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Five times Viktor and Yuuri acted like Yurio's parents

Chapter Text

1. The embarrassing nickname


 

“Yurio!”

“Yuuuurioooo~”

Yuri snarls wordlessly, removing his jacket and stomping over to lace his skates. Mila, the hag, stares at him with amusement as she leans on the edge of the ice rink.

“You’re not going to greet them back?” she says, tutting. “That’s a bit rude, you know. Look, they’re disappointed.”

Against his will, he shoots a glance across the rink where the wonder duo was situated. Sure enough, the katsudon had a crestfallen look on his face, like someone had taken his pork cutlet bowl away from him. Viktor was plain pouting.

He snorts, an odd burst of satisfaction blooming in his chest. Frowning, he shook the feeling away.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough to wrench his stare away from them. Viktor meets his eye and he visibly brightens, shouting out. “Yurioooo~ Ohayo!”

“Dhaw, isn’t that sweet.” Mila drawls, chuckling over Yuuri’s chimes that echoes with Viktor’s.

“They’re grown men. They’re embarrassing.” Yuri mutters over the chants of ‘Yurio~’. He looks up and bellows angrily. “That’s not my name, you asshats!”

Mila clicks her tongue. “Don’t tell me that it’s bothering you?”

“Ha?” Yuri gives her a fierce look, straightening up from tying his skates. “What do you mean, hag?”

“The name thing?” Mila clarifies, twirling a strand of her red hair. “You’re not mad about that are you?”

“What, them calling me Yurio?” Yuri snorts, braiding his hair. “Please, I’m not that petty. It pissed me off before but I don’t give a damn now.”

“Ooooh, but it did piss you off.” Mila slinks over him, eyes alight with interest. “What changed?”

Yuri bites his tongue, looking away.

Like hell he was going to spill.

At first, he was irritated that the katsudon shared his name because he was disappointed in the Japanese Yuuri. He didn’t want to be associated to him at all. The guy’s self-esteem was non-existent and to Yuri, it was unforgivable despite his reluctant admiration at the Japanese Yuuri's step sequence. Yuri had vowed before he had ever started skating that the only thing he would never lose in this sport was his pride. So to see a person with the same name as him drown in anxiety and depression made him rage.

He would never sink that low.

Then afterwards, it became a competition.

When Viktor chose the katsudon, it was a blow to him. The living idiot was the top skater of the world and for him to choose the Japanese Yuuri over him was like a brand that Yuri would always be second best, was not worth coaching since he found a replacement. That the living legend of Russia had chosen a Yuuri to pass on his legacy, and that Yuuri wasn’t him. It was a blow to Yuri’s pride and he was more than enraged.

He would not be fucking left behind.

Screw Nikiforov and his piggy.

He wouldn’t be second.

And he wasn’t. He won the Grand Prix Final and became the gold medalist. By an inch, but a win was a win and he would train harder to remain in that spot because that .12 difference was still so damn grating. The next time he won, Yuri swore he’d beat both of them by a long damn mile.

But along the way, Yuri had realized that it wasn’t that Viktor chose the katsudon over him. It wasn’t that he thought Yuri was unworthy of coaching.

No.

The fucking idiot was just in love.

He wanted to get into katsudon’s pants. Oh, he was sure that Viktor wanted to cultivate his talent, especially since the katsudon didn’t have a coach while Yuri had Yakov anyway. But aside from that, Viktor found his muse and wouldn’t be pried away from the piggy under any kind of threat.

So Yuri let it be and showed irritation at being called ‘Yurio’ more out of habit now.

“Oy, Yurio? Yurio!” Mila’s whining jolts him back. “Tell me!”

“None of your business, hag. And stop calling me that.” He dismisses her with irritation, stretching before taking off into the ice. She follows him, and Yuri could feel his temper bubbling over.

Mila pouts. “Oh, come on! Tell meee…”

He ignores her, intent on focusing on the feel of the ice beneath his blades. The sound of another skater makes Yuri look up and an automatic scowl pronounces on his face. It was katsudon and the living idiot. Great. He mentally gags at their sappy looks, hoping that he’d never be that sentimental when he grew older. Being sweet was alright, but they take attachment to a whole new creepy level.

He sniffs and makes it a point to glide away from them. Unfortunately, he doesn’t see Mila and her mischievously glinting eyes darting between him and the two.

“Hey, Viktor? Come here, I gotta tell you something.” She chirps, skating towards the couple.


Yuri tiredly drops his skates and slumps on the wall. Training had been brutal today, Yakov was being far more ornery than usual. He had to get the second half of his new short program up to par in terms of technical difficulty, and that would take—

 “Yuri?”

He flares up in instinct. “That’s not my—” He blinks at the right use of his name and looks at Viktor blankly. “Ha?”

The living idiot was staring at him seriously, the katsudon hovering at his back. Yuri narrows his eyes, wondering if running away would be seen as cowardly. Maybe he should punch him just for the heck of it. He hadn’t been acting normally ever since this morning. In fact, both of them were. They were more subdued. Less in your face. And while it was far more peaceful, it made Yakov twitchier because it was like he was waiting for a volcano to explode.

“Spit it out,” Yuri says in his usual brisk tone. His eyes widens when Viktor places a comforting hand on his shoulder and looks at him mournfully. Yuri panics internally even as he scowls at the duo. What the heck?!

“Oy, what—”

“Yuri. We’re sorry.” Viktor says somberly, with the air of someone on their deathbed. “We didn’t know it would affect you that way.”

“Wha—”

“We didn’t mean for you to feel like that.” The Japanese Yuuri continues, looking like he was about to start the waterworks. “No wonder you avoid us a lot.”

He avoids everyone, Yuri wanted to say. What was up with these two?

“Mila told us—”

“The HAG?!”

“—about how calling you Yurio makes you sad and how it gives you an existential crisis—”

“—THE HELL IT DOES!”

“—and so we should stop calling you that.”

“I don’t give a shit on what you call me,” Yuri spits, and he internally grows alarmed when it makes the two of them wilt even further. Like damn plants. “Just scram. I wanna punch the hag in the face—”

“WE’RE SORRY, YURA!” Viktor sobs in his shoulder and Yuri panics, looking to the katsudon for help. Instead, he sees the Japaneses Yuuri’s eyes glisten as he sniffs like the teary pig he is and Yuri flails.

“Oy, let go!” Yuri screams and no, his voice didn’t rack up several decibels.

“But what should we call you instead?” Viktor continues to wail. “You can’t have the same name as Yuuri, it would get too confusing. Especially during competitions—”

It astounds Yuri on how Viktor still screams everything while monologuing. “I don’t care, you could call me jack shit and I still won’t answer anyway—”

“Oh, Viktor!” It was like a lightbulb dinged above the katsudon’s head. “You called him Yura before, didn’t you?”

“Yes? It’s a different way to say Yuri in Russian.” Viktor sniffs, thankfully letting go of Yuri. He growls and internally swears to make Mila’s life a living hell. “Oh! We could call him Yura! Or Yuratchka!”

Yuri’s eye twitches. The hell they would! That was his grandfather’s nickname for him and there was no way—

“What about Yuracchin instead? It’s much cuter! It sound like Makkachin!”

Yuri gives Viktor a dead look. Was he bi-polar? Or high? He was just bawling like a baby a second ago and now he looked like someone lit his ass with dopamine. The katsudon must have the patience of a saint.

And what was the old man saying, calling him cute and comparing him to his mutt?! Yuri wasn’t cute, he was the Ice Tiger of Russia! And he was a cat person!

“Yuratchka sounds nice.” The katsudon hums and Yuri fights the urge to hit him in the face because apart from Yakov, the piggy could be the only sensible one in the rink. Well, sometimes. He wasn’t being sensible now. “But what about Yuracchan? '-chan' is a lovely suffix in Japanese.”

“Oh, oh!” Viktor fucking bounces, and Yuri just can’t. He wants a one way ticket out. “What about I call him Yuratchka and you call him Yuracchan?”

The katsudon smiles like he’s been handed a million pork cutlet bowls and Yuri really wants out. “That sounds wonderful! What do you think, Yuracchan?”

Two expectant faces suddenly loom on him and Yuri counts to ten, asking for patience.

One…

Two…

He snaps.

“HAG!”


 

Chapter Text

...

2. Letting him stay over

Yuuri frowns when the second half of practice ends. He comes to a standstill in the ice and tilts his head.

"Viktor? Where's Yuracchan?"

His silver-haired fiancé blinks at him, gliding in the ice elegantly. "Yuratchka? I haven't seen him all day."

Mila passes by them and upon catching their conversation, begins to snicker quietly. Yuuri sends her a wry smile.

They had taken to calling Yuri his new nicknames ever since Mila cornered them during practice weeks ago. While Yuuri knew that most of what she said were jokes, it was also true that Yuracchan had genuinely protested being called 'Yurio' in the first place and had probably disliked it in the beginning. And while he hadn't seem bothered at being called 'Yurio' (much) anymore, he had been greatly receptive (violent) at being called 'Yurracchan' and 'Yuratchka' than he had when they called him Yurio, wherein he would just plain out ignore them. It was progress, so it must mean he liked being called Yuracchan and Yuratchka better!

Although Yuuri wonders how Yuracchan would react if he realizes that 'chan' is a suffix used for girls in Japanese…

He winces inwardly. Best not inform him.

Yuuri likes the temperamental teen. Underneath all that bluster and temper was a pretty vulnerable kid. Strong, but sensitive. As crazy as it sounds, Yuracchan reminds Yuuri of himself. They were both emotional and tried to hide their feelings, but they just projected it differently. While Yuuri would boil in his nerves and cover his anxiety with a trembling smile, Yuracchan would rather kick himself than show vulnerability and would snarl and rage at people to keep them at arm's length.

That wasn't healthy. He should have good support—

"Yuuri, you're having that look on your face again," Viktor says with amusement, hooking an arm on his fiance's waist, nuzzling his cheek.

"What look?" Yuuri asks, pecking a quick kiss on Viktor's lips.

"That mother-hen look." Viktor teases as he lets go, spinning lazy circles around him. "It's about Yuratchka, isn't it?"

Yuuri pouts, although he'd insist that it was a severe frown. "He needs looking after."

To his surprise, Viktor nods his head. "He does. Although he doesn't show it."

"What do you know about him?" Yuuri asks, slowly gliding on the ice so Viktor could continue his circling.

"Well, I know that he's the breadwinner of their family." Viktor hums. "He has younger siblings, and he pays for their boarding school."

"Boarding schools are expensive." Yuuri points out.

"They are." Viktor nods, twining their hands together. "But he insists on nothing but the best for them. And this way, they're looked after by the school. His parents are… well."

A silence descends on them, disturbed only by the faint 'krsshh' of their skates.

"That's why he's so prickly." Yuuri finally says, feeling sad for the teen. "He has to be an adult, and we're all treating him like a kid."

"Well, he has to be one. Because he is." Viktor shrugs. "But he respects that we treated him like real competition during the events. With all the hard work he puts in, of course we should."

"But he can't afford to be like a kid. Have you ever seen him act like one? He tries to be more like an adult." Yuuri huffs, wanting to do something for him. "But he needs parents to be more like his age—"

Viktor brightens, and Yuuri has to take a moment to process how it lights up his face. "Yuuri, we can adopt Yuratchka!"

Yuuri takes a moment to process that too, and when he does, he snorts a huff of laughter. He imagines them going to Yuracchan and presenting him the certificate of adoption with great cheer. He can clearly picture the teen's ferocious look, the slack jaw, and the long, drawn out 'HAAAA?!', just like that one time when Yuuri tried to hug him. He laughs again. "Sure. Let's do that. In the meantime, how do you want your casket? Silver or gold?"

"Oh, gold of course—" Viktor blinks in realization then whines, "Yuuuuri, you're not taking me seriously!"

"I am," Yuuri says in a mock teasing voice. "What outfit do you want to be in during the wake? I think your purple outfit will do—"

Viktor gives chase and Yuuri glides on the ice, laughing. After a few minutes, they stop to catch their breath.

"But seriously, we should do something." Yuuri says, brushing hair out of his forehead. It was getting a bit too long.

"Well you've heard my suggestion." Viktor tangles their fingers together, their gold rings clinking slightly.

"Something more realistic, Viktor." Yuuri bumps his forehead to his gently.

"Fiiine," Viktor drawls out. He blinks when his coach stomps from the other side of the rink, face grim. Well, grimmer than usual. "Oh, Yakov!"

He turns around and looks at them impatiently.

"Where's Yuratchka? We haven't seen him all day!"

Yakov grunts. "Hospital."

It took them three seconds to absorb that word and when they did, they both yelped and scrambled off the ice in panic.

"Hospital?!"

"Yutatcka's in the hospital?!"

They vaguely heard Mila and the other skaters echo their words and get off the ice too and soon enough, Yakov was surrounded by his numerous students, all asking about the prickly skater. The old man palms his forehead and asks for deliverance.

"Alright, shut up brats!" he yells at them all. "It's not Plisetsky in the hospital—"

More than one audible sigh of relief was heard. Georgi sobs dramatically in relief.

"—it's his grandfather. He took a bad fall and had to be checked in the hospital for a few weeks."

"Oh," Yuuri says in dismay, remembering the katsudon phirozkhi Yuracchan handed to him on his birthday.

'My grandfather made them himself… great, aren't they?'

He had said it with great cheer, and it was the only time Yuuri had seen him so openly joyful.

Yakov shoos them all, and Viktor smiles faintly at the hesitance on everyone's faces. Mila and Georgi in particular looked ready to barrel into the hospital. Viktor chuckles. He might seem standoffish, but everyone in the rink knew that it was a façade of Yuratchka's. He was well-liked, as he was always willing to help a fellow skater amidst his grumbles and complaints, so everyone was clearly worried for him right now.

"Vitya, Katsuki. Stay behind." Yakov grunts as more skaters disperse.

"Yakov-san, is Yuracchan's grandpa going to be alright?" Yuuri enquires, wringing his hands. Viktor grips them and kisses his forehead soothingly.

"Nothing that good rest and relaxation can't fix," Yakov finally answers after a lifted brow at the mention of 'Yuracchan'. He had heard Katsuki call his blonde student with that nickname several times for weeks now, but young Yura hadn't seem mind it.

"Where is he going to stay?" Yuuri prods further, and Yakov quirks his mouth at the mother-like inquiry.

"That's part of why I asked you to stay." Yakov says. "The kid lives with his grandpa but now that he's in the hospital, I don't like the thought of him living alone. Fans and crazy people and all that."

Viktor nods in understanding. He had more than his fair share of rabid admirers and haters. More of the first really, but there will always be people who live to antagonize others for no reason.

"Lilia's out of town and won't be back 'till next week. Now, normally I'd take him in since he has a room in both my place and Lilia's, but I'm going to be at Moscow for a few days to settle some business with the RSF. I don't want him to be alone right now." Yakov explains.

"We can take him in!" Viktor enthuses with bright eyes. "We have the space!"

Yuuri snorts. Yes, they did. When he first moved to St. Petersburg, Viktor announced that he was getting a bigger apartment since Yuuri was going to live with him. Bigger as in four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a sleek professional kitchen, a lounge, a large living room, and a balcony.

It was one of the rare times Yuuri got pissed at Viktor, because his fiancé had gotten the apartment without his input and insisted on paying for everything. In fact, he had already paid for the whole thing even before their plane had landed on Russian soil. Yuuri had been livid. They didn't need that much space and he didn't want to seem like he was staying with Viktor for his money. Plus, the fact that he hadn't been consulted at all made him more than a little angry because they were supposed to be in a relationship for two, weren't they? So he kidnapped Makkachin and holed himself up at one of the ice rink's spare rooms because Viktor hadn't understood his side one bit.

Looking back, they could both admit to being more than a little bit childish.

It was Yuracchan who cleared the air. Viktor had been moping, wondering at what he did wrong, and the tiny Ice Tiger had kicked him in the shin and yelled at him with creative swear words in between. He then hauled the sulking Yuuri from the ice rink and plopped him on a pouty Viktor's lap and started ranting.

'Alright. I'm gonna yell at you both to get your idiotic brains back on track. Let's start with Russia's so-called living treasure who looks more like a living idiot right now.' He kicks Viktor's designer sofa for emphasis. Viktor looks like he wants to protest, but with his fiancé in his arms, the ferocious look on Yuratchka's face, coupled with his truthfully pathetic look, he was forced to stay silent. 'Viktor. You idiot. What the hell possessed you to throw around your money like confetti on people. Again. No. Shut up, old man. Does the katsudon look like someone who likes to sleep on gold bars or something? He sleeps on a freakin' bare mattress. Hell, I know it's called a futon porky, shut up. I'm talking to Viktor. What I'm saying is that you're in a sappy domesticated relationship with the piggy over here so half of your decisions are his. I don't care if you want to buy St. Petersburg Cathedral, talk it out with katsudon. He's the one crazy enough to be a relationship with you, so tell him how you're gonna live in the freakin' cathedral ceiling, I don't know. Just stop doing things without telling him."

"And you," he turns to Yuuri and he shivers enough for his glasses to fall. "You're the one who decided to saddle yourself with this man-child so good fucking luck. He has the emotional range of a radioactive teacup so I wish you all the best. Unfortunately, your patience is going to run dry more than once so learn to stretch it out. I should know, I've dealt with the idiot for years and I learned what I should not do from him. So choke that insecurity away and fucking talk to each other. He's not gonna leave you. He's a damn airhead who can't keep track of himself half the time so the fact that he keeps clinging on you like a fucking octopus should tell you how much he needs you to breathe. So fucking talk it over with him. You got that!?"

They had nodded their heads vigorously. The teen continued to rant for another half an hour, but they got the gist of what he was saying. Underneath all the barbed insults and swear words were careful advice that they both took into consideration up until this day.

So yes, they had the space.

They looked at each other. Yuuri smiles and Viktor chuckles. For Yuracchan they had all the space in the world.

"You sure?" Yakov squints at them and they put forth their best smiles.

"Yes, we're sure!" they chorus.

"Hmph, fine. Vitya, we're driving to the hospital. Come on, both of you."

"Wait!" Viktor screeches to a halt. "We need to buy Yuratchka things! Towels and pajamas and a toothbrush—"

Yakov groans. "He has all those things Vitya, don't bother—"

"But Yakov-san, we need to make him feel welcome! His room should be personalized—"

"Oooh! Let's do that, Yuuri! I'm gonna look for cat-themed things on the internet—"

"But Viktor! That would take too long. We should just stop by a store—"

Yakov palms his head and asks for deliverance again. He just hopes that young Yura would forgive him for setting him up with these two.


...

"—yeah, Beka. I'm fine." Yuri murmurs to his phone, peering at his dozing grandfather carefully. "I might cut practice to look out for grandpa this week, but I'll be alright."

"Are you sure?"

Yuri chuckles. "You've asked me that five times already. And twelve times during your first call."

"I just want to—"

"—make sure I'm safe, I know." Yuuri cuts him off gruffly, feeling warmth in his chest. It was nice to know that Otabek cared regardless of their distance.

A sigh from the other line. "You sound like you need rest. How long have you been awake?"

Yuri winces. "I don't need much rest, Beka."

"You skipped my question. Don't tell me you've been awake since I last called you."

Yuri bites his tongue. He had. But he couldn't sleep anyway, he was still worried.

His grandfather went up to the second floor of their house a few minutes before midnight yesterday to check on him, only to stumble and fall at the last step. It was lucky that Yuri was a light sleeper, because he had scrambled up in panic the moment he heard his grandfather's muffled groan of pain and managed to call an ambulance immediately. As his grandfather was rushed to the emergency room, Yuri felt the desperate need to talk to someone, anyone, and the first person he blindly called was Otabek.

He would never tell a living soul, but the Kazakh's calm voice cleared the fog of panic and grief in Yuri's mind. When Yuri ran out of call, Otabek immediately rang him up despite the long distance fees and continued to distract him by talking about trivial things. Yuri appreciated it. He knew that Otabek wasn't that much of a talker. But throughout the call, he continued to bring up different topics whenever Yuri's distressed mind wandered back to his grandfather.

"Yuri. Sleep. You say your grandfather's stable and safe. You know he's not going to be happy if he learns you've been stretching yourself thin."

"I know."

"Promise me you're going to at least take a nap after our call."

"…'m promise."

"Yuri?"

"Hm…"

"… you're drifting off already, aren't you?"

"Mmm… whatever you say, Beka."

A chuckle. "Sleep well, tigrenok."


"We don't have time for this." Yakov groans as Viktor enters the car, arms loaded with cat-themed things. "I'm getting freaked out at all the cat faces staring at me, Vitya!"

"Viktor! I bought food for Yuracchan!"

Yakov refuses to gawk as Katsuki ducks into the car with a mountain of cardboard take-out, the smell of food permeating the car wonderfully.

"—good idea, he might be hungry—"

"—you think it's enough? And be careful, it's hot—"

"I think so, and did you get the pirozhki—"

"I did, and I made sure it was fresh or else—"

It's like they're getting a kid, Yakov thinks wildly, looking at the tiny pen markers with bobbing cat heads that Viktor bought for when 'Yuratchka gets bored at home'. 'They're like the parents of the kid skaters we get on Tuesdays.'

He snorts at the thought. Well, young Yura needs parents. As much as he and Lilia try to be parental figures to him, the tension between his and his ex-wife made it more than a little awkward sometimes and they weren't always around to provide support. Lilia had her own ballet coaching duties and Yakov had a dozen skaters to juggle himself. They were both exceptionally fond of young Yura, fond enough to stand each other's presence for his sake, but their current schedule didn't allow them to bond personally outside of training.

And he and Lilia were both straightforward. Their personality matched with Yura's too well, to the point that the three of them could live together for a few months without any bumps in the road. But they couldn't break his exterior. They weren't the type to coddle or delve deeper into personal emotions if it seems uncomfortable to others. And no matter how Yura looked like he didn't need to be taken care of, it was actually quite the contrary.

Yakov hums. Vitya and Katsuki were the expressive type, both of them were. He'd seen Yura explode in emotion far more times in their vicinity than in any other person's presence. Yura usually switched from either of two emotions (apathy or irritation), but Vitya and Katsuki could poke Yura out of his shell and not get offended at Yura's resulting tantrum. Very few people saw beneath his emotions and rarer still were those who put on the effort of getting to know him better.

They will be good to young Yura.

"—where'd you get these, Viktor?"

"At a boutique! Yuratchka would look soooo cute in that cat beanie!"

If young Yura doesn't murder them in their sleep first, that is.

"Settle down, you two! It's been an hour already. We need to get to the hospital now." Yakov bellows at them. They went quiet, then all three blink as the haunting tune of a song broke the silence.

"Stammi vicino, non te ne andare, Ho paura di perderti—"

Viktor taps his phone and raises his brow at the screen. "Hm, number with no name? Let's see… Hello?"

Yakov brings the car engine to life as Viktor yaps into the phone.

"Otabek? I don't know anyone with that name, sorry."

Yuuri smacks his forehead and holds his palm up, asking for Viktor's phone with a severe look on his face.

"Joking! Just joking! I've stood in a podium with him several times, of course I know Otabek!"

Yakov snorts. "I would be less surprised if you didn't, Vitya."

"Hello, Otabek-san." Yuuri greets, having taken the phone from Viktor. "It was a joke, I apologize for him. I hope you're not offended. No? That's good. He does have a habit of forgetting things. He still struggles with JJ's name."

Viktor whines. "It's hard for me to remember things and John-James isn't important! And how did Otabek get my number anyway?"

Yuuri taps the loud speaker on and the Kazakh's deep voice resounded.

"Christophe Giacometti gave me your number. He somehow has my number and I contacted him to ask for yours. It's alright, I take it?"

"Chris?" Yuuri blinks. "Well that doesn't surprise me. I don't know how he got my number too, but after my first Junior GPF he texted me out of the blue."

"He tries to get everyone's phone numbers so he could flirt with them." Viktor supplies.

"Does he send you messages with an alarming number of eggplant symbols as well?"

"Yes." They all chorused. Even Yakov.

"Well." Otabek coughed lightly over the phone. "Alright then. This call is about Yuri."

"What about me?" Yuuri asks, surprised.

"Plisetsky, I mean." Otabek clarifies. "I just want to make sure that he's going to be alright. I know that he shares a coach with you, Nikiforov."

"I didn't know you and Yuratchka were that close,"Viktor says.

"He's a friend." Is the short reply. Then the Kazakh continues. "He called to inform me about his grandfather yesterday, and I believe that he hasn't had any sleep yet. I wanted to make sure that someone would look after him."

"Yesterday? Yuratchka told you about his grandfather? By himself?" Viktor says in surprise. Then he recovers. "We'll make sure he gets rest."

A relieved sigh. "Good. That's good. Thank you."

"No need for thanks," Yuuri chimes in. "We're worried about him too."

After a few more comments, Viktor ended the call, looking thoughtful.

"Yuratchka never told me that he made a friend."

"Didn't tell me either," Yakov says from the driver's seat. It was mildly interesting, because young Yura never showed any interest in making friends with foreign rivals and suddenly here was one, calling just to inquire about his safety.

"Well, I know." Yuuri shrugs and both Yakov and Viktor stare at him. "It was all over the internet. Phichit told me, so I searched it. Otabek-san helped Yuracchan out when a number of his fans got a little grabby."

"Ho?" Viktor hums, tapping into his phone. "Let's see…"

Yakov snorts at the focused look on Vitya's face. If he didn't know any better, he looked like a grim father assessing his kid's suitor when he was about to ask for a date.


...

"—we should wake him up."

"—but Yuuri, he looks so cute like this. Look!"

"Vitya, just wake him slowly. And stop taking pictures, Katsuki."

"…sorry."

Pictures?

Yuri woke up groggily, half-wishing that he was still asleep. He stretches painfully at his position on the hard chair and looks up. Upon seeing his visitors, he groaned.

"Yakov, why'd you bring them here?"

Viktor makes a wounded noise. "Yuratchka, you sound like you don't want us here!"

"I don't." He answers untruthfully and looks at katsudon, who had a weirdly soft look on his face. "What?"

"Are you hungry, Yuracchan?"

"I'm not—" his stomach groans and he flushes, grumbling. "…maybe a little."

The katsudon brightens and lifts up a huge amount of paper bags. "Good! We've got a lot of food for you! You probably haven't eaten yet, right? You know it's important that you get to eat properly."

"What the—" Yuri stares blankly at the numerous containers with heaps of food inside.

The Japanese Yuuri beams at him. "So what do you want to have?"

Yuri flushes, unnerved at the attention. He'd seen that look before… where had he seen it before… "I'll have the pirozhki."

Viktor rummages through a paper bag and hands him a bunch of pirozhkis, still warm. He mumbles a thank you and eats slowly, slightly relieved that he didn't have to go to the cafeteria to get food. He didn't want to leave his grandfather. The katsudon hands him a water bottle (Yuri supposes he has to call him a better name, they were feeding him after all) and he chugs it down his parched throat.

"Thanks." He mumbles as he took another bite of his pirozhki. "You know, you guys can eat too. Just saying."

That prompted them to start eating as well, opening the cardboard take-outs and passing utensils around. There was a lull in the conversation, and they asked Yuri how his grandfather was faring. Yuri was happy to tell them that the doctors were optimistic about his grandfather's condition and that he would definitely make a full recovery.

"But they all say that grandpa might need a caretaker now." Yuri says, feeling quite content now that he was fed and watered. "That he has to be with someone while I go compete. I think I can hire one…"

Viktor and Katsuki (Yuri will try to stop calling him katsudon for now) exchanged looks, one that Yuri was too tired to care about. Yakov coughs, and Yuri turns to him curiously, eyes heavy.

"Right. Yura, we're here because of your lodgings. You need a safe place to stay while your grandfather's recovering."

Yuri's brow furrowed, and it was a testament to his exhaustion that he didn't do more than look confused. "I'm staying at home. It's a one-hour ride I know, but I'm never late to practice and I won't start now—"

"It's not that," Katsuki touches his hand and Yuri looks at him, head fuzzy. "We're concerned about your safety. And we think that you should stay with me and Viktor at the meantime, so we could keep an eye on you."

Yuri frowns. "No."

A beat.

"Wow. He must really be tired." Viktor comments. Yakov makes a noise of agreement.

"I don't want to go with you." Yuri mumbles, stifling a yawn. He tugs on his hair painfully to keep awake.

"He sounds like a sulky kid." Viktor says, a gleeful note in his voice. "Don't worry Yuratchka, we're not about to lure you away with candy—"

"Shut up, Viktor." Yuri says. Then he blinks in surprise as he realized that Katsuki just echoed his words at the same time. He grumbles and looks at them both. "I'm not staying with you."

"Go with them, Yuratchka."

Yuri's eyes flew open and he swivels his head to the hospital bed.

"Grandpa!"

His grandfather was staring at him ruefully, looking pale but alert. Yuri immediately forgot his fatigue and clutches his grandfather's wrinkled hand. "Grandpa, how do you feel?"

The old man cricks his bones and sits up slightly. "Sore, but well-rested. I feel alright." He looks at his grandson, who had shadows under his eyes. "Sorry for worrying you, Yuratchka."

Yuri shakes his head. "I'm just glad you're okay."

His grandfather huffs. "I'll feel better if I'm not left to wonder how you're doing while I'm in the hospital. I think you'd best stay with them in the meantime."

Yuri blinks heavy eyelids at him. "But I need to watch over you—"

"Your cousin Yulia's going to be more than happy to watch over me. She's been insisting that we live with her for years, remember?"

"But—"

"But nothing."

"…"

Nikolai sighed. "I'm going to be fine, Yuratchka. You need to go to sleep soon. You've been watching over me the whole time, haven't you? You're exhausted, no doubt." A pause and Nikolai shifts slightly to find that his grandson had finally succumbed to sleep on his bedside. He chuckles, ruffling his soft blonde hair. "What am I going to do with you…"

"Um… sir? May we take Yuracchan with us?"

Nikolai looks up and smiles at Yuuri. "Ah. You must be the one who shares the same name as my grandson. He's been complaining that you keep giving him pet names." He chuckles. "And you may of course, take Yuratchka with you, although one of you might have to carry him down."

Viktor gathers the fifteen-year old in a piggy-back. Other than a slight mumble, he didn't budge. Yakov rings Yulia Plisetsky's number (apparently she was Yuri's second parental contact) and she agreed to watch over their grandfather in the meantime. Their grumpy coach decided to stay as well to watch over Nikolai, handing the car keys to Viktor.

Before Yuuri could close the door to the hospital room, Yuri's grandfather calls out to them. "Look after my grandson, will you? The child has it rough, and finds it hard to depend on others."

Yuuri gives him a reassuring smile. "We will."

The door clicks shut and Nikolai settles into his pillows, sighing. After a long silence, he speaks up. "They're good kids then?"

"They are." Yakov grunts at the side.

"Then I can rest easy knowing that my Yuratchka's in good hands."


...

"He's surprisingly light." Viktor comments as he settled a gently snoring Yuratchka on the guest bed. "What are Yakov and Lilia feeding him?"

"We'll just make him eat more." Yuuri says, settling the comforter over the sleeping blonde. "He can take a shower when he wakes up, I think. Remove his shoes, will you Viktor?"

"Will do."

Viktor tugs the teenager's sneakers off. Yuri twitches in his sleep, scrunching his nose, then curls into a ball-like figure before snoring again. Viktor laughs lightly.

"He even sleeps like a cat, look. I should get a picture."

"On your head be it." Yuuri quips in amusement. He sighs, smiling at the teenager. "Did you know that when I first met him, I was sobbing in the bathroom after coming sixth at the Grand Prix?"

Viktor blinks. "What, really?"

"Haaa… yes, really. He kicked down my door and yelled that we didn't need two Yuuri's. I think he was trying to make me feel better. Challenged." Yuuri murmurs with a half-laugh. "You know, now that I think about it, you both have the same horrible encouragement styles. You both like being blunt and making people cry."

"Now that's just unfair, Yuuri. I don't mean to do it. Whereas Yuratchka twists the knife a little deeper when he tries to 'encourage' people."

"Ho… Is that so? Perhaps he got that from me instead."

A beat of silence, then they begin to laugh quietly. Yuri continues to sleep.

...

Chapter Text

 

3. Taking care of him

 


 

"Yuracchan, get the plates will you?"

Yuri tears his eyes away from the TV and nudges the large brown puffball away from his thighs. The puffball whines pitifully, looking at him with pleading doggy eyes that didn't melt Yuri's heart in the slightest.

Alright, maybe just a little bit.

"Go, mutt. You're cramping my leg anyway."

Makkacchin yips, stumbling away and trotting to the porch to sun himself with Yuri's cat, who he got along with quite nicely. Yuri gets up and heads to the plate cupboard.

It had been a few weeks after his grandfather's accident. Yuri had woken up to a warm bed and soft sheets, surprised at his surroundings. He had been taken to Viktor and Katsuki's apartment at his grandfather's approval, and Yuri could only be stunned at the guest room that was decorated with multitudes of cat things. Apparently, the two had decided to go shopping and had propped everything up while he was still asleep. Cat pillows, a cat-shaped alarm clock, fuzzy kitty slippers… there was even a round carpet with a feline face on it.

Yuri had to rub his face for a few minutes and fight the urge to tell them off for buying him things so lavishly. They had looked after him and even went their way to get him things that they thought he'd liked. He wasn't ungrateful, even if he believed that it was a little too much.

But he was a little uncomfortable. Yuri wasn't used to asking for help from people and he'd rather do things on his own. He was a loner, an introvert. And he wasn't exactly on best terms with the katsudon or Viktor. He yelled at them both in a daily basis, didn't he? So it stumped him as to why they were so willing to help him…

Maybe it was Katsuki's Japanese hospitality shining through? His family had been the same, welcoming him in their inn in Hasetsu even when they learned that he was Katsuki's rival.

Whatever it was, Yuri wasn't the unthankful sort. He'd show his gratitude to the two. When he asked them what they wanted in return, they had smiled and asked him to stay with them for the meantime. Yuri agreed reluctantly, since he wasn't in a position to protest. He'd even endure their presence—

"Katsuki, the blue ones or the white?"

Yuuri sticks his head from the kitchen. "The blue ones are ceramic, aren't they? Just get the white, Yuracchan. I really don't know why Viktor insisted we get the ceramic ones…"

"That's 'cause Viktor has cash to blow." Yuri says nonchalantly, pulling out three white plates. "He doesn't know what the word 'savings' mean."

Viktor was loaded. Celebrity status aside, his family was descended from tsarist aristocracy. He was one of those important people that were expected to produce an heir to 'continue the bloodline'. Yuri also knows that Viktor's parents were 'great contributors to the arts', the kinds of socialites who mingled with the finery of the world. That his mother was an art curator and his father ran the 'family business', and that neither parents cared about their son's orientation as long as he was happy and promised that he'd give them plenty of grandchildren one way or another.

Yuri knows all this because Viktor was very open about his life to people he likes. That, and the fact that Wikipedia was stalkerishly efficient.

But it wasn't common knowledge that Viktor was a tiny bit careless with his money. Especially since he had an unlimited budget and a platinum credit card.

Yuuri purses his lips and pushes his blue-framed glasses upwards. "I know. I had to go through his accounts. All that money stuck in savings is a nightmare so I had to do an audit myself."

Yuri blinks, putting the plates beside the glasses and utensils. "Audit? So you can do that complicated math shit? The investments and bonds and all that mindfuck?"

"Language, Yuracchan." Yuuri says sternly, ignoring his grumblings. "And yes, I can do that kind of math. I balance my own money since college so I won't have to ask from my parents. Got started early in investing, you know? And I'm a certified accountant, I took it for my bachelor's. I figured that if skating didn't work out for me, I'd still have a career to fall back on."

"Oh…" Yuri says dumbly. "That's…"

Kinda amazing. Yuri knows that Katsuki had money, he owns a Mac and an iPhone after all. And he hadn't seem worried when he insisted to pay for half of his and stupid-Viktor's apartment, even if Viktor had won in the end and paid for the whole thing himself. But the Katsuki inn in Hasetsu, even if it looked cozy, didn't look like it pulled a huge amount of money. Enough to be comfortable sure, but not for the amount of luxury Katsuki exhibited. Even if they were sponsored by their country, a skater's Grade-A skates, traveling expenses, and professional coaching fees weren't cheap. Neither were Macs and iPhones.

Well apparently, the katsudon rolls his own money. Skillful enough to be independent on his own for years and to be sure about paying for a large four-bedroom apartment in an upscale neighborhood.

Yuri hesitates, an idea popping into his head. "Can you…"

"Hmm?" Yuuri looks up from the cheerfully bubbling pot of stroganoff.

The blonde flushes, ducking his head. "Do you think you can balance my account too? I'll pay you and everything."

Yuuri lifts his brows in surprise. "Don't you have a financial consultant, Yuracchan?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, looking away. "But they prefer to deal with grandpa more than me, since he's the adult. But now that he's getting on years, I don't think he should deal with it that much any longer. I'm not good with math, but when I grow older I'd be able to handle my own accounts so—"

"Yuracchan," Yuuri interrupts gently. "It's fine with me. Really. I'm sure your accounts aren't as disastrous as Viktor's. You won't believe the amount of insurance fees he was unknowingly paying for every month." Yuuri shakes his head, chuckling. "I'm sure you weren't silly enough to fall prey to those kinds of things. It'll be easy to monitor yours as well so you don't need to pay me—"

Yuri's eyes widened. "No way, I'll—"

"—but if it makes you feel better, then go ahead." Yuuri concludes. "I'll throw in free lessons too! I'm not good at giving skating lessons very much, but I often tutored accounting when I was in college as a sideline."

Yuri flushed and hides his face in his folded arms, slumping on the table. "Whatever. But… thanks, I guess."

The black-haired skater chuckles and reaches out to smooth Yuri's blonde hair.

 


 

Yuri got an apartment beside Viktor and Katsuki's when his grandfather decided that living with his cousin Yulia and her family was for the best. It wasn't as large as the skating duo's apartment, but okay enough for a single person.

"It's closer to the city, so we can get whatever grandpa needs. And this way, he won't be alone when you go out of the country for competitions, right?" Yulia smiles at him a bit apologetically. "And our house only a few minutes away from your new apartment, Yura!"

Yuri does know that it's for the best. That their own house was miles away and that his grandfather living in the city meant that he didn't have to drive all the way anymore. That his cousin loved their grandfather since he had raised her too, that their grandfather will be well-cared for, and that he would be happy to be surrounded with Yulia's children while Yuri was away.

Didn't mean that it didn't sting, though.

"You're too hard on yourself, Yuratchka," his grandfather huffs out. "I'll be fine and we'll be nearer each other now, won't we? Try to relax a little."

Yuri tries. It just… hard. He was always tense, even if it was off-season. With so many responsibilities and pressures and expectations, Yuri learned that it's better to expect for the worst rather than hope for the best. He wouldn't depend on such frivolous things like hope and luck and faith, when he can give away blood, sweat and tears and be more assured of the result. He has bills to pay and groceries to buy and things like hope and luck won't put food on the table—

Yuri feels a pat on his back and he looks up. Katsuki was smiling at him.

"Let's decorate your apartment, shall we?"

 


 

"Hey. Katsuki."

"Hm?"

"I know I agreed to buy shit for my apartment—"

"Language, Yuracchan."

"—but why the heck are they here?!"

Yuri points an angry finger at Mila, Georgi, and a few of their other rink mates wandering around shops and booths, chattering happily.

Katsuki just beams at him and ruffles his hair. Yuri bristles like an angry kitten.

"It's a group outing, of course!"

They were all trooped inside Galeria, St. Petersburg's premiere shopping district. Yuri prefers it if he could just buy things in a cheaper place, but Viktor had roped him early in the morning (and he was not a morning person) amidst his hazy grumbles and had bundled him in clothes as they drove off to the mall.

He didn't notice Mila and the others at the backseat.

"We're attracting too much attention!" Yuri furiously points again, this time to a posturing Viktor surrounded by a legion of admirers taking pictures of him and handing out pens and papers for him to autograph. Viktor, the dumbass that he is, sparkles like a fucking disco ball and soaks up all the attention.

Typical.

And they weren't the only fans around. Mila was popular enough to be noticed and Georgi (if he lays off with the black eyeshadow, drops his stupid hair quiff, and shuts up) was also considered eye-candy by the general population.

Yakov Feltsman's skating group were iconic in Russia.

Yuri's own fangirls in St. Petersburg had also long since concluded that whenever Viktor was around, the two Yuris would be him as well. Sure enough, Yuri could spy several crazy-eyed girls with cat ears looking at the crowd suspiciously, clutching banners and wearing t-shirts with Yuri's face plastered on them.

"Damn fangirls." Yuri mutters, pulling down his hood and edging away. He never did well with crowds and the thought of indulging shrieking girls all day made him shiver.

Yuuri notices his tense frame and frowns. This was supposed to be a happy outing but Yuracchan looks like an animal being hunted. He catches Viktor's eyes and gestures to their tiny blonde silently. His fiancé blinks in realization then smiles and winks, making Yuuri's heart skip a beat.

With the finesse of a seasoned pro, Viktor handles the crowd smoothly, offering suave apologies and waving goodbye with charismatic smiles. His fans disperse, shooting him longing looks as he turns his back on them and trots back to his fiancé. Yuri greets him with a grateful kiss.

"Yuratchka's still not comfortable with crowds, huh?" Viktor says, slipping an arm on Yuuri's shoulder. "That's unfortunate. He draws them in like bees to vinegar."

"Don't you mean honey?" Yuuri says.

"With his kind of attitude?" Viktor laughs. "For some reason, his little bees are enamored with his sour personality."

"Hmmm…"

They frog-march a protesting Yuri into coming with them inside one of the bigger department stores, his yells going through deaf ears.

"Show me Galeria, Yuracchan." Yuuri tells him happily. "I've never been here before!"

"What?" the blonde exclaims. Viktor was suddenly staring at Yuratchka's accusing eyes. "You haven't toured him yet?"

Viktor gives him a heart-shaped smile. "Well I've taken him to the usual places… The Sundial, the Mariinsky Theatre, the Hermitage Museum… but other than that time when we went to get your cat things, I haven't had the chance to take Yuuri shopping yet."

Especially after his sweet fiancé got mad at him for showering him with lavish things …

That was apparently enough to distract Yuratchka from his ranting and a minute later, he was pointing out sights to an indulgent Yuuri, telling him all about the best places to shop and where to eat the finest food.

Viktor smiles at Yuuri's expression. He looks soft and eagerly attentive, completely focused on what Yuratchka was saying. It reminded Viktor of the way Yuuri looks at the Nishigori triplets, although this time it was more pronounced and open as he stared at the blonde teenager. Yuratchka too was slowly becoming more animated, bright green eyes enthusiastic as he described Galeria to his black-haired lover.

Viktor wonders how Yuratchka would react if he told him that they see him as their somewhat-child. He chuckles.

The teen would surely pitch a fit.

"—it's a little crowded here during business hours but the view's good and they've got a lot of lights at night. The sales are amazing though and I actually got a leather jacket here at half price—"

Viktor hums. He knows Yuratchka loves shopping and was wickedly good at spotting sales and making bargains. Not that you can bargain at a mall but still…

He spies a giant Persian cat stuffed toy by one of the displays.

Viktor smiles.

 


 

"Wait a minute." Yuri says suddenly, pausing from taking a bite of his pelmeni. "Where are the others?"

The three of them were in Galeria for hours now, and was mostly done with shopping for his things. He didn't need much, even though Viktor continually pointed that he needed this and that. Yuri certainly didn't need a freaking flat-screen TV or a complete stereo system, he was barely at home and he would never bother to have them even if he had the money.

Yuri didn't have to yell at Viktor for being an enthusiastic man-child this time, no. His fiancé was enough of a deterrent, one look from Yuuri and Viktor easily calmed down and became generally bearable for the rest of the hour, even though he continued to be cheerful and unbearably clingy, which the Yuuri was more than amenable to. Yuri quietly gagged as the two proceeded to snuggle and hug and become disgustingly couple-y as he paid for his stuff, Yuri pretending that he wasn't with the two idiots even as they followed him around like cheerful puppies.

They decided to have a quick snack at one of Galeria's food stores, a light snack only as it was nearing dinner time and they didn't want to spoil their appetites.

Yuuri glances up at him, pulling his attention away from his own selection of sweets. Both Viktor and Yuri had been insistent that he should try them all, and now he had tiny platters of khovorost, chocolate zefir, small ptichye moloko cakes, and several fruit-flavored pastila in front of him.

"Erm… Others?" Yuuri laughs nervously and exchanges a look with Viktor. Yuri tacks on with suspicion.

"Yeah… Mila and Georgi and Anna and Pyotr." Yuri says, stabbing his caramel pudding with a spoon. "And all those other nameless guys."

"Yuratchka," Viktor tuts, blue eyes lightly chiding. "Don't talk about your rinkmates that way."

"You're one to talk." Yuri accuses, jabbing his plastic spoon in Viktor's direction. "You can't even remember that Canadian shithead's name."

"Why is everyone holding that against me?!"

Yuuri laughs, warm and melodious. He notices a smudge of caramel on Yuracchan's cheek and before he could process his actions, he took a tissue and gently rubbed the teenager's cheek clean. He tenses and withdraws his arm after he realizes what he did, predicting an outburst from Yuracchan. Much to his surprise, the tiny blonde just flushed and muttered a short 'Tch!', attacking his meat pelmeni with gusto instead.

Viktor coos wordlessly, fighting another urge to smother Yuratchka in hugs.

Yuri had forgotten his inquiry in record time due to his embarrassment.

 


 

"Pozdravleniya!"*

A series of shouts makes Yuri jump in shock, yanking his hand away from the light switch as he readied his mouth to scream bloody murder. But the sight of familiar faces made him blanch and skitter back towards the door, only to be blocked by Viktor and Yuuri. Their rinkmates laugh at the trapped look on Yuri's face, offering their congratulations. Everyone was present, Mila and Georgi and their other rinkmates, Yuri's grandfather and Yulia and her husband, Yakov and Lilia smiling at the back…

"Congratulations on your new apartment!" Everyone choruses.

"We've brought food! And vodka!" Mila cheers, waving a bottle of alcohol.

"Yurio's still underage though—" Georgi adds, to be sure.

"But everyone else gets to drink!"

"Welcome to your house-warming party, Yuratchka!" Viktor laughs at the astounded look on his face, holding his own party popper and firing it harmlessly at Yuri's face. Yuri makes a furious grab at him as he sputters at the confetti stuck in his mouth and Viktor laughs again, fleeing.

Yuri growls, intent on kicking Viktor's ass, but a tug on his jacket makes him look back and he reluctantly deflates at Yuuri's calm smile.

"What's going on?" He asks as everyone leaves the foyer and troops to his tiny living room, probably to set up snacks.

"We had to distract you while we were shopping." Yuuri says, gently steering the teen inside. "Mila and the others bought everything for the party and snuck into your apartment to prepare. So what do you think?"

Yuri opened his mouth to say that it was unnecessary, loud, and they'd definitely make a mess in his new apartment and he was not going to clean up after them, but the shiningly hopeful look on Yuuri's face made him visibly falter, and he ducked his head and grumbled out with a blushing face.

"It's alright. I guess."

And it was. Yuri didn't expect to enjoy himself that much but the sight of Georgi crooning 'Tasha, my love' into a vodka bottle (again) was too hilarious, along with some of their younger rink mates dashing around and giggling only to be met with Yakov's scowling face. They had a round of truth or dare while the grown-ups watched and talked, and everyone had fun trying to point the spinning bottle at Yuuri, since he was the newcomer and everyone wanted to know more embarrassing things about him. Viktor plied his fiancé with champagne all too eagerly, apparently wanting a repeat of the Sochi Banquet fiasco. Yuri scowled at that and kicked Viktor numerous times in the shin. No way was he looking at the katsudon half-naked again.

Thankfully, it seems even a little wine was enough to loosen Yuuri's tongue. Viktor was forced to withdraw the champagne but was satisfied with his fiance's wildly loose tales of college. Yuri jotted a few down as blackmail. Who knew Yuuri had more talents than just pole dancing?

 


 

The party dwindled soon after, the skaters doing their best to return the apartment to its pristine state. There were streamers everywhere and packets of chips and empty soda bottles littered in the floor and Yuri, quite infuriated, gathered up his rinkmates and shoved brooms and wiping cloths in their hands, commanding them to clean up his apartment like a tiny efficient general.

The grown-ups were exempt as they didn't contribute to the mess, so they hung out at Viktor and Yuuri's apartment (which was next to Yuri's place) and conversed pleasantly through a bottle of champagne and a plate of baked peanuts while the younger ones charged through the garbage and clean up.

Mila breezes through the sweeping and the younger ones pick up the empty chip and candy wrappers, while someone had to kick Georgi (who was in charge of getting the empty bottles) on the head to stop re-enacting his own version of drunken singing.

"—99 bottles of vodka on the waaaaall,99 bottles of vodkaaaa~" Georgi slurs, ducking around the high kick Yuri aimed at his head. "Take one down and pass it around, 96 bottles of vodkaaaa—"

Mila laughs airily. "Georgi, you missed 98 and 97!"

"Don't encourage him, hag!"

Yuuri and Viktor were in charge of washing the dishes and Yuri had to stick his head at the kitchen and bellow at them to stop throwing soapy suds at each other more than once. His point was proven when, in a giggling fit, Viktor almost cracked his head at the linoleum after he tried to chase his fiancé and slipped on the soapy floor. Thankfully, he just had a sore bump, but Yuri's panicked bellows on being careful and 'what the fuck old man, you wanna give me a heart attack?!' made Yuuri sniff and envelope the teen in a comforting hug.

They were much more subdued after that, thank god.

 


 

Yuri lost track of time after that.

It had been a busy day after all, shopping and babysitting the two lovebirds the whole morning and afternoon and coming home to a party afterwards. He could feel his eyes drooping more than once, and mentally he cursed his tendency to sleep so often and curl up to nap anywhere.

Like a cat.

He vaguely remembers saying goodbye to his grandfather and cousin, to Yakov and Lilia, accepting their awkward but sincere hugs as they left him with their housewarming gifts. His rinkmates' goodbyes were clearer to him, but only because they were louder about it.

"Bye, Yuri!"

"See you tomorrow!"

"It was a great party—"

"—thanks for inviting us!"

Yuri belatedly thought that it was Mila and Georgi who invited them, not him. Flopping in his new couch as he decided to take a quick nap (he still had to clean up a bit), he decided that he'd invite his rinkmates in his apartment again soon anyway.

He had fun.

 


 

"Viktor?"

"Yes, Yuuri?"

"Come over here."

Viktor pauses in putting away the last glasses into the cupboard and steps into the living room, surprised when he finds his fiancé smiling fondly at a snoozing Yuratchka curled in his new sofa.

"Yuratchka must've gotten tired with all the cleaning we did," Viktor sits on the side, dipping the couch slightly. Makkachin makes a woofing sound and plops his head on Viktor's lap, still wearing his doggy party hat.

"He always sleeps on us," Yuuri murmurs, laughing softly as he brushes Yuracchan's silky blonde hair. "We should probably get him off this couch. It's bad for his posture to sleep in this angle."

"Should we put him in his new bed?" Viktor taps a finger on his chin. His blue eyes trailed on the large boxes that was just delivered by truck. "His mattress has arrived… We could probably set it up."

"But he'll be lonely," Yuuri gives his patented hurt woodland creature look. "And… and it's going to take some time to set up his new room. And he should wash his sheets since they're new. And he doesn't have a desk yet, or pillowcases—"

"Relax, darling," Viktor soothes, half-laughing at the adorably defiant look on Yuuri's face. He couldn't help but reach out to kiss him. "He can stay in his room at our place, of course. It's his forever."

"Right." Yuuri nods determinedly. "Of course!"

He tugs the teenager's arm in emphasis. Yuri, truly dead to the world, just twitches in his sleep and turns over.

Viktor smiles wryly and readies his back for another piggy-back intended for one sleeping Russian Fairy.

 


 

The next morning, Yuri was less surprised and more resigned at the fact that he found himself back in 'his' room at Viktor and Yuuri's place. Moreover, there was a giant Persian cat stuffed toy by his bedside where Yuri's own cat was primly seated on and purring up a storm with his brown poodle friend. Yuri blinked, unrolled out of his comforters, and stretched.

Well, if the old man and the katsudon were seriously going through with this, he wasn't going to be a brat about it.

Yuri smirks.

He'd rather give them heart attacks.

He got up, put on his fuzzy cat slippers (courtesy of Yuuri), nudged Viktor's brown fluffball and his cat, and trudged out of his room.

Viktor and Yuuri stilled from the breakfast table when Yuri made his entrance, half-asleep and a little irritable. They exchange sideline glances, Yuuri nudging Vikfor's foot to start explaining, when Yuri pulled his chair and sat down quite huffily.

"What's for breakfast?"

The stunned silence from both of them was worth it, in Yuri's amused opinion.