Sometimes, Yuuri had bad days.
They always started in the morning, he’d wake up with that familiar ball of anxiety knotted up in his chest and know that if anything: it wasn’t going to be a good day.
It was always hard to shake that feeling, the feeling of having too much to think about all at once. Bad days were when all his doubts and insecurities were relentless, and no matter what he did there was no way he could escape them even if he tried to skate his fastest.
Sometimes, he soldiered through and pretended everything was fine - only to get home at the end of the day and realise he was exhausted and not fine at all.
Sometimes, there were failed jumps and frustrations that led to a ruined practice because everything felt wrong. Sometimes there were what ifs and whys; what if he wasn’t good enough this year, why was he even doing this?
Sometimes, Yuuri had bad days and Victor was there, sometimes he knew what to do, sometimes he didn’t.
Sometimes Yuuri just wanted to be left alone, and so he’d take himself to their bedroom and curl up with Victor’s pillow to try and sleep away all the troubles that plagued him.
Today was one of those days. He’d been to morning practice and fallen more times than he cared to get back up, simple turns and sequences felt awkward and ugly. Yuuri knew to call it quits when he couldn’t even get along with the ice.
So he’d taken himself home early, left Victor and Makkachin at the rink and walked himself back - across the bridge with the St Petersburg breeze in his hair and the smell of salt water in his nose. He’d let himself into their apartment and kicked his shoes off at the door, and then he’d trudged all the way to their room, to their bed - and he’d thrown himself on it without even bothering to change.
Today though, sleep wouldn’t come no matter how long he shut his eyes for. He tried not to think, which just let to more thinking, and even though Yuuri knew that everything was okay his mind betrayed him still. He’d been fighting this battle his entire life, and he still hadn’t really figured out a way to win.
So he looked for distractions instead. The room that was as much home to him as his one in Hasetsu didn’t have many, there was his things mixed with Victor’s, Makkachin’s dog bed in the corner, photos of them all on their dresser, and two empty ring cases on said dresser too.
The reason they were empty was something he could focus on, because Victor was wearing his ring right now at the rink, just as Yuuri was wearing his as he lay on their bed.
And because he still couldn’t believe it, because he never would: Yuuri stretched his right arm out in front of him on the bed and splayed his fingers out for him to look at. He looked at the gold ring on his finger, more precious than any hanging on the walls of their home, and knew he’d found the distraction he was after.
It was hard to feel bad when he thought about the way Victor looked at his own matching ring with that half snowflake engraved on the inside. It was impossible not to smile when he thought about Victor’s eyes so full of the disbelief that Yuuri felt, so full of awe and affection that Yuuri understood perfectly. It was impossible not to cuddle the ring to his chest and curl up around it because it was real and perfect and something not even his dreams could have conjured.
Yuuri never would have thought that reality would turn out better, and yet here he was: melting all over again as he tried to hold in his feelings. The distraction must have been a good one, he’d been so focused on looking at the gold band on his finger that he didn’t hear anything until it was too late, far too late.
“Yuuuuuri, what are you doing?” Came the suspicious question from the doorway behind him. And now Yuuri’s heart was thumping because of a whole new feeling in his chest. Oh no. How long had Victor been standing there?
“N-nothing.” Yuuri lied. He couldn’t say he’d been fanboying even now they were married. He couldn’t say he’d been freaking out over the ring on his finger even though it’d been there for years. He couldn’t say, because there was no way he could put any of it into words.
“It didn’t look like nothing from where I was standing.” Victor’s laugh was accompanied by the sound of his footsteps, and then the bed was dipping behind him as Victor climbed on too.
Then there was warmth at his back as Victor cuddled him from behind, there was Makkachin’s cold dog nose as she stood at the foot of the bed and nudged Yuuri’s feet to make sure he was okay, and now Yuuri was well and truly overwhelmed.
So Yuuri curled up tighter and tighter in order to contain it all: the fuzzy feeling in his chest that’d replaced the dreaded ball of negativity, the instinct to fidget because he actually didn’t know what to do with all these emotions.
And Victor was there. Humming as he placed kisses to the crown of Yuuri’s head, soothing as he wound his arm around Yuuri to find his hand so they could twine their fingers together. He never asked if Yuuri was okay, he never asked if there was anything he could do. He didn’t need to.
He just held Yuuri’s right hand tight so he could straighten both their arms all the way out, and now Yuuri was looking at two gold rings on the splayed fingers of two hands instead of one.
He knew Victor was looking from behind him too, and he knew Victor had the exact look on his face that Yuuri had just been thinking about. The kisses resumed on the top of his head as Yuuri sighed and squeezed Victor’s hand in his. Victor squeezed back as Yuuri finally felt settled for the first time since waking up.
And it wasn’t a bad day anymore.