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Ideally speaking, the holidays are meant to be an effortless time of joy and family and relief from the daily grind.
This year feels anything but effortless.
If anything, something isn't quite right.
The day starts off well enough. It's the first of December, but naturally the Christmas spirit has been in full swing for several weeks now. Chris rises early, as he typically does. He feeds his beloved kitty Marie her special breakfast mix of dry and wet food, takes a shower, makes himself a cheap yet easy peppermint mocha flavoured hot cup of coffee, and then spends the morning of his rare day off bringing the annual holiday into his tiny, shared home.
He begins with the lights, an early present he bought himself this year, that he wraps around the balcony ledge. They're multi-coloured with a gorgeous, slow fade of hues. They'll match the old lights he has for the small, personal sized Christmas tree his parents got him for the new(ish) place. It currently stands on top of a small table in the corner of the living room, but it's better than nothing. At the very least, if Marie decides to knock it over, little to no damage will be done. Certainly not with the cheap, plastic ornaments he has on hand. He shudders at the thought of an emergency vet visit and cleaning up glass.
Chris thinks about decorating the tree now, as he stands and looks it over – and then decides he'll save the best part for the end. Maybe a certain someone will join him by then.
On his way to retrieve more decorations, Chris pauses outside a closed bedroom door, and he wonders.
He gives the door a light knock. “Viktor?”
No answer.
Ah. Still sleeping. Hopefully.
Even though it's nearing 10 AM...
Stuffing the sigh building inside down, Chris continues on.
Along with a small Christmas tree, he owns quite a few other things he deems necessities of creating the Christmas spirit. A fairly large sized snow globe with little reindeer inside that transforms into a beautiful wintry scene as soon as you turn it upside down. A thick, green wreath for the entrance that he hangs over a fuzzy mat that looks like a giant gingerbread man. A little tacky, for sure, but even someone like Chris can't resist the cuter aspects of this holiday. If there's ever a chance to be proudly tacky – well, aside from his other favourite, loved-theme holiday, which coincidentally just so happens to also be his birthday – then it's this one.
Chris is standing on top of a chair, pinning glittery snowflake garlands across the top of the wall above the living room TV, when he hears a door creak open.
He pauses, listening closely.
Another door closes, the sound distinctly that of their tiny bathroom.
Taking a deep, readying breath, Chris goes back to task. It's when he hears the bathroom door open that he calls out a casual, “Viktor, you alive over there?”
“... Yeah,” comes the usual flat voice.
It honestly sounds anything but alive.
“I'm making breakfast soon,” Chris continues, doing his best to keep the growing edge out of his voice. He normally eats breakfast early, but these days he's carefully testing the waters, waiting to see if a certain evasive creature will come out and take the bait. “I was thinking waffles, maybe some eggs and bacon. You interested?”
He hasn't seen Viktor in almost a few days now. It's a little chilling, living in a small space shared with someone who may as well be a zombie. He keeps telling himself it's because Viktor works two jobs and is almost always out of the apartment, but it's getting harder to stifle the voice in his brain that says this is something else entirely. Still, some part of him keeps pretending this is normal, that this is just a phase, because the truth is so much scarier than he wants to admit.
When there's no reply to his earlier question, the silence far too long and heavy, Chris calls out again, “Viktor? You still there?”
“... I'm good. I ate earlier.”
Bullshit, Chris almost spits.
The food in the fridge hardly moves when Chris isn't preparing meals. Basic things Viktor has bought, like milk and bread, have all gone bad long before he's had a chance to go through even half of it. There's never any dishes but Chris' own to clean at the end of the day. What meals is Viktor eating? A protein bar here and there is not a meal.
“How about a coffee then?” Chris continues to gently nudge. “I made a pot earlier. If I drink any more of it I'll get the jitters. Wanna finish it off for me?”
“... No, thank you.”
Before anything else can be said, Viktor's bedroom door clicks to a close.
Chris stares at the garland in his hands, lips tightly pressed together. The urge to decorate his tiny tree is completely gone.
Something is definitely not right. And whatever it is, it's not good.
-
Viktor moved in with him several months ago.
They'd reconnected earlier that year, on the godforsaken hellsite that is Facebook, after years of zero contact. Not by choice, mind you. They got along great as kids, despite being in totally different grades, but it was almost always a certain death sentence in those days if a friend moved away, given the lack of social media to keep tabs with, and how expensive long distance phone calls were to make. Evidently Viktor's family was the type that moved often. “Because of work,” Viktor explained once with a shrug. His father was always taking new, “better” jobs across the country, unable to really settle his roots into the ground for very long.
It meant Viktor's been everywhere, while also not really living anywhere, at least not for very long.
They'd only known each other a brief year before Viktor was already packing up his things and moving several states away.
It'd been a fun year, though. Playing with an older kid who was just as into the Pokemon games as he was, as eager to trade game exclusive Pokemon and help each other build up their Pokedexes, lightened up small Chris' life in a way that might sound a little silly now, but felt grand and life changing at the time. Sure, every kid was obsessed with Pokemon. It was no challenge to find a kid on the playground who wanted to run around and pretend to be Pikachu or Charizard. Nonetheless it was something else to have the attention of someone a grade or two above you, taking you seriously and not writing you off as annoying or pushy.
It sucked that Viktor had to go shortly before the new school year began, but Chris moved on as most kids did when a friendship cut off before its time. A little sad, a little lonely, but soon distracted by the reality of schoolwork cranking up in difficulty, in other friendships going through terrible growing pains, and in worrying about other types of budding relationships.
Which is why, when Viktor popped up in his “people you might know” display, he nearly shit himself.
There's no way he wouldn't recognize that tell-tale silver hair and goofy smile. Who else had the hair colour of an old man but the heart of a child?
Chris immediately shot a message:
Christophe Giacometti:
Hey, this is gonna sound weird, feel free to ignore me if I'm off-base, but are you the same Viktor Nikiforov who went to Lilydale Middle School and couldn't shut up about how cute Eeevee is because of how obsessed he was?
Several hours later, he had his answer.
Viktor Nikiforov:
Chris?! Holy shit is that you?!
I was NOT “obsessed”! I was adequately adoring, thank you very much
Christophe Giacometti:
Ah, so this is him. Ha. Knew it. How've you been? Your hair's so short now. You look different
Viktor Nikiforov:
Oh, great, things are good, thank you! Are you still in Pennsylvania?
Christophe Giacometti:
Unfortunately. Where are you right now? There's no way you're still in Kansas, it's been years
Viktor Nikiforov:
Lol no, we moved outta there long ago
I'm stuck in Arizona currently
It's... nice. Way too hot sometimes, though. And dry! So fucking dry
Christophe Giacometti:
Is this the part where I say “that's what she said”?
Viktor Nikiforov:
No, because that's way too easy : p
Christophe Giacometti:
You're making this very hard, Nikiforov
Viktor Nikiforov:
“That's what she said”
Christophe Giacometti:
Hey!
Jesus, you have not changed at all, God help us all
Viktor Nikiforov:
:3c
Soooo what's up? What's new in your life? Are you looking forward to White and Black too, or are you still into that?
Christophe Giacometti:
Oh, you have no idea
-
Conversation picked up effortlessly. Like they never really ended, like they never hugged good-bye one day many years ago. Chris discovered tons of things over the course of several weeks of on-going chats. Viktor was in college, studying costume design. (“Couldn't tell from all these photos of you dressed up like a giant nerd,” Chris teased one night. They were pretty nice photos, although he was certain he could take even better ones.) Viktor was still living at home with his parents, which was a little stressful on its own but manageable for now. They didn't take anything he did very seriously, according to Viktor, and that statement rang true in Chris' memory of them. Between his part time job and school, Viktor was often too busy to really be at home anyway.
On top of all of that, he also had a long-term boyfriend, who took up quite a bit of time as well.
What's he like? Chris asked as soon as he found out that last little detail. Both of them were queer, he'd delightedly discovered not long into their conversations, and it was fun to talk to someone like him. Despite gradually changing attitudes, too many guys his age and older in his area were hesitant to come out, which made dating a complex chore most of the time. Lucky them, he guessed, because hiding such a fact about himself was never really an option; some part of him always radiated a bold rainbow. In any case, it felt like one more thing that connected the two of them, despite being on opposite sides of a massive country.
Very opinionated, was Viktor's reply.
What a weird thing to say, Chris thought at the time. Especially the first thing you say about them. But Viktor often had a strange way of answering questions. A little evasive at times, especially with more personal questions, yet also, at other times, a little too honest in ways Chris wasn't sure Viktor had a full grasp on.
Chris typed back:
But he's nice, right?
Viktor replied back, strange as ever:
Yeah, when he wants to be lol
Hm. Okay.
Chris didn't push much further than that. Viktor didn't really answer the more straight forward questions anyway, so there wasn't much point in it. Some boyfriend's are just like that, he supposed. A little intense sounding maybe, but that wasn't a crime.
Or so he thought, until Chris woke up one morning to text messages from an unknown number.
It was a hell of a thing to see with his own eyes. Practically a novel of completely out there accusations, vague threats, ego-boosting self talk that felt more like hot, empty air, and baseless, shit-starting insults. Chris' eyes glazed over halfway through, unable to parse out the meaning behind this, too distracted by his own heart thumping loudly in his chest at the abrupt hostility from a total stranger. Was this a wrong number? It had to be. Chris had a big mouth some days, but he didn't have enemies.
The only words his bewildered mind could cling to were “Viktor” and “mine.”
They twisted horribly in his belly. This couldn't be who he thought it was...
Not long after, Chris received panicked texts from Viktor.
I'm so sorry, began a whole new overwhelming novel Chris struggled to sit through, I tried to make sure this wouldn't happen but he found out about you anyway. He doesn't mean what he says, he's just worried you're gonna take me away from him. He gets like this when his head is in a bad space. Please don't hold it against him...
Ah. So this was the boyfriend.
Opinionated, indeed. And a complete dumbass.
Why does he think I'd take you away from him? Chris texted back. We're just friends. What crawled up his ass?
Just a bad night, was Viktor's answer. Vague yet again.
Does he have a lot of those? Chris carefully poked.
Viktor dodged the question entirely. I promise it won't happen again.
That did nothing to settle the unsettled buzzing in Chris' belly.
-
“It won't happen again” somehow turned into radio silence for several weeks.
There were a few texts here and there. Nothing more than short replies to the ones Chris sent first, which petered off fairly quickly and in such a way that felt incredibly awkward and stilted. Viktor's texts were worded so stiffly, it almost felt like they were being observed, a pair of eyes over their shoulder, watching and approving every syllable.
Maybe someone was watching.
Chris continued testing the waters, starting innocent conversations that kept far away from the massive elephant in the room, his gut all the while saying something was deeply wrong, but there was only so much one could do from many states away. His attempts didn't garner much genuine response, anyway. If Viktor didn't want to talk, then Chris could only put the phone done and focus on his own life in the mean time. He had his own difficulties to worry about. Trying to get a job that paid well enough, moving out so he could live more like the budding adult he was and not the teenager his parents still treated him as. The transition was harder than he liked to admit.
It kept him busy, even as some part of him patiently waited.
Exactly one month later, after Viktor's last reply, the first cry for help finally came through.
Help me, Viktor texted in the dead of night, I'm in hell.
Hurt as he was by the punishing silence, Chris bit his tongue and didn't say much that night. Instead, he just listened.
What he heard made him want to hop on a plane and deck a certain “boyfriend” straight in the jaw.
Though, by this point, “ex” was a far more accurate term. The jerk had apparently moved on, and in a way only the most dramatic and least trustworthy of fuckers could. No wonder the ex was so worried about someone “stealing” Viktor away if he could be so easily taken himself.
It's going to be okay, Chris texted back, at nearly 4 AM, dead tired from hours of talking and yet far too awake and worried to let himself go to bed. Fuck that guy. You're way better off without him.
Viktor only asked, Am I?
It was a long week of processing. Stories steadily trickling out when Viktor had the strength to tell them. The ex constantly going through his phone, endless complaints and accusations, a friend group that fell apart around him and then reformed around the very person they once claimed to despise, all seemingly out of spite. There was too much to tell; the stories never ended. Viktor never recalled them with the horror Chris felt hearing them, but as mere facts that had been his life for the past couple of years. Like being treated like some plaything that had finally been discarded after the inevitable boredom settled in was normal.
He could tell Viktor was still holding back, too. When stories suddenly clipped off or when he got very, very quiet after sharing a deeply personal detail.
What the hell did this person do you? Chris wanted to ask. He could never bring himself to.
The answer was likely in the question.
They eventually ditched texting altogether, jumping to phone calls and face timing on the days where Viktor needed someone but didn't have the energy to hold up his phone and text, and what Chris saw broke his heart. When Viktor allowed himself to be seen – which was few and far in between, his bedroom ceiling usually the star of his phone camera – he looked utterly drained to the bone. His eyes were often puffy and red from lack of sleep and (likely) endless crying, his usually immaculate hair was a total mess, and his skin was oily from lack of basic self care. Even his normally perfectly cut and cared for hair was getting longer and shaggier. He was usually in bed when Chris called, almost always in the dark. Some days, Chris wondered if he was wearing the same clothes as the day before.
But then, he also wondered if Viktor looked any better before the big break had finally snapped him in half.
“Are you even eating right now?” Chris asked him, sitting at his desk with his phone angled so Viktor could clearly see him.
Viktor just shrugged.
“You should get something down. Soup. Crackers. Even just some water would do you some good.”
“I guess,” spoke a person who didn't want to feel better.
Chris tried to instill some fight into Viktor – “It's great to no longer be chained to a controlling jerk,” he said, “this isn't punishment, this is freedom, now you can meet someone who treats you right and who won't stab you in the back with your shitty ex-friends,” – but again, there was only so much he could do. His words seemed to be hitting a giant brick wall.
“Did you make it to class today?” Chris asked him a few weeks into the post-breakup fog.
“No...”
“That's the fourth time this week,” he pointed out.
“I know... I try, but...”
It didn't help certain people shared classes with him, had zero issue constantly watching him from afar, harassing him from afar, constantly posting proof of how much happier they were with him rather than Viktor on their SNS accounts. Viktor claimed he didn't check, but Chris knew better. It's hard to look away from something that hurts so bad.
To his credit, Viktor was trying. He dragged himself out of his bed and to class when he could, even if it wasn't often. He managed to make it to work. What else was there to say to that?
In the end, not much. Viktor dropped out a month later.
They didn't talk about it.
Before long, they didn't talk about much. Chris checked in on Viktor, but even from states away he could see the life left in this person was draining away like water down a gutter, gurgling awfully as it began to finally reach its end. He was getting worse, not better. That worried Chris more than anything. What was Viktor not telling him? Was Viktor even talking to anyone else? How much worse was this nightmare in person?
That was when he came up with a risky idea:
“Wanna move in with me?”
“What?” Viktor's flat voice asked. It didn't sound annoyed at the idea, only a tiny bit confused. There was still hope yet.
“People keep flaking on me,” Chris explained. “I wanna get out of my parent's place, but rent is expensive and everyone wants to stay home and go to school.”
Viktor winced. “Aren't you going to go back to school?”
“Maybe one day. But not yet. I need a taste of real freedom first.”
“... Chris,” Viktor said, barely at the end of an exhale, “I'm forever away, there are better options than...”
“Well,” Chris pouted, “maybe I don't want those options.”
“You will.”
“I think I know best what I want,” Chris retorted.
Viktor visibly chewed on the idea.
“You'd be getting away from it all.” Spotting the first inch of wiggle room in Viktor's brain, Chris snatched it up as fast as he could. “No shitty ex. No shitty ex friends. Plus you already know the area. Mom would love to have you visit. She's been asking about you since I told you we were talking again. She wants to give you her old brunsli recipe. You always did love those.”
“... If I did come,” Viktor slowly spoke, his eyes anywhere but meeting Chris in the tiny square on his face time screen, “would she willingly share that?”
“Viktor, she'd make you at least two batches herself if you did. You know she always wants an excuse to bake.”
Viktor snorted. The corner of his mouth inched upwards, if only for a second.
It was the first expression Viktor had made in weeks that wasn't a dull, dead stare.
“Can I think about it?” Viktor eventually asked. The tone insinuated rejection at a later point, but politeness for now, if only to save face for both of them.
“Sure,” Chris agreed. “Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere. And I mean that quite literally.”
Viktor made another semi-amused sound. Chris considered it a small win.
The time Viktor needed turned out to be a week.
Fuck it, he texted Chris early one morning, apparently around 2 AM Viktor's time, but Chris wasn't going to argue it, fuck this town, fuck everything. I'm sick of this place. When are we moving out?
-
A few months later, Viktor arrived with a U-Haul and a big smile.
“Long time no see!” Viktor greeted.
It struck Chris all at once, as he watched his old friend step out of the U-Haul drivers seat, how much different Viktor seemed in person. Still the same silly smile after all these years, however he was so much taller now, broad across the shoulders, a man who had finished growing into himself and no longer a lanky middle schooler awkwardly lingering around the edge of a school yard.
Chris wondered if Viktor thought the same of him. It had been years since he was the innocent, young boy running through fields of flowers, after all...
There wasn't much in the U-Haul besides Viktor's bed and clothes and a few other things. There were some taped up, nondescript boxes, but Viktor quickly shoved them deep into his bedroom closet and never spoke another word of them. Chris had his suspicions what lurked inside, but he sensed it better to keep his mouth shut.
They unpacked everything else with the help of his parents and a couple take out boxes of pizza. Chris' mom welcomed him back with a colourful tin of brunsli cookies and a tight hug, as well as a promise to visit often with more. Viktor awkwardly hugged back her back with a murmur of thanks.
As soon as they were all moved in, Chris began showing Viktor all the new places that have sprung up since he left years ago, updating him on what has been lost to time and capitalism. Viktor came along without complaint and took it all in with curious eyes. Chris even introduced Viktor to new people, some of them old childhood classmates who were interested in seeing a familiar face they didn't get to know the first time around. Chris' fingers were privately crossed all the while that something, or someone, would catch Viktor's eye and help open him up to a whole new world separate from the recent past. The fastest way to get over someone is to get under someone else, after all.
Viktor smiled through it all, all while none of it really took.
The truth slowly revealed itself over time.
Viktor still lied in bed whenever he was home. He forced himself up for two part-time jobs that he frequently claimed to pick up extra hours at, which he must do to pay off student loans he's borrowed and used and now no longer really needs, but Chris suspected that wasn't the whole truth. It was hard to get Viktor to do much else but work and then lie down in the dark when he wasn't obligated to be somewhere.
Sometimes Chris could lure Viktor out with the promise of homemade cooking or take out, along with a copy of an old favourite movie, or the promise of a new show that looked enticing. Sometimes it worked. Those nights were fun. They felt like old times. Viktor was just as eccentric yet open minded as Chris recalled him being as kids. He laughed at Chris' jokes, snarked at decisions characters made on screen, took bets on the endings of movies they hadn't seen yet.
Whenever they watched anything with elaborate costume design, which was often, given the number of old, classic fantasy movies Viktor adored, Chris would offhandedly remark on the craftsmanship. Viktor would only give a noncommittal hum in return. A little strange to witness if you knew of the fanbase he'd accrued over the years from his own nerdy crafting, but Chris tried not to think about that too hard. If Viktor didn't want to think about old interests, then that was okay. Chris was sure that would slowly change in time.
But then, on other nights, Chris was reminded all over again that the worst of this still wasn't over.
On those nights, Viktor only poked at the food, staring absently at the screen like he didn't see anything at all. He'd politely sit through a small chunk of the movie or show, long enough to give Chris the impression a part of him was trying to be there, before eventually making up some poorly thought up excuse about needing to retire for the night.
Chris knew better than to complain. Or so he kept telling himself over and over. He was no idiot. Young as he was, he knew the human brain was a complicated thing, especially when chemicals were running amok and new heartbreak was still screaming its agony. Some small, stubborn part of him still hoped moving here was the change Viktor needed to regain his old self. New surroundings, new people, an old friendship renewed with the chance to finally flourish into something great. How can it go wrong?
However, it had been several months, and little if anything at all was actually improving.
Try as he did, this definitely wasn't the wild, new adult adventure Chris hoped he could have turned this mess into. He could be the perfect friend, and it wouldn't be enough to correct someone else's wrongs. He could even be the perfect therapist, and that might not be enough, either. Not if Viktor wasn't ready for help.
It was a stalemate he accidentally trapped them both into.
He hated to say it, but maybe he was an idiot after all.
-
It's later in the evening before Chris sees Viktor again.
He's in the middle of stirring up a homemade pot of spaghetti sauce when he hears the tell-tale door opening. Chris pauses as he usually does, weighing his options, and then decides fuck it, he has literally nothing to lose in trying for the millionth time to get Viktor to engage.
“Hey,” he calls out, like he hasn't been secretly worried all day.
Hesitantly, he's answered. “Hey...”
When Chris turns around, he sees Viktor lingering by the doorway, like he's unsure if he wants to come in or not. The bags under his eyes are heavy as always, and his hair looks like it hasn't been brushed in days, but at least he's changed into a different set of clothes.
Chris slaps on a quick smile and holds up the ladle. “I'm making supper. Want some?”
“... What is it?” Viktor asks.
“Spaghetti. I went out earlier and got a baguette to make some garlic bread, too. They're in the oven right now.”
Viktor seems to mull the offer over. To Chris' surprise, he nods.
“Do you need any help...?”
Relieved at the small sense of normalcy, Chris' smile turns more real. “Sure. Set up the table, and I'll get the noodles going.”
They don't actually have a dining room, or even a dining room table for that matter, so dinner is held at the living room coffee table. Chris sets a steaming plate of spaghetti with two small pieces of garlic bread on the side before his roommate and then stands back.
Viktor stares at the plate a long while, contemplating his place in the universe for all Chris knows, before he lifts up his fork and begins to spin some of the sauce and noodles onto it.
“So?” Chris asks, taking a seat next to Viktor on the aged couch his parents gifted them both as a moving out gift. “Okay?”
Viktor nods, mouth full.
For the first time all day, Chris breathes a sigh of relief, and then digs into his own meal.
They're quiet for most of the meal, the two of them on their phones while the TV quietly plays in the background. Marie curls up in between then, receiving the occasional pet from her owner. Chris shows Viktor the odd humorous meme or latest nerdy announcement on his phone, and Viktor politely huffs a small, breathy laugh.
It's when Chris lets out a genuine “awww” that Viktor looks up from his phone on his own.
“What?” he asks.
“Poodle puppies,” Chris answers. At the undeniably interested rising of Viktor's brow, he leans over to show Viktor the recently posted photo set. “See? There's five of them in total. They're about a month and a half old now, but look how small they are.”
Viktor leans back in to take a look – and a heartfelt sound of his own finally leaves his lips.
“Oh, no,” he coos. “They're adorable.”
“Right? Do you remember Lina?”
“Aunt Lina?”
“Yeah. She and her fiance breed their poodles. They took a small break from it, so this is their first litter in a while now. They're purebred and usually snatched up for dog shows as soon as they're ready to leave the mother. I bet there's already some takers waiting to scoop them up after the nine week time limit ends.”
“Oh,” Viktor utters. He sounds disappointed, and not in the usual way that tends to linger in the apartment like a thick fog.
Chris arches his own brow. “Let me guess. Your dad never gave in and let you get a dog, huh?”
“No. You know how he is. Hates animals of any kind.” The frustration here sounds real, too. “It wasn't practical, anyway. Not with all the moving. I wouldn't wish that on any animal.”
Chris remembers. He also remembers a much younger Viktor sadly explaining that he asks for a dog every year on his birthday, which just so happened to be Christmas day, only to always wake up to the inevitable disappointment that it still hasn't happened.
“It's hard enough sharing a big day with everyone else,” Viktor complained once. Birthdays are supposed to be all about you, the perfect occasion to be a little selfish, but how can you enjoy a celebration of your own existence when everyone else is so distracted by their own wants and joy? Chris could easily understand the annual frustration, given his own unfortunate birthday timing. Who wants to celebrate you when they can make it about themselves instead?
He also knew better than to ask this question, but...
“Would you get a dog now?” Chris asks. “If you could?”
“God, I wish. I would in a heartbeat.” Viktor stares at the half-plate in his lap. “There's no way I could afford to buy one, though. They're too expensive.”
Chris tries for a cheerier tone. “Maybe some day, though. Any dog would be lucky to have you as an owner.”
As if in agreement, Marie lifts up from her curled position and does a long stretch that ends with her rubbing the length of her body against Viktor's side. Viktor's face barely reacts, but a hand does briefly run down her back.
“Yeah,” Viktor says in a tone that suggests he strongly believes otherwise, “maybe.”
Chris studies him, and then pokes at his food, thinking.
-
“To be honest,” Masumi says over his plate of maple syrup drizzled pancakes, “that sounds like a horrible idea.”
They're sitting in a booth and eating breakfast at 11 PM late Friday night. Just the two of them, Chris and Masumi, at the tail end of a perfectly wintry date. It's only their fourth one so far, but each of them has been longer than the last. After hours of skating hand in hand at a local park, admiring the bright holiday lights and soaking in the local laughter and cheer, Masumi leaned in and asked Chris if he wanted to get away somewhere. How was Chris able to say no to such a charming face?
He didn't know the place in question would be a Denny's, but he's not complaining. It's not like has anywhere to be tomorrow for once, and hours of on and off circling around an outdoor ice rink has made him crave some delicious food.
“Yeah,” Chris hums, lifting his mug of hot chocolate to his lips, “you're probably right about that.”
There's no “probably” about it, but it's an idea Chris has been tossing around his head for a week now.
“On the one hand,” Masumi says, casual as he eats his breakfast, “it could help. Sometimes animals can really help someone come back to themselves. Emotional support and all that, right? My niece has really bad anxiety. Like, 'can't leave the house by herself' anxiety. Her parents got her a support dog and she's doing a lot better now. Her issues haven't magically gone away, but now she has someone to help her. She can do things that felt impossible before.”
“Right,” Chris agrees, waiting for the inevitable 'but.'
Without fail, Masumi delivers. “But it's also expecting your friend to be able to step up and take care of a living creature. And if he's struggling to get out of bed, then is he capable of caring for an energetic puppy? You might just be giving yourself a job instead.”
Chris exhales deeply. “That's what I'm worried about.”
Viktor's alone. Not totally, but Chris very much gets the feeling Viktor feels like he is. And can Chris blame him? Losing so much in such a short amount of time feels unthinkable, let alone believable. Chris thought leaving the rest behind could help in some way, wiping the slate clean as it were, but even he can see now that Viktor feels even less tied to the world than before. Attempting to hand over a furry bundle of responsibility into the arms of a depressed man might just be stacking another mistake on top of the original one.
Nevertheless, he can't help but turn the idea over in his head all day long, wondering, some part of him still hoping this can all be turned around...
“Viktor loves dogs,” Chris begins to explain. “Even when we were young. He was always that kid that would point and go 'puppy!' when he saw one on the street. And then he'd run over and ask – okay, beg – to pet it. Big dogs, small dogs, loud dogs, shy dogs, even the scary ones, he doesn't care. They're all God's greatest gift to the planet Earth as far as he's concerned. A lot of things have changed since then, but not that.”
Masumi smiles patiently at him. The look on his face still reads: That's nice, but...
“I know,” Chris says. “I know. But it's been months, and every day it feels like the hole he's crawled into is getting deeper. Sometimes I worry I'm going to wake up one morning and...”
He doesn't even want to finish that thought, let alone say it out loud. It's like tempting the universe. How much worse can this really get? No one ever knows until it's too late. He's witnessed enough shit in his tumultuous high school years to play with this sort of thing lightly.
“Sorry,” he huffs, stabbing at his food with a frown. “This isn't exactly the sort of thing you wanna hear at the end of a date. I'm ruining the mood. I'll stop.”
Masumi's patient smile doesn't go anywhere. “It's okay, I'm not bothered, I promise. Have you tried talking to him?”
“Sort of.”
Masumi laughs. It's a charming sound, and one Chris likes to hear as often as possible. “That's a 'no' if I've ever heard one.”
“Fine,” Chris admits. “Does trying to force feed your roommate breakfast on the daily count as encouraging them to live life a little better?”
“Kind of?”
“That also sounds like a 'no,'” Chris jokes.
Masumi laughs again, which has Chris smiling with pride. “Okay, you got me there. It might hurt to talk to him about this, but it sounds like you probably should.”
“How exactly do you say 'please don't watch your life pass you by' to someone, though?”
“Probably just like that, honestly.” Masumi shrugs. “I dunno. I'm not exactly an expert at this sort of thing.”
“Hmm. Me neither.”
Something in Masumi's expression softens. “Has anyone asked you how you've been doing?”
Chris looks up at him, perplexed. “Why would anyone do that?”
Effortlessly, a hand reaches out to gently cup the back of Chris'. “Because you deserve to have someone worry about you, too.”
Chris doesn't know how to respond. That was so goddamn smooth. How does Masumi do that? All at once Chris feels as young and inexperienced as he really is, how few serious dates he's really had with anyone, especially someone a little older than him, and he clumsily clears his throat. “I'm fine. Everything's great. I'm on a date with a hot guy at a Denny's, why would I complain?”
Masumi snickers, but lets it go. “Fine, fine. Speaking of, you better finish your omelette before it gets cold. We've been sitting here for a good half hour or so.”
Chris sees his chance and takes it. He purrs back, “You say that as if I wouldn't be happy to sit here for another hour.”
He's earned with a smile that feels almost timid, but Masumi's eyes sing “keep talking.”
-
With Masumi's concerns raised, Chris tries to drop the idea altogether. It's really better this way, he tries to reason. There are less risky and more effective ways at dealing with depression.
That effort becomes increasingly harder with each “poodle update” his aunt posts on her Facebook account.
Every time Chris sees pictures of the litter, he can't help but mentally picture how small these puppies are, how soft, how squirmy, how openly loving and cute. The videos of them playing around in their special room has even his cat-loving heart clenching. He can't help but remember the way Viktor's eyes lit up as a kid when he got to pet any dog he came across, the way he talked about wanting one for so long, and the disappointment in how it has yet to become a reality. That love has never gone anywhere. There's probably a whole wealth of it built up inside, waiting for the time to finally come out.
He thinks of how lonely Viktor must feel now. Not just because he doesn't feel loved himself, but because he has no one to pour his own love onto.
The urge becomes so much worse when Chris' parents come do their weekly visit at the apartment, bringing along with them their petite, pampered shih tzu Tina.
On one such day, Viktor's home for the afternoon, just getting off from an early morning shift at his first job. When he's warned Chris' parents are coming that day, Viktor rushes to change out of his work clothes and into something comfortable. He even brushes his hair and washes his face. He looks somewhat more presentable than usual, although there's really no hiding the constant bags under his eyes. He greets Chris' parents when they arrive with a polite smile – which turns all the more real when he sees Tina carried in.
“What a cute bow,” Viktor coos, petting her behind the ears. She happily licks his hand, which has his smile widening. “It's almost bigger than her head.”
“She just got groomed,” Chris' mom happily replies. “We actually just picked her up. Look how soft her fur is. Practically silk!”
“So soft,” Viktor sighs in agreement. It's hard not to hear the quiet longing in the remark.
Chris watches the scene, utterly torn.
His parents don't stay for too long. They drop off “leftovers” they claim they have no need of and worry will go bad before they're eaten, along with a tin of Christmas baked goods they conveniently “made too much of.” They chat for a little while over a coffee, pester both Chris and Viktor about eating enough and not staying out too late, and then they're out the door again, leaving Chris and Viktor alone for the remainder of their afternoon.
“Tina's sure cute, huh?” Chris asks, while washing up the used mugs in the kitchen.
“Yeah.” Normally Viktor's wandered back into his room by now, but he has a late shift tonight that starts in a little over an hour or so, so maybe he's trying to keep himself up and active before he has to leave. There has been the odd time where Chris had to wander into Viktor's room, messy with still unpacked boxes and clothes both dirty and clean all over the place, and wake him up before he could be late for work.
“She sure seems to like you a lot,” Chris comments. “She wouldn't leave your lap the whole time she was here.”
“I hope so.” Under his breath, Viktor adds on, “I don't think I could survive a dog hating me, too.”
The remark stings more than it has any right to. It almost has Chris dropping the mug into the sink and spinning around to ask, “Do you really think everyone hates you? I'm right here you know. What am I, chopped liver?” but he just barely manages to bite it back. It's not Viktor talking, it's the depression, he reasons. Viktor doesn't mean it like that. At least, Chris sure hopes not.
“There's no way any dog would hate you,” Chris says instead.
“Maybe.” Viktor glances at his phone. “Shit. I better go.”
Chris watches as Viktor drags himself off of the couch and towards his room to get changed again. He turns back to the kitchen sink, fingers tight around the counter.
It's a bad idea, he keeps telling himself...
... But doing nothing is starting to feel like the worst option.
-
Later that evening, after Viktor's left for his over night shift at his gas station job, Chris makes a phone call.
“Hey,” he greets when Aunt Lina picks up, attempting to sound like he hasn't been planning for this conversation in the last couple of hours. “Long time no speak. How's my favourite aunt in the whole world doing?”
“I'm your only aunt, you silly little thing,” Aunt Lina laughs. “All right, what do you need? Car running okay? I'm sure I can talk Oliver into fitting you in if you need something done last minute – ”
“It's not my car.” Chris takes a deep breath, eyes wandering over to the still yet unadorned tree in the corner of the living room. “I can't help but notice you have a new litter of poodles.”
“Uh huh...”
“And I was wondering if there are any left that don't have any takers yet?”
“Chris,” Aunt Lina says in the same tone her sister, Chris' mother, has when his ideas are quickly running away from him, “do you have any idea how expensive a purebred poodle is?”
“Some idea.” He did do some old-fashioned Googling before making this phone call. Give him a little credit here.
“Almost a thousand at the cheapest,” she continues. “You just moved out not that long ago, and I remember what it's like to be eighteen and right out of high school.”
That's not at all what Chris wants to hear. He has moved out, all on his own until Viktor finally showed up, and he's made some money too, even if it's not all that much in the long run. Certainly not enough to afford a poodle, he knows, but that's not the only thing he has in his repertoire. A little charisma and skill can go a long way, and he's ready to prove that.
He changes the subject. “I saw the big announcement, by the way. Oliver finally put a ring on it. You must be very excited.”
Aunt Lina's tone turns a little wary. “I am.”
“Do you have anyone to do wedding photos yet?”
“All right,” she exhales, “what are you getting at?”
“I was looking at pricing for wedding photos,” Chris casually explains, watching Marie paw at her stuffed mint-scented toy out of the corner of his eye, “and I was comparing it with the cost of a poodle. I was just thinking, y'know, if you want someone to do that for free – ”
“We just exchanged rings a week ago,” Aunt Lina says, “I have no idea what we're doing for anything yet. We don't even have a date set.”
“Right,” Chris says, still undeterred.
“Chris...”
The long silence after his name has Chris gripping his phone tighter. “What about wedding and engagement photos?”
There's another pause. After way too long, Aunt Lina replies, “Why do you want a poodle so badly? You were never that much of a dog person. Does your complex even allow dogs?”
Chris doesn't know how to answer this, so he whips out a far too honest, “I want one because I think it will magically save my friend's life, and I'm desperate enough to find out if it will.”
That shocks a laugh out of her. “Be serious here, Chris.”
“I'm dead serious.” Chris swallows. “I don't know what I'm gonna do if I can't fix this.”
Aunt Lina's tone turns more serious. “What's going on? Tell me before I get in my car and drive over there.”
He's reluctant to. He's old enough to solve his own problems. But in the end, to avoid a dramatic visit from family that will no doubt spread to his parents, and to maybe finally convince his Aunt of this desperate idea of his, he does.
In a way it's kind of nice to get some of it off his chest. There was only so much he was willing to tell Masumi the last time they met up. Just a few details here and there, enough to take some of the growing edge off. He doesn't tell her anything too personal, nothing that would humiliate Viktor, just enough to get across how deep this hole has become.
When he's done, Aunt Lina goes quiet for a long time.
“What a shame,” she finally says. “I remember him being such a sweet boy. I knew your friend came back and you were living together, but your mother didn't mention any of this. You really think this would help him?”
“Pretty positive,” Chris lies. “I think he needs the kind of support a human can't give him right now. You know, unconditional. Something who needs him as much as he'll need them.”
“I suppose. It also sounds like you're already supporting him a ton.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and look where we are now.”
“He's still alive and trying,” Aunt Lina points out. She hums to herself. “To be honest, there is one puppy...”
Chris stands a little straighter. “Oh?”
“... Her fur doesn't meet the breed standard. Poodle fur is fairly curly, but hers is a little looser, a little more wavy than tight. She won't do as well in a show because of it, so no one's asked for her yet. We were going to keep her just as a pet if no one else makes an offer, but...”
Chris can't help but be hopeful. “But?”
“... Engagement and wedding photos, you said?”
“And whatever else you want,” Chris rushes out. “I do have some money – ”
“No, no, that won't be necessary.” He can easily hear the amused smile in her voice. “I've seen the photos you post online, they're really good. You've got a natural eye for this stuff. Those two things alone are worth far more than a poodle, I hope you realize.”
“Don't worry, I noticed. It'd be worth it, though.”
“Hmm. Let me talk to Oliver when he gets home. It's not a definite yes, but maybe we can work something out. We already have enough poodles of our own, I'm not sure we could keep her even if we really wanted to. This way we'd know for sure she'd be going to a good home.”
Just like that, Chris feels so much lighter than he has in many, many weeks. He could practically float away. “Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet,” Aunt Lina laughs. “Does Marie even like dogs? She'll have some adjusting to do if we go through with this.”
“She likes Tina just fine,” Chris says with a wave of his hand. “I bet she could use another furry friend around the place anyway. She's used to being around small, yappy dogs. We'll make it work.”
Make it work seems to be the mantra for the year, anyway. What's one more risk?
“I'm sure we will,” his aunt replies. “Anyway, have a good night. I'll get in touch with you later.”
They hang up. Chris stands there, phone pressed to his chest as he absorbs the reality of what he's doing. As he looks about the small living room, he realizes all at once how unprepared he is for a surprise puppy.
“Shit. I'm going to need to do some shopping.”
-
As much as he intends to, he doesn't do it all alone.
“Nonsense,” his mother says as they walk up and down the different aisles at a local pet store she always vouches by. She studies different collars like they could potentially be hiding sometime dangerous inside, like poison or inverted spikes. “No one is dropping a puppy on Viktor without some back-up. We were looking for something to get him for his birthday, anyway. A special boy deserves all the things he needs to care for a special puppy. This is the perfect opportunity to spoil him!”
“Mom,” Chris groans, but there's no stopping her once she gets going. Is this where he gets it from? How annoying.
(She's not wrong, though. Everyone remembers to get Viktor a Christmas gift. That's not hard. Fewer remember to get him an actual birthday gift.)
His mom isn't the only one who pitches in.
“Tina loves these treats,” his equally over-invested father chimes in when they meet up for coffee one evening after Chris' shift. “We just happened to have a bunch lying around. What puppy doesn't deserve treats? Look, these ones help keep their teeth clean.” His father levels Chris a firm look as he leans across the circular table. “The sooner you keep an eye on that, the better. Don't make the same mistake we made with Tina. A thousand dollars down the hole because of tartar build up.”
“Uh, thanks,” Chris says, as he's handed several bags of these teeth cleaning treats at once. These are how much a bag?!
“You said you're getting the puppy after all?” Masumi asks right before their next date. He's parked outside the complex, waiting to pick Chris up to go see a movie. He's bundled up in a warm jacket and scarf, but he's thankfully left his knitted hat behind, so Chris can admire how effortlessly fluffy and sexy his hair is tonight.
“Yeah, I'm going through with it,” Chris says. Before he can start explaining himself, because this is a good idea, he can feel it in his bones, Masumi's already getting out of the car and opening the back seat, where he pulls out a bag with a few cheap dog toys stuffed inside. A small teddy for cuddling, a squeaky bone for chewing, and a tennis ball for playing catch.
“They're not much,” Masumi begins to say, brushing some of his gorgeously wavy hair out of his face, “but I thought, hey, what's one less thing to worry about buying? There's a leash in there too, and a small food and water bowl.” He pauses. “Chris? Why are you looking at me like that? Shit, I'm over stepping, aren't I? You don't have to take them, I can always give them back.”
“Oh my God,” Chris blurts out instead, hands itching to grab this man before him and shower him with his thanks, “how are you so thoughtful? How am I ever going to be able to thank you? I'm broke as hell. All I have are kisses.”
It's definitely not the thing to say. Who wants to make out over dog toys and other necessities? He can't be that desperate and horny, can he? He was going to find some way to try and sneak in a first kiss at some point this month, assuming Masumi still wants to see him after this strange blunder, but apparently he's weird enough to just throw it out there, here and now, in the most unromantic place ever: a goddamn parking lot.
Masumi blinks at him, and then the surprise melts away into a warm smile.
“Well,” he says, “you can do that, if you want to, I wouldn't be opposed – ”
Chris doesn't wait a second longer.
Masumi tastes just as sweet as he is. Perfect.
-
It's a little difficult getting everything he's given up into the apartment without anyone noticing, but luckily Viktor's out of the apartment whenever Chris pokes his head in, so he hurries everything to his bedroom and into his closet, there to await the big day where he wraps everything up.
“Oliver says it's a great idea,” his aunt calls him later. “It'll be another week or so before we can legally give her up, but we still have enough time before it's Christmas. When do you want to pick her up?”
Chris gives it some thought. “How early Christmas day can I come over? I don't really want to hide her in my room all night. She'd probably just escape somehow and ruin the surprise.”
“As early as you need to,” Aunt Lina replies. “We're up super early that day anyway. Just let us know the night before when you're coming and we'll be ready for you.”
Great. Excellent. Now to just make it through the last week and a half until Christmas. He can do that.
-
It's a good thing he figured most of this stuff out beforehand, because the final week leading into the holiday is a nightmare.
Chris is only a barista (only, ha!) but the hours are endless as people call in, or quit last second, and the line up of customers demanding special drinks for the season to take the edge off their own growing stress continues to sprawl infinitely out the store entrance, never once shortening until the store finally closes the doors for the night. Chris comes home late every day. Sore as hell, barely able to feel his feet, and smelling of coffee beans and whatever special seasonings he accidentally spills all over his clothes in his hurry to make everyone else happy.
He barely sees Viktor during this time. Viktor's never home. Chris is never home, either. He's always called in early, always staying late, and then using whatever little time he has to finish his own Christmas shopping, as well as regular shopping to ensure they have food and other necessities in the apartment. It's a good thing Marie is so independent. She's not too pissy when Chris gets home, although she does frequently level him some pointed stares and accusatory meows when he drags himself in through the front door.
“I'm sorry sweetie,” he coos upon his late return on Christmas Eve. Marie meows three times in succession, a whole ass essay about his tardiness. “I know, I know. Daddy's been busy.”
It could be worse. At least they closed a little early, today. Now the (late) evening is his.
Chris is shucking off his boots and winter jacket when he thinks he hears noises from the kitchen. He pokes his head around the corner, and blinks at the giant mess the kitchen has become in his absence. There's flour and powdered sugar everywhere, dirty bowls and a mixer out on the tiny kitchen counter, and half an empty jar of what looks to be a berry jam of some sort. And there, at the sink washing off layers of mess from their hands, is Viktor, dressed like a normal person who gets up and does things, albeit with an apron on.
Leaning against the doorway, Chris observes for a moment longer before making his presence known. “Are you wearing a frilly apron?”
Viktor startles, spinning around. There's flour on his cheek and even a little in his hair, not that it's all that easy to tell, and he looks like he's seen a ghost. “I thought you were going to your parents tonight.”
“Nah. I was going to visit tomorrow. Didn't you hear me come in?”
“Not really.” Glancing around, Viktor makes a small face. “I can explain...”
“Not sure you really need to.” Chris eyes the twin racks of cookies, cooling off from the oven, and the plate nearby of fully decorated ones ready to go. They're shaped like hearts and flowers. They're made up of two layers of cookie, a window cut out of the top to proudly display the jam in the center, while the top frame is lightly dusted with powdered sugar. They look delicate and delicious. “Doing some Christmas baking, huh? And not just any Christmas baking. I'd recognize those cookies anywhere.”
Viktor wipes his damp hands off on a dry rag, nodding. “I asked your mom for the recipe. I couldn't remember the name at first but thankfully she knew what I was talking about.”
“Spitzpuben,” Chris supplies. He could never forget his favourite Christmas treat. He reaches for one of the finished ones – then freezes halfway, realizing his faux paux.
“They're for you,” Viktor rushes out, when he sees Chris withdrawing his hand. “Um. I wasn't sure what to get you this year. I did get you an actual gift! But I thought I'd try and make these, too. You really liked them when we were younger.”
“I still do,” Chris says, flabbergasted. Viktor can't remember what he ate the day before but he can recall this?
Viktor nods his head towards the plate. “Go ahead. Let me know if they turned out okay.”
Well, he certainly doesn't need to be told twice. Chris reaches again for one, making a thoughtful sound as he bites into it. It crumbles perfectly in his mouth and tastes faintly of almond, until he takes another bite and gets a strong hit of sweet yet tart raspberry jam. He can't help the sound he makes. He only gets these once a year, always a large tin from his mother that never lasts long, and now it looks like he's been spoiled into receiving it twice.
Viktor watches him, fidgeting with the rag in his hands. “Are they okay?”
Chris nods. “They're fantastic. If I hadn't seen you making these, I'd have thought mom made them.”
Viktor's expression brightens. “Really? This is actually my third attempt... the first two didn't go so great. I forgot to keep the dough cold and, well, yeah.”
Chris happily finishes the cookie off, then pointedly looks at the plate.
Viktor laughs. “Go ahead, eat as many as you want. I made at least a couple batches today.”
He goes right ahead, standing back and watching Viktor tidy up the kitchen while he enjoys this pleasant surprise. Viktor's up and at 'em and there's freshly baked cookies? Things are already looking up.
Chris waits until the kitchen is in a better state before he makes a suggestion.
“Y'know, the tree still isn't decorated. Wanna help me finish it up?”
Viktor looks up at him, chewing on his lip. “I don't have any ornaments for it.”
“That's okay, I have a ton.”
“That's okay?”
“Sure,” Chris answers. Where is the hesitation coming from? They were fine a second ago. Viktor's moods change as quickly as the weather sometimes, and there never seems to be much warning for it. Hopeful he can keep the prior cheer going, Chris motions towards the living room. “Come listen to me bitch about over-entitled coffee addicts while we make the tree all pretty.”
That, thankfully, charms a sympathetic laugh out of Viktor.
Most of the cookies are put away in cheap Christmas cookie tins, for the “illusion” of surprise in the morning, as Viktor puts it, but he sets aside a few onto a small plate for them to snack on while they attend to their neglected tree. Chris turns the little thing on, the small built in lights flaring to life. He goes through several settings before settling on one that fades in and out between multiple colours. Marie sits nearby and watches, her eyes all aglow from the rainbow lights.
Viktor helps. Sort of. He mostly stands back, waiting for direction, but he's helpful in handing Chris different ornaments out of the box and commenting on how Chris arranges them on the fake mini pine tree. He listens to Chris' bitching and throws in a few stories of his own, though they're much shorter and to the point than Chris' are.
Still, it's nice. It's like having his friend back for the night. He misses their conversations. He misses how easy it was to talk to Viktor once upon a time.
“I feel like I haven't seen you in forever,” Chris comments offhandedly.
What he really wants to say is I miss you. I miss what I hoped this would turn out to be.
What he receives in reply is this:
“That's probably a good thing,” Viktor says under his breath.
Chris feels the snap more than hears it – but that might be because he drops the cheap, plastic ornament in his hand onto the floor in his disbelief.
He spins around before he can stop himself, and blurts out an appalled, “Excuse me?”
Viktor's face pales, and he rushes immediately to his defense. “I mean – ”
“What part of this makes you think I don't like spending time with you?”
“N-Nothing.”
“It's something.” Chris puts his hands on his hips. “What did I do?”
“You... didn't do anything...”
“Bullshit,” Chris finally allows himself to call out.
He regrets it immediately. What the hell is he doing?!
Despite the vague awareness of his asshole behaviour, he stands there, staring, waiting, as Viktor fidgets with his hands and looks anywhere and everywhere but Chris' face. They're apparently at a complete standstill, until Viktor flickers his eyes up and sucks in a shaky breath.
“I'm sorry,” he mumbles.
It honestly only makes Chris feel worse. “Why are you apologizing? Do you even know what you're apologizing for?”
“For upsetting you...?”
He's not entirely wrong. Or, at the very least, Chris believes Viktor genuinely believes this is true. However, Viktor sounds so unsure of himself, like he's blindly reaching for answers in the dark that won't piss Chris off any further. Maybe he isn't too far off on that, either. The thought of that makes Chris want to shake some sense into himself, all while he feels his blood rushing hot in his veins.
“Fine,” Chris amends. “Apology accepted. Now tell me what the hell I did to make you avoid me like this.”
The statement takes Viktor off guard. He stands there, silently as ever, as a million things things race across his face. It gets to the point where even Chris feels overwhelmed by it all. He takes his glasses off and pinches his brow, then lets out a long, slow exhale. Months of tension and avoidance... of course he has a moment the eve of Viktor's birthday. Some friend he is. Viktor left home to escape bullshit, not invite it into a new home.
“Viktor,” Chris says, hushed and defeated, “sit down. Please.”
Viktor drops down. He sits on the edge of the couch, his body completely stiff. Chris sits down next to him, no more leisurely, and tries to find the words to express his frustration without coming across as whiny and entitled as he feels. The last thing he wants is for Viktor to be put off by him, either.
“Viktor...”
“Yes?”
“I don't hate you.”
“Okay...”
“Which you totally don't believe, apparently.”
Viktor swallows. “I haven't – I haven't exactly been a great roommate...”
“You're not the worst,” Chris tries to make light of it, but it turns out to be the wrong thing to say, because Viktor starts to curl inward, defensively, like he's awaiting Chris' actual thoughts and feelings to stab him in the back. Chris resists the urge to grab a pillow and scream into it. “What I mean to say is I get it, you're going through a lot right now, I'm not mad you're struggling.”
“... You're not?”
“No. Well,” Chris rolls his eyes at himself, “fine, okay, I wish I could wave a wand and whoosh away all of this crap holding you down, and then we could go out celebrating or whatever, but if you're not there yet, then I'm not going to force you.”
Viktor digs his hands into the edge of the couch. It's a moment before he responds. “I wish I was over it already.”
“We could take a road trip and just go punch a couple people in the face,” Chris suggests, only half-kidding, “but I think only I'd feel better if we did that.”
The side of Viktor's mouth quirks upwards for a split second. “I might feel good about it for a moment...”
“Yeah. And then the guilt would set in and you'd apologize for even looking at them funny.”
Viktor's expression completely drops. “Yeah. You're right. I think you get me a little too much.”
In any other context, that might be a blessing. “You get me.” What a gift that could be. Instead the two of them sit there, lost in the fact you can understand someone as well as you want to, it doesn't mean you can do much more for them than that.
“You're way too mature about this,” Viktor continues, toying with a string hanging out of the edge of the couch. “You're eighteen. You're supposed to be carefree, not worried about crap like this. I'm holding you back.”
Chris makes a face. “Who says I was ever carefree? Maybe I had some asshole friends once, too.” He doesn't like to talk about it, but maybe he once wished someone took his troubles seriously too, instead of writing it all off as senseless teenage drama. Instead of calling him over sensitive and dramatic, because he happened to have feelings no one wanted to acknowledge. And maybe the less he thinks about his own stupid nightmares, the better off he'll be.
Throwing himself back against the couch, Chris lets out a deep, tired groan. What a long year it's been. “In any case, I could easily say the same thing about you. You'll be twenty-one tomorrow. Shouldn't you be carefree too? You're not holding anyone back, least of all me. We just learned the hard way that being an adult fucking sucks.”
Viktor's frown deepens.
“... Sorry,” Chris exhales. “I wish I knew what to do or say to make it all better.”
“Maybe there isn't anything to say or do.”
Chris wishes Viktor wasn't so incredibly right about that.
“Then... how about we just sit here and enjoy the lights?” Chris throws on a quick smile. “Let's eat cookies, delicious cookies you made, by the way, and watch some old Christmas classics. I have Rudolph saved.” At Viktor's cautious silence, Chris sobers once more. He swallows thickly, wonders what he wished someone would have said to him in his worst times. It's easy to plaster a smile on, but what actually helps?
“And,” he says, gently testing the waters, “if you wanna leave half way and go be by yourself for a while, then that's okay, too. I'll understand.”
Viktor looks up. “You're not mad?”
Of course I am. But only because I'm so damned worried.
He doesn't want to go there. He's been stressed out enough. It's Christmas Eve, for fucks sake. They've done enough talking, at least for now.
Chris shakes his head. “Whatever you need to do, just go do it. We'll figure it all out at some point. We can just be a useless mess for now. We can make next year better when it's actually here.”
Viktor glances away, the words seeming to slowly absorb. When he turns back to Chris, his expression is still uncertain, still a little tense, but the lift of his lips is real. “I'm always down for some Rudolph.”
Chris smiles back. It's a start.
-
He gets up at 4 AM Christmas morning to make the trip to Aunt Lina's.
It's not too long a drive, just a half hour or so out of the main city. Snow lightly dances through the air and covers the sidewalks but the roads are still fairly clear of any ice and any other drivers, making for an easy if not slightly lonely drive. Chris turns on the radio, which is entirely dominated by holiday music both charmingly merry and a little too annoying, but even he finds himself humming along to some of it.
Before long, he pulls into his aunt's driveway.
“Hey,” she stage-whispers from her front door so as not to wake the whole neighbourhood at this hour. Naturally she's still in her festive pajamas and a pair of fuzzy slippers. “How was the drive?”
“Oh, you know,” Chris says, shrugging. “A little boring, but I made it.”
“Does Viktor know you're here?”
“Nope. He was still asleep when I left.” Chris laughs to himself. “We conked out on the couch watching old Rankin-Bass specials. Do you know that guy still has some of them memorized? What a nerd, huh?”
“Aw, how adorable. That sounds like him.” Aunt Lina motions for him to enter. “Come on in, she's all ready for you.”
The poodle in question is sleeping next to her parents on a large dog bed that just fits all three of them, near a giant Christmas tree filled with decorations on nearly every branch and packed with presents underneath. The golden light from the tree halos her thick and soft fur, highlighting how small her ears and tail are. Her little leg kicks out as she sleeps, her nose twitching, like she's carefully hunting birds in her sleep. To really commemorate the occasion, around her neck is a giant red bow with fancy gold trim.
It's not the first time he's seen this puppy. Outside of video updates he's received over the past week or two, Chris came to visit once before, after an early shift at work. He brought along with him a blanket that day, one of Viktor's that he's sure his roommate hasn't noticed has gone missing, as per his aunt's request, and he sees it now, underneath all three sleeping dogs.
It will help the transition, he was told. He sure hopes so.
“The others were already picked up,” Aunt Lina whispers to him. “She's the last to go.”
“Don't tell me that. You're going to make me sad.” Chris watches the small thing rest, all the while unknowing she'll wake up somewhere new. How confusing. The feeling won't last forever, but some part of him feels a little awful for taking her away from all she's known.
“This part is always sad,” she muses aloud. “But happier things are coming for her and her new owner. Do you have a pet carrier in your car?”
Chris nods. “Mom insisted on buying one. Along with other things. She had her credit card out before I could even think of digging for my money.”
Aunt Lina chortles. “I don't think anyone in this family knows how to not spoil someone we like.”
“Tell me about it. Viktor's going to owe me for forever.” At the astonished look on his aunt's face, Chris winks at her and says, “Not that I'll tell him that.”
“Don't you dare say that to him,” she lightly admonishes, however there's no bite to it. “Well, let's do this. Go get your carrier.”
The small thing sleeps on as they pick her up from the bed. Her parents lift their heads, especially when he sneaks the blanket out from underneath them and wraps her up in it, but they lay their heads back down and don't protest. Chris expects the puppy to wake up any minute now and start sadly barking, but he makes it all the way to his car without any obstacles. A Christmas miracle, he supposes.
“If you need anything, you know who to call,” Aunt Lina says after Chris carefully closes the backseat door. “I mean it. We're poodle experts by this point.”
“Oh, don't worry, I'm sure we'll bother you.” Chris lingers awkwardly by his car, unsure what else to do or say this early in the morning, but his aunt rescues him when she gives him a tight hug.
“Go say happy birthday to Viktor for us,” she says.
“I will.” Chris hugs back. “Thank you for agreeing to do this.”
She pulls back, smiling. “What's Christmas if not for helping others? It's not like I don't get something out of it, either.” She jokingly nudges him. “I better have the best wedding photos around, y'hear?”
Chris laughs. “You most definitely will.”
He can feel it now. They'll be his best photos yet.
-
The apartment is quiet when Chris returns home with the puppy.
She woke not long into the drive back, alerting Chris of her stirring with the sounds of confused whimpering, but she's become fairly quiet since he's pulled into the parking lot. She's mostly curious now. Looking all around her, peeking her eyes out from the tiny crevices of her carrier as it's lifted out of the car. She pees outside like normal when she's carefully pulled out, though Chris has to hold her far away from him above the snow while she does so, as she whines especially hard when her tiny feet touch the cold ground, but he'll take the awkwardness of her almost peeing on her shoe versus an overexcited pee session in the car.
When he finally sets her carrier down on the floor in the living room and opens it, she cautiously wanders out, sniffing everything around her like she's never seen an old, slightly discoloured carpet before in her life.
(Actually, now that he thinks of it, she most definitely has not.)
Marie investigates the newcomer, of course. She smells the air, staring intensely at the brand new edition to the family, but she keeps her distance. Luckily for her, puppies can't jump up onto tables. The less hissing, the better.
All the while Viktor still lies on the couch. Curled up, his back to the rest of the room, head pillowed on a couch cushion, an old blanket thrown over him, just like Chris left him earlier this morning. Any second he could wake up, but thankfully he doesn't. There's still time to set everything up.
Chris lays the blanket inside the carrier out on the floor for the puppy, to give her something familiar to be near, and then quickly retreats to his room to retrieve the rest of the gifts.
There's quite a few. Who'd have thought trying not to crinkle a million presents in the hallway would be such a challenge? Chris comes out with armfuls of puppy-related gifts, as stealthily as he can manage. He has anything and everything a new dog owner will need in the coming days, all silently stashed beneath their tiny tree. It still surprises Chris the generosity of everyone who found out about his little plan, but he's certainly not complaining. There's no way either he or Viktor could afford all this on their own.
When everything is all ready to go, Chris sits on the floor next to the exploring puppy, and waits.
He doesn't have to wait long as it turns out. The puppy wanders over to the couch of her own volition, standing up on her hind legs to sniff at the curious human that lies there. It's a photo worthy moment, honestly. Chris raises his phone and takes several pics before he begins recording the moment for future Viktor's benefit, catching the brief seconds of the puppy sniffing an oblivious Viktor before the latter begins to groan and roll over on the couch.
Viktor's face scrunches up, like he's regretting waking up so early, but when his eyes begin to blink open, they immediately hone in on the tiny puppy face staring up at him, and his jaw drops. No words come out. His bright eyes do all of the talking.
“Hey,” Chris greets him, still recording. “Happy birthday.”
“Wha – Chris.” Viktor shoots up on the couch, scrubbing at his face like he can't believe his eyes. “Why is there a puppy here?! Oh, no. Are your parents here? Did they get another dog? I'm a mess, I gotta – ”
“No, and no.” Chris can't help the proud smirk unfurling across his lips. “She's yours, actually.”
The long stretch of silence between “she's yours” and Viktor's response could reach from one end of the world to the next. Chris wonders if Viktor even heard him until, eventually, Viktor looks up from the puppy to Chris and lets out a lost sounding, “She's what?”
“Yours,” Chris repeats.
“No...”
“Yeah, actually. Are you seriously gonna reject her on day one?”
“Chris,” Viktor says, and then is lost again, as he stares down at a puppy who has decided she wants up on the couch and is making tiny, weak jumps to get there. She yips her frustration that she's not large or powerful enough to make it up there on her own.
“Go ahead,” Chris continues, phone still capturing all of this live, “wait are you waiting for? Pick her up.”
Tentatively, Viktor leans down and does so, hoisting the puppy up into his lap. Her paws immediately brace against Viktor's chest as she leans in to sniff him, and then her tongue hangs happily out of her mouth when she decides she likes this person, this place, and she'll happily stay here for as long as she can.
Viktor's brow pinches tightly together. “I only got you a game and cookies...”
Already Chris can hear the knee-jerk guilt. The shame-filled, unspoken feeling of I don't deserve this. What did I do to deserve this? Chris isn't having it, not today of all days.
“She's not just from me,” he says. “Trust me when I say a lot of people were very invested in seeing this happen for you.”
Being told that, Viktor only looks more bewildered than before.
The reality of this gift is sure taking its time to fully process. Viktor can't seem able to do anything but stare helplessly, eyes darting between the puppy and Chris, but the moment the puppy eagerly licks Viktor's cheek, a sound cracks out of Viktor's throat, and he wraps the puppy up into his arms tightly, burying his face into her soft fur. The puppy happily yips and instinctively cuddles against her new owner.
All at once, Chris' heart suddenly feels too tight for his own body. He doesn't cry often. Not when he adopted Marie from the shelter a year or so ago, not when he gets randomly dumped by potential partners who don't appreciate him the way they should, and certainly not when he left home to go be independent elsewhere.
Watching Viktor bury his feelings into his new puppy's fur, it occurs to Chris that, even when he left home, seeking to be free, he was never really alone. Support was everywhere for him. Support is still here, for him and Viktor both. And in doing everything he could to get Viktor this furry blessing, he's been trying to prove to Viktor the very same thing is true for him this whole time. Maybe he doesn't matter to some people anymore – but to others, he always will.
It's at this time that Chris turns the recording off, deciding it best to let the remainder of this memory live on in private.
-
“Shit,” Viktor says a little later, while Chris putters about the kitchen in preparation for an early Christmas-Birthday breakfast, “stores are closed today. How am I going to feed her? She doesn't even have a leash, or a collar. How am I gonna take her out?!”
Chris raises his brow at his oblivious friend. “Viktor.”
“Yeah?”
“Check under the tree.”
“Under the – oh. Is all this...?”
“Not all of it,” Chris replies, trying not to laugh, “but most of it, yeah. I think you'll find the answer to every problem you'll have today in some box or bag.”
Viktor sets the puppy down on the floor, who rushes off to investigate the pile of gifts alongside her new owner. Viktor picks up a large miss-shaped blob with a giant festive box on top and gives it a hard shake. Thousands of small somethings rattle loudly inside. Viktor's expression lights up.
“Food?”
“Food,” Chris confirms.
“You hear that, Makka?” Viktor says, shaking the bag again in front of his new puppy. The mystery of it all gets her excited enough to hop on her feet and wag her tail ferociously. “Breakfast!”
Chris looks up from his bowl of beaten eggs. “'Makka'?”
Viktor smiles up at him. “Short for 'Makkachin.'”
“That's a helluva name if I've ever heard one...”
His roommate looks no less impressed with himself. “It's a one of a kind name for a one of a kind puppy.”
Chris hums to himself. “Well, you're not wrong.”
The newly named puppy Makkachin barks in agreement – which is hardly much of a bark, given her small vocal chords, so it's definitely more cute than a possible annoyance for neighbours – but she does do something else to show how the humans of the household how excited she is to be here.
Both humans immediately fall quiet at the surprise tinkling sound.
Nearby, Marie crinkles her tiny nose.
Viktor blinks at the brand new puddle under Makkachin's hind legs. “Whoops.”
Chris gapes. Whoops? The hell does he mean, whoops? “Did she just...?”
Viktor nods. “Yup. All over her fur, too.”
“Damn it. I did take her out before we came in. She's mostly potty-trained,” Chris rushes to promise him, “but I was warned she'll still have moments like this. It'll be a while before she'll be fully trained.”
“It's okay, it happens.” Viktor pets Makkachin on the head. “Aww, did someone have an accident? Looks like someone's getting a bath today. Do you know that word yet? Bath?”
Makkachin simply barks again, tag wagging faster.
Chris observes the whole scene from across the room, and then silently shakes his head. “I've never seen a grown man be so happy for a dog to pee all over his carpet. There really is a first for everything.”
He doesn't exactly mean for Viktor to hear that, but his roommate laughs the comment off anyway. “I'm just happy she's here.” He pauses briefly. Something flickers in Viktor's eyes. It almost makes Chris wonder if Viktor will start crying again. Instead Viktor sucks in a deep breath and releases it as, “I'll never be able to repay you for this.”
Chris smirks. “That's okay. Maybe I like the idea of you being forever indebted to me.”
Viktor's brow lifts. “Um, okay, wow. That raises some questions.”
“None of which we have time for.” Chris shoos Viktor and Makkachin away. “Go wash her up, I'll go get the carpet cleaner. She needs to be all nice and clean for when we take her to mom and dad's for dinner.”
Viktor blinks, taken aback, and then he slowly smiles, the expression unbearably tender and warm. “Okay.”
He quickly turns that smile down at the puppy in his arms, and it grows miles wider. “C'mon, Makka. Let's go get cleaned up. The world is waiting for us!”
Makka licks her small black nose, and is then promptly carried off towards the bathroom. Chris sees them both disappear down the hallway, and then turns back to the beginnings of breakfast with a smile of his own.
It sure is.