It was quite the morning in the Katsuki-Nikiforov household.
Pancakes were being freshly flipped upon the gas stove by a cautious Yuri, and a shower was being taken by Victor. Yuri anxiously waited to flip the pancakes, and it really was quite a sight. How does he know when they're ready? What if he burns them? If he thinks too hard, will he end up burning them? Why is the news on? Strangely enough, The news were magically on. He doesn't remember the TV even running, for the remote never made it's way into the kitchen. But, this is not a scary story. It was flipped on by Victor, who had just finished his shower, and had stumbled his way into the living room.
Because of this strange discovery, Yuri ended up burning the damn cakes anyways. Well, not burn. But anything overcooked was as good as burnt to Yuri. He's a failure. Why does he exist?
"The pancakes are ready." Yuri sets them onto a fine paper plate. After six months married, they learned being fancy isn't always their style. At least to Yuri. Victor owned 1,00 dollar plates for a reason Yuri can't even comprehend. But, for just a small breakfast, paper plates would do. "Did you feed Makkachin?"
The dog perked up at it's name being called. It's tongue stuck out ever so slightly, waiting.
"No." Victor threw himself of the couch as if he had heard the world was ending. He was so dramatic sometimes, it just left Yuri curious. Yuri's face was just constant 'smh' at him for half the things he overcapitalizes. "How could I forget such an important detail?????????"
Yuri rolls his eyes, setting the paper plates on the kitchen table. Victor goes to look for his dog's food, but can't find any.
"We're out." Victor always made everything into some movie trailer. "I've got to go get some more."
"Right this second?"
"Yes right this second."
"Your cakes'll get cold."
"We have a microwave." Victor kind of feels bad for seeing the shock in Yuri's face when he says that. But they did, in fact, have a microwave. And getting dog food wouldn't take so long. Maybe he should've agreed to eat first.
That means he should stay. But, he leaves anyways, patting Makkachin on the head before he goes, and slipping as ungentle as he could out the front door. Practically slamming it. To make a point.
Blue buffalo ain't got shit on Victor Nikiforov.
He only buys Thrive - Chicken and Quinoa flavored. The box was $85, but he knew Makkachin was feasting like Victor was.
The pet store as a really large place. Even though most places in his town were small and had the same look, the pet store was new, making it look out of place. It caught your eye, though. Maybe that was on purpose.
"Блядь." He sighs. "Fuck."
Of course, in such a time of need, when they're all out of dog food at home all of a sudden, all that is left in the store is Organic Grain and Beef. Who bought all of the Chicken and Quinoa? Who must but Victor out of his misery?
"Looks like Makkachin will only have the second finest cuisine." He frowns. "This sucks."
On his way to the check out, something caught his eye. The usual cute little glassed area with the puppies. The really cute, small, attentive, beautiful, puppies.
"Вы хотите, сэр?" The old man who asks smiles. "Would you like one, sir?"
Victor presses his hand to the glass, watching four golden retrievers go to high five him. They scratch and bark, anxious for anyone to take them.
"They're all young and healthy."
"I'll take four."
Victor doesn't say anything, just heats up his pancakes.
"Victor, what the ever loving fucking hell."
Again, just watching the microwave.
"Okay, so you're just gonna walk in with four dogs and say nothing."
He pops the door open and feels the cakes. Mmmm, yes. Just right.
"ViCTOR WHAT THE FUCK."
"I don't know how you're mad."
"THERE'S FIVE FUCKING DOGS IN MY HOUSE."
"Exactly. How are you angry?"
"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET DOG FOOD. THAT'S IT. DOG FOOD, AND YOU COME STRAIGHT HOME."
"I mean, technically-"
"You were gone for an hour."
"I was worried."
"You can't just leave for an hour and buy four dogs."