Home sweet home

Lets get ready yuuri!!!

Despite all of Yuuri's protests, he was the one who spearheaded the effort to get the room cleared out in time for the home visit, dragging Viktor and a loudly-protesting Yurio to help with the process. He still couldn't believe this was happening, but apparently it was, and if this was going to happen, then it was going to happen properly.

By the time the day of the visit came around, the house was spotless, and Yuuri stood in the kitchen as they waited the last few minutes until the caseworker's arrival, his hands shaking with nervous energy as he set out a tray of tea. The tea had been a bit of an afterthought. He didn't know what to do with himself, and he couldn't just sit around waiting, but as he looked at the tea set (a wedding gift from his parents), he couldn't help but wonder if he was becoming his mother.

"Yuuri!" Viktor called from somewhere in the vicinity of the living room. "Is the house ready?"

Yuuri wiped his hands on his pants in an effort to calm his nervousness, looking up. "I think so," he called back. "Why?"

"Well, there's some shady character lying on our couch!" Viktor called back.

"What?!"

Yuuri's eyes widened, and he jogged in the direction of the living room, only to be greeted by Yurio lying on the couch. The Russian teenager glared at the two of them, a gaming system in his hands. Yuuri looked from Yurio to Viktor, who was standing beside the couch with an expression of mock innocence on his face, both hands up.

"Viktor!" he said. "Don't scare me like that!"

Viktor only grinned in response, walking off to stand by the front door. He had been doing that for the past hour or so, walking up to the front door every ten minutes and looking out through the blinds. Honestly, Yuuri thought, he was as bad as Makkachin.

Yuuri sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose just above his glasses, looking over at Yurio. "I thought you went to get dressed," he said.

"I did get dressed," was the sullen reply as Yurio went back to his game.

"You're wearing a track suit," Yuuri pointed out.

"Yeah." Yurio's brows arched in challenge. "So? What about it? It's not like I'm the one adopting a kid."

"Don't be silly, Yurio!" Viktor called from the foyer. "You're part of this family too!"

"For the last time, I am not part of this family!" Yurio yelled back. "I have my own family!"

"Yurio..." Yuuri began.

"Don't start," Yurio grumbled, lying back down on the couch and tapping at his game. He snorted softly, holding the game closer to his face. "The only good thing about going off to that stupid college is getting away from here."

From Yurio, that was practically high praise. Viktor peered back into the living room, both of his hands resting on the frame of the dividing wall.

"Don't be like that, Yurio," Viktor said, his tone teasing. "We know you're excited for college."

"Why would I be excited for college?" asked Yurio, sitting up. "Why do I even have to go to some stupid American college anyway? It's not like I need a degree!"

"Well, what are you going to do when you retire?" Yuuri asked. "You can't skate forever."

"I'll coach!"

"You know, that doesn't always work," Yuuri chided. "There are a lot more skaters than there are coaches."
Yurio gave him a flat look. "But I'm Yuri Plisetsky."
Sure, Yuuri thought, looking away. Rub it in. It wasn't like Yuuri had ever had a time when he had to think of a career other than skating, or anything like that. Nope. Not at all. That had been a distant dream.
Viktor placed a hand on Yuuri's shoulder, leaning in to smile at Yurio. "That's a lot of talk for someone who only managed a silver medal at Pyeongchang," he said, speaking casually.