a/n: ahhhhhhhhhhhhh im sorry i forgot to put this up here so heres a mild resolution ooooppsssss

Staring blankly at the door that had just been slammed in his face, Victor mentally recalculates just how long this whole thing is going to take to get cleared up. Yurio's pouting, Yuuri is… somewhere, and Victor can't even find the energy to be upset. It's been a challenging few weeks. Coaching Yuuri was never this stressful, he thinks mirthlessly, walking back to the room he shares with his husband. Victor grimaces, remembering that Yakov dealt with him, Yurio, Mila, and Georgi at the same time. He suddenly wants to apologize, and possibly grovel a little. Victor flicks out his phone and makes a note to himself about getting something the old man would like, instead. A random Amazon gift isn't the strangest thing Victor has sent Yakov.

Of course, that's when he'd bump into someone else. Victor hurriedly grabs at the other person to help them stay up, heartfelt "sorry" at the tip of his tongue, only to blink in surprise at Yuuri. He looks like he'd been crying.

"Yuuri? Are you okay?" Victor asks worriedly, squeezing Yuuri's shoulders and looking him over for anything obviously wrong. A soft touch on his hand leads Victor's attention back up to his husband's face. Now Victor is even more confused; Yuuri seems oddly determined, for some reason. "If you're going to try and talk to Yura, he's not in the best of—"

"I'm going back to Japan," Yuuri cuts in abruptly, "and I'm going to train Minami Kenjirou when this season is over." He draws himself up defiantly, looking for all the world like a confident penguin in his puffy black jacket despite the death grip Yuuri keeps on Victor's hand.

Victor freezes, jaw going slack. What?

"What?" Victor chokes out.

Biting his lip, Yuuri looks intently into Victor's eyes. He suddenly can't bring himself to say the words again, instead holding tighter onto the hands in his. It's quiet in the hallway, and Yuuri realizes, rather belatedly, that this is a terrible place and way to do this; anyone could walk out of their room and see. Worse, someone could purposefully listen in. The media is all too eager to get a scandal, even in the world of skating.

Victor, on the other hand, is still unable to move past how much that had sounded like "I need a break from you."

Though very few and far between, Victor's lovers all tended to eventually say that. Too much, too clingy, they'd say, or if not that, then, too busy, never home, always tired. Sometimes both. No relationship had lasted longer than a month or two. It aches to hear the same tone from the man he's loved for four years.

Raising his hand, their entwined hands, to gently cup Yuuri's cheek, Victor breathes deeply. His wedding ring is a comforting weight, warm metal stiff against soft skin. This isn't the same. It can't be.

Victor clears his throat, saying, "Let's get to our room. We obviously need to talk."

Yuuri nods, releasing one hand to root around for their key. Walking into the hotel room while mutually refusing to let go of each other helps to settle both of them. A sign that, if nothing else, neither wants to let go.

Victor sits heavily on the bed, dragging Yuuri with him. Yuuri stares at the sleek black flat screen perched on the wall opposite of them, furiously thinking of how he can salvage the situation. He can see Victor's vague, blurry reflection looking down at their joined hands, rings gleaming even in the soft artificial lighting of the room.

Slowly, Victor leans into Yuuri's shoulder and whispers, "I love you, Yuuri." The younger man turns his head, blinking at the non sequitur. Before he can respond in kind, Victor continues. "I think you should do it."

Yuuri's breath catches in his throat. While he's glad they're not fighting, he's a little disappointed that Victor didn't protest at all. Am I really that unneeded? Have I really wasted a year of my life doing nothing helpful? Yuuri asks himself, pushing back tears.

Jerking his head up, Victor panics at seeing Yuuri's pre-crying face. He climbs into his husband's lap, tenderly grasping Yuuri's face and tilting it up. "Shh, no, please don't cry, Yuuri," Victor soothes, wiping at the corner of Yuuri's eyes. Helplessly, he asks, "I thought you would want me to be supportive?"

"I do," Yuuri says. "I just… didn't think it'd be so easy."

Furrowing his brows, Victor catches the bitterness in Yuuri's voice. "Yuuri, believe me," he says, willing his voice to portray how sincere he is, "I do not want to see you go. Having you beside me, waking up to you in the mornings, seeing your smile when Makkachin does something silly— I have never been happier than I have been in the last four years. Being married to you is better than anything I had ever dreamed of." Victor sighs. "But, you are your own person, not my personal toy. Honestly, I was surprised when you agreed to coach Yurio with me. I thought you would have liked to stay with your family after so long away."

"How could I leave my husband with that grouch of a boy, hm?" Yuuri asks, smiling through tears he's given up on trying to keep back. He rests his hands on Victor's hips. Victor grins back, dropping a kiss on Yuuri's lips.

"Now," Victor says, "can we talk about what actually lead you to this?" Instantly, the tentative good mood scatters to the four winds. With a frown, Victor takes in Yuuri's averted eyes and flushed cheeks and decides to let it go. "Tomorrow, then?" he asks gently. Yuuri nods gratefully, kissing Victor's chin. "Oh come on, Yuuri, that's no way to say thank you," Victor scolds mischievously, "I just successfully avoided our divorce."

Yuuri rolls his eyes, replying monotonously, "Oh, how will I ever repay the debt I owe?"

Victor hums, tapping his finger to his cheek thoughtfully. "I can think of something, I'm sure." He grins, tugging on the winter coat Yuuri is still wearing. "It will probably involve this coming off, though."

Chuckling, Yuuri flushes even as he says, "I can do that."