Hiraeth
Welsh noun
a combination of the homesickness, longing, nostalgia, and yearning, for a home that you cannot return to, no longer exists, or maybe never was.
Viktor set the crumpled paper bag on the counter after slipping his shoes off at the door. It was a habit he had grown in Japan, and it fit perfectly when they had moved back to snowy Russia. Years later, he still couldn't kick the habit. More than three steps into the house with shoes felt awful.
The living room was dark even though Viktor knew Yuuri was at home. It wasn't the first time that a night like this had happened, after all. Once the morning sickness stopped, Yuuri went back to teaching the morning lessons at the rink. He often came home exhausted. It was his favorite part of the business, one that had come on them by accident. They made an exception, teaching a mother and her son because of the lack of a babysitter. The mom had sung their praises, or so it seemed. It soon blossomed into a mommy-and-me class with complementary babysitting in the rink's café for the kids who couldn't fit into skates yet.
The mommy-and-me skate had probably planted the first seed in their mind about starting a family. They had started scheduling it like every other lesson, swapping out turns between levels and students. One morning a student called out sick, or had college finals… Viktor couldn't care to remember. He just remembers having the time to turn his eye to his Yuuri and that day's mommy-and-me class. It was always slow to start, and they met in the café. Viktor had walked into Yuuri cradling a baby, its cries slowly turning into whimpers, before the babies red cheeks relaxed into a smile. Viktor had snapped a picture, asking permission to post it on the website… but it never made it that far. It stayed as Viktor's lock screen for two weeks, until it was replaced by Mochi's adoption shot. Throughout the lesson, Viktor realized why Yuuri never complained about the back-to-back schedule. The students adored him, copying every move. Mother's loved him, and how with every fall , tears were always short-lived. Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki would be there for every fall and bump with kind words and a smile.
"Aren't you exhausted?" Viktor had asked, after setting the picture on his phone screen, the mothers gone and the rink empty. He had spent two hours crouched down, helping Yuuri teach turning on ice. He was ready the call it a day and cancel the school age lessons.
"A little." Yuuri had shrugged, pouring another cup of tea from a thermos into Viktor's cup. "It's a lot of work, but I kind of get energy from the kids too."
But that had been a year after retirement, and before the secret pregnancy that was not treating Yuuri well so far. Since taking back the lessons, Yuuri had consistently been found napping when Viktor got home from after-school lessons. First it had been the couch, in street clothes, but as the routine wore on, he gradually lasted long enough to make it to the bed.
Viktor peeled off his coat, before picking up the paper bag again and padding across the living room. Makkachin lifted her head, before setting it back onto the curve of Yuuri's neck and shoulder. Mochi wagged his tail as Viktor pushed him aside to make room on the bed. He fluffed up the pillows—the room was dark too, which meant Yuuri had probably been asleep since early afternoon. In the middle of the careful movements, Yuuri stirred, flopping into Viktor's lap.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Viktor hummed, brushing a hand through his hair. Yuuri groaned, burying his face into Viktor's lap and shaking his head. He then lifted his head, blinking sleepily.
"You just….at that..?" Yuuri stared wide-eyed up at him, which didn't help at all. Viktor felt his cheeks warm as he shrugged sheepishly. "It's been a while, Yuuri," His words were cut off in a hiccup at the feeling of Yuuri palming the fly of his pants.
"Yuuri, not in front of the children!" He laughed nervously, pulling out their little joke. It had taken them so long to get to the intimate part of their relationship, and Makkachin's watching eyes had ruined more than one encounter.
"You said it's been a while," Yuuri said, a sad twinge to his voice. Viktor knew it took Yuuri a good 15 minutes to wake up (on non-competition days). "When was the last time it was 'a while?'"
Viktor sighed. He hadn't meant to hit the anxious side of Yuuri. It had just…been a while. And it HAD been a while since it had been 'a while' and not 'yesterday' or 'our last rest day'.
"What?" Yuuri drew back, sitting up near Viktor's knees. He was wearing what used to be one of Viktor's tshirts, and boxers.
Soon, wearing oversized shirts wouldn't be enough to hide it.
"I think its time we go home," Viktor picked up the paper bag, pulling out the Styrofoam to-go containers out of it in order to avoid looking at the disappointment on Yuuri's face.
Yuuri was silent. Viktor wondered if Yuuri was spinning the words through translations, trying to see if it made more sense in his native language.
"Home. Where we first met and spent our first year together," Viktor pulled the lid off a container of soup and let the steam hit his face.
"Hasetsu?" Yuuri breathed, unsure, though there was nothing more obvious than that answer.
Viktor nodded, holding a spoonful of borscht to Yuuri's lips. His expression turned incredulous.
"We haven't had sex in a while and you want to go to my parents house? Did you forget what happened at the love hotel?"
Viktor's smile didn't help Yuuri's mood.
"No way." Yuuri took the spoonful and snatched the spoon from Viktor's hand.
He waited a beat.
"We can't afford it."
"Tickets are cheaper in the winter, and we could bring Mochi and Makka," Viktor said matter-of-factly.
"It's more work to go for two weeks than it is to wait until the next time we close—"
"I didn't put a time limit," Viktor held up a hand.
"Viktor, we can't just leave! We have a business, it's not like we have sponsors to pay us whatever rink we go to!"
"Yuri has already agreed to help out. Mila has mornings free for Mommy and Me. We would have to cancel Winter Camp, but it's covered."
Yuuri faltered, looking lost. "Why?" He said, finally finding his words.
"We can't keep this schedule forever. It's running you into the ground. And…" Viktor leaned forward, taking Yuuri's chin in his hand. He no longer pulled away or blushed. Yuuri merely looked up into Viktor's eyes, trusting. Listening.
"We only have a few months before our lives are changed forever. Is it so awful I want you all to myself?" Viktor let his voice melt over his husband, who leaned forward, burying his face in his chest.
Victory.
Yuuri mumbled something into Viktor's chest, the man only catching bits and pieces… something like Playboy... sexiest man alive 2012… typical chunks of his past that Yuuri knew by heart, and that had only begun to slip out after Yuuri's first GPF silver. From any other mouth, the words would have Viktor tuning the fan out and rolling his eyes… but it was Yuuri, and he loved it. It made the months between the Gala and late-April, where Viktor quietly and carefully obsessed feel reciprocated.
Maybe, just maybe, if they went home… then Yuuri would thrive. Back in home soil, soaked in memories of their first year together, the wilting flower Yuuri would grow taller and stronger.
Even if that was a stupid thought, Viktor still longed for the passion and strangeness that tugged at the spider-silk edges of his consciousness, hidden in aging memories.
Anything new, or different.
Anything except coming home to an exhausted and anxious lover.
"This is the last trip we are ever going to take," Yuuri grunted, leaning over Makkachin to set Mochi's carrier into the seat beside it. They had the entire row, all four seats of the plane and all Yuuri could think of was that in a few months they would need five seats to go anywhere.
If they could even afford to, after flying all three legs in First Class.
"Then let's enjoy it! I'll get us champagne!" Viktor sang, before freezing as Yuuri turned and stared daggers at him.
"Yuuri, one glass is perfectly fine. Remember what the doctor said?"
"When was the last time we've had ONE glass?" Yuuri said pointedly. "Even when I couldn't even smell it without feeling like I was gonna die, I still had more than one."
"Okay. Red wine?" Viktor set the final carry-on in the overhead and sank back into his seat.
"One. For both of us." Yuuri double-checked the dog seatbelt hookup before crawling over Viktor to get at his seat. Just as he planned.
Yuuri pulled out his eye mask and pulled up the flu mask back over his mouth. All that was missing was the cat-eared knit hat and khaki wool coat Yuuri had worn to every competition until retirement.
"Where is the…" Yuuri trailed off as a cabin attendant strolled by.
"Snacks?" Viktor scooted closer to Yuuri, reaching down and pulling a baggie out of their day pack.
It had taken Viktor an hour to find an American import store with exactly what Yuuri had wanted. He had no idea why Yuuri wanted to eat the fluorescent orange cheese puffs, or too sweet peanut butter, but it didn't matter. It was the only thing Yuuri wanted to eat for the past three days, and it fit in a snack bag. Viktor had learned the last time he had questioned an American food choice that some things were better left unexplained. (And that Phichit was a force to be reckoned with during hazing week)
Yuuri nodded appreciatively, taking the baggie and opening it, pulling out a tiny Tupperware container. He dipped the neon orange curls into the peanut butter, munching idly.
Viktor still was not brave enough to try it.
He preferred last week's grapes-and-nutella bend.
"Would you like me to order dinner?" Viktor felt like a nap, but they were on their longest leg of their journey. Yuuri was eating like a rabbit.
"No." Yuuri stopped, looking self-conscious. "I'm… not hungry. Just…nervous."
Viktor slid his arm across the small divider between them. "It'll be okay. I promise."