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Chapter Text

Yuri Plisetsky has a bone to pick with Victor Nikiforov. The silver haired bastard had damned near driven the world to have one collective heart attack and Yuri has decided that the “old man” deserves a good ass kicking. Six fucking months he’d disappeared for! One day he had been his typical, happy-go-lucky bullshit spewing self and the next? Bam! He was gone, no note, no answering his phone; just gone. Not to sound selfish, but the bastard’s disappearance had been all anyone could talk about. Hell, even he was worried for a while. Sue him, he wasn’t completely heartless!

But as a sixteen-year-old up and coming figure skater, it was bound to become frustrating that those responsible for his tutelage and rise to fame were distracted by what started out as deep concern and ended as unimaginable frustration. The worst scenarios plagued the minds closest to him. Kidnapping? Murder? Suicide? He was attractive, had money to spare, and had no one outside of the skating community. And out of that community, no one that was exceptionally close. There was Christophe Giacometti, but even he had to admit that he didn’t fully understand the inner workings of Victor’s mindset or needs as a person. They were friends, but not overly so. It wasn’t as though Victor made it easy to get close to him.

People were worried, but what turned that worry into frustration (but let’s be honest, the worry was still there) was the fact that after three days of Victor being reported missing, Yakov received a call from the police saying that the investigation would be called off before it could truly begin. Victor had contacted them, apologizing profusely, but making it clear that he needed time away and that he unfortunately couldn’t make it clear to those closest to him. It was “detrimental” to his mental health to leave.

The depressingly funny thought is that Victor and mental health go together in a way that while worrying, would previously not have been in the same way that others would be associated. Victor was weird, overly dramatic, and exceedingly annoying. To think that the oaf would have issues is…. even now it’s weird to think about. And it’s difficult to imagine that even being true. Victor, and again, always has been dramatic. But it’s also the ones you never expect sometimes to have the darkest of thoughts.

The confusing bastard!

To add insult to injury, the asshole had sent a text to Yakov, from a new number no less, announcing, “I’m coming home” after six months of being gone! And that was it! Yuri had never seen Yakov so mad, not even when Victor had first left. He also seemed defeated, but Yuri may have been seeing things at time, he was pissed himself when he heard about it via Yakov’s angry shouts and grumbles.

Yuri isn’t sure what he’s supposed to feel. But Victor coming home made him feel a lot of things. Anger, relief, grief, and a tiredness a teenager shouldn’t have to feel, ever. He’s dealt with stress from school, his career, and he knows that dealing with the loss of his parent’s young hurt him, but god, he didn’t think that he’d have to face a similar stressful situation so soon. He’s sixteen damn it! He’s likely to get an ulcer by the time he’s twenty!

If Yuri’s right, and he’s sure he has his facts straight, the bastard should be back in Russia today. And if he’s back, Yuri’s welcome back, if he could even be considered welcome, will be a swift punch to the face; consecutive punches to the face.

Walking up to Victor’s apartment building brings forth nostalgia and anxiety. As much as Yuri wishes, nay, needs to yell at and hit Victor he’s nervous about the possibility of breaking down and demanding answers and pleading ‘why?’.

He learned quickly that Victor could be selfish. The man was a child with the body of a twenty-seven-year-old. He didn’t do simplicity and drew out any situation with childish ploys as he could get away with. It was infuriating to deal with. But no one in million years would have guessed that he’d go and do something like he did for the last six months. And that was fuck all for all he knew.

Riding up the elevator may as well have taken ten years off his life. One of his earliest memories is of his time spent in the hospital after the accident that ultimately took his parents lives in the end. Elevator rides seem to really be a means to end, don’t they?

Approaching Victor’s apartment door, Yuri only hesitates for a moment before ringing the doorbell.

Imagine his surprise when he ends up waiting for another fives minutes before realizing that either no one is home, or he’s being ignored. Ringing the doorbell again, he starts tapping his foot angrily before flat out banging his fist on the door.

“Victor! Open the damn door, asshole!” Taking a moment to compose himself, Yuri decides that ringing the doorbell repeatedly would probably hurt his hands less. Before he can begin his new mission, he notices a sign taped somewhat low on the door just above the doorknob.

‘Please call this number if there is no immediate answer at the door’

8-499-567-3498  

Odd, but Yuri can roll with it. After everything else the bastard has put him through, this isn’t even the weirdest. Dialing the number, Yuri listens as it rings and rings and rings. It suddenly cuts off saying he’s been forwarded to voicemail. Before he can even emotionally respond, there’s a sudden noise from the other side of the door. It isn’t exactly right on the other side, but it’s obvious that someone is coming.

Yuri knows that he wants to punch Victor so badly that it almost hurts him to want something so desperately. But he’s also tired. He’s exhausted and it’s the past six months catching up to him, he knows it. The door opens and anything he feels, or thinks is washed away by confusion.

The man before him isn’t Victor. Victor is tall, blue eyed, and has silver hair. This man is considerably shorter than Victor, by a head and a half, and has brown eyes. His hair is also black and if he thought Victor was pale, then he had nothing on this notably Japanese man before him. The look the man is giving him tells him that he’s just as confused at seeing Yuri as Yuri is at seeing him. It doesn’t make him feel better.

“Victor..?” It’s all he can think of to say before recognition sparks in the other man’s eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, discreate smart phone. It’s nothing fancy or even too expensive, Yuri is sure that it’s an IPhone but generations back. He almost thinks he should be offended by the man finding his phone more important than the stranger in front of him before he notices that he’s typing with a speed that floors him. The phone screen is presented to him before he can think of anything to say, clever or otherwise.

‘You wouldn’t happen to be Plisetsky Yuri would you?’  

The question makes him wary. The man could be a stalker, waiting for him or someone else from the team to show up and do who knows what. He thinks that he’d know if Victor’s apartment were put on the market. Yakov might have even taken sadistic glee in it if he didn’t not-so-secretly just want Victor to be okay. Yuri is sure that the others have noticed how the man checks his phone three times more than he used to; Most likely to see if Victor’s death made headlines. Yuri thinks it’s weird that Yakov would care so much but still curses the bastards name to hell and back. But Yakov is old and a retired skater turned coach. He could just be weird like that. He’s noticed that skaters aren’t exactly normal.

Steeling himself for a fight, he answers, “Yeah, what of it?”

The man immediately sets about typing again before responding.

‘Sorry, I’m deaf. My name is Katsuki Yuuri. Victor stepped out for moment to pick up groceries. He should be back soon; Would you like to wait for him?’  

What the fuck?

Chapter Text

Sitting in Victor’s apartment is weirdly new and foreign. It looks like it’s in the middle of a deep clean. Cakes of dust in some places and sparkling clean in others. It isn’t a feeling he’s used to when concerning Victor. To give himself some fairness, there’s been a lot of things he isn’t used to when concerning Victor lately. He got used to Victor leaving quickly. It was everything following that just kept adding up.

There were the tabloids that never stopped asking about Victor’s whereabouts. Every magazine from good standing journalism to sleezy TMZ trash reads either had some speculation on where he was and why he left or just questions upon questions on what drove him to leave. Too many accused the team and league of abuse or some form of mistreatment to chase the star away.

Then there were the fans. Be it online or in person, the fans were everywhere. The skating fanbase is widespread and vocal. Like any other fanbase, there’s a large amount of people with not an ounce of a respect for privacy. Some days Yuri couldn’t leave the rink alone out of fear of being accosted by someone on the street wanting an answer. The same could be said for Mila and Georgie. There was talk of bodyguards before things calmed down some and statements were made about police getting involved and action being taken to protect the team.

And of course, the team itself just about almost collapsed in on itself. Mila suggests team outings almost daily and he’s heard comments made by Yakov about if she’s worried anyone else will disappear too. It’s worryingly needy. She’s always been the social butterfly of the group, Yuri imagines even before he entered the picture. But the desperate look in her eye each time is newer and more painful to be directed under. Georgie doesn’t bring up his relationship habits anymore. It took him awhile to get over his last girlfriend but before that, he was so vocal about his lost love and how he wanted her back.  Once he got over her, his talks of her became talks of finding “true love” and “my dream woman is out there, I just know it”.

There’s none of that now.

Even Yuri is more temperamental. He hates to admit it, but he’s been angrier these days. He exploded at Lilia, his ballet instructor, three times already. One of those times broke a decorative vase in her home studio. He’s still surprised that he hasn’t been dropped by her yet. A smaller part of him thinks that he couldn’t really blame her if she did.

For as long as Yuri has known Victor, he’s noticed that he’s a perfectionist in some very specific ways. On and off the ice Victor likes things to be clean. The man can be disorganized but being genuinely unclean isn’t possible for the man. If his clothes show even the slightest bit fraying, he replaces them. Small food stain? In the trash. He doesn’t do wearing clothes that never leave the house. His costumes? Yuri is pretty sure Victor leaves them in those special bags to keep dust and deteriorating agents away. He knows that usually when Victor leaves for vacation or lengthy trips that he hires a cleaning service to keep his place dust free and aired out on occasion.

It’s uncomfortable to see his home so…... unkempt.

He’s sure the curtains will have to be flat out washed, maybe professionally. There are dishes in the sink that seem to be at the beginning of a much-needed soak. Some furniture like the love-seat and the entertainment center show signs of having been pulled out and pushed back.

It isn’t a crack den or even a hell hole, but it is unbearably strange.

It isn’t as strange as the man currently at the heart of it all though. Katsuki (He won’t call him by his own name, not even under threat of death), the supposedly deaf man waiting for Victor to return home.

‘He’s a weird one,’ Yuri thinks, eyeing the cup of tea set out before him. The older man had ushered the blond inside before getting to work on preparing him tea. It was an oddly polite gesture, perhaps it has to do with being Japanese? Is that racist? Shaking his head, Yuri turns his head to watch Katsuki as he cleans, humming as he goes along.

He’s sure that the man must be uncomfortable about the situation. Unless his kidnapper idea wasn’t far off. He putters back and forth throughout the apartment like a man on a mission. Kudos to him, though. The apartment needs that type of focus if it’ll be truly clean like it was before.

Leaning back into the mildly dusty couch, Yuri wonders about Victor. Victor isn’t the type to invite random people into his home, cleaning service aside. He can count on one hand the amount of times Yuri himself has been invited and allowed in and he’s sure that any amount higher for Mila and Georgie is due to the fact that Victor has known them longer, and not because he’s closer to them. So, who is this man to Victor? How long have they known each other? Why does it hurt so much that Yuri hasn’t heard of him?

Maybe he should leave.

Before he can voice his thoughts, Katsuki comes around the couch and sits on the opposing loveseat. He begins typing on his phone before presenting it to Yuri.

‘I’m sorry, I’m not being much of a host, am I?’

Snorting, Yuri crosses his legs, “It’s not like it’s your apartment to host for, right?”

It takes a moment before Katsuki seems to understand him and he flushes a bit in what Yuri can only assume is embarrassment.

‘I suppose you aren’t wrong about that. I’m not good at it, but I feel like I should be talking to you though. Like I’m being rude if I just ignore you’

“What are you, an old man? Although, if you’re anyway near Victor’s age, maybe you are an old man. Just don’t worry about it, I don’t even know you. And you don’t even know me. It doesn’t bother me if you do your own thing,” Yuri snaps. The Russian doesn’t feel bad about Katsuki looking away nervously or how he starts fiddling with his phone; Turing it over and pressing the side-buttons randomly. But it does become awkward fast without a flow of conversation.

Damn it!

Before he can think on it, he snaps his fingers in Katsuki’s face, gaining his attention. He doesn’t dwell on how rude that probably is, “How long have you known Victor? I haven’t ever heard of you.”

‘We’ve known each other since his second day in Japan.’

Yuri’s back straightens in shock, “Japan!? Is that where he’s been this whole time!?”

It probably means something that Katsuki hesitates before answering him. The answer that finally comes doesn’t help the uneasiness that’s grown either.

‘I’m sorry, I think I should wait for Victor before explaining his time in Japan.’

Uncrossing his legs, he leans forward, his hands gripping his knees tightly, “But why!? I think we all could use an explanation! The idiot left and didn’t tell anyone why, for six months no less!”

At this point, Yuri raises from the couch and begins pacing back and forth, gesturing with his hands, “Mila lost confidence in herself! She thinks she isn’t a good rink mate or friend and as much as I hate to say it, that’s not true. As annoying as she is, she tries stupidly hard to include everyone that comes in and out of that damned rink! And that dumbass, Popovich doesn’t talk about his dumbass feelings anymore and it’s weird! I can’t even get a read on Feltsman! Nothing makes sense anymore and it all leads back to Victor! He hasn’t told us anything and I’m so sick of waiting!”

Falling back on the coach, Yuri could care less about the wear on the piece of furniture. He’s so tired of being tired and Victor’s been doing a swell job at keeping him exhausted. Katsuki stares it him for a few moments with unwavering focus. It unsettles Yuri being under that kind of weight. The older man starts typing on his phone before presenting it for Yuri to once again read.

‘I’m not saying that Victor doesn’t have a lot to explain. He does and it won’t be easy. It may not seem like it right now, but Victor cares about you all a lot.’

Yuri scoffs at that one.

‘It’s true. Victor needed something that he couldn’t get here. Sometimes we need to find help before the relationships we already have can be healthier.’

“So, it’s our fault he left!?”

‘No. It just couldn’t be helped as things were. If Victor thought anyone here were at fault, he wouldn’t have come back at all, I don’t think.’

Yuri has nothing to say to that. In a way he thinks the other Yuuri is right. If Victor thought the others had wronged him, he would have stayed away. Victor is a lot of things, but someone who sticks around bad friends isn’t one of those things. Many people have come and gone from Victor’s life. It’s no secret. He’s had plenty of relationships that ended before they could really mean something from Yuri’s point of view.

There was this one woman that Victor went out with a few times before Victor cut her out abruptly. Yuri never cared for her, so it wasn’t a loss of any sort in his humble opinion. He remembers her as a rude person and snobbish. She may have been a model of some sort and money and lavish luxuries were very important in her everyday life. Her name was Sonya and she once told Mila that she should do more to be attractive for her performances. Her long, blond hair had reached down to the small of her back and she had once snapped at Popovich for complimenting it.

The last time Yuri knows they spent time together was the day before Victor let everyone at the rink know that the woman would no longer be around. When asked, Victor had told them not to worry about it with his stupid heart shaped mouth and twinkling eyes. (as if he wasn’t a grown man but a child instead) The whole thing reminded Yuri of something his grandfather once told him.

“Your grandmother was a kind woman with a backbone and I’ll always be grateful for that. Some aren’t as fortunate.”

If Victor thought they were all bad then he wouldn’t have come back. It only makes him feel a little better, but it’s something.

“The others are going to give the old man hell,” Yuri tells him. There’s something to be said for the almost tender expression that graces Katsuki’s face in response.

‘I can promise you that would probably make Victor happy in the long run. Better to prove how much you mean to him than to lose you.’

The door being unlocked keeps him from being able to think too hard on that. Jumping back on his feet, he braces himself for the shouting that he’s bursting to unleash. Every feeling that’s coursed through his bones in the last six months make their way back through his body in a flood. It takes a second before he realizes that there’s a new ringing in his ears. His stomach hurts from the anticipation and he’s sure more than ever that he’ll make Victor pay for his medical bills because to hell with twenty, he probably has an ulcer right this moment.

The man that walks through the door isn’t Victor Nikiforov. He looks like him, Yuri will give him that credit where it’s due, but it isn’t really him. He never realized it until now but the Victor that left looked more like plastic and the fancy rubber that dolls sometimes have than this Victor. This Victor has bags under his eyes, and his shoulders aren’t picture perfect squared or mixed with a dramatic pose that Victor can be well known for.

This Victor has a pimple right on his left cheek and his hair looks like it lost a fight with a pillow and then got kicked by the wind while it was already down for the count. His shoulders are slouched, and his back is somewhat hunched and Victor slouching is a somewhat good look on him. He isn’t dressed in his notorious designer clothes either. Sonya may have loved anything considered luxury, but Victor just liked the idea of nice clothes. It was his one staple as someone with money to spare.

Yuri is certain he’s seen the t-shirt peaking from the opening of his coat somewhere on a rack for fifteen dollars. At the very least, he’s seen something similar.

This Victor is not the Victor that left six months ago, and he looks oddly better for it. He doesn’t look perfect, but he’s like an actual human being.

“You bastard!” Yuri marches around the couch and hates how resigned Victor looks, as if he knows what’s coming to him. He’d be right, but it’s unfair!

“You left. You promised you’d train me. You promised you would come into the rink the next day. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to people!?” It’s Victor leaning down that reminds Yuri that he was out getting groceries, now on the floor. Nudging the door closed with his foot, Victor steps more inside, staring at Yuri. ‘It’s pathetic how sad he looks,’ Yuri can’t help but think.

“I’m sorry,” Victor murmurs before looking away. He can hear Katsuki shift on the love seat behind him. Maybe he needs a better view to read Victor’s lips. Yuri doesn’t care.

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” he stalks over with his fist raised. The plan is to show him how angry he is; How ‘sorry’ really doesn’t cut it and that he’ll be as good as dead to him by the time Yuri is done with him.

His vision is blurry suddenly just as he’s two steps away from Victor and the anger melts away. The pure hate that he’s held onto doesn’t compare to the mind-numbing devastation that he’s left with. Falling into Victor and latching onto his coat, bunching the fabric in his hands, he starts to hyperventilate. His face feels so sticky from his tears. It’s all just so terrible and he’s scared that it’ll never stop and he’s sure he’s going to die.

He can barely get out, “It’s not okay, you bastard.”