Victuuri | complete

Warm- Plot

Walking home through the dark night and the frigid snow is already hard enough, but when adding the guilt and anxiety of leaving behind a defenseless five year old— to the mercy of Russia's adoption system— to the preexisting discomfort, the walk becomes next to impossible. Walking, in fact, becomes a trudge, and the trudge soon gives way to a less than motivated drifting.

I don't see the worried text messages from Victor. He wants me to come home and get some sleep for tomorrow morning's competition. He also wants me to get out of the cold and come to bed. Even more than that, he wants to apologize for sending me out by myself. I don't even notice the messages, however, to know to respond to him. He's in tears and on the verge of calling the police by the time I finally make it through the front door.

"Bikuta-chan (Victor)?" I call heavily, weakly trying to leave my angst and my jacket at the door.

"Yuuri!" I hear the footsteps first, Victor's accompanied by Makkachin's, scrambling as they both greet me at once. "Yuuri, I-I've been so worried about you!" he cries.

Hot tears spill over the collar of my shirt onto the skin of my neck as he says it, embracing me tightly in his arms. Makkachin has his own words with me, barking before nudging my leg with his head. Spent, tired, and wanting nothing more than to crumble in Victor's arms, I give into tears as well. I'm a clammy and freezing cold mess without even a gift, as I was sent out to retrieve, to show for my trouble. Victor notices, but doesn't question me now. He bundles me into his arms and carries me upstairs.

Everything happens as if in a dream. He sets me in front of the fireplace, helping me out of my cold, wet clothes into warm, dry material. And then sits with me, Makkachin also coming to bask in the warmth with us.

"Yuura," he takes me into his lap as he says it, sharing his body heat, "tell me. What happened while you were out."

All I can do is sigh heavily. I don't know where to start. I take another deep breath and let the words go as quickly or slowly as they come to me, surprising even myself with some of what I say.

"I ran into Otabek and Yurio, on my way in and their way out of the shopping complex," I begin shakily. "Yuri was screaming his head off at someone— like he always is— but it seemed serious," I recall, "so I stopped to see what was the commotion all about."

I falter there, stopping to rub my eyes. Victor kisses my neck once as an encouragement to continue. Grateful for his warmth and his love, I absentmindedly bring my hand up to rub in his hair fondly before continuing. I glance over to see his eyes, hooded by his bangs, and I wish I hadn't. Victor looks so worried he might start crying again. The sight unwillingly brings tears to my own eyes, and I fight to keep them from spilling onto my cheeks, but I lose the fight as soon as my mouth opens again.

"Yurio was trying to protect a little girl," I choke. I can feel Victor's surprise like electricity, but he doesn't say anything, allowing me to continue. "Her mom was hitting her with an empty glass bottle when Yurio caught her," I pause to take a desperate breath through incoming sobs. "She was covered in so much blood she couldn't keep her face clean of it. And I didn't want to leave her alone, Victor. I didn't want to leave her there."

I can feel Victor's warm hold of me tighten protectively as he listens. If I look into his eyes again, I know I'll only lose the ability to speak due to wracking waves of guilt and grief, so I look into the fire before speaking again. It takes me a few heartbeats to work up the strength to form intelligible words.

"She's five years old." I break down here. "I picked her up and talked to her while Otabek called the police. The moment I saw her and held her in my arms, I just wanted to help her. I wanted to take her home and let her stay with us..." I whisper meekly. "Even we could love her better than her mother. And even she loved me— a stranger— more than her mother, the instant we made eye-contact."

"What happened to her?" Victor pushes softly.

"Sh-she's going through social work and legal proceedings for the next several months, and then she'll be up for adoption."

"Mm..." he mumbles. "Well, Yuuri, we can't adopt her," Victor sighs, "as an unmarried gay couple in Russia."

I wipe my face and look up at him. A glint of hope begins to rise in my chest.

"Are you implying we could adopt her another way?"