Victor, Yuuri knew, was an eternal optimist. He actually enjoyed obstacles when they presented themselves.

Yuuri had seen it multiple times in his fiance: the mere split-second it took Victor to acknowledge a challenge and the pure, childlike excitement to overcome it. It was one of the things Yuuri most admired about his fiance.

Yuuri had spent his life training with strict determination and while Victor had too, no doubt, Victor's personality - his relaxed, light-hearted expectation that eventually he'd achieve - often pulled him through challenges that would have Yuuri furious, unconsciously gritting his teeth and balling his hands into fists while he worked the ice harder than ever.

The way Victor trained, performed, and even the way he coached held that unwavering enthusiasm and confidence.

Which was why Yuuri was thoroughly confused at the sight of his fiance training on the ice with a stoic, completely impassive expression plastered on his face.

Yuuri wouldn't make this comparison lightly: it looked like his dog had just died and he was trying to skate through it.

Admittedly, Makkachin was in heaven, but he was lying across Yuuri's lap in the stands, getting pets and head scratches, so… not dead.

Yuuri had originally planned to pop in with Makkachin and surprise Victor at the rink. It'd been a week since his fiance had gone back to full-time training under Yakov and neither of them had been able to spend much time with one another. Seeing how exhausted Victor was when he got home, Yuuri couldn't have been happier they'd reconsidered Victor's suggestion to coach Yuuri and compete against him. Not when he also wanted to choreograph.

Victor was a hero - a living legend, yes, but Yuuri placed an emphasis on 'living' in that title now: Victor was still human. He had limits.

So while Victor began to choreograph programs for them both and train on the side, Yuuri - with the help of Yakov and Lilia - had found another coach in Saint Petersburg. A friendly and eager man named Dmitry Nikolaev… who, unfortunately, was adamant that Yuuri skate at a different rink than Victor's once he'd learned the nature of their relationship.

So besides Victor's attendance to Dmitry's rink to teach program choreography, Yuuri hadn't seen Victor skating much… and certainly not training or practicing his own programs. It was Friday though, and Yuuri had gotten off early with Dmitry, so of course he was excited to go see Victor. It was only at the unusual sight of his expressionless, glum fiance on the ice that he reconsidered making himself known immediately.

He'd shushed Makkachin and they'd sneaked up the stairs to a dark corner of the stadium.

Yuuri leaned forward over Makkachin, squinting his eyes and tilting his head to focus on Victor. Elegant and adept as ever in physique and on ice, Yuuri could still sense some kind of restriction going on in his movements. Victor was always controlled, but this was more like holding back than the measured moves Yuuri expected. And Victor's face was giving away nothing as to what or why that might be.

Yuuri rubbed his chin in thought. When Victor had started his light training on the side while choreographing, everyone knew it wasn't the rigorous schedule he needed to seriously compete. If anyone outside the borders of Saint Petersburg didn't know, Yakov's persistent rants over Victor's selfish, indulgent year of getting fat, old, and lazy just to coach Yuuri probably reached them.

A week in and Victor looked ragged here, though.

For a split-second, Yuuri wondered if Yakov was running Victor too hard too fast until he looked down around the rink sidelines and spotted the coach. Unusually silent, Yakov was leaning against the wall watching Victor with a dark, concerned expression on his face. It wasn't far from Yuuri's own.

When Yakov called it quits at the rink, Yuuri had appeared and Victor lit up at the sight of him. Everything seemed normal - no lingering mood or even the slightest hint to indicate Victor's dismal energy on the ice.

Yuuri tried to convince himself it was nothing until Victor begged away from going out.

On a Friday.

Victor not wanting to go out on a Friday night was like Makkachin refusing to snuggle or Yuri suddenly being nice.

Yuuri was shocked speechless, sitting himself down on the sofa, as Victor went into the bedroom to change. He came out in sweatpants, a soft and loose long-sleeved t-shirt, and… were those socks?

Yuuri knew for a fact that Victor preferred to go barefoot.

Victor padded over to the kitchen counter and poured a shot of vodka.

"Victor… are you all right?" Yuuri breathed.

Victor set the shot glass down, smacked his lips, and grinned.

"I'm fantastic, lyubov moya, why do you ask?"

Yuuri stood up, slightly annoyed.

"You're turning down a Friday night out, Victor… and drinking-"

"It's a nightcap," Victor replied, comically indignant.

"-and your skating-" Yuuri shut up, eyes going wide he'd told his secret.

Victor's expression darkened.

"What about my skating?" he asked, and Yuuri could hear the unmistakable insecurity in it. It was something he didn't think he'd ever sense in Victor's tone.

"I…" Yuuri stuttered, worried now that anything he'd say would just make things worse. "Nothing!"

Yuuri watched solicitously as Victor knocked back another shot. He brushed his hair back and sighed, eying Yuuri.

"Have you seen me skating, Yuuri?" he sighed, resigned.

"Just… just this afternoon," Yuuri answered apologetically. Victor nodded and poured another shot.

"Victor, maybe you should-"

"What?" Victor shot back and Yuuri was taken aback for a moment before he realized Victor thought he was going to suggest alternatives to skating competitively or something.

"Take it easy on the vodka, Victor!" Yuuri retorted sharply, gesturing to the bottle.

Victor stilled.

"Oh," he finally undertoned, picking the bottle up and looking at it. He screwed the cap back on and pointed to the full shot he'd poured. "Last one - promise."

Yuuri bit his lip and watched Victor kick back his last shot like a pro. He glanced at Yuuri when he finished.

"I'm sorry, lyubov moya," he breathed.

"It's okay," Yuuri replied hopefully, "just-"

"I'm going to go to bed. I'm tired," Victor interrupted and Yuuri made a face. "What? What is it now?"

Yuuri blinked, surprised at his fiance's uncharacteristic antagonism.

"Yuuri," Victor snapped and Yuuri startled, then shook his head. "Okay. Have fun if you go out tonight."

Yuuri watched, disturbed, as Victor made his way into their bedroom. He waited about ten minutes, deep in thought, before following.

Under dim light, Yuuri found Victor curled up on Yuuri's side of the bed, Makkachin already having climbed under the blankets and nosed under Victor's arm. Yuuri swallowed and gathered his courage to kneel on the mattress and put a hand along Victor's ribs.

"Victor?" he whispered, and saw Victor open his eyes. They weren't just glassy - which Yuuri would've probably discounted given the vodka - they were actually teary. Victor's jaw clenched and he looked around, orienting himself on the bed.

"Oh, sorry, lyubov moya," he grunted, giving Makkachin a push to get up and starting to move over to his side of the bed.

"No-no-no! Stop, Victor, it's okay," Yuuri whispered urgently, bracing his fiance from movement.

"No, I'm on the wrong side-" Victor mumbled, weakly struggling.

"Victor, stay," Yuuri's voice cut sharply through whatever haze Victor had been in and he gave up with a huff.

Yuuri said nothing; he just studied him, watching Victor's eyes wander around the room as though trying to figure out what to do before reluctantly meeting Yuuri's gaze again.

This time Yuuri could see the pain in them.

"Victor," Yuuri breathed, "what's wrong? Please tell me," he begged, melting down along Victor's side.

Victor's jaw clenched again, his brows furrowed, and Yuuri didn't even wait to see the tears falling before he was kissing them away. He heard and felt Victor's gasp, trying to hold it in, but it wasn't long before Victor let out a quiet sob and latched onto Yuuri, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a tight hug, burying his face against Yuuri's shoulder and neck, dipping his leg between Yuuri's.

Yuuri dropped his questions, instead whispering comforts and petting and kissing his love's silver hair as Victor fought his battle for composure. He was disturbed, but rather stable with the awareness the vodka may be having a hand in Victor's emotions here. And as much as Yuuri was feeling for his fiance at the moment, he couldn't help but find this maybe one of the most adorable positions Victor had ever put them in, because Yuuri could swear he'd seen Victor cuddling Makkachin like this when he was feeling down.

Yuuri glanced around and saw Makkachin had found a warm place lying along Victor's back, a baleful look on his face watching his owner softly losing it in Yuuri's embrace.

…Yuuri never thought a day would come that he'd ever find it excessively endearing to be treated like a dog…

Yuuri felt it when Victor began to calm down, and a second later Victor spoke up, his voice crackling with emotion.

"I'm too old," he sniffed, and Yuuri held back laughter in favor of hugging Victor tighter around his back.

"No, you're not," Yuuri smiled despite himself, "you're the best, Victor," he whispered.

Victor shuddered into him and Yuuri faltered, realizing he may have said the wrong thing.

"Victor… why do you think that?" Yuuri asked. He braced himself, scared Victor would tell him the light-hearted quips about his age from him and others were finally getting to him. He shifted in bed nervously, straightening his leg out and it brushed against Victor's knee.

The reaction was immediate, with Victor letting out an involuntary whimper and whipping his leg back.

"Oh!" Yuuri gasped with a start, "What? Are… you're hurt? Victor?"

Victor sighed, the slightest note of frustration in it.

"It's… fine, Yuuri," Victor swallowed, looking into Yuuri's eyes, clearly hoping he would drop it.

Yuuri shook his head.

"It's not… it's not okay, Victor," he pitched back, gently disentangling himself from Victor's clutches. He switched the bedside light brighter and pulled the blankets down. Victor was lying on his side, knees splayed apart on the mattress.

"C'mon Victor," he urged when he realized Victor wasn't planning on moving any time soon if the severe pout he was sporting was any indication. He glanced at Victor's socked feet and his brows furrowed.

Careful to avoid Victor's feet, he leaned in and tapped against his fiance's calf.

"Show me," Yuuri ordered and Victor huffed, swiftly turning over onto his back, making Makkachin yip out of the way before coming back for more, stepping up onto Victor's chest and licking Victor's face before settling down.

"It's the weekend, Yuuri, I just need rest…" Victor muttered, rubbing his eyes as Yuuri started rolling his pants up to get to his knee. Yuuri ignored him, carefully tugging the loose fabric up and uncovering a red, swollen knee.

"How…" Yuuri trailed off quietly and unheard, astounded over how Victor had managed to hide the pain this had to be causing in his every step. He feathered light touches over the joint, feeling the unnatural warmth, with Victor silent with embarrassment above him.

Yuuri grimaced with helpless fury over the situation. Figure skaters were athletes that knew how to play through pain, but what the hell?

"When did the pain start?" Yuuri grit out, moving quickly to roll up Victor's other knee.

Victor squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Ahhhm… discomfort on Tuesday. I got up early Wednesday for a longer warm-up…" Victor trailed off and Yuuri suddenly remembered the hazy memory - Victor rolling out of bed before dawn, rustling around getting dressed quiet as a mouse, and then wishing him a good day with a soft peck before Yuuri was even fully awake.

"Did that work?" Yuuri examined Victor's left knee. It was still noticeably swollen but it wasn't as bad as his right.

"A little," Victor hedged. Yuuri shot him a squinted glare and Victor rolled his eyes. "It's the price I pay for being twenty-nine in this sport, Yuuri…"

"Shut up," Yuuri growled before letting the cuffs of Victor's pants back down but he didn't stop there. He got a grip on the fabric under Victor's thighs and started pulling.

"Ooo, Yuuri," Victor crooned with a sly smile, starting to pull his shirt off too, and it was Yuuri's turn to roll his eyes. "We're not doing anything until I know it won't hurt, Victor," Yuuri snapped, pulling Victor's pants off his feet under the sound of Victor's comical whines. Yuuri had to admit that it did take a momentary bout of resolve to reject Victor's overture, looking at him spread out in bed like this. Silver soft disheveled hair, gleaming blue eyes, unblemished muscular chest and legs, and wearing only that neon yellow strip of underwear he knew Victor loved so much. But then Yuuri tracked his eyes back down to Victor's inflamed knees and socked feet and his mingled fury and compassion slammed back into him.

"What about your feet? You never wear socks…" he murmured, and delicately touched the heavy fabric. Victor jack-knifed up in an instant.

"Yuuri, no! Okay okay okay… Just… let me do it…" Victor insisted, wincing as he began to peel the socks off. Yuuri hissed in sympathy as Victor hummed in pain - some of the blood had dried against the sock.

When he was done, Yuuri sat back to study the blistered, raw skin all around the major contact points of skate boots.

"I've been breaking in new skates," Victor explained.

"What? For how long?"

"Since I started choreographing, but… yesterday and today was… the most challenging…"

Yuuri scoffed at the understatement.

"You need to let your feet breathe, Victor. You know better!"

Victor opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He clenched his jaw and looked away, half-heartedly fuming. It was nothing compared to Yuuri's distress.

"Look at me, Victor!"

Victor sullenly obeyed.

"You are not too old. You're sabotaging yourself!" Yuuri spat and Victor looked like he'd just slapped him. "You do not get to do this - not when I finally have the chance to share the ice with you. To compete against you - with you. At this rate, if you don't take care of yourself, we won't ever get that. Is that what you want?!"

"No!" Victor cried, "Yuuri, no, I-"

"Shut up!"

…and Victor did, eyes soft and lips trembling. Yuuri looked down at the floor and shook his head in disappointment.

Victor reached a tentative hand out, nearly landing on Yuuri's shoulder when Yuuri brushed it off as he stood back up.

"Yuuri-?" Victor called as Yuuri left the room to fill up a water bottle in the bathroom. When he got back, Victor had pulled the blankets up over himself and was now watching Yuuri with watery, doleful eyes.

"Yuuri, Yuuri please forgive me-" he reached out. Yuuri dodged his fiance's grasp and set the water bottle down on Victor's bedside table.

"Drink the water. Don't go near the vodka again, Victor," Yuuri ordered harshly, and turned on his heel.

"Where… where are you going?" Victor called weakly.

"Out," Yuuri quipped, still furious. He needed to cool off. He also needed to go out and pick up a few things. He checked his watch and felt relieved when he saw it was still quite early in the evening: no stores would be closing any time soon.