A Melody to the Night

A/N: This is my first time writing for the YOI fandom, so I hope it turns out okay! This story is a continuation of the cannon universe, though there are very brief mentions of past homophobia (although Kubo confirmed it doesn't exist in the universe), and the main characters all conveniently reside in St Petersburg xD

Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own Yuri on Ice :(

Enjoy!

"If you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness." –Kahlil Gibran

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad of an idea is it to seat JJ next to Yurio?"

Viktor leans back and cranes his neck to peer over Yuuri's shoulder at the seating arrangements. "Absolutely awful, darling."

"Yeah, I thought so." Yuuri frowns, chewing on his pencil, then scribbles something down on the pad. "Unless we move Georgi next to Yurio, then seat JJ on the other side of Otabek. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful." He shifts himself against Yuuri's side and closes his eyes, sighing. They are sitting cross-legged together in bed poring over wedding plans and although Viktor knows he should be blissfully happy – and he is – there is something weighing on his mind.

There is a rustle of paper, and the next moment Yuuri is smoothing a gentle hand through his silver bangs. Viktor can almost hear his smile as he says,

"It's tiring, organising a wedding, isn't it? But don't worry, we'll be done soon, and you know it'll all be worth it. I can't wait for our honeymoon – the Bahamas sounds magical! You've done such a good job of arranging all of this, Vitenka. We may have been a little excessive, but there's no one else I would rather spend so much money on for one perfect day…"

Yuuri continues to talk, his voice soft and melodic, his hands stroking rhythmic patterns in his hair. His lover has always been good at relaxing him, and is able to sense when he is stressed, often before Viktor notices it himself. He feels the tension in his shoulders begin to release, and he wishes he could let Yuuri's actions soothe him completely – but he can't, because there is still that tight bubble of anticipation welling in his chest and he knows that any minute know he will just blurt it out, because he has no filter whatsoever-

"…it's going to be wonderful, you and me and Makkachin, with our own apartment and free to do whatever we want with our life together – "

"Do you think I should invite my parents?"

"What?" The hand in Viktor's hair stills.

"To the wedding? I know it's late and it's sudden and…I don't know, never mind, it was a stupid idea…"

"No no no, Vitya, not at all!" Yuuri resumes his soothing motions, turning to face him. His eyes are wide and shocked, but welling with sympathy. "It's not stupid at all, I can understand why you would want them there. If you want to invite them, you should. I just…I don't want you to get hurt."

"I know," Viktor mumbles. Yuuri's understanding makes him feel uncharacteristically close to tears. "They probably wouldn't come even if I invited them. I don't even know how they would react. But…they're my parents."

"Of course they are." The he hesitates, his voice growing concerned. "Are they still...?"

Viktor exhales. "Yeah. They are."

"Okay. Do they…do they know about me? About us?"

"I…don't know." He looks down at the duvet, picks at his long, slim fingers. He swallows painfully around the lump in his throat. "I haven't spoken to them in years, and even then it was over the phone. I suppose they must have heard about it on the news. But…they know that I'm gay."

"I know," Yuuri murmurs, and Viktor doesn't even feel surprised. He supposes it's obvious that Yuuri must have heard the story from someone, possibly even Yakov, or even known about it before they had met. They had tried to keep it out of the press, but he knew the rumours had spread like wildfire. "That's why I'm worried. I don't want them to upset you."

"I'll be alright, Yuuri. Really." He looks up and gives his most dazzling smile, but Yuuri just frowns back, unconvinced. Yuuri is cleverer than the cameras. He knows his fake smile from his real one.

"Okay," he replies, and Viktor is grateful that he doesn't argue. "It's your call, Viktor. If you want them to be there then you can invite them, but you don't have to. I'll support you whatever decision you make."

That is when Viktor starts to cry, because Yuuri understands. He knows what his parents are like and what they have done, but he understands that he loves them despite all of that – in some strange, twisted way – and respects him, even though he knows that Yuuri doesn't like his choice. Yuuri doesn't try to discourage him – he knows that he needs this.

Yuuri always knows what he needs. He leans back into his arms and lets himself be held and soothed and whispered to as he weeps quietly, sweet little words that mean nothing but love and praise and reassurance. He almost falls asleep to the rumbling vibrations of humming, but blinks open his eyes and looks up at Yuuri through damp silver eyelashes.

"I want them to be there."

Yuuri leans down, presses a kiss to his forehead. "Okay."

###

They send the invites the next morning. It will take days to get a reply and the waiting is agonising, but Viktor can't bear the thought of asking them in a phone call, because he doesn't want to hear the rejection from their lips. Yuuri understands.

"If they send a mean reply, we'll rip up the letter and throw it in the fireplace," he promises, and Viktor laughs a little.

"We don't have a fireplace, Yuuri!"

"Then we shall have to get one, won't we?"

They needn't have worried, because they don't receive any reply at all. Viktor checks the mail every morning, chest fluttering with nervous excitement, but there is nothing besides bills and flyers and the occasional letter of goodwill from someone who won't be able to make it to the wedding.

Every morning, Yuuri makes him tea and rubs his shoulders and tells him there'll probably be a reply tomorrow. Viktor laughs and says,"Tomorrow never comes!", but even so he is disappointed when one week passes without reply, then two. Eventually he stops checking altogether. He still can't stop the pang when he sees the pile of mail in the hallway, though.

"It's okay," he tells Yuuri with a smile. "It's what I expected, anyway."

And that, at least, is the truth. It hurts, but it's not surprising. What's painful is that nothing has changed between them after more than ten years.

"That doesn't make it okay," Yuuri says. "It's your wedding, they should be happy for you."

"Well, I'm happy enough for everyone," he declares, and captures his lips in a kiss.

The incident isn't forgotten, but with the wedding drawing nearer, more urgent preparations come underway. They are both fitted for tuxedos – black for Yuuri, light grey for Viktor – and they even manage to wrestle Yuri into the white tux of a ring bearer. He had flat-out refused the position at first, but when Yuuri had contemplated offering the role to one of the triplets instead, he had become suddenly defensive and grumbled that he "might be able to bear it, after all".

Phichit and Chris have been appointed best men, much to their delight, and also have to be fitted for outfits. The whole fitting is rather over the top and more than a little out of their price range, but Viktor decides that Yuuri really should have known better than to leave him in charge of fashion arrangements.

"The triplets want to be bridesmaids," Yuuri laughs, looking up from his phone to where Viktor is eyeing the cut of Chris' blazer critically. "I've tried to tell them that we don't have a bride, but they won't accept it."

"Why not?" He beams. "If they want to be bridesmaids, let them be bridesmaids. I'm sure I would make a beautiful bride!"

He tosses his hair and Yuuri laughs. "I'm sure you would, love."

As carefree as he may be in the run up to the wedding, the incident with his parents still weighs down on him. For over ten years he's done his best to pretend they don't exist, and he has been mostly successful, but now their rejection has been dragged up again, along with all kinds of other memories he wants to forget. He supposes that, somewhere in him, he had hoped that it would turn out like it did in the movies – a joyous reunion of forgiveness and rebirth – but instead has been faced with stone cold rejection. By now, his parents might have forgotten they ever had a son.

These thoughts force up some of the loneliness of his earlier skating days. During the day he is delightedly occupied with preparing to marry the love of his life; but in the night-time he finds himself sitting awake by the window, feeling like the long-haired boy who had flashed dazzling smiles to the camera with no concept of what happiness really was. It isn't as bad now – how can it be, with he and Yuuri preparing to spend their lives together? – but he still feels guilty for being so low in the days leading up to their wedding.

Viktor feels gentle arms wrap around him from behind. "Stop brooding, Vitya."

"I'm not brooding."

A soft chuckle. "Yes you are. I can tell when you're brooding and right now, you're thinking too much."

"I thought you were the one who was guilty of that." He shifts on the windowsill to face him. Yuuri's hair is rumpled from sleep and his eyes are narrowed from tiredness and attempting to see without his glasses, and his oversized pyjama shirt is slipping down from one shoulder. He looks beautiful.

"Maybe I am, but I want you to stop worrying as well. Everything's going to be fine. Even if they don't turn up, my parents will be there for both of us, and Yakov."

"How did you know I was worried about that?"

Yuuri chuckles. "I've been your partner for three years, Vitya, and I've been lowkey stalking you since I was about ten. I probably know you better than I know myself."

This manages to make him laugh. "You never cease to surprise me, my love."

"Good." Warm, dry lips brush against his own. "Now lets go back to bed, hm? We need to get some rest. Only four more nights until the big day."

Viktor lets himself be pulled back to the bedroom. He still can't fall asleep, but this time it is for a very different reason.

###

They sleep apart the night before the wedding. It's really unnecessary- they've been sharing an apartment and a bed for a long time now – but Phichit insists, declaring that "tradition is important!" and "I'm experienced at staying up all night with Yuuri whilst he panics about everything under the sun."

Yuuri agrees. "He's right, Vitya," he says apologetically, "I'm going to be a nervous wreck, and I want you to get some sleep at least."

So they kiss each other goodnight, and Yuuri stays at Phichit's apartment whilst Viktor goes to sleep with Christophe. It's probably not quite what Phichit meant by "tradition" – sharing a bed mostly naked with another man only a few hours before his wedding – but it's fairly commonplace for the two skaters and signifies nothing beyond a comfortable friendship.

They lounge together on Chris' double bed wearing only designer boxers, and Viktor can't sleep so they sit cross-legged and talk about everything and anything (in other words, Yuuri).

"He's so perfect, Chris," Viktor sighs, flopping onto his back on the rose-patterned duvet. "So beautiful. I can't believe I'm going to marry him tomorrow. Me, Viktor Nikiforov, marry Yuuri Katsuki. Marry him. Tomorrow. How did I pull this off?"

Chris smirks. "To be fair, you could say that about most things in your life, Vik. And I mean, you weren't exactly subtle, with the whole bursting naked into his family home thing…"

"I didn't know that he didn't remember-!"

"And the shameless flirting…"

"Like you can talk!"

"And your absolutely luscious sex appeal."

"…I'm not going to argue with that." They both laugh. "Wow. Me and Yuuri Katsuki. I wouldn't have imagined this a few years ago."

"None of us would." Then Chris stops, hesitates. "You were considering inviting your parents for the wedding, huh?"

"How did you know about that? Did Yuuri tell you?" It was hard to believe that Yuuri would spread something so personal without his consent.

He laughs. "No, no, but I know you, Viktor. I know that's something you would do. How did it go?"

"Pretty awfully." He shrugs. He's going for casual, but his voice sounds a little hollow, and he's wearing his camera smile. "They didn't reply to the invitation, and there's no way they could make it in time for the wedding now, anyway."

"That sucks. I don't think I ever met your parents."

"You wouldn't have. I haven't seen them since I was a teenager, and even then, they didn't come to any competitions."

"But you still want them at your wedding." It isn't a question.

"Yeah, I do. It's… I know they're homophobic, and they're assholes, and they never supported me like a parent should, but…I thought something might have changed, now they know that I'm serious and settling down. I'm not just an unruly teenager sleeping around with all the boys in school to make a point – this is who I am. This is who their son is. I thought…I thought they might even be proud."

It sounds so stupid saying it out loud, because the people he's just described are not his parents. He can't remember them ever being proud of him. He looks up, expecting confusion or pity on Chris' face, but his friend just smiles.

"What do they look like?"

He blinks at the sudden change of direction, then smiles. This is why Chris is his friend. "My mother looks like me; we have the same hair and eyes, and we are both very tall. My father has dark hair and dark eyes, but people say we have the same build and face. They say I take after him in personality, but I don't think that. I think I take after myself."

"Obviously you do, no one could be as extra as you."

"Hey, I thought you were supposed to be nice to me before my wedding!"

Chris blinks. "Whatever gives you that idea? I'm the best man, my job is to embarrass and humiliate you as much as possible. I have a whole list of embarrassing stories to tell about you in my speech."

"Oh my God, don't you dare," he whines. "Our friendship is over."

"You're such a drama queen."

"I mean it. I could walk out right now." He doesn't move an inch from the duvet. "You're lucky you have such a comfortable bed."

"Ha!" Chris flops down beside him and flings an arm over him so they are lying in a position that can only be described as platonic spooning. "You can't get rid of me that easily. We're practically family by this point. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good, I don't want you to. I'm not going to let you leave even when you're a pervy old man and I'm an elderly millionaire with a beautiful husband – husband, Chris! – and at least five kids and a dog. You've been friend-napped."

"Friend-nap. That's what I'd like to do right now, nap," Chris grumbles, although he tightens his arm around his waist. "I'm turning off the light now. 'Night, Viktor."

"Goodnight, Chris."

"…"

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"This time tomorrow I'll be married."

"I know."

…

"Chris?"

"Mhm?"

"Yuuri loves me, Chris."

"Viktor, I love you, but go the fuck to sleep."

###

The day of the wedding dawns bright and clear. It's April, so it isn't warm (this is St Petersburg, when is it ever warm?) but it's not cold either; the air has the sparkling morning chill of dewdrops and fresh beginnings. Viktor feels invigorated, his chest stretched like elastic, and he can't stop himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet as he scans the crowds of people spilling into the venue. He and Yuuri both had extensive guest lists, but it still amazes him to see all the people who love and care about him together in one place. He never knew there were so many.

"Keep still, dumbass," Yuri complains, trying to tug a comb through his fine hair. The boy turned seventeen last month and recently hit his growth spurt, shooting upwards until he is as tall as Yuuri and doesn't need to stand on tiptoes to reach Viktor's hair. His voice is also breaking, which Viktor teases him about relentlessly. "You're fucking up your hair."

"My hair is fine, Yura," he murmurs distractedly, gazing out at the crowds. He knows they're not coming – he knows – but he can't help but look, just in case. It would be difficult to miss them. Silver hair is fairly distinctive…

"Oi, old man." Yura stops and glares at him, but there is a hint of concern in his voice. "You're not freaking out on us, are you? Because I'm really not sure I'm up to giving you some sappy inspirational pep talk, but I bet Yakov would be delighted."

"Haha, thank you, Yura, but I'm fine. Why don't you go over there and show Otabek how to socialise, he looks lost."

He gives Yuri a little push and watches as he goes to stand beside his friend, then turns back to the guests. It's ridiculous, but he can't stop looking. He doesn't even know what he'd do if he saw them – probably hide – but he is still longing to see them, as if his willpower alone will make them appear amongst the crowds.

An arm falls across his shoulders. "If they're going to come, they'll come. Worrying isn't going to change anything."

He sighs. "I know, Chris."

"This is your day, not theirs. It's to celebrate your happiness, and if your happiness doesn't include them, then that's alright."

Viktor sighs again in frustration and resists the urge to run his hands through his hair. He doesn't need Yura attacking him with a comb again. "But I want it to include them!"

Chris just tuts and squeezes him into a sideways hug. "Hey, I'm not supposed to know this, but a little bird told me Yuuri is looking very handsome today."

He feels a smile tugging at his lips. Chris always manages to make him feel lighter. "He always looks handsome."

"I even have a photograph, but I'm not going to show it to you."

"Chriiiis!" He makes grabby hands for the phone, but he holds it out of reach.

"Nope, you're only allowed to see him in person. Trust me, it'll be worth the wait."

Chris, as always, is right. Yakov walks him down the aisle, and although he isn't good at expressing emotions, he brushes down Viktor's shoulders and straightens his tie and murmurs, "my boy," in the kind of voice that makes him want to cry, so Viktor's heart is full even before he sees Yuuri standing by Phichit with a wavering smile and deep eyes of unwavering love.

When he does, it takes his breath away.

Even while the minister talks about family and promises and love, they can't tear their eyes away from each other, because they know all that. They are the very embodiment of love in everything they do together; they flow and mould into one another so perfectly that sometimes it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, because their love is timeless and infinite and beyond words. They repeat the vows solemnly, looking into one another, but they've been promising these things to each other since the moment they met, with every touch and word and action, every thought.

The ceremony is beautiful, and Viktor's heart feels close to bursting; but that's all it is, a ceremony. They don't need to be bound as one, because they are one. They always have been.

When the minister tells them to kiss, there is no hesitation. This is what they were waiting for. It is slow and gentle and far too intimate to show in front of everyone, but Viktor doesn't care; he looks deep into the man he will spend his life with, maps out every inch of his face like the most dedicated cartographer, then, slowly, brings their lips together. It's just a kiss – just like any other of their many, many, kisses – and it doesn't signify anything new.

Their marriage isn't a new beginning – it's a promise to continue as they have already begun. To let nothing change between them.

He draws back to the sounds of cheering and applause. He's always thought he wasn't the type of man to cry at weddings, but when Yuuri reaches out and strokes a hand across his cheek, he realises there are tears dripping down his face.

"Don't cry, Vitya," he murmurs, his voice soft and private under the euphoria of the guests. "Today is a happy day."

Viktor takes his hand and kisses both rings. "I am happy," he says, and he means it.

He continues to mean it, all through the wedding and well into the reception. He tours the hall with a glass of champagne in one hand and Yuuri's hand in the other, insisting on talking to everyone he comes across, even some old friends of Yuuri's that he hasn't even heard about before.

They seem to have forgotten the language barrier when they planned the wedding - many guests speak only Russian, or only Japanese, with the occasional smattering of English – but they get by, because love is a language that everyone can understand, and everyone in the room is tied together by love, somehow.

Even Yura is affected by the atmosphere. He is talking quietly to Otabek when they approach, his back turned, but when Viktor greets him he shoots him a watery glare, scrubbing furiously at his eyes with a handkerchief.

"Aww, Yura! That's so sweet, I never knew you cared."

Yuri flushes. "I don't! I'm not crying, it's the flowers."

"Oh, really?" Viktor raises his eyebrows and doesn't even try to hide his smirk. "I didn't know you have allergies, Yurio."

Otabek looks at him flatly. There is a slight twinkle to his dark eyes. "Oh, yes. He is prone to spontaneous bouts of hayfever during emotional situations," he informs them.

"I seee!" He opens his mouth to tease him more, but Yuuri places a hand on his back.

"Leave the poor boy alone, Vitya," he says, and Viktor can't refuse him anything. "Come on, I think Yakov is trying to introduce himself to my parents, we'd better go and translate."

Viktor follows him, puzzled. "But they both speak English?"

"In other words, I'd like to stop my mother from trying to intimidate him."

Viktor wants to laugh, because Yuuri's mother is the least intimidating person he has ever met, but then he remembers the way Mari had oh-so-casually mentioned to him that she was a black belt in karate and could take down anyone who hurt her brother, and realises that Yuuri's family are a lot more scary than they look.

He crosses the room with Yuuri and lets Hiroko kiss him and embrace him and tell him over and over how happy she is that he is her son-in-law. It's wonderful to feel so loved, and he returns the affection eagerly, but after a while a lump begins to form in his throat because this is what a mother should be like. Quietly he excuses himself to the edge of the room, waving off Yuuri's concerned touch, and stands against a wall sipping at his champagne and watching as the two sides of their family mingle and intertwine under the soft lighting.

Everything is coming together. It would be perfect, if it wasn't for the parent-shaped hole on the dance floor. Viktor wonders where they are now. He wonders if they're thinking of him now, maybe even regretting not coming. There are a lot of regrets between them.

"Why do you look so miserable?" He startles slightly as Yuri appears beside him. "It's your wedding, for God's sake, not a fucking funeral. You could at least try to cheer up a little."

"Ah, Yura, you scared me!" He says, snapping on a smile and pressing a hand to his heart. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out there mingling with the peasants or something?"

He has to laugh at that. Mingling with the peasants. Little Yura doesn't even know how funny he is sometimes. "I've done plenty of mingling, I'm just taking a break. I'm fine."

"Oh, sure. That's why you're standing in the corner of your own fucking wedding with that fake-ass smile, drinking your third glass of champagne in twenty minutes."

"My fourth," he corrects, swiping Yuri's half-filled glass from his hands. Yuri yelps indignantly. "You're underage~!"

"I'm also Russian, I can handle my alcohol."

"Suuure." He drains the glass anyway. Yuri scowls at him.

"Fuck you."

They stand together in silence. Music has begun to play, and they watch as some couples begin to sway together on the dance floor. Yuri lowers his voice.

"They didn't show up then, huh?"

Viktor blinks. "Who?"

"Your parents. You did invite them, right?"

"How do you know that? How does everyone seem to know that?"

Yuri snorts. "Because you're about as subtle as a fucking brick, that's why. You've been looking like a dog waiting for its owner to come home all through the wedding." He hesitates slightly. "You're making everyone worried."

"Honestly, I'm fine," he says, and he is surprised to find that it becomes more true every time he says it. "It's just a little disappointing."

He expects some kind of biting retort – "Ha, you're disappointing!" – but Yuri just nods. "Yeah," he says, and Viktor realises a moment too late that parents are a sore subject for Yuri as well.

"Damn, sorry, I didn't think – "

Yuri waves him off. "Shut up. Sure it's disappointing, but you've just gotta suck it up. You're a grown man – even if you do act like a seven-year-old half the time – so you can deal with it. Besides, you've got Yakov here, isn't that enough?"

They both look towards where a slightly tipsy looking Yakov is trying to clumsily waltz with Lilia, who is smiling and making a half-hearted attempt to push him away. Viktor feels a rush of affection for him. "He's not bad, as fathers go."

Yuri nods. "He really isn't." Then he shoots him a wary glare. "Don't tell him I said that."

"Of course not, Yura," he laughs. "He really isn't bad. He tries his best, and I know he loves me a lot. But…it's still not quite the same as having real family here. You know, Yuuri's sister threatened me with her karate black belt the other week if I ever hurt him – as if I ever would! I want a family who care about me enough to do stuff like that."

"You want a family who would beat up your husband." Yuri looks at him as if he is insane, then flushes slightly and glances away. "Well…I might have said something to Yuuri about what my knife shoes are capable of if he makes you sad."

Viktor blinks. Then he squeezes him into a tight hug. "Aww, Yura! That's so sweet!"

"Ew." Yuri wrinkles his nose and pulls away. "You know, Yuuri's not the only one I can hit with my knife shoes."

"…did you just threaten me?"

"'Course not. Now get lost, go molest your husband or something."

Viktor laughs and ruffles his hair, then turns to walk back towards where Yuuri is standing with Phichit. Just as he is about to leave, Yuri calls out,

"Oi, Viktor!"

"Yes?"

"Congratulations." Yuri looks up and smiles at him, small and bright and genuine – so of course, Viktor has to run back and hug him again.

###

He and Yuuri meet on the dance floor to the sound of soft, pulsing music. Viktor offers his hand and they dance close, forehead to forehead, arms wrapped around each other's hips, eyes locked, swaying gently together.

"Hi," Viktor whispers.

"Hi," he whispers back, his deep golden-brown eyes moist with happiness.

They look at each other silently for a moment, then start giggling. Yuuri buries his nose in the curve of Viktor's neck.

"So this is it. We're married."

Yuuri smiles. "We are. We've waited a long time for this."

"Far too long," he agrees. "We should have done it much sooner."

"When? When I discovered you naked in my family home?"

Viktor groans and hides his face in Yuuri's shoulder. "Why does everyone keep reminding me of that?"

"It wasn't the worst thing I could have come home to," Yuuri grins.

"But yes. That would have been nice."

"Tch, Vitya," he says in mock exasperation, even as he nuzzles their noses together. "I love you, you know."

"Oh, I know. I love me too."

"Vityaa!" Yuuri whines, laughing, and Viktor grins.

"I'm sorry, did you want me to say something else? Hm…" he puts his finger and thumb to his chin, pretending to be deep in thought, and Yuuri watches with amusement dancing in his eyes. "How about this?" He leans in and, punctuating every word with a firm kiss, says;

"I. Love. You."

He deepens the last kiss, bringing his hands up to thread through Yuuri's hair, and Yuuri responds eagerly. They draw back slowly to arms length, and Yuuri's smile fades as he looks at his face searchingly.

Viktor frowns, concerned. "What is it, my love?"

"Your parents never turned up, did they?"

"No," he says, but with Yuuri's arms around him and his deep eyes looking into his and their gold rings glinting in the tender light, he finds it very difficult to care. "But we knew they wouldn't."

"Are you okay?" He asks, and Viktor could almost laugh at the question because everything is perfect right now, the world has fallen into place, and how could he not be okay?

"I'm okay," he tells him, holding him close. "I'm more than okay."

And he means it.

###

Viktor cries when he gets the letter the following week.

He had stopped checking the mail so closely weeks ago, but he still flicks through the pile of envelopes and flyers each morning in case there are letters from Yuuri's family (they are old-fashioned like that) or any late wedding cards. He sits cross-legged on the floor in his pyjamas with a mug of coffee and leafs idly through promotional magazines and an advert for a newly-opened "authentic" Japanese restaurant nearby (they will probably end up going there soon, so Yuuri can confirm how unauthentic it is) – so when he sees the flimsy white envelope with neat biro lettering addressed to:

Виктор Никифоров

he rubs at his eyes and wonders if he is having hallucinations. Carefully, he slides a finger beneath the flap and slits it open.

The paper is cheap and thin, and it crackles as he unfolds it. He reads the small, tidy writing with widening eyes; it doesn't say anything incredible or awe-inspiring but it's from his parents, and it doesn't express criticism or disappointment. The message is distantly pleasant – the way one might address a colleague or a long-lost great aunt – but they're trying, and Viktor's eyes shoot across the page as he drinks in every drop of the closest thing he has ever received to acceptance.

He doesn't even realise he's crying until droplets of water begin to appear on the paper, soaking it transparent and blurring the blotchy ink. His hands are steady and his face is blank as he reads the letter once, twice, something bittersweet and painfully nostalgic coiling in his chest. He bites his lip and stares unseeingly down at the writing, ducking his head so that his hair falls across his eyes to hide his tears.

Quiet footsteps sound against the wooden floor. There is the clink of a mug being placed on the floorboards, then warm arms wrap around his torso from behind and Yuuri's head rests against his shoulder.

"Vitya?" He asks. Viktor swallows thickly.

"It's from my parents." He doesn't tell him what's in the letter, and Yuuri doesn't ask. He understands that this is something deeply personal. The arms tighten slightly.

"Do we need to get a fireplace?"

Viktor's breath catches and he chokes a laugh through his tears, because this he can answer.

"No," he says. "No, we do not."

###

He doesn't stay in contact with his parents after that, not really. It happens gradually.

The letter was a healing point, a tentative olive branch, but it didn't mend everything instantly. It was like a shaky footbridge across a deep ravine, a bandaid slapped across a knife wound; it was a beginning, but not a solution.

He receives one letter from them every year, on Christmas Day. He and Yuuri read it together, curled on the couch under the sparkling light of the Christmas tree with blankets and hot chocolate and presents at their feet. Viktor reads the letter and Yuuri holds him; at first, Yuuri doesn't understand the Cyrillic letters, but as time goes on he begins to understand more and more, and Viktor lets him in. Sometimes he even reads parts aloud – fragments of a shattered relationship that is trying to grow up through the cracks, a fragile tower of second chances.

Then Viktor folds the letter, slides it back into the envelope, and places it on the shelf with all the others.

He and his parents are never going to be as close as they could have been. They're recovering slowly, cautiously, feeling their way one step at a time, but they'll never be able to make up for almost thirty years of neglect and rejection. It is another year before they first talk on the phone again; three more before they meet in person.

Yuuri comes with him, at Viktor's request. He worries about intruding, but Viktor confesses that he is terrified, and Yuuri always calms him down.

"I can't do this without you," he says, and Yuuri relents.

He still steps back, however, as Viktor and his parents reunite. It isn't the joyous rebirth he had dreamed of – nowhere close – but it's a beginning. They're all trying their best. They talk politely, hesitantly:

"How have you been?"

"Are you well?"

"It's been a long time."

and the tension never quite disappears, but it gets easier. They still don't approve of his relationship, Viktor can tell, but they shake Yuuri's hand politely and speak to him in struggling English. When they leave, they take Viktor into an awkward embrace – a clumsy mess of limbs as they try to fit themselves around one another, like jigsaw pieces that don't quite connect – trying their hardest to find a way to make it work.

It's not perfect, but Viktor will take it.

And in the end, he thinks, as he climbs into bed beside Yuuri on Christmas night, wrapping his arms around his husband of five years and pressing his face against his silky hair, it doesn't really matter. They have a spacious apartment in St Petersburg that is a shrine to their life together; ornaments and photographs and medals and stuffed toys and dog hair on the couch and Viktor's socks that have a strange habit of turning up in the most nonsensical places…all of this a testimony to every moment of their domestic bliss. They have a stoic, fatherly coach and a bad-tempered young man who has grown up so fast and friends all around the world who support them not only in their skating but in their happiness.

Viktor's parents will never be perfect. There will always be regrets and guilt and sour memories. But why mourn for what could have been when there is so much to celebrate in what is? He has so much to be thankful for.

There are always going to be struggles in his life. His retirement from skating and his marriage to Yuuri mark not the end but the beginning of a new era, with its own struggles and challenges and moments of darkness.

But, Viktor thinks, he wouldn't have it any other way. He has everything he needs right here.

~Fin~

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