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The thing about Yuuri and Victor is, they're stupidly in love. It's obvious to anyone who so much as glances in their general direction. Most days, it's not so bad. He's pretty much used to the simmering resentment that's a constant presence under his skin. He just scowls, and looks pointedly away.
Other days, he can't fucking bear it.
There's a certain smile Yuuri has, that's only ever directed at Victor. It's soft, and disarmingly sweet, and it makes him feel like some kind of voyeur. And Victor, with Victor it's always his hands; he can't seem to keep them to himself. Currently he has one hand resting gently on Yuuri's lower back as they talk, leaning in towards one another against the side of the rink. As usual, they're lost in their own world.
Yuuri smiles, and Yuri is done for the day.
He viciously unlaces his skates and wonders why he'd ever looked forward to Yuuri coming to train in Russia. Temporary insanity, undoubtedly. And since Victor retired, he and Yuuri have become especially inseparable.
"Yurio!"
It's actually quite hard not to smile at Yuuri, but he manages. He pulls off his skates and glances up as Yuuri approaches, Victor not far behind.
"What?"
Victor frowns at his terse response, gaze cool. Yuuri, on the other hand, is unfailingly cheerful these days, and doesn't even flinch.
"Are you busy this evening?" Yuuri smiles at him, but it's just a normal smile, and bitterness pools in his stomach. "Because Victor's learning to make katsudon, and I thought you might like to be the other test subject."
Fuck no, he thinks, because he couldn't come up with any worse torture than that right now.
"Okay," is what comes out of his mouth, and Yuuri beams. Victor's still staring at him, but there's something measuring in his gaze and it makes his spine prickle.
"Great! I wouldn't want to die of food poisoning alone." He laughs and Victor elbows him fondly in the side, expression suddenly gentle again. "Come by around seven, okay? I need to go and get some supplies... are you coming, Victor?"
"In a minute," Victor says, hand coming up to push some of Yuuri's hair out of his face. Yuri pulls on his shoes roughly. "You go on ahead, I have something to do here first."
Yuuri gives him a questioning look, but then just nods and presses a quick kiss to Victor's hand before it drops from his face. "See you both later then." He casts one last curious glance between them, and then hurries off.
Yuri stands. "Don't let me keep you, then." Victor takes a step closer. Much to Yuri's irritation, despite his growth spurt he had never managed to surpass Victor's height.
"But you're my something," Victor says sweetly, that wide, fake smile of his plastered on his lips. He takes another step closer and Yuri stumbles, the hard wood of the bench digging into the backs of his legs.
Yuri's throat feels strangely dry and his heart is pounding, but he summons a sneer anyway. "What the fuck's wrong with you today?"
"It's interesting you ask me that." Victor's tapping a finger thoughtfully against his cheek. "Because I suspect I know exactly what's wrong with you."
Everything feels like it slips a little more into focus, with a painful clarity that strips him bare under Victor's heavy gaze. He flushes. "Fuck you."
"Mm," Victor's smile twists a little, and he leans closer. "Would you really like to? I must admit I hadn't suspected that." And though he’s practically in Yuri’s face, something about his expression is distant.
Yuri can't help himself; he lashes out, shoving Victor violently away. He realises his hands are trembling, and he clenches his fists, nails biting painfully into his palms. Victor, the bastard, laughs. Though there's something in his face now that looks horribly close to pity.
"Sorry, this is going all wrong," he says, waving his hands, seemingly contrite, and Yuri hates that he can't tell if it's fake or not. "I mean, I don't blame you, it's impossible not to fall in love with him."
"I can't— I don't—" His throat tightens.
He's not sure how to deny it, which is strange, because it's not true. He doesn't love Yuuri, he just - it's just...
"Oh, Yura."
And that's definitely pity.
"Look, what do you want from me?" He can breathe a little more easily now Victor's not so close, and though he wants to just be angry there's a rough tangle of emotions making him sick to his stomach. Anger is so much simpler. But for some reason, the way that Victor's looking at him now makes him want to cry. He's known Victor for longer than he wants to think about, after all. "Fine, I won't come this evening, I don't care. I don't want to be near either of you anyway."
"No, no, you have to come!" Victor says, suddenly bright again, a strange, questioning little smile curving his mouth. "I'm making katsudon. And we both love katsudon, don't we?"
Yuri stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowed, then shakes his head and grabs his skates. "Your cooking is shitty. No thanks." He pushes past Victor and heads for the door, strangely disappointed that Victor didn't try to stop him. There must be something seriously wrong with him. And what the fuck had Victor meant by that?
"Yuri." He freezes, hand hovering up against the door. It's somehow now strange to hear his real name from Victor, after almost three years of a nickname he hates. "Yuuri will be disappointed if you don't show up." A brief pause, then, "we both will."
He kicks the door open viciously, and storms out without looking back.
-------
He's not sure how long he stands outside their apartment door, but it feels like an eternity before he can bring himself to knock. It had been so tempting to just not turn up, but that would also have been the worst admission of guilt. He wonders what Victor's told Yuuri. Or maybe they'd even discussed it before; that thought is humiliating.
It's Yuuri who answers the door. He seems vaguely flustered when he answers, eyebrows slanted with worry, though he brightens as soon as he sees Yuri. "Yurio! You came! Victor said you might not..." He's wearing a dark sweater that's far too large for him, and it makes Yuri want to tug the wide neck up to cover his collarbones. But he shrugs, keeps his hands to himself, and steps inside.
"Victor says a lot of things."
Yuuri laughs, and when he leans forward to close the door, his hair brushes against Yuri's jaw. It's warmth and the scent of Yuuri's shampoo, and he wonders whether Victor is the same. Do they share? He swallows, trying not to picture it. He's taken by surprise when Yuuri grabs his wrist, fingers warm against his jumping pulse.
"Come through, then. It's been a while! Victor's in the kitchen, battling hot oil as far as I can tell." His voice is so fond.
Yuri allows himself to be pulled along through to the living room, and he has to admit, the apartment smells delicious. "Think he can manage it, then?"
"I'm honestly not sure," Yuuri says, releasing Yuri's wrist and flopping down onto the sofa beside Makkachin, who's sleeping soundly. "He banished me from the kitchen. He'd probably let you in, though. Maybe you can help."
Trapped in a small room with Victor and a variety of sharp utensils and scalding oil is honestly the last place Yuri wants to be right now. He's still not entirely sure Victor doesn't want to secretly stab him. Sinking down into the cushions on the other side of Makkachin, he can't help but wonder at the fact that Victor is more of a mystery than ever. At one point, he thought he'd had him figured out. But ever since he'd met Yuuri... no, something had changed before then, too. Now it felt as though he often didn't know Victor at all.
"Are you all right, Yurio?" Yuuri's staring at him curiously, and he realises he hadn't answered.
"Yeah, sorry. Just tired I guess." He stretches and slides down lower into the cushions. He reaches out to stroke Makkachin gently; he's so old now, but Yuri can't imagine the apartment without him. Victor without him.
Yuuri takes off his glasses and becomes absorbed in cleaning them. "It's nice to have you here," he says, voice quiet, "we've missed you."
Yuri raises an eyebrow. That's a little overdramatic, isn't it? "I haven't gone anywhere."
"No, but..." When Yuuri pushes his glasses up his nose and finally turns, his smile is faintly sad. "You've been avoiding us, haven't you?"
"I haven't." The denial is automatic, and, of course, a lie. "I've been busy."
"I thought we were friends," Yuuri says, relentless, and what is this - an ambush?
"If you just invited me here to - to try and fucking guilt trip me, I'm not interested." He tries to stand, but Yuuri's hand darts out to hold him back.
"Wait. Yurio."
And that - he hates that he can now hear the clear affection behind it, that at some point it became a stupid nickname he actually liked.
"No!" He hadn't meant to yell, but fuck it. "Of course we're friends, okay? But I can't do this."
Yuuri looks distressed, and his fingers are digging painfully into Yuri's shoulder. Makkachin stirs awake with a quiet whine, and Yuri immediately feels guilty. Of course, that's when Victor decides to make his appearance.
"Yurio! I thought I heard your dulcet tones." They both turn to look at him; Victor's wearing a ridiculous pink apron and brandishing a whisk. "Come and assist me."
-------
Victor closes the door behind them. "I don't like it when you upset Yuuri."
He wants to say childishly, 'but he upset me first', but he doesn't. He glares at the floury mess on the counter instead. "I didn't mean to."
"I know." Victor leaves the whisk on the counter and moves back to the stove to stir a pan. He shoots Yuri a strange look, full of an emotion he can't quite read. "And you probably regret it, too. You don't seem to mind upsetting me, though."
Yuri shoves his hands in his pockets and goes to stand beside Victor, staring down at what seems to be just onion in a dark liquid. He gives Victor's shoulder a gentle bump with his own. "I don't mean to do that either, actually."
Victor doesn't look up at him, but he smiles and looks genuinely pleased. Yuri feels his cheeks heat.
"I'm glad." Victor turns back to the counter and pulls out a bowl from the cupboard beneath it. "For a while I really thought you were starting to hate me."
Yuri stares at the ceiling. "You're both paranoid idiots."
"Can you blame us?" Victor's speaking casually, but there's tension in the set of his shoulders. He fetches some eggs and sets the box next to the bowl.
"You know it's nothing to do with hate."
"Can you crack and whisk four of these?"
He stays silent, lost in thought, but does as he's told. Beating the eggs viciously is somewhat therapeutic.
"To be honest," Victor continues suddenly, "I haven't been all that concerned about Yuuri. It's obvious you'd never want to hurt him." He busies himself with serving out the rice, avoiding Yuri's gaze. It takes a moment for him to realise what Victor is trying to say, but it still somehow doesn't make sense.
"I don't..." he begins, but trails off as Victor comes to stand in front of him, hair falling in his eyes and still ridiculously handsome even in the stupid apron. He looks up defiantly, because he doesn't want to be the one to back down this time, and anyway it's Victor - how can he look so strangely insecure? And Yuri doesn't understand why, because Victor must know he has nothing to worry about, that he'd never try to ruin what they had. It's why he'd been staying away in the first place.
"Yura," Victor finally says, and for once the nickname doesn't sound like mockery, and then he's close, leaning in so his warm breath is tickling Yuri's ear. The smooth curve of Victor's neck is right in front of him, and his entire body feels strange, as though he's burning. "I know how you feel about Yuuri. What I don't know is how you feel about me."
He wonders how he didn't see it before; without thinking he's clutching at the front of Victor's apron, holding it tightly to keep him close. And then he can smell Victor's shampoo, too, and it's not the same as Yuuri's. It's something citrusy, and he can feel Victor's heart pounding beneath his hand.
Yuri had always tried not to think about Victor. When he was young, of course he'd idolised him - probably as much as Yuuri - but, as he grew, that gave way to competitiveness and resentment. Victor had made it look so effortless; he was untouchable. Beautiful. Growing to adulthood with Victor by your side was not an easy process. Victor had never seemed to want anybody - until Yuuri Katsuki. He'd resented Victor for leaving them, for leaving him, ever since. Victor was always supposed to have been his.
And it had been painful, because Yuri had understood why he left; had felt the same, even, though he'd repressed it and smothered his feelings with teenage rage. And then Victor and Yuuri had found each other, and been happy and perfect and idiots in love, and all Yuri could do was watch.
He swallows, hating himself for the sick feeling of nervousness that's settled in his stomach, and kisses the side of Victor's neck softly. He hears Victor's sharp intake of breath, then Victor's arms come up, holding him tightly.
"Do you mean it?" His voice is soft and hopeful, the weirdly inflated confidence from their confrontation earlier in the day all gone. Victor could be vicious in self-defense, and now he’s sure that’s what it had been. But he’s not sure he trusts himself to speak, and the whisper that comes out is barely audible even to himself. “Say it louder.” Victor pulls back and places a gentle, oddly clumsy kiss on the corner of Yuri's mouth. “Please.”
He takes a deep breath and finds strength in the pressure of Victor’s hands on him. “Yes. I mean it, idiot.”
Victor’s smile is dazzling. "We should finish this up for Yuuri, then."
Yuri relaxes his grip and gives Victor a small shove, though he can't help the small smile that curves his lips. "Hurry up then, can't wait to see how badly you manage to poison us."
Victor seems to gather himself up, airy poise back in place. "Don't think so little of me!" He transfers the three pork katsu into the pan, and after a moment grabs the bowl of egg and pours it over. "I got Yuuri to ask his mother for her recipe, and I even watched youtube videos on what to do."
Yuri wanders over to the cutlery drawer and peers inside. "Do we have to use chopsticks?"
Victor finishes serving the katsudon with a flourish. "Yuuri and I will," he glances over his shoulder at Yuri and gives him a speculative smile. "What you do is up to you." He flushes and turns back to rummage through the drawer, digging out three pairs. "I'll take these through then!" Victor calls, and Yuri waits until he's gone to turn around.
His heart feels as though it's going to beat out of his chest, and he can't tell whether he's trembling with nerves or anticipation. Probably both, because it seems as though... it seems unbelievable, is what it is, but he couldn't have been misreading Victor that badly. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but it's still not enough to prepare him for the happiness in Yuuri's face, and Victor's too, when he steps out to meet them at the table.
-------
He has to admit, the katsudon is pretty good. Not as good as Yuuri's mother's (obviously), but he's the first one to finish, and he tries to ignore Victor's smug look. Yuuri showers Victor with praise, of course, and for once it doesn't hurt when he sees the way it makes Victor glow. Instead, he wants to be able to do that, too.
They talk about Yuri and Yuuri's next programs, still in the planning stages; about a tentative plan to visit Hasetsu while they still have some free time, and won't Yuri come too? It's unexpectedly comfortable, and now he doesn't have to feel so careful and on edge around them, he laughs more freely.
"Victor," Yuuri says at last, when they're all done, "why don't you get the movie ready? Yurio and I will clear up in the kitchen."
"Sure," Victor says easily, and it's amazing what a difference it makes, now all the tension in him is gone. "Yura! Tonight we're watching Shin Godzilla! Yuuri's request."
Yuuri looks slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I was so busy I never had time to see it."
"Does it have subtitles at least?" Honestly, Yuri doesn't really care as he probably won't be able to pay attention to the movie anyway.
Yuuri nods, gathering up the bowls. When they get to the kitchen, they start cleaning in silence. What next? Yuri concentrates on washing the dishes, just to keep his hands busy. Yuuri moves to stand beside him, drying the dishes as he finishes washing them. He assumes Yuuri has something to say, so he just waits, more curious than nervous.
"Victor was really worried, you know."
Yuri scrubs at the pan until his fingers hurt. "I thought he hated me for - for wanting you." The bubbles are iridescent as they slide over his skin. He watches them burst.
"Victor's never hated you, Yurio." Yuuri sounds slightly sad.
"I hated him," Yuri says abruptly, "and I hated you too. I hated you together. It made me sick."
Yuuri's hands are suddenly on his, pulling them from the soapy water and drying them with a soft towel. "Yurio." And there it is, that fucking nickname again that gets him every time. "Kiss me? If this is really what you want."
It's a shock, really, hearing it said out loud like that; even Victor hadn't been quite so direct. But Yuuri has always been full of surprises. Yuuri's only an inch or so shorter than him, but it's still disconcerting because in his younger fantasies, Yuuri had always been taller. And then Yuuri smiles, and it's that smile, the one he'd always reserved just for Victor.
Yuri doesn't have a lot of experience, but he kisses Yuuri as though it might be the last time; desperately and deeply. Because if he manages to fuck this up, it might very well be the last time. Yuuri makes a soft, surprised sound into his mouth, and reaches up to bury one hand in Yuri's hair.
Part of Yuri just wants to push Yuuri up against the wall and kiss him all night, but he also remembers the softness of Victor's neck, and the strength in Victor's arms as he'd held him. He wants that again, too. So he places several small kisses over Yuuri's cheeks, on his nose, and pulls away. Yuuri's eyes are sparkling, and there's not even a hint of shyness on his face; he looks almost mischievous. Yuri runs a hand through his hair and hopes he doesn't look as flushed as he feels.
"Let's just leave the rest of the dishes," Yuuri says lightly, and this time it's Yuri who grabs his wrist and pulls him back out to find Victor.
The lights have been turned down, and Victor's sitting on one end of the sofa, legs drawn up underneath him. Makkachin's now sleeping on a big cushion on the floor near Victor. Yuri pauses, momentarily unsure again. How would this work? Victor looks up at them, face bathed in the soft glow of light from the TV screen, and raises his hand. "Yura, come sit between us."
Oh.
So he goes to sit beside Victor, and Yuuri joins him on his other side. It's awkward for a moment, until Victor slides his arm around him and tugs him close, while Yuuri kisses his cheek and then rests his head on Yuri's shoulder. He moves his arm up to let Yuuri curl in against him, and runs his fingers through Yuuri's hair. When he turns to look at Victor, he's watching them both fondly. He leans in to kiss the line of Victor's jaw, because he can, and he feels Victor's hand join his own in Yuuri's hair.
Victor's started the movie, but Yuri will barely remember a second of it.