Toska
Russian. A dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, vague restlessness.
Makkachin whined again, shoving her nose into the space between the blankets and Viktor cheek. Yuuri grumbled something nonsensical, swiping blindly at the nuisance. Viktor woke, but only because he knew. He knew something was up. He had grown up with Makkachin, and Mochi had spent most of his life in the apartment. Both Yuuri and Viktor made sure they got enough exercise and knew where to go if work went late. Makka would never wake them unless something was wrong.
Mochi bounced into a play bow as the person at the door started hammering on it again. Makkachin hopped away from her spot on top of Viktor, staring expectantly at him, paws neatly folded on top of each other. The room was bright with sunlight, filtering through the blinds at a low enough angle to light up all three loves of his life. Or did it count as four? Mochi and Makkachin glowed, and Yuuri had slipped back into sleep without effort. He dozed tangled up with Viktor, the bottom of his cold feet pressed against Viktor's legs.
It was a sight to drink in, to commit to memory. One Viktor wished he couldn't leave, but whoever was at the door didn't leave. He slowly untangled himself from Yuuri, peeling Yuuri's arms away from his waist. Makkachin happily took Viktor's place as he begrudgingly tip-toed across the floor, shivering. He put on his robe, and pulled the blanket that smelled like Yuuri off the couch on his way to the door.
A bundle of jackets, topped off with a dumb-looking ear-flap hat stood at the door.
"I was about to report you dead to the police," Yuri muttered, the paper bag in his arms crinkling as he hugged it tight. Viktor could tell he was nervous, and didn't blame him. The event of the night prior trickled down into Viktor's conscious and settled with a sick feeling in his stomach.
"I was asleep," Viktor added a yawn to emphasize this point.
"It's two. In the afternoon." Yuri said it sharply, as if the blinding sun wasn't illustrating his point already.
Time seemed irrelevant. It was their day off from lessons, and even if it hadn't been, Viktor would have canceled. They had been up with the sun, Yuuri too wound up and weighed down with anxiety to sleep. Viktor had offered the idea of a bath, pulling out a paper envelope of mineral salts from Yuutopia. Yuuri had refused—it was dangerous for the baby. They compromised with a shower, with water so hot that it turned Viktor's skin red. He bore it, watching Yuuri scrub himself raw.
"Last night was rough." Viktor said flatly. Yuri didn't need to know about the post-reveal hospital trip.
"Yeah." The blond cast his eyes downward. "That's why I'm here."
Viktor stepped back, realizing that they had spent entirely too long on either side of the threshold. "Come in."
"Is Katsudon okay?" Yuri stepped inside, but kept his arms wrapped tightly around the bag.
Viktor took too long to answer.
He hoped, but he wasn't sure.
"Vitya?" A sleepy mumble and a thump came from the bedroom. Yuuri dragged himself out of the bedroom, wrapped in a burrito of blankets. He still smelled like the lotion Viktor had massaged into his skin that morning. Just the memory of the tenderness lightened the sick feeling in Viktor's stomach.
"Good afternoon, katsudon." Yuri's tone with clipped. Polite. Yuuri squinted, his glasses still resting on the bedside table. Makkachin and Mochi joined them in the main room of the apartment, wagging their tails.
Yuuri didn't say anything, a deer in the headlights. The dogs stared at the bag in Yuri's arms intently, sitting and turning on the charm.
"I brought piroshkies. The kind my grandpa made. " Another awkward silence.
"Mila talked to me last night. A lot." Viktor watched the dogs beg. He wasn't sure if he could bear watching Yuuri's reaction.
"She explained how it works… and I guess what I said what terrible. I'm sorry for calling you a freak of nature. I didn't think about it. You being pregnant didn't make any sense, you know?"
Yuuri laughed. It was short, and was on the edge of genuine and cynical.
"It doesn't?" Yuuri's voice wavered.
"Hell no. You're a guy. You have medals in Men's figure skating. Guys don't get pregnant."
"Some do." Viktor spoke up.
"Yeah, yeah. Mila beat it into my head on the ride home. I'm sorry." Yuri pushed out the paper bag of pastries toward Yuri.
"Thank you," Yuuri said softly, extricating his arms from the myriad of blankets wrapped around him. "Do you want some tea?"
"Nah. I still have to practice. " Yuri looked uncomfortable, and Viktor was grateful for it. No one in the room was prepared for company, hosting or otherwise.
"Yakov wants you at dinner." Yuri turned to Viktor, switching to Russian. It was pointless, as Yuuri was conversational in Russian at this point, but Yuri had his habits.
"I'll call him." Viktor promised, before sending Yuri home with a pocket full of Kairo hand warmers.
Yuri's gesture had made a difference, enough that Viktor did not feel terrible leaving Yuuri in the apartment alone that night. He left with a kiss and a promise to make up for the absence, the reason why he was going left unaddressed by either of them.
Viktor had only shared in Yakov's cigars twice in his life. The first time had been after his senior debut Gold. The second had been on his wedding day. It hadn't been frequent enough to quell the burning in his throat. But the warmth and the memories tied to the tobacco smoke relaxed him. He sat at the dining table with Yakov, the cigar case between them, a glass of whiskey on either side.
"Have you told your father?" Yakov finally said, after half of the cigar had been tapped into the ashtray.
"You are my father." So much for the pleasant feeling. Viktor set down the rest of his cigar, pressing it into the ceramic to extinguish it.
"He deserves to know." Yakov didn't deny it, but he wasn't going to let the topic rest.
"Why does he need to know? He won't understand it." Viktor would feel sour, if he hadn't buried the reaction to the memory years before.
Yakov was his father.
Yakov was the one who stayed through the highs and the lows. Who had listened to Viktor, and stayed after the confession. Yakov had never demanded him to cut his hair, to stop skating. Yakov had called him many things, but never a heretic. He had never worried about the time Viktor spent with other men. Yakov was the man who Viktor invited to the wedding, and who had participated.
"Mikhail would want to know about your family." Yakov said gruffly.
Viktor was grateful for the lack of command behind his coach's' words. No 'should'. No 'have to'.
"I'll send him a Christmas card." Viktor snapped. Yakov didn't so much as flinch.
"Never in my life have you done exactly what I expected," Yakov uncrossed his arms and slowly sat up. Viktor suddenly realized how old Yakov was. Old, but just as sharp, his words cutting to the bone.
"Mikhail would not understand your situation, that is true. I don't understand it myself. I don't need to understand it, Vitya. I know enough that you need to try."
"I have a thriving business, a shining career history, and I'm married to the love of my life. I don't need to try anything."
"Successful and stupid." Yakov set down his glass with enough fervor to make Viktor jump. "What I'd give for you to listen to me once before I die!"
Viktor steeled himself. Aside from the subject of blood, he had always followed Yakov's advice. The first time he had gone against Yakov's wishes had been when he had stepped onto the plane to Japan. A million gold medals didn't compare to the treasure he found there.
"Why does he need to know?"
"It's not for him to know, you stubborn boy. It's for your own good."
The words hung in the smoky air.
"You can't live life ignoring your past. " Yakov finished, folding his hands over his gut.
"Is this what Lilia thinks too?" Viktor felt sour, the congratulatory mood vanquished.
"Lilia is delighted to finally have babies to fawn over." The words caught Viktor off guard.
"She didn't seem like it." Viktor's voice was low.
"It is bad luck to announce before you can see the child is there. Lilia has always been careful."
Of course. She had her reasons.
"Yuuri is showing, he just… hides it…"
His sweater. His jackets going missing, his hundred dollar t-shirts turning into sleep shirts.
"Is he doing better? The shock is not good for the body." Yakov sounded friendlier. Yuuri had earned Yakov's heart with his work ethic since his first day in St. Petersburg.
"He…." Viktor trailed off, the simple answer to the question falling away. "It's been hard."
The night ended with a hard clap to the back. Viktor arrived at home early enough to catch Yuuri feeding bits of pizza crust to the dogs. Mochi danced, turning in a circle before catching the oily dough in his mouth. Viktor spent years treating himself to caviar and first-class meals on gold and crystal. None of them compared to the college-student diet served by Yuuri. The smell brought back memories of cheat-days and their honey moon. Of a happier Yuuri.
"Okaeri," Yuuri dropped another piece of crust to the dogs, catching their attention before they left to dance around Viktor.
"Tadaima," Viktor sang, smiling at their little tradition as he hung up his wool coat. He crawled on top of Yuuri, who was stretched out on their living room couch. He stole a kiss, melting into Yuuri's body a few seconds before Makka and Mochi made it into a dog pile.
"Do you feel better?" Yuuri scrubbed his hands with a cheap take-out napkin before resting one on the back of his neck. Viktor pressed his cheek to Yuuri's chest, focusing on the even heart beat in his ear.
"What happened?" Yuuri shifted, stretching out his legs. Mochi had settled into the mall of Viktor's back, and Makkachin had splayed out on both of their legs.
"Yakov understands. But he wants me to tell my father."
"Tell your father what?" Yuuri's heart skipped a beat.
"About his grandchild." Viktor couldn't keep the venom from his voice. "But I won't. Not until she is old enough to tell him off."
"Vitenka…" Yuuri sighed, scolding him. "Do you really want our family to be like that?"
"Yes. My daughter will understand all the different ways families are made and people are loved. She will understand and accept them."
"I mean… do you really want to pin your unborn child against your dad?" Yuuri lifted his hand off of Viktor's neck.
"He doesn't understand." Viktor said flatly. This wasn't going the way he thought it would.
"My dad didn't understand my transition."
"He didn't say you were going to hell." Viktor felt defensive.
"…not directly to my face." Yuuri's voice cracked, and Viktor felt his own heart stop. He sat up to meet Yuuri's eyes.
He had it remarkably under control.
"He had a hard time accepting it. He thought I was raised the wrong way… that something was wrong with me. He still loved me, but it wasn't easy. It took him until I left for college to see that I was happier. That I was me. It didn't happen overnight."
"I gave my father longer than that." Viktor hated being stubborn with Yuuri almost as much as he hated Yuuri being on Yakov's side.
"I don't want to do it anymore than you do. But you're not using my daughter as a tool." Yuuri said firmly, with a bit of fire behind his tone.
"Yuuri, you're so handsome when you're angry!" Viktor sang, sinking back to Yuuri's chest, and away from the topic at hand.