Hello again, long time no see :)

I've been toying with this idea for the longest time, and it kinda came out the way I wanted it so... Please enjoy a story about what happens when Victor loses his ring, becomes extra in a believeable fashion and goes though the Five stages of grief according to the Kübler-Ross-model. Enjoy!

xoxo

The day of Yuuri's departure to Japan is a stressful one. Victor feels a bit helpless before it all, how he really can't do anything to make it easier for Yuuri other than to stay out of his way. It's something Victor feels unfamiliar with, the staying out of the way-part, but he tries his best while Yuuri swoops and swooshes around their flat in a seemingly never ending crusade to make sure everything he needs is either packed or already laid out.

"You packed the samovar?" Victor calls out, forgetting about that new regime of staying out of the way. He hears a muted 'check!' from the walk-in closet in response, which only spurs him on. After asking if the more obvious details to a successful flight are even considered, and packed, by Yuuri, such as passport, travel pillow, chewing gum and mobile phone, he continues with the more odd necessities.

After hearing the scoffs and sighs coming closer after every suggestion, the sounds are emanating from the bedroom now by the sound of things, Victor refrains himself from asking if Yuuri's packed a moisturising face mask, foundation, lip cream and a bottle of subtly scented body mist. All being must-haves on any trip as far as Victor's considered, but strangely enough not by his whirlwind fiancé.

"Can't you please be a little bit useful now, Victor? The dishes won't do themselves," Yuuri commands, his breath strained in his throat, whilst pressing himself between Victor and the kitchen island to reach the refrigerator. Yuuri rummages around, picking out some snacks bought the day before and shoves them down his backpack.

Yuuri sounds a little stressed now, not quite annoyed but definitely getting close, Victor concludes. Therefore, Victor does what he's told and gathers up their plates left there since breakfast, as well as their mugs and cutlery, before he tries to decide on whether to roll up his sleeves or change sweater for his appointed task. He decides on neither option after a few seconds thought, and pulls off his gray cashmere sweater and folds it over one of the high-backed chairs crowding the area around the kitchen island.

It doesn't take long before the blanket of bubbles in the sink is rising, the dishes hidden beneath the fluff of white. Victor waits a moment or two, allowing the washing-up liquid to act as his ally in this fateful battle, before he starts with the glasses.

Suddenly, he feels Yuuri close. Maybe it's the heat from Yuuri's body that makes Victor know he's there, the way it cocoons his naked back and makes him feel that washing dishes without a top on really isn't a problem nor a quirk. Maybe, it's simply one of those things he's developed over time; a sixth sense of knowing where Yuuri is in their shared space that makes it redundant to make sure.

"You really shouldn't take it off like that, Yuuri scolds, albeit lovingly, as his hands finds their way around Victor's body, settling on his chest in an embrace.

As Victor's thinking that he's old enough to decide for himself whether to do the dishes clad or unclad, he feels Yuuri nod, despite the fact that he's standing behind him. Victor understands then that Yuuri's nodding in the direction of his ring, placed in a small terracotta bowl together with loose change. Like he always does when doing the dishes, for he never wants the lustre to dull.

The whole exchange makes Victor surrender to the smile that has been teasing the corners of his mouth all morning. The reason is simple; of all the possible things to say in a moment like this, Yuuri chooses to be on him about something mundane and unimportant. Victor knows that Yuuri has a bad way of dealing with goodbyes and that the whole morning is a symptom of that. The swooping and swooshing, the slight annoyance and cheek, the opinions on where to put jewelry…

"It's just ten days, milyy," Victor smiles. Maybe that smile comes from a place of inner strength, the way he's trying to be brave instead of falling down into that pit of unfathomable longing together with Yuuri. Maybe, he feels a little bit offended about being told off about things that really doesn't matter, not now when they're about to part.

Yuuri's responding sigh heats up a spot between Victor's shoulder blades, a warm and wet sensation before it leaves a cold in its wake. Kind of like Yuuri himself, the way he's always warm and how the cold always creeps up in his absence. The downside to that newly acquired sixth sense, if anything.

Truth be told, Victor has a difficult time with goodbyes as well.

"I… I gotta go," Victor feels Yuuri mouth against his back, lips tickling his skin.

"Mm, I guess so," Victor whispers as he turns around, his hands wet and covered by bubbles. Not minding their condition the slightest, he returns the embrace; holding Yuuri so tight that a mewl escapes him which makes Victor fear that the upcoming days without him will be a test unsurmountable. One that has to start by letting him go.

Yuuri bargains for his freedom with a kiss, one that is soft at first with lips barely meeting another pair only to intensify, turning into something that feels like a fight for survival the way mouths ends up gasping for air as tongues invade.

Breathlessly, they look at each other, caught in the bittersweet knowledge of the other will be absent not before long, whisked away due to life demanding it which they can't say nor do anything about.

"Kuso," Yuuri blurts out then, straightening himself with eyes open wide, "I forgot my earbuds, I need to―"

"I'll get them," Victor laughingly huffs after burying his nose into Yuuri's hair. He saunters off to their bedroom, it's with a reluctance he does this for he needs that heat for a little while longer, and finds the earbuds neatly coiled inside the drawer of Yuuri's nightstand.

Rounding the corner, he sees Yuuri down the hallway, zipping up his jacket and putting his hands in his pockets once he's done, checking that keys and wallets and life in general are being where they should be.

"Here they are," Victor comments as he comes close and hands the earbuds over. He knows that he sounds disgustingly glib, but… that's what they need right now.

"Thank you. Such a knight in shining armor."

Victor can tell that Yuuri tries to make it all easier, the imminent departure, by putting on a pretended cheer in his voice too, as he shoves the earbuds down in one of his pockets and zips the pocket closed.

"Oh, so I'm not in the way anymore, am I?" Victor mumbles, drawing a small semi circle underneath the rim of Yuuri's glasses. Yuuri's skin is warm against Victor's fingertip, reminding Victor yet again what these ten days will be like without a word even being said.

"Never," Yuuri sighs back, and following a hug and a stroke of Victor's cheek, he opens the front door and heads off into the hallway towards the lift.

Victor promptly watches Yuuri go down the hall, pulling his spinner bag behind him until he reaches the lift, presses the button and waits for the ding.

"I love you, you know," Victor says, voice raised slightly to make sure that Yuuri hears his declaration.

"Love you more," Yuuri responds with a laugh.

"Love you to infinity and back," Victor sing-songs as the lift arrives, not succeeding with its tries to drown his voice with its ding. "Call me when you get there!"

"I will," Yuuri says as he peeks out of the lift. "Please clean a little when I'm away, okay? And put a shirt on!"

And with that, Victor finds himself alone. Hoping that cleaning the flat might keep him away from missing his fiancé too much.

: I : Denial

It's the day after Yuuri's departure when Victor's life officially ends.

He's had his morning jog, his breakfast, his morning shower and as he's busy doing his obligatory skin care routine, somewhere after the revitalising toner but before the firming cream, something in his reflection catches his eye. Or rather, it's the absence of something that does, sending his heart clawing its way up his throat as well as constricting it with its vicious pounding within seconds of the fateful discovery.

On his right hand, on his ring finger, there's no ring.

With widened eyes, the eyewhites of his reflection glaring back at him, he somehow manages to break the contact he has with himself in the mirror and focus on his right hand. True enough, it's not there and in the ring's absence is nothing but a white line, the only telltale sign that he's taken by someone. Someone who isn't even there with him. Someone who would become devastated finding out.

And so, Victor finds himself regressing, turning into something he hasn't been on speaking terms with for a while. That ring is what acts as a proof and a connection to how he leads his life, the choices made until receiving it, how he now belongs and being without it is… is… is…

Logic elbows its way to the front of the line in Victor's mind, asking him to calm down. Asking him to access what he knows, asking him to check the usual places before considering panic. After all, he's been doing dishes, cleaning, hovering and―

Holy fucking shit!

Even tough logic is still in charge, although stretched incredibly thin, Victor needs to hold on to the basin. The bathroom is close to spinning, his knees have lost anything reminding of stability and tonus. So, he breathes with one hand clawing at the basin for support and the other, holding on to his throat.

Victor feels his pulse racing, hard and relentless is how it's pounding back at his palm and fingers, and naturally, he thinks his time has come. And what the hell will Yuuri say, finding him oozing and grey, ringless to boot, when he returns from Japan in nine days time? No, it must be a bad dream after all. Victor's sure he's about to wake up soon, he just needs to―

Logic does one remarkable last attempt to rein in what's on the run, and somehow, Victor manages to find a sliver of hope again. After all, he hasn't even started to look for the ring, not with intent anyway, which makes him rejoice for hope is the last thing to leave a man. And he's sure, sure beyond comparison, that it's in the kitchen. In that small terracotta bowl with the loose change where he always puts it.

With a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, he exits the bathroom. In that very moment, Victor can feel something reminding him of a calm contentment. To think that he had to work himself up over such a silly thing! Of course it's where he left it, and to think otherwise is just an act of needlessly playing out the masochist card.

He rounds the kitchen island, the fingers of one hand sliding across the cool marble surface. Then, he takes the one and a half step it takes to reach the opposing countertop and the sink and it's almost with a triumphant flourish he grabs that bowl and looks down into it, firing off a 'told 'ya, Nikiforov! Nothing to lose it over,' kind of grin. Only to see a few kopeykas and rubles clinking on the bottom of the bowl.

"N-no," Victor says out loud, his grip around the bowl tightening, "I… I-I-I left it here. It was right here!"

Victor doesn't feel the towel slide down from his waist, ending up in a pool of fabric on the tiled kitchen floor. He's taken with what he sees, or doesn't in this case, and empties the bowl on the countertop. He separates the coins, one by one. He turns and twists the bowl, scrutinising it from the bottom and from the side. He paws and gawks at the area where the bowl was placed, time and time again but ends up with nothing, for the marble countertop is clean and pristine without anything on it. Except for the bowl that he's now wringing in his hands.

Fire is starting to spread inside his chest now, for he is still a five time consecutive skating champion; bested by none. He's not going to be bested by this ring, or the absence of it!

Squatting down, he opens the cabinet underneath the sink and takes out the small plastic bucket used as a bin. He rummages around in the trash, folding away kitchen paper, pieces of food and scraps and envelopes. There's a slight annoyance creeping up to the surface now, which culminates with him simply turning the bucket upside down, emptying its contents on the floor.

Seeing the mess he's made doesn't become him the slightest for he's busy with his focus elsewhere. Victor starts categorising the trash, turning the plastic bag they were in inside out and clamps his jaws tight together once he's done.

It's not there! Goddammit!

Victor stands up upon this realisation, looks around with his head whipping to the left and right, before he walks over to the cleaning cabinet, opens the door and pulls out the hoover. It lands on the floor with a loud noise, but it has nothing on the noise Victor creates as he's trying to open the small door that hides the bag.

Within seconds, the kitchen floor is not only filled with trash from the kitchen, but dust, lint and other surprising finds one can extract from a hoover bag filled to its maximum. Victor thoroughly sifts through it all, sorts it into piles, creates a system where every small gathering of dust and filth goes through a rigorous three-step check.

Still, no ring.

Then, Victor realises, with a chill running down his spine, that he actually emptied the trash yesterday, after cleaning, after doing his best to make Yuuri happy and forget about the void he left behind. It actually feels one hundred percent reasonable to do what he does next. Namely, to look up the number to the company that collects and disposes of the trash from him and his neighbors. All 48 of them.

Searching for that number, Victor gets a strange sense of calm inside. 'To think that this problem could be managed so easily' is kind of what courses around inside him, for really, how difficult can it be to be allowed access to the room where their trash is, open a few bags and find it? Surely, it'll most certainly smell like death down there, but he can take a shower after he finds that ring and then all will be well and this predicament will be nothing but an amusing story to all and everyone he feels the need to tell it to. Although he already has decided to take it with him to his grave.

Victor copies the number found, and as he's about to press the call button, he becomes interrupted. It's with dread that he sees Yuuri's name and face pop up on his screen, but in that split second of a window where Victor probably should have stopped and collected himself just for a bit, he does what comes natural and swipes right, answering the call instead.

"Hey," Yuuri beams, his face showing on the screen, before it looks slightly more surprised. "Doing okay?"

Victor flounders then, at a loss for words. Maybe, it has something to do with the acute fear that just dissipates from his mind but more likely, it's because he finds himself surprised that he's not partaking in an ordinary call but a video call.

"I-I-uh… I'm… I kinda..." Victor tries, thoughts acting like a flock of birds when faced with his love, the one who unknowingly is the reason for all this.

"Are you busy?" Yuuri smiles, head cocked a little to the side.

The sense of being buried beneath a pile of bricks pops into Victor's mind seeing that smile. He realises that he needs to act like nothing's wrong, he can't be the monster he really is for not being vigilant, for not having his shit together, for not honoring what he and Yuuri has!

"Well, uh, I'm…"

"Were you taking a shower?" There's a twinkle in Yuuri's eyes, one that Victor probably would have noticed if the situation was different. One that promised much but simply passed Victor by.

Victor shrugs a little in response. "Yeah, I was… uh, showering. I was taking a shower. Yes," he mumbles, feeling beyond stupid as he realises that that lie is thinly stretched, for he's sitting down, naked, in the field of trash that covers their kitchen floor.

He's going to take another shower, not before long. Of that, he's sure.

"Are you okay?" Yuuri asks, and it's strange how that tone of voice makes Victor understand that Yuuri knows. Not everything, for that would be impossible, unthinkable, but it's clear that he knows that something's amiss and that is a horrible situation to be put in.

"Is that trash on the floor? Victor?"

Mostly because Yuuri's like a terrier once he's caught the whiff of something, and it's just better to give him what he wants. Or, as Victor has started to understand, give Yuuri something he at least can handle. The lesser of two evils, mind.

Victor nods a little, an inaudible 'mhm' escaping him.

"What? Why?!" Yuuri's voice seems to have gone up maybe two octaves, as he leans in closer to his phone. Probably trying to spot the traces of filth on the floor in Victor's window.

Victor finds himself studying the inside of Yuuri's nose as a result, scrambling for finding something to say that isn't too much of a lie. Then, he blurts, "The hoover broke and I―"

"―cleaned the apartment naked? With what, a broom? Your hands?! Why?!" Yuuri interjects, looking exasperated. Victor, on the other hand, can't help but think that the view inside Yuuri's nose was easier to deal with than his now irritated visage.

"Love, you're not listening," Victor says, feeling close to simply come clean about the whereabouts of his ring, "I'm going to fix it, I just need to―"

"You're naked. There's trash everywhere. Call me when you're not so," Yuuri brusquely air quotes with the hand not holding the phone, "'busy'. My god, Victor. Seriously, I can't believe you."

"Love you too," Victor sighs to his silent phone, seconds too late.

-xoxo-

When Victor finally crawls into bed, hair wet from his fifth shower taken that day for that smell from the trash room seemed to have gained a life of its own, he opens up his message app. He just needs to make sure of one thing before he tries to sleep. Although he's read the conversation too many times to count already, he does one more read-through.

Just to make sure.

To: Mila B

-You're coming on Friday?

-Sure!

-The guys too?

-Yes. I said there would be food

so you better provide.

-No problem.

-I think it's cute!

-What is?

-You wanting to clean for

Yuuri :) Look at you, all

domestic! He turned you into

a house husband xD

Hope to see you with rubber gloves

and an apron tomorrow!

-Lol, yeah, that's it.

I'm trainable! Woofwoof!

Come after lunch, then. Aprons are ugly!

-Hahaha! Seeya!

With a sigh, Victor puts his mobile on his nightstand. Even though his day has been nothing but a disappointment, that empty space on his finger being a prickling and constant reminder of the fact, it feels like he still has wiggle room.

Sure, the quest to find a person with access to the trash room in his building ('sorry, you you need someone who can do what, now?'), to make said person come out to his building ('no, trash collecting is on Thursdays, period.'), to make said person allow him to go inside ('we can't have random folk in there, y'hear?') and to make said person turn a blind eye to what had to happen ('I-I-I lost my ring once too, and the missus, she… she… oh, she had one hell of a right hook, I can say that much. Tell you what, take all the time you need! Some things are more important than others, right? Best of luck, young man. You're going to need it.') had proven rather unfruitful, Victor still rode on the hope and the dream that the ring wasn't gone.

Just… misplaced.

: 2 : Anger

It's the third day after Yuuri's departure when Victor loses his last remaining pinch of composure.

The hours leading up to lunchtime seems never ending, taunting him with their slow and pathetic pace. It's like those hours, despite how few they are, are longer than the days preceding them. No matter how impossible it may seem.

Victor finds himself in a foul mood shortly after getting up, he picks up on it somewhere after breakfast when he sits alone with his coffee cup in the living room, balled up on the sofa. And, it's actually possible that his mood only worsens when he notices the absence of sound his ring finger makes against the side of his cup. The ring used to make a sharp sound doing so, a sound he can't really say he bothered too much about before but now seems impossible to live without. That lovely little clink of metal meeting porcelain.

Strange that, how some things aren't fully appreciated until they're gone. No matter how insignificant or redundant they may seem.

Victor stops strumming his finger along his cup, the absence of the sound just fires up his annoyance even more, and goes through the day's game plan in his head. Today, the core of the Russian elite skating team will come over for an impromptu cleaning session, bringing at last one plus-one with them to act as 'muscle'.

In truth, Mila's hockey boyfriend isn't someone Victor cares about, he doesn't even know his name but in order to get a hold of someone who easily can help with what's needed, Victor knows that he at least has to make it worth this boyfriend's while. And, as is customary with hockey players and not only the Russian ones, food is what seals the deal.

And to think that he even ordered catering, like that would somehow lure the universe into considering that he's worthy of its good graces! Victor knows that he makes choices less thought through at times, but he's close to desperate now and desperate men tend to do desperate things.

They won't have a single bite until they're done, Victor sourly reminds himself, for somewhere inside he thinks it's perfectly reasonable for the other skaters to hurt. Though, they'll never hurt as much as he's hurting but it feels better knowing that he's got some kind of control. Even if said control consists of something as petty as denying other people an extremely tasty lunch until he says the word.

With a sigh, Victor stands up and crosses the living room to the kitchen. With sauntering strides, he goes over to the sink and puts his cup in it. The remaining coffee sloshes around a little, some of it clears the hurdle made by the rim of the cup and spreads out into the sink. Victor tries hard not to let his eyes wander from that coffee-made blot, tries to keep his gaze on it instead of on what now is trying to steal his attention. He fails, and the presence of the small terracotta bowl makes itself known yet again. And god, how it taunts him.

Looking at it, the feeling of defeat licking his shores repeatedly as he does, Victor tries to keep the anger away from taking centre stage. He knows, knows it all too well, that what he'll get the others to do today is the last huzzah and might as well become the last nail in the coffin. If the ring isn't found after their endeavours, he… hell, he doesn't even know what he's supposed to do if that should prove to be the outcome.

Forty five minutes to go. Oh, how Victor wants this day to be over.

-xoxo-

Victor indeed wants this day to be over. The skating team has only been in his flat for twenty minutes or so before Victor wants them gone. They keep asking a lot of questions, comments on his magenta coloured rubber gloves, wants to eat before the work is done… Victor feels close to boiling, standing with his bucket of hot and soapy water in one hand like the red herring it is.

"You know," Yuri leers at him as Mr. Hockey, his name still a mystery to Victor although he gave Victor both his hand and name when they met, grabs the sides of the stove and starts rocking it back and forth, "I find it strange."

"What is?" Victor plays along, his pulse ticking at the side of his neck. He's done with the cross examination already and he wants them out and the ring found, but instead, he manages to clench his jaws in the hopes of not saying anything that could give the slightest hint of his innate wishes.

"Well," Yuri continues, "one; you're never this clingy when Katsudon's away, making plans days in advance. Two; we're bribed to do things you easily can fix yourself. Three; there's no way you're this whipped that you would come up with the idea to clean behind that," Yuri nods his head at the stove, "and that," he finishes, pointing at the fridge and freezer across the kitchen with his thumb over his shoulder.

Holding his breath, for he's indeed getting close to some kind of implosion if this constant prodding continues, Victor faces that clawing and biting kitten and, not without a struggle, puts on his smile, that trademark supernova smile, before he utters a line that definitely oozes of complicated, adult problems.

"Sometimes, you do nice things for others, Yurio."

Yuri's eyes narrows some, scrutinising Victor's words down to the last syllable most probably, before he shrugs and walks out of the kitchen.

Victor scoffs internally, and redirects his attention to the stove, which Mr. Hockey now has pulled out of its designated spot. Before anyone of that motley cleaning crew manages to look down behind the stove, down into that space where it's been sitting without being pulled out for years, Victor crowds it like a hawk ready for the kill. He needs to be the first to see if it's there, before the others understand why they have been summoned to do some of his dirty work.

"Yuuri's going to be so happy!" Mila squeaks, impressed by Victor's eagerness. "Hey, can't you clean behind my stove?" she says to her boyfriend with an accompanying elbow to his side, and Victor understands that Mila's still happily unaware of his plight. Just as well.

Before he does a shimmy into that now vacant square the stove left behind, Victor puts away his bucket on the countertop. He squats down, a little too eagerly for his own liking but it cannot be helped, and runs his gloved fingers down the corners of the space, close to the floor. He's a bit ashamed to admit it that it is indeed filthy but then again, how important is the cleanliness behind a stove really, especially when his most important possession ever, no matter given or bought, is missing?

The shame quickly evaporates when Victor, now on his knees in the tight space, notices that with the exception for an entire herd of dust bunnies, crumbs or clumps of this and that and some streaks of grime, there's nothing.

Fucking nothing.

"Oh, gross!" Victor hears Mila say from above, somewhere behind him. "You should do this more often, Victor."

Victor has to bite back tears now, tears that are hellbent on not being reined in, as he stands up.

"You," he begins, trying to keep his voice steady whilst pointing at Mila's boyfriend before pointing at the fridge across the room, "move that one too."

He walks past them, keeping his head slightly turned away. Victor doesn't want them involved, nor does he want to betray himself and his indiscretions by crying. Those tears are there though, tears out of anger that really are tears of sadness deep down if he would allow himself to admit it. Which, in truth, is very unlikely.

"Aren't you going to clean here?" Mila pipes up behind him, and Victor doesn't have to look at her to understand that she's puzzled and nonplussed. He would be, too, if he found himself in her shoes.

"You can do it," Victor says then, turning around with his last remaining sense of control morphed into a smile, "after all, you guys are here to clean, right?"

Mila doesn't oppose luckily, but Victor can see that his veil is thin and frayed. They're close to find out that something's amiss, if they haven't already, but Victor tries not to dwell as he joins Mr. Hockey as he is caught up in an embrace, arms locked around Victor's fridge.

"Can't I at least have your gloves then?" Mila says, holding the bucket Victor left behind.

'No,' is what Victor wants to say, 'you can't. Why? Because I fucking lost my ring and this is the only way I can keep you guys out of my stupid mistake!'. But, of course, he doesn't say that. Instead, Victor starts some vapid, blunt-going-on-passive-aggressive tirade about how he doesn't allow others to borrow his things, especially if they're going to be worn and who knows what Mila's hands have been holding during the week that has passed.

Mila accepts that, miraculously enough, and turns away with a sigh. Victor watches her dip her bare hands into the bucket before she disappears into that small square of hell, scrubbing away at the greasy corners. Victor should probably feel at least some small inkling of shame, but he doesn't. Instead, he's hyper-focused watching Mr. Hockey do the embrace-move once more, literally standing at the ready before he's on his knees again, sifting through the dust, dried scraps and lost post it-notes, now unearthed from their final resting place.

The view really doesn't come as a surprise but… in that moment, Victor realises that he has lost his control. The ring isn't there but also, the prospects of finding it now are incredibly slim. Nonexistent, one would say if one would actually dare, for Victor has looked everywhere inside the flat and, not to forget, has he taken great measures to find it outside of the home.

So, without as much as a word, Victor gets to his feet, dusts off the knees of his sweats and heads down the hallway, towards the front door.

"Victor!" Georgi calls out behind him. "Where are you going?"

"Out," Victor says. He can hear it himself, how his answer is short, blunt and hard set, but he needs to get out. Out, before something unfavourably happens, for inside rages a fire that threatens to not only take him over but also spread. So, he puts on his coat and wiggles into his sneakers, hearing the others mumble indistinct things behind him.

"The cleaning―"

"―must be done before you eat," he interjects, and closes the door behind him.

Victor takes the stairs, hoping that the movement might make him control what's consuming him. Which it does, but only until he manages to get out of his building, run down the steps and find himself facing the road and the Fotanka river further down.

"Motherfucking shit! Why did I have to lose it?! It's so fucking unfa~ir!" his voice bursts out of him, close to breaking due to it rising above what's humanly possible, as tears sting his eyes.

-x-

Higher up, in Victor and Yuuri's flat, the question Mila began to pose becomes interrupted as the rest of the skaters stop what they're doing for a few seconds. They're listening, listening for seconds that continue on to make a small eternity.

"Um… did you guys hear that?" Georgi finally asks, swallowing his spring roll.

"Must have been the wind," Yuri responds, swearing a little under his breath due to his noodles' succeeding in making one elaborate escape from his fork onto the floor.

"―the gloves?" Mila finishes, her question complete, eyes wide out of wonder.

"I… I think he took them with him," Viktor responds breathlessly, baffled as he squeezes Mila's waist.

: 3 : Bargaining

It's the fifth day after Yuuri's departure when Victor starts to question himself in all ways possible.

The day begins like all the others have since he became alone, since he noticed that his ring wasn't in its rightful place. Though it's difficult to know exactly what happens first, there's either a thought or a feeling that awakes what has slumbered together with Victor for the night, the outcome is the same. As soon as Victor finds himself in that headspace, he succumbs.

He has slowly understood, somewhere deep inside, that the ring is gone. Although he hasn't accepted it yet, how his bouts of absent-mindedness or what to call it finally claimed a casualty in the most dire of ways, he takes the blame. Which is a strange place to be in, at least to Victor Nikiforov. Victor Nikiforov hasn't been with someone in the sense he finds himself now, and therefore, his wrongdoings have gained another magnitude. They affect others just as much as they do to himself, and he's not without a conscience.

With a churning feeling in the pit of his stomach, he reaches for his phone on his nightstand. He pulls out the charging cable, and goes on a mindless journey through his social media apps. It's a perfect distraction, for his mind clears a bit as he reads tweets and looks at photos, lost in the lives and opinions of others.

But, things doesn't last for long and Victor becomes shaken when he notices an Instagram-post made by Yuri. It's a group shot, of Yuri and the others cleaning Victor's kitchen. The image, in all honesty, isn't too bad. The quartet seem to be enjoying themselves, posing with their weapons of choice. Yuri with his sponge, Mila with that bucket, Georgi with an oven spray and that boyfriend with the slippery name with a mop. It's the comments, or one in particular, that sends him spinning.

katsuki_y Did someone forget something?

Victor doesn't bother about the replies. If he had, he would have seen that loyalty comes first and the other skaters still don't have an inkling about the reason behind their engagement in the flat. Instead, his eyes read the comment made by Yuuri, thousand of miles away, again and again and again.

"You know that I've fucked up," he mouths to himself, that churning feeling now turning into something that tears and rips the insides of his abdomen, almost paralysing him. Maybe, that realisation is what ultimately makes him stay in bed until sometime after lunch for he really wants things to go back to how they were. If he could relive that morning when he agreed to do the dishes, it would be different. Of that, he's sure.

So when Victor ultimately slithers out of bed, reluctantly so, mind, he's occupied with rethinking every step he made that morning, questioning his every move. It doesn't just stay inside his head, this coulda-woulda-shoulda kind of ruminating thoughts, for Victor retrieves the notebook he uses for planning skating programs and then, the thoughts expands and becomes almost an entity of their own. Jotted down in this weather-worn notebook, they turn into something that is reminiscent of a flow chart, a map of possible butterfly effects.

He starts small at first, analysing what would have happened if he simply opted out of doing the dishes, but Victor is Victor after all and has rarely done anything half assed in his life and he doesn't intend to start now. So that small happenstance becomes something big, ending with observations like 'maybe, I should have been the one picking out Yuuri's snacks' and 'what if I had helped him pack', with levels and levels of possible interruptions that might have changed the reality he now finds himself in.

It's not until his stomach protests, not out of guilt or lack of control, he manages to pause that endless loop of finding possible miracles. That small moment of reprieve turns into something that could be considered brunch, eaten in front of the TV in his underwear.

It's a simple meal, an omelet accompanied by vegetables and this time, no coffee. He makes that choice on a conscious level, even though he'd enjoy the caffeine but… no. He needs to stay away from what's provoking him, because the smallest of things will undoubtedly send him down that road again.

Victor has almost forgotten about that maze his mind created, the need to find out the exact whats to the whys, the cause and effect of his situation one might say, when he gets lured back. It starts simple, with nothing more than a text from Yuuri.

From: Yuu~ri 3

-Why did they help you clean?

Victor can taste the iron in his mouth because of the way his heart dislodges itself and finds its way up to his throat, the pulse hard and strong against the side of his neck. He tries to reply, several times too, by texting something clever and slightly risqué in return but… his fingers can't move the way he wants them to. He erases what he's written, tries to make something come out but instead, all he can come up with are variations of what he's already deleted.

-Because I'm an idiot and I'm

so sorry ;_; ;_; ;_;

Victor deletes that message too, or so he thinks anyway, even when it's clear as day that his message is there, on the screen instead of in his typing window. The whimper that leaves Victor's lips when he realises that he more or less told Yuuri that while he's in Japan, damage control on a unfathomable scale is happening in Russia, can only be described as pitiful at best.

Naturally, his phone rings almost immediately after that, a proof, or a punishment, of his idiocy. Victor answers though, sometime after the fifth signal, with a trembling thumb swiping the screen.

The both of them are silent at first, despite the fact that days have passed without them speaking to each other. Listening to that, the sound of nothing, Victor becomes uncomfortable. Thoughts are teasing him again, thoughts that are gnawing and prodding, on a quest to make him lose his concentration and his self-preservation.

Maybe, that's the reason why Victor is the one who speaks first, the result of the thoughts succeeding somewhat. Though in all honesty, describing it as 'speaking' would be an overstatement.

"I-uh… It's… Like… You would… You know?" is what Victor manages to utter, for his mind is trying to find an explanation, or at least a badly described reason, as to why a simple task such as cleaning have ballooned out of proportion, involved others while being shrouded in mystery.

Victor hears a small sigh from his phone, Yuuri's exasperated no doubt and… rightly so.

"What are you doing, Victor?" Yuuri asks then.

Victor doesn't know what's to be considered worse: the annoyance Yuuri displayed from before when the video call revealed just the tip of the iceberg to the chaos that started after him leaving or this; the warmth in Yuuri's voice, the concern Victor can hear and feel through the mobile phone that sparks sensations of what it feels like to be near Yuuri, but not being able to.

"It's… I just..." Victor starts, a sadness welling up through him, "I-I-I…"

"Are… are you okay? Victor? Vitya?"

The effect of Yuuri's question is like opening the proverbial floodgates, and Victor becomes an incoherent mess, where sniffs and sobs outcrowd what he really needs to say but still cannot. Instead, he asks Yuuri for confirmations; if they do have something important together, if Yuuri still loves him, if Yuuri knows that he would never hurt him, if there's still a point of them being together, if Yuuri ever thinks about having something undone, if Yuuri thinks that some things just happen despite good intentions.

Yuuri tries to answer, Victor hears, but there's just not enough time. There are questions that need to be asked, and after they have been asked, Victor somehow becomes a victim to that self blame which he voices. He rambles on, about how he would want things to be different, what would have happened if Yuuri never left for Japan, how he really wants to have it undone, how he would do anything to change—

"I really… I really don't know what's going on with you right now," Yuuri finally interjects, softly and hesitantly, "but, I know that you're not a bad person. Nothing you've done at home matters, Victor. I just don't understand why cleaning has become such a big…"

Yuuri's voice trails off, and they find themselves silent again. Just for a heartbeat or two this time.

"Tell you what," Yuuri says, and his voice is like a whisper now, "I'll be home soon and it'll… it'll all be okay. I promise you. Okay?"

Victor hums something in response, he hopes that it sounds like he's agreeing, and they say their goodbyes. As soon as they hang up, Victor hurries back to the bedroom where he disappears underneath down filled duvets and succumbs to all those thoughts about if he's even worthy of the life he has, what he could have done differently, asking gods he doesn't believe in to make it all undone.

: 4 : Depression

It's the seventh day after Yuuri's departure when Victor completely resigns.

No gods have heeded his wish, nor have they done anything to bestow him a chance to rectify himself. The most reasonable thing that Victor comes up with is to sleep, which he wholeheartedly ends up doing with the few exceptions of visiting the bathroom and, on occasion, bring some water with him back to the bedroom. Those basic needs and functions where he has to move and engage himself feel exhausting to him and he quickly decides to keep any movement to a minimum.

By now, the people closest to him have started to notice that something is amiss. Victor isn't as active on social media like he tends to be, even during those times he's home alone, nor does he pester others and whine about how horrible it is to be without his fiancé. People following both Victor and Yuuri have noticed this rather quickly, and some even try to pry a little using DMs and the not so subtle ones just ask in the comment section, but Victor doesn't respond to that. Instead, he becomes introverted and silent, and all he can think of is what'll undoubtedly happen when Yuuri comes home, how heartbroken he'll get when he realises that his gift to Victor is gone and there's no possible way to get it back. When he realises that his fiancé, the one he's idolised for years really is a clumsy ignoramus.

Naturally, the others from the skating team have seen this change and naturally, they drop by to check up on him, but even though Victor manages to get out of bed and drag himself through the flat to the front door, he doesn't invite them in. Even though they're there, armed to the teeth with movies, board games and disgustingly high spirits. It all feels fake.

"I just feel bad," he lies, for that's the easiest explanation to his newly found image as a recluse, "my stomach, you know?"

Without any tries to convince him of otherwise, some plastic containers, supporting pats and looks are exchanged before Victor closes the door and heads down the hallway again, his sights set on the bedroom. Although the plastic containers are left on the kitchen island as Victor passes it, he knows for a fact that he won't be eating them but he doesn't quite have a heart to throw it all in the bin just yet. Nor does he have the energy.

Naturally, days go by quite quickly when you're reduced to something that only sleeps, barely eats and sometimes goes to the bathroom. The few moments Victor does find himself awake, he's mentally trudging through the swamp of despair, wishing heatedly for oblivion to claim him. It usually listens, which Victor is eternally grateful for. The fact that his dreams aren't something he remembers, makes the whole arrangement even more practical.

It's about here, maybe two days into Victor's new life of anhedonia and apathy that he manages to come clean about what he's done. Though, not to the person who should have known about it in the first place. No, when Victor manages to tell someone, it's his best friend that gets the honor, mainly because of his annoying tenacity. Calling and calling and calling until Victor finally answers the phone.

Victor regrets it almost immediately.

"Chéri," Christophe gasps, beyond surprised or even appalled, "you did what?!"

"Yeah," Victor sighs, deeply. "It's gone. I lost my engagement ring."

"Have you looked for it?" Christophe asks, sounding shocked, and Victor can't even bothered to feel annoyed hearing that question. Instead, he retells the story the way he remembers it, how the flat got turned upside down, literally, in the search to find it. How he, in a cloak and dagger fashion, got others involved without them knowing exactly what they were doing. Victor even recounts his desperate tries to get into the trash room and that he opened every single bag housed in that disgusting container, which makes Christophe gasp 'mon dieu', very heartfelt too, quite a few times.

Christophe remains a true friend by not laughing at Victor's plight, and why would he? If Victor finds all of his efforts perfectly reasonable, which he does, it's only natural that Christophe does the same. That's why Victor knows that he can always count on Christophe, for although he's lewd beyond compare, he's a friend that has experienced enough compromising situations to actually give advice, which isn't something to be frowned upon.

"So," Christophe breathes after a beat, "what are you going to do now? Why haven't you told Yuuri? Maybe it's not as bad as you th—"

"Chris," Victor sighs with emphasis, "think. He cried in a parking garage when I said I wasn't going to coach him way back when, although I obviously didn't mean it. Now, I've lost my ring. That he bought, no less."

Christophe is silent for a while, maybe he scoffs a bit but Victor can't really tell through the speaker of his phone before he resumes, "It's more cruel to have him find that out for himself, non?"

"I don't know," Victor honestly replies. "I don't want to upset him."

"He'll probably get upset either way," Christophe soberly adds, sounding like that uncle you know is always uncomfortably right, "but maybe, it's better to tell him in person. That could be the lifeline you'll need if he asks why you've waited. So. Damn. Long to tell him. D'accord?"

Victor's mind immediately creates multiple scenarios as he hears Christophe's advice. Needless to say, they all end in the most unfavorable of ways with Yuuri getting upset and Victor hating himself for it, sparking a feeling of aversion within him. Someplace inside, Victor knows that this… yeah, whatever this situation ever could be described as, is long overdue. He probably should think of a solution to it sooner than later, but he just wants to return to his limited existence and not care about it. For the moment anyway, for he feels completely drained.

"Tell you what," Christophe says, sounding like he just came up with the idea of the century, "what if you do something to soften the blow? Like… something nice. Thoughtful. After all, you haven't seen him in ten days, alors."

Inside, Victor curses Christophe in every language he knows. How dare he come with suggestions like that in his time of utter need? Like he doesn't have enough to think about already? And how would he even come up with an idea, considering he's so beat and hurt and worthless?

"Victor?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Victor sighs.

"Think about it, okay? Wouldn't want you two to… ah, tu sais?"

"Mm," Victor replies with a slight annoyance that Christophe even dares to insinuate things, things that Victor on the other hand already has spent too much time thinking about already. "I'll do that," he adds, more or less to steer the conversation to its inevitable end.

The two say their goodbyes and Victor finds himself in the silence again. This time, it feels like a blessing, to just feel it spread out and blanket all the words previously spoken. Mute them, in a way, until it becomes pressing against him, asking him to close his eyes and listen to it.

Victor does that, eventually. He gives himself to the silence as grinding words begin to course through him, telling him how useless he is, now neglecting and thoughtless he is. How selfish and silly and vapid he is.

With a sigh, he turns to his side and feels sleep tug at him again. He takes its hand within the second and allows himself to be led away without the slightest hesitation.

: 5 : Acceptance

It's the ninth day after Yuuri's departure when Victor gets inspired.

It's odd, really, how a person can veer between moods from one day to another. How one moment may be filled with sticky darkness and another mey feel light and simple. That's just what happened to Victor and, one might say, just in time.

Maybe, Christophe's words finally made their way through Victor's defenses or maybe, the timing was just right for Victor to get over his mistake, for the art of allowing change to happen isn't uncomplicated.

First; one must acknowledge the things that are in need of change. In all honesty, that is something that Victor has tasted already, which left him feeling prepared.

Second; one must be willing to make said change. An ambivalence doesn't make change, determination does and Victor's heart was set on doing something to change the nightmare he's been in.

Third; one needs to be flexible, for change is seldom easy and can break the one not pliant. Pliant and ready for the unexpected, that is when Victor thrives.

Fourth; one might need to go outside one's comfort zone in order to succeed, and Victor loves taking chances.

But, in all honesty, the thing that nudges Victors need for change in the right direction isn't Christophe's words, nor is it an impeccable timing that coaxes him to snap out of his wallowing. The thing that wakes Victor up, four in the afternoon, is Yuuri's text message when he's standing at the airport in Fukuoka, waiting to board his flight.

Amusingly enough, there isn't much to Yuuri's text either, just a simple 'see you in 14 hours' and a heart emoji kind of text, but right then and there, it sends Victor from wallowing to doing.

After replying to Yuuri's text with a 'can't wait to see you, xoxo' type of message, the switch inside Victor's head has already been flipped and he becomes focused. Hyper vigilant. Ready. So, what can a man do in fourteen hours that have taken him close to ten days to figure out? Therein lies the problem, the nut Victor finds himself in a dire need to crack. Then, not to forget, there's the bothersome detail that Yuuri will land in St. Petersburg around six in the morning, which narrows things down immensely.

While standing in the shower, trying to wash away at least four days worth of funk and angst, the first thing that pops into Victor's head is breakfast. Breakfast is nice, a way to connect with Yuuri at home or at a fancier place. Maybe, he could make a fuss and have something delivered. That way, they could experience a fancy breakfast at home, which probably would be the smarter thing to do, considering what he has to reveal to Yuuri sometime thereafter.

Okay, so breakfast is a possible option, Victor thinks, lathering up his cheeks before his shave. But, if Yuuri's tired and not up for a meal, what then?

A few minutes later, Victor peeks inside the fridge and concludes, somewhat disappointed, that there's not much in there. Some yoghurt and two clementines except for things like soy sauce and similar items.

He looks over his shoulder. The plastic containers Mila and Yuri had with them have been standing on the kitchen island since they were left there, making Victor decide not to open them but to toss them away without hesitation. He does just that, and decides that he's having yoghurt for dinner.

Licking his spoon clean, Victor continues to think and disregards a lot of options. A visit to a spa and add a massage would be nice, but Yuuri will probably be tired after coming home. Tired means sleepy, so what if he would buy expensive new bedclothes and make the bed with them, but no, it's not quite as luxurious and not what he wants for Yuuri.

As he's putting on his shoes and coat, for he needs to go to the shop and stock up a bit before Yuuri's arrival, Victor puts the ideas aside for a while. He's got time still, and good ideas can never be forced.

-xoxo-

Good ideas can never be forced and sadly, Victor Nikiforov is now a prime example of a man in panic.

He doesn't quite know where the hours went, for when he started his day, four in the afternoon, it felt like he had plenty of ideas and an abundance of time. He hasn't been procrastinating either, just trying to come up with something that will work, something that'll take the edge off what he really needs to say to Yuuri.

So now, Victor finds himself inside his rarely driven car, feeling just as sweaty as when he decided to get out of bed. He's been driving around for quite some time now, his head whipping back and forth in the hopes of catching a glimpse of it. The crumpled piece of paper between his fingers feels tattered now, for it has lived through rain and clammy hands for two hours now, but it's the only chance Victor knows that he's got, ever since the idea popped into his head.

The idea wasn't a particularly thought through idea, but confidence turned into stress that ultimately morphed into panic and… well, let's say Victor isn't apt at making decisions while being under an immense amount of pressure.

"There!" Victor close to shouts as he sees the corner he's been described, and drives up to the curb. It's late now, the digital clock on the dashboard of the car say 01:23, but Victor can't really reflect on that as he scrambles to find his mobile phone on the passenger seat. He dials the number on the piece of paper and listens breathlessly to the signals going through.

"Don't you know what fucking time it is?" a voice growls in the other end and Victor is slightly taken aback by this.

"G-Gregorij?" Victor asks. "I got your number from Anatoliy Ivanov, he said tha—"

"Oh, he did, did he? Goddamn idiot. You've got money?"

"Of course, I—"

"Cash?"

"Yes."

Gregorij sighs, the sound reminds Victor of a horse snorting, before he says, "I see you, you're in a silver Audi? Get out and I'll come down."

When Victor wants to confirm that, yes, he's indeed in a silver Audi, he notices that Gregorij already hung up on him. So he gets out, the rain is really pouring down now, and he tries hard to spot any sign of life on that not so well lit corner.

"Here! Hey, come here! I don't wanna stand out here in the fucking rain all night, hurry up!"

Victor looks to his left and sees a big, burly man peek out through an iron-barred door. A man most mothers probably would warn their daughters about. Or, their gay sons too, for that matter. Nevertheless, beggars can't be choosers and Victor hurries towards the door, his hand extended.

"Thank you, I'm Vic—"

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm fucking Rasputin. Get inside," Gregorij says with his thumb pointing over his shoulder.

As soon as Victor comes through the door, he notices that the man is wearing nothing but underwear and a sleeveless t-shirt that probably should have been washed one week ago or better yet, thrown away.

"I-uh—"

"You got cash, right? Upfront," Gregorij says, his gigantic palm turned upwards.

"Yeah," Victor says. He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket and stops, "How much?"

"Well… what's it worth to you?" Gregorij says, with a smile that is reminiscent of something sly, like a fox maybe, but very overweight.

Victor stops himself before he wants to utter 'everything'. He doesn't want to sound needy, but it's not difficult to understand that he is because he's standing there, next to a man of dubious character traits no doubt, in the middle of the night. Gregorij definitely has the upper hand.

Victor sighs as he opens his wallet, pulls out what money he's been running around with for too many hours to count, and places them in that gigantic palm.

"It's seventy thousand," Victor says without blinking, staring into the dark eyes that are measuring him up.

They stand like this for a while and Victor is close to pull out another thirty, but breathes instead of doing anything hasty. His whole body is tense, close to vibrating, because he really needs this man to say yes. There's just no other option left.

Gregorij clears his throat, again, he sounds like a horse, before he fists his hand, making the notes crackle in his hand. "That'll do," he says, before he takes the lead and starts to walk down a narrow hallway. "You know what you want?" he calls over his shoulder.

"Yes, I do."

"Praise the fucking lord, he came prepared," Gregorij laughs before opening another door, bidding Victor to step inside after flicking the lightswitch. "Sit," he commands and points at a small stool.

"I'm really grateful for this, I just want you to know that," Victor says, trying to take in his surroundings.

"I bet you are," Gregorij says, rummaging around in a few drawers, putting quite a few things on top of the countertop. He then pulls up a chair next to Victor, and sits down. THe chair protests loudly under his weight.

"So, um… Do I simply tell you what I want or…?"

"Yeah," Gregorij says with a laugh, and he actually sounds amused, "how the fuck would I know otherwise?"

-xoxo-

Although it's early, or late depending on your definition, Victor can't sleep. Although he's content now, his heart calm and his mind at ease, there's a slight tingle inside him. Of course, some of it belongs to the fact that he'll be seeing Yuuri not before long, but also… he realises that he's nervous. Nervous of telling Yuuri what he has done, why he's been unlike himself, why he's felt like his heart has been heavy and his mind inconsolable.

He turns around in bed and looks at his phone, wanting to know the time. Yuuri must have landed by now, he figures. Maybe, he's even managed to get his luggage. Yuuri's probably not ready to get to the taxi for his pickup, which Victor somehow managed to arrange in that mind numbing panicked state the day before, but he's close. Soon, Yuuri will be close to him.

In an attempt to still that tingle inside, Victor gets up and takes a shower. The hot water does a remarkable job, the way it glides across Victor's skin makes him feel that the tingle, the nervousness, just becomes washed away. How his body reacts to the knowledge of Yuuri coming home cannot be attributed to the hot shower, though, and Victor finds himself struggling. Wondering if he should just get himself off or wait for Yuuri's return. Maybe he'll get a helping hand if he's lucky.

Victor is hard when he gets out of the shower. His mind is somewhere else now, lost between glimpses of a writhing back, a face succumbing to pleasure, feet surrounding his erection… As he dries himself, he hopes that their reunion won't be what he's been divining it to be. He wants it to be them, despite his idiocy, his clumsiness. Despite what's not on his finger.

As Victor's putting on his bathrobe, he hears it. The telltale sound of two lives colliding again, merging to create that unity he's missed immensely. The oh so simple sound of a key turning in its lock. And so, his heart races anew.

He can hear Yuuri's muted 'tadaima' as he steps though the door, and that's when something tells Victor to run, to seek out that warmth that he can feel is close but just not close enough. On wet feet, feet that almost are making him slip on the tiles in the bathroom, he rounds the doorpost and heads down the hallway.

Yuuri's in the kitchen now, filling up a glass of water when Victor crashes into him from behind, hands frantically gripping, tugging, tearing into Yuuri's hair, Yuuri's clothes.

"Turn around. Turn around, milyy," Victor gasps, and when he feels Yuuri's arms tightening around him, Yuuri's hands on his back, it happens.

The tears are a release, all of that he's been trying to purge during the days that have passed seem to finally leave him, despite tears being shed before. Strange that, how vulnerability in front of someone you love makes it different, makes it feel like you finally can let it go.

"Oh, Victor… You've had a tough time, hm?" Yuuri whispers, but Victor doesn't hear it. He's got his face buried in the crook of Yuuri's neck, emptying himself onto Yuuri's shoulder. Days and days worth of worry, despair, hopelessness, resentment and hatred just erupts out of Victor, making him cling on to Yuuri like his life depended on it.

They stand like that, bodies close and tight, until Victor stills. Then, they finally look at each other, blue meeting brown, cold overtaken by heat, and Victor is baffled by Yuuri's expression, one that's filled with sadness too.

"W-why are you sad, love?" Victor stutters, removing Yuuri's glasses and puts them in the pocket of his bathrobe before cupping Yuuri's face in his hands.

"I… I just…"

"You haven't done anything wrong," Victor sniffs, catching Yuuri's tears with his thumbs, "right?"

Yuuri dives into Victor's embrace then, his face flush against Victor's still damp chest, and sighs.

The whole situation have taken a really strange turn as far as Victor is concerned. He doesn't understand it, why Yuuri's tapping in to his feelings in that way, not until his eyes starts to wander, that is. Wander to that little area next to the stove where a small terracotta bowl containing change is standing. Because in front of it, there on the marble countertop, a golden reflection catches his eye.

"I'm sorry, Victor. I didn't think you'd notice," Victor hears Yuuri sniff. "You're usually so…"

Victor loosens his grip around Yuuri's shoulders and reaches out with one hand, pinching the ring between his fingers. It really is his ring, his ultimate proof, his token of love, hope and everything in between.

"Wh… wh… how…" he says, eyes wide for he cannot believe what he's seeing.

"I got it engraved," Yuuri says, taking half a step back to meet Victor's bewildered gaze. "It was meant to be a surprise but… then I understood that you were…"

"Looking for it?" Victor whispers. "Yeah, one might say that I was."

"Mm," Yuuri nods. "Then, I felt bad and I… I just couldn't…"

The laugh that just takes Victor over is an unstoppable force, making Yuuri the one caught in a bewildered expression. That laugh, it fizzes and pops and bubbles inside when everything is starting to fall into place, when Victor realises how stupid they've been, how silly and proud and, strangely enough, caring they've been. Although, in all honesty, their modus operandi has proven to be less than functional.

"Oh, love, my darling," Victor says, kissing Yuuri on his forehead, on his eyes, on his lips. "I almost wanted to die when I couldn't find it. I… hah, I just…"

"Un, I know," Yuuri mouths between the kisses. "I never meant to hurt you, Vitya. Never, never. I just felt so ashamed. I was thinking how to make it better. If I could come home earlier to surprise you, to make it all go away."

"Love, we really need to talk to each oth—" Victor begins, but stops himself mid sentence.

"Hm? What? What?" Yuuri asks, his soaked eyes looking for Victor's.

Victor realises that he'd forgotten all about it. His surprise, his pièce de résistance, the one thing that, in his head at least, would make everything alright and erase Yuuri's indescribable disappointment.

To set it up, for he feels foolish at best, Victor starts by kissing Yuuri, allowing his tongue to caress Yuuri's lips before he gently licks and nips at them. He gains access to Yuuri's mouth, it's as if his tongue is a key, and he gently invites himself, meeting Yuuri's tongue with his own, coaxing it out of hiding before he embraces it with his lips.

Victor tastes Yuuri, again and again, his lips slowly nipping and softly tugging until Yuuri moans. That's Victor's cue, he figures, because what he's done might not seem as stupid if Yuuri's heated, if Yuuri wants him.

"You see, milyy, I couldn't bare the thought of not having a ring so…" Victor whispers against Yuuri's lips before stepping backa a bit. "Here," he says, his eyes locked on Yuuri's to catch his reaction, as he raises his right hand, now holding on to Yuuri's glasses.

"What? What do you…" Yuuri says, taking his glasses out of Victor's hand "Oh… Oh! Oh my god, Victor?!"

Victor can't help but smile when Yuuri grabs his hand, studies it with widened eyes.

"Do you like it?" he asks, although Yuuri's answer doesn't really matter, no matter what answer he may give.

"In… In Japan, it's not common, but…"

"Yuuri, I'm asking you if you like it."

Yuuri's fingertips are soft against Victor's ring finger, the way the keep going over the area again and again, like not only Yuuri's eyes but his hands have to adjust to this new change. The skin stings a little, still, but Victor barely feels it. He's caught up in Yuuri, how Yuuri's acquainting himself with this new part of him.

"I…" Yuuri begins, looking up at Victor and down on Victor's hand again. "I… I love it!" he blurts out, tears filling up in his eyes before he takes Victor's hand and presses it to the side of his face. "You're stupid, you're so, so, so stupid!"

"I love you."

"I know! I know, I know, I know!"

"You're on me now, on my skin. I kind of like it, you on me forever. The way it should be."

-x-

Later that day, when the both of them have slept with and next to each other, their friends, family and followers rave over Victor's newest post on Instagram.

V-nikiforov

St. Petersburg

[a photo of entwined fingers, one of the ring fingers is carrying not only a ring, but also tattoo of a fleur-de-lis]

V-nikiforov I'll carry you with me, always. Forever branded by you.