Schadenfreude German noun
Pleasure derived from the misfortune of others
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the Aeon mall in Fukuoka?" Yuuri said weakly. Even though all of their guests (Phichit especially) looked enthralled by the shopping street, Yuuri still worried. Even two hours in the 100-yen store didn't convince him that everyone was properly entertained. Viktor squeezed Yuuri's side, his hand resting on it as they walked down Hondoori arcade.
Phichit had already fastened a hamster-shaped bell charm to his cellphone and was eagerly taking shots of different store signs. They stopped at the clothing store, where 99% of the time, a white cat lounged adorably by the front door. There were quite a few stray cats in Hasetsu, and the owner liked to feed them.
"It's fine, Yuuri." Viktor tried to soothe him. "Why don't we bring him to that cute café?"
Yuuri frowned in thought. "Himawari?" There were only a few 'cute' café's still open in Hasetsu, and Viktor thought every café was cute.
"Yeah! That one!" Viktor said cheerfully, his plan complete. Yuuri got ten times more irritable when hungry now than he did before getting pregnant.
They turned down one of the narrow alleyways, walking down until they came upon the brightly white and brown painted cabin-like building. The front door had a sign with a sunflower painted on it, and inside they had a mad-scientist like coffee brewing setup that fascinated Viktor.
"Wow, this is amazing Yuuri!" Phichit gasped, snapping a picture of the setup. Chris sat close to his husband, paging through the scrapbook-like handmade menu books after they sat down.
Instead of the usual older lady coming to take their order, a woman closer to the skater's ages stood up. She had been talking with a few other women of the same age, and looked more like a customer than a waitress.
"Welcome to the—wow, Katsuki-chan?" The woman gasped, placing both hands on the table and leaning forward.
Viktor felt Yuuri's muscles tense under the hand pressed to Yuuri's side. He forced an awkward smile.
"Um, it's Yuuri…." He said with a small nod.
"Well, of course!" She gestured to his body, and then to the unavoidable bump. "Sara-chan, it's Yuuri-chan! Remember? We went to the same school! " A woman in the corner table waved.
"Well, it's actually Nikiforov-Katsuki now." Yuuri mumbled. His eyes had dropped to the floor.
"Wow! Congratulations! You got married and started a family!"
Viktor frowned in distaste. It was hard to tell if the woman was trying to guise a compliment as an insult, or if she was just stupid. Viktor had noticed that whenever they were in a large group of foreign skaters while in Japan, any interactions defaulted to Yuuri. Even though Viktor had studied for years and was functionally fluent, no one ever thought to think he could understand them.
"Yeah, um, I did…" Yuuri's avoidance turned into a deer in the headlights stare.
"You're so lucky! I never thought anyone in Hasetsu would marry a hot foreigner, especially after your weird phase in high school!" The woman chirped.
"This one, please." Phichit held up the menu, pointing to the photo of the menu item. Chris and his man were watching, blank look on their faces. Phichit knew enough of his bestie that whatever conversation that was going on was not a good one.
"Yuuri, we can go to another café." Viktor turned to his husband, squeezing his side. Yuuri didn't even react, his eyes wide and face flushed, facing the girl from his past.
"Aaah, yes, the katsu sandwich set." The woman stuttered, not knowing what else to say, especially when the 'hot foreigner' spoke in smooth, Saga-ben accented Japanese.
"It's okay." Yuuri said robotically, reaching across to their shared menu. "Two more sandwhich sets, with orange juice and milk tea."
Viktor worked to keep his jaw shut, staring at his husband gathering the last orders and the menus back into a neat stack.
When the waitress left, Viktor took one of Yuuri's hands in his. "Yuuri, we can go. I can cover our bill and leave while she's in the back."
"We don't need to leave, Viktor!" Yuuri said, the end of his sentence higher in the pitch than the rest.
"This is a darling space. There's a very natural ambiance." Chris offered.
"But she misgendered you and said you transitioning was a weird phase." Viktor's words dripped with venom and anger.
The table went silent.
Phichit looked pissed.
"Viktor, it doesn't matter!" his voice was a little too loud for the room.
"It does matter, Yuuri!" Viktor threw up his hands. "You're not a girl, and it wasn't a phase!"
"I know, Viktor!" Yuuri's voice cracked, the forcefulness of his tone breaking underneath. "I've known all my life. This isn't the first time, or the last. I want to stay." Yuuri blinked rapidly, bowing his head to hide it from the rest of the table.
Viktor opened his mouth, before catching Phichit's look out of the corner of his eye. He licked his lips instead, studying the wood grain of the table in front of him.
Halfway through their sandwiches, words jumped past Viktor's lips.
"But we should tell her—"
"No." Yuuri said weakly.
"Why not?" Viktor huffed, stabbing the side salad with his fork a little too violently.
"Because Yuuri doesn't owe everyone an explanation." Phichit piped up, his brows furrowed. "We started a policy. If someone says she, we say he, and move on. No one needs to know anything else."
Yuuri nodded weakly, and Viktor deflated.
He remembered the night Yuuri had breached the topic with him.
They were in a hotel—for what competition, exactly, he didn't remember. It was after they started training together, but before Yuuri moved to St. Petersburg permanently. Viktor had thought the awkward air between them was the weird spot in their life—lots of big transitions and plans after winning silver. They had engagement rings, and shared beds, but kissing stopped and hands never went below the waist.
Viktor was drunk with happiness, the endorphins running through his body making him a little more handsy than usual. He hadn't felt this happy in years.
"Yuuri," He had cooed, his hands resting on the elastic waistband of Yuuri's pajama pants. "I want all of you. I want to taste you, my beautiful Yuuri." Viktor had lowered his head, kissing at the fly of Yuuri's pants.
He was flung across the bed, pushed off suddenly and violently away by Yuuri's hands.
Viktor remembered the twisted mix of emotions in his gut, and that he had tears spring instantly to his eyes.
"Y-y-y-ou can't." Yuuri had stuttered, bright red and immediately sorry.
"Why?" Viktor 's voice had escaped into a whine. His tears rolled down his cheeks, forgotten, when he heard the quick and short gasps that always began Yuuri's most violent panic attacks.
"I don't have one. I-I, i—"
Viktor blinked, and Yuuri laughed awkwardly, in a short, breathless way.
"Did it…?" He made a chopping gesture with his hands, crawling back onto the bed.
"I was born a girl." The words tumbled out of Yuuri's mouth so fast, it was hard to understand him.
When Yuuri got nervous, his accent got thicker. It was adorable during press conferences.
It made things harder at that time.
Viktor had repeated Yuuri's sentence slowly, only earning a slow nod.
Silence sat between them, as Viktor scratched his chin in thought.
"Can I get inside you instead?"
Yuuri nearly choked at the suggestion. "What?"
"My Yuuri is Yuuri. I don't know anything about…." He made a vague gesture. "But, if you're not comfortable with that… then there are other options…with men…"
Yuuri wheezed.
"I…. I feel…disgusting." He wiped the snot running from his nose.
"You're beautiful." Viktor had said, and he meant it.
The night had ended with an emergency call to Chris while Yuuri took a long, hot shower to clear his head. Viktor had committed the call to memory, using it as a guidebook for the next few months.
Scene: Viktor, huddled in a hotel closet, with his cellphone pressed to his ear
Chris: Hello?
Viktor: I have no idea what I'm doing
Chris: It's a little late to ask for coaching help
Viktor: Ha ha. Remember Alexander?"
Chris: Oh, Alexander. So flexible. A wonderful 6 months I could never forget.
Viktor: During Pride, the flag he was carrying?
Chris: Mmm, yes. Why, do you want a transgender flag costume? I have connections.
Viktor: This isn't about competitions.
Chris: Go on?
Viktor: How did things go…when you were...intimate?
Chris: Why are you curious all of a sudden? You are devoted to Yuuri… Yuuri this, Yuuri that.
Viktor: Ahem…
Chris: Ah.
Well, communicate. Ask what is okay, what isn't. I honestly don't think you're in trouble, considering I've never seen you closer than 3 feet away from a woman….
Viktor: But this is Yuuri. I can't mess it up.
Chris: Yes, it is Yuuri. The same Yuuri as yesterday, and last week.
Viktor: I wanted to suck him off and he pushed me off the bed.
Chris: Ah, sounds normal.
Viktor: I've been dreaming about riding him
Chris: I will link you to the website where Alexander and I got our accessories, darling
Viktor: I am going to die if I scare him away, Chris. He's four feet away and it hurts.
Chris: That's love, my dear. Feel better?
Viktor: So I don't do anything differently?
Chris: Just keep loving him like the sick, stupid man you are.
Chris had assuaged his emotional side, and in the few weeks between the competition and Yuuri moving to Russia he sought out logical fulfillment. Medical books—novels written by transgender authors. Books written by mothers of transgender reality stars. He knew about every procedure, how long recovery took, and how long and expensive it was to change sex designation on official paperwork.
Viktor was prepared, pulling out the pink, blue and white flag along with the rainbow one when St. Petersburg Pride arrived two months later. Yuuri had shyly wrapped it around his shoulders. But they spent most of the time wrapped around each other, the rainbow covering them both. Viktor only realized that night, when Phichit had commented on the Instagram post about Yuuri finally being able to attend Pride in a decent outfit.
Viktor had lived his life living a role that rested just outside his skin. He had always been loud—a presence, larger than life.
Sometimes he forgot that Yuuri, his beautiful Yuuri, had spent it quietly chasing after the skin he wanted.
Viktor didn't disagree with Phichit. It had taken Yuuri a year to open up to Viktor. He really didn't need to tell a waitress at a small café in his hometown the ins and outs of why it was Yuuri-kun and not Yuuri-chan.
It was just so, so hard to let it go. To leave a loose thread—to let someone think Yuuri different than he really was.
But Yuuri had been the one to grow up Yuuri. It was Yuuri's hometown. It was his battle. Viktor had to be his cavalry, but Yuuri was the captain. It was his call.
However angry it made him to hold back.