag of Saga-grown rice, panko breadcrumbs, an unopened bottle of nigori sake( from Minako), and a jar of fruit preserves from an elderly neighbor who had fallen in love with Mochi.
Okayu—rice porridge—would be easy enough. A pinch of salt, more water than rice, and a long enough cooking time for Viktor to get dressed and walk the poodles.
"Thank you," Yuuri murmured when Viktor climbed into bed with a bowl of the porridge and a spoon, moving pillows so they could both sit up comfortably.
Yuuri squirmed as Viktor settled in for a cuddle. "Cold." He said around the spoon, holding his breath as a hand rested on his stomach.
It was strange. Yuuri had almost… forgotten.
Without Viktor fussing over him, it was easy to peg these feelings to a resurgence of the past. The off-season, post-Vicchan weight gain… waking up feeling perpetually hung over. It was nothing new. Yuuri didn't feel like nesting, or walking around with a hand on his stomach. He just felt…sick.
Morning sickness was supposed to fade by the time they could tell the sex of the baby, but it hadn't. Viktor had been so busy adjusting their coaching schedule that he hadn't applied for a hospital transfer. Yuuri had called in about morning sickness, but had only made it as far as the waiting room. He had just made it to the check-in counter before a student ran up, tugging her mother along. Five minutes of pleasantries ended in Yuuri scrambling for an excuse. He asked for directions for the pharmacy, although he had been there more times than he could count.
He would never step foot in that hospital again.
"Have you thought of any names?" Viktor mused, massaging the lower part of Yuuri's stomach. It was calming, as long as Yuuri didn't think too hard.
Yuuri had fantasized about making a family, but never about the names of their children. They had been open to any age, wanting a child no matter the situation. Names were simply not a part of the equation.
Viktor didn't wait for an answer.
"I was thinking about Anastasia."
"Too long."
"How is it too long?" Viktor looked a little wounded.
"A-na-su-ta-shi-a ni-ki-fo-ro-vu ka-tsu-ki. It would barely fit on a passport even without a Japanese name."
"Japanese name?"
"Well… the baby is Japanese too." Yuuri played with the remaining okayu in his bowl, moving it side to side.
"Ohh…well. Mina?" Viktor looked thoughtful.
"No." Yuuri looked embarrassed about how quickly he shot it down. "It…it isn't like that. There's the sound… and how you write it. Mari-nee-chan and I have the same kanji, and my mom took it from my dad's name. It's important."
"You… never changed your name?" Viktor's hand stopped, cupped around Yuuri's stomach. "When you transitioned?"
"I did." Yuuri blinked. "Before, it had the kanji for permanent." He traced the writing he had learned in kindergarten with a finger in the air. "When we put in the paperwork, my mom said 'courage' fit me better."
He hadn't thought about it for years, but the memory sent up a new bubble of homesickness into his consciousness.
The last summer of middle school, his mother had known. When Yuuri hadn't been able to get the practiced and scripted confession past the tears, Hiroko had listened. She hadn't acted the least bit surprised. She didn't say anything, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the next morning when Hiroko hung up a black jacket and slacks instead of a plaid skirt and bow.
Would she know now? Would she understand the secret that was locked between him and Viktor, not out of fear, but for a lack of words adequate enough to explain?
Yuuri eventually crawled out of bed, working on the next month's lesson schedule most of the day. That night was their pre-planned night with Yakov and Lilia. They would have dinner, along with Yuri, Mila and Georgi . Just like family, even post-retirement.
"Have you seen my Comme des Garçons sweater, love?" Viktor called across the apartment.
"Your what?" Yuuri called back, clueless. It still drove Viktor crazy how Yuuri could get ready in ten minutes and look flawless. His clothing choices were now more curated, and Yuuri no longer used 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner (thank god) but he still somehow managed to always be waiting for Viktor to finish. Today he decided that playing with dog paws was the activity of choice.
"The dark blue sweater, I think it was cashmere." Viktor shuffled through the hangers again. Yuuri did not need to know that the sweater cost what some people would make in a week. Yuuri just needed to know that Viktor wanted it, because it tied the blue in his accessories together.
There was the soft pap of bare feet and dog paws.
"This blue?" Yuuri's shoulders rose, tense and embarrassed. He was wearing it, over one of his cheap UNIQLO button-downs, which somehow did not tamper down any of the feelings rising in Viktor's stomach.
"You're wearing it?"
"I can take it off." Yuuri moved to pull the bottom hem up, but Viktor stopped him. He stared, relishing in how it looked on him. Blue was definitely Yuuri's color. The shoulders were too wide, of course, but it make the sleeves longer and the sweater hang on Yuuri's slight frame deliciously.
Only Yuuri could turn him on in a sweater and khakis.
" I like it better on you," Viktor purred, enough to get a blush out of Yuuri.
"Good, because we're going to be late, and I don't remember any other sweaters." Yuuri tugged the sweater down over his stomach again.
Usually each of Yakov's protégé's brought a dish, but Lilia had prepared tonight's dinner. They ate the roast together in lively chatter between bites. Yuuri ate more kinds of food than Viktor had seen in weeks. Conversation was a constant buzz.
"The Grand Prix begins in Korea in September this year."
"Sara and I will be attending. It will be nice to revisit some places."
"Yurachka will take Gold, as always."
"Will you attend? It'll be an anniversary for you, won't it?" Yuuri looked up, to the speaker. Mila, of course, would remember every big milestone they had on the ice.
"We'll be busy!" Viktor chirped, heart-shaped smile wide.
"With what?" Yuri still held on to his sullen tone throughout his career.
"Our baby girl!" Viktor's smile could light up the room as he immediately dropped his silverware to press a hand to either side of Yuuri's stomach.
The buzz dissolved into silence.
"It takes that long to finalize an adoption?" Mila tilted her head to the side.
"We're expecting! Yuuri's at 13 weeks!" Viktor sang, before he felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. No cheering. No congratulations. Something felt very wrong. "
Yuuri.
He was shrinking away from Viktor's hands. It felt like the familiar aura faded away. A sharp elbow jutted into his side.
"Are you in some freak experiment?" Yuri broke the silence. A blessing and a curse. "Or is Russia's best gay couple straight?"
That magazine cover would follow Viktor until he died.
"Neither…Yuuri was born female—"
" I had no idea the ISU allowed that." Yakov mused.
"Actually, by the time Yuuri registered with the ISU—" Viktor felt the words jam up in his throat. He couldn't explain it. He knew it, and had accepted it. It hadn't mattered, because…Yuuri.
He could feel Yuuri crumple into himself . Viktor stared, feeling the six foot walls around him in the hole he dug himself.
Yuuri stood up, folding his napkin and setting it on the table. Every movement was deliberate, as he crossed Yakov's home pulled his coat off the hanger. The door snapped shut.
"What are you doing?" Yuri growled in the stunned silence. He kicked Viktor's knee's under the table. It pushed Viktor up. He didn't remember how he got from the table to the packed snow outside. The car was empty. Yuuri was walking alone, in the dark, a forty minute drive from home and a good 10 km from any well lit roads.
"Yuuri!" Viktor called. His voice rose into panic, his voice a sodium-lamp orange cloud. He pictured Yuuri slipping into a ditch. Being hit by a car. Happiness stolen from him.
Who was he kidding? It was always gone.
Something moved in the darkness, and Viktor ran after it. Yuuri was trudging down the sidewalk. Viktor caught up, out of breath. The first time Viktor grabbed at his arm, he wrestled out of it. He trudged on, down the residential road lit only by ambient light from the few houses.
"Yuuri! Please," The second time he grabbed Yuuri, spinning him around. What little light there was glinted off wet cheeks red with cold. A low, keening cry cracked Viktor's heart in half.
Yuuri was crying. Not because he was a bad coach. Not because he missed a point on the podium, or they were watching an emotional movie.
Because it was a deep wound.
"Don't touch me." Yuuri snapped. Viktor only understood, because he had the word before—when Yuuri had begged him to only look at him. To touch him. He spoke Japanese when their shared English wasn't enough.
Or, when he was mad.
"Yuuri, please. I didn't mean to!"
"Stop." Yuuri fought, beating his hands against Viktor's chest his feet solidly planted in the ice. Viktor took each punch, focusing on the pain and bruises he could feel begin to bloom.
"Don't say my name. You can't just say whatever you want and out me in front of everyone. You can't just say it like that. Do you want to tell everybody now? Yuuri's a girl! Some freak experiment!" The words poured out in anger, before being choked off with tears.
"I would never. I was just so excited about our baby girl! Then everyone looked so confused. I just…" Viktor's heart stuttered in his chest and he could feel his throat close up. He couldn't cry. It was too cold, and Yuuri was upset enough. There was no way they would go back into the house. It had been years since he had to tamp emotions down, to put up his act. But a seasoned actor never loses his touch.
"Please let me drive you home." Viktor felt follow. He would have to call Yakov later. It would take time to find the words. Yuuri hyperventilated, but remained steadfast, walking two feet away from Viktor, back up the street to their car.
Makkachin and Mochi danced around them when they arrived home, their paws batting at their waists and knees. Yuuri ignored them, walking straight to the bathroom without taking his coat off. Viktor stared, watching the door shut and the lock click into place. The water ran as Yuuri went to wash his face. If it was after a panic attack, Viktor would be there, rubbing Yuuri's back. If it was a normal lovers quarrel, they would pout for a while before relenting. Their record was three hours, but this was unbearable.
The toilet flushed. Another rush of water. The click of the lock.
Yuuri stepped out of the bathroom shaking.
"W-w-we," The words barely escaped his lips, choked by panicked air. Normally, Viktor would wait. But his nerve were rubbed raw. Yuuri had already been upset. How did he have any energy left, even for panic? The car ride had been silent. He had calmed enough to look bitter facing the window the entire way home. Now, he was barely able to breathe, nevertheless talk.
"What?" Viktor folded his arms, as if he could protect whatever barrage of words Yuuri wanted to shoot at him this time.
"Hospital," Yuuri gasped.
Yuuri looked as small as Viktor felt.
Viktor had ended up calling an ambulance. Yuuri hadn't managed any more words before dissolving into a bigger mess. It was the only rational Viktor had left, tears blurring his vision in the dim apartment. The paramedics didn't do much, other than place Yuuri on oxygen.
At the hospital, Viktor's designer sweater fell to the floor along with the rest of Yuuri's clothes. The hospital gown was ill-fitting and swamped Yuuri, but he didn't seem to notice. He watched the instruments pressed to his stomach, pressed his face into his hands when he placed his feet in stirrups for the examination.
"Spotting can happen throughout the pregnancy. A small amount of blood is no cause for alarm." The doctor spoke to Yuuri, but he showed no sign of registering it.
"It's okay. It's normal." Viktor translated into English, and new tears sprung to Yuuri's eyes. The doctor left, leaving them along to give the nurses discharge instructions.
"I wasted your time," Yuuri whispered, his voice hoarse from the roller coaster of emotion. On any other night, they would be returning home, warmed by dessert wine and conversation.
"I'd rather spent two hours and know you're okay than wonder ," Viktor sank into the chair next to the hospital bed. "Are you still mad at me?"
Yuuri lowered his eyes. "I'm humiliated."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't think."
"I know. The baby."
"Our baby," Viktor sighed. "Who is fine. Our first overreaction as parents."
"My parents don't know." Yuuri voice was small, his arms wrapped around himself.
Viktor's eyebrows rose considerably. He was too tired to watch his emotions. "They don't?"
"We haven't told anyone, Vitya."
"I've told Chris. I figured that you did when they called last week."
"Then… I haven't told anyone."
Yuuri's voice dropped, weaker. Chris was in a category of his own to both of them. It didn't feel like a betrayal to tell their inadvertent secret to the skater who had helped them through the biggest hoop in their relationship.
"We can't keep this a secret forever, Yuuri." Viktor smoothed Yuuri's hair back. A small blessing: He didn't move away.
"I didn't want to. I don't know what to say. " Yuuri licked his dry lips. "You made it so easy… but I remembered how many friends I lost in high school because they didn't understand…You can say it doesn't make me any less of a man, but what about everyone else? My dad thought I was confused. What will he think now?" Yuuri's voice broke, but he didn't have any tears left.
"Whatever he thinks, he'll still love you." Viktor hummed, combing his fingers through Yuuri's hair.
The words, though honest, felt false. Viktor knew unconditional love was possible. Yakov had shown it throughout Viktor's career. He felt it with Yuuri. But he also knew that being a father didn't mean you accepted everything your son did. It hadn't for Mikail Nikiforov, but it would for Viktor Mikailovich Nikiforov-Katsuki.