.
.
Despite what he said on impulse earlier that year, Viktor does not return to competitive skating.
Yuuri insists on him taking another break, shortly after Makkachin's passing during the off-season. Both men grieve, in their own way, for a long while. Viktor discovers he's plenty busy with coaching and choreographing his beloved fiance's routines. And planning an official wedding.
There's just one big surprise left to unveil before Viktor will marry the love of his life. Something the entire world must know, but more importantly, Yuuri must.
The air feels dry, shrouded in the bitter cold weather in Lyon, France. Viktor wrinkles his nose, shoving his right hand into his jacket-pocket, and clasping Yuuri's fingers tenderly with his left. The 5 hour, red-eye flight had been cozy and peaceful, despite the mild turbulence, leaving them with an early morning taxi cruising right to a quaint street-corner of a neighborhood.
"Didn't you want to spend Christmas with Yurio?" Yuuri asks, stifling a yawn to be polite.
Viktor forgets this is a solemn occasion, beaming a close-lipped, merry grin at him. "We'll send him a voicemail later," he declares, squeezing Yuuri's fingers. "There's someone I want you to meet."
From the cracked, old porch-steps, Yuuri narrows his eyes up at Viktor. "What's going on?" he says uncertainly, tugging out of Viktor's hand.
It hurts already.
Viktor sucks in a deep, steadying breath, the corners of his lips twitching into a contemplative frown.
"Maybe it's best… that I explain it from the beginning…"
.
.
He admits to being a little bit of a shit. Especially around Yurio's age.
During the time it had not been required for Viktor to present himself as a model athlete or student; he enjoyed going out for a wild night, disobeying rules and hooking up with strange, nameless boys.
Most of them had no complaints about Viktor being trans, or lacking the anatomy he desired. Viktor needed to save a little more after his top surgery, reveling in being healed. Finally.
Somewhere between January and February, Viktor met a boy in Rome and slept with him twice. He doesn't remember why he came back after the first night — the boy had been rude and clumsy, and didn't even make Viktor come either time. He flopped on top of Viktor for a half an hour, grunting and red-faced like the boy injured himself, and pulled off the condom halfway in for the "sexiness".
Viktor supposes he needed a distraction then, from his hectic schedule, from the interviews and everyone's expectations. Just like the first night, his poor excuse of a lover slammed mercilessly into a wincing, silent Viktor, releasing another load of sticky, hot come right into him.
He never saw him again, or learned who the boy was.
As the winning and stardom continued, Viktor realized his immune system betrayed him at the wrong time. He vomited up whatever Yakov forced him to eat, right after waking up, right after his performances, until supper. It had been like clockwork, day after day, after day.
Hospital tests quickly cleared up the mystery.
Viktor chose to stick with his growing dilemma, altering his fantastical, expensive costumes to hide the little swelling on his abdomen. The only people sworn to secrecy about Viktor's teenage pregnancy had been the nurse and doctor from Korea, where he was tested. Not even Yakov had been aware.
If less people knew… maybe he could believe this wasn't happening.
He won the gold at the Worlds that year, still managing to not give away being three months pregnant. A few days later, Viktor disappeared off the face of the planet. It's exactly what he wanted.
Viktor eventually settled for the rest of his pregnancy in Saint-Étienne, near Paris and Lyon. Living with a middle-aged tenant earning her license in midwiving, and fussed over him like a big sister. Viktor's body rebelled against him — he stopped taking T normally, for the risks of hurting the baby's development. The mood swings tricked Viktor into raging and crying and throwing tantrums.
It felt like the torture wouldn't end.
Until, one day, it did — Viktor went into early, painful labor, kneeling to the bathroom floor littered with towels soaked with amniotic fluid and mucus. He groaned and heaved through the strong contractions, Viktor's arms folded to the sink's edge, half-aware of the midwife encouraging him loudly to push.
To push out his twins.
Never in Viktor's life seemed… so intense and heart-stopping than the moment Viktor held his kids, pressing himself up against the bathroom wall, completely awestruck. He was only sixteen, and they were ugly and bawling, and Viktor felt a sense of terror and love more powerful than anything.
He named them, after a full day of recovery, and signed the adoption papers. Neither of their parents were citizens of France, but the twins were legally claimed, for being born on French soil.
Viktor couldn't be responsible for them. He's not a father.
Right before a new season begins, Viktor returned to St. Petersburg, pretending as if nothing happened. He successfully lost the excess body fat from his pregnancy, and returned to his hormone medication. Already done choreographing his SP/FS and ready to practice on the ice. To win again.
There were curious questions and rumors, of course — fell in love with the mistress of a rich investor, diagnosed with cancer, secretly coaching his new protege — and Viktor shouldered them.
Yakov had a screaming fit for at least a week, before he calmed and approved Viktor's routines.
Viktor could have forgotten about the twins, shifting into adulthood, regaining his life and goals, transitioning with the surgery and loving his body now. But it wouldn't be right.
Not to him.
.
.
"I come to see them, mostly during the off-season," Viktor explains with forced cheer, but his voice goes hoarse and quivery. He feels his own eyes heat with moisture. Damn it.
Thank god, Yuuri doesn't look at him with pity. Only the levelheaded solemnness Viktor wishes he could pull off so easily. A slowly dawning understanding appears in Yuuri's eyes.
"Nobody knew about this?" he murmurs, re-grasping Viktor's hand.
Viktor nods, blinking out the prickle of tears.
"Just you right now… I don't want anyone to know until… I-I can," he breathes out, cutting himself off and visibly frustrated. Yuuri nods too, cupping the side of Viktor's face and offering a smile.
"We'll talk about it later, Vitya, okay?
The other man sniffles and mimics a jerkier, frantic nod. Viktor drifts into him, wrapping his arms around his fiance's middle and hiding into the thick, puffed material of Yuuri's winter coat. "I love you, Yuuri," Viktor mumbles out, pressing in closer to the mutual hug. "So much."
"Me too," Yuuri whispers, tangling his fingers into Viktor's hair. "Let's go inside. It's still dark."
Silence.
It's a brick-red, paneled door Viktor knocks on.
He already hears two different squeals of joy — children speaking rapidly in French, and Viktor recognizes each wonderful syllable — accompanied by pounding footsteps drawing near and shouting.
"Viktor!"
"Momma, it's Viktor! Viktor's here!"
The front door pulls inward, and Viktor nearly stumbles backwards, laughing as Natalya and Dominik collide full-speed into him, gripping onto his waist and babbling away excitedly. Somewhere in there, Viktor. thinks he hears a "Happy Christmas!" and "Happy birthday!" aimed at him.
"I brought someone very special with me," Viktor announces, switching over to English. He gestures to a bewildered Yuuri, lacing their arms comfortably. "This is Yuuri. He's my new fiance."
He can't blame Yuuri — both twelve-year-olds have Viktor's eyes, but curly, jet black hair and tan skin.
"My goodness, did I hear that right?" Their mother — his midwife — yells out from the foyer, using English as well. With a giggle, Natalya snatches onto Yuuri's hand and Dominik also giggles and snatches Viktor's, yanking the couple inside and shutting the door.
Viktor's friend smooths her apron, greeting Viktor with a warm, amiable kiss on each cheek.
"He's so handsome, Viktor," she gasps, receiving a double cheek-kiss as well. "I've been hoping you would introduce me to someone in your life before I became a little old lady! You're too private!"
Yuuri fidgets with his scarf, blushing under her attention.
"You are ageless, like a goddess," Viktor tells her, grinning and holding her plump, callused hands. "Trust me when I say you look as divine as always, Clara."
"Look at my barrette, Viktor!" Natalya cries out, pointing the bright, glimmering caterpillar in her hair.
Her brother pouts, clutching onto Viktor's jacket-sleeve.
"Viktor, I made the swim team—!"
"I decorated the tree all by myself—!"
"Okay, okay," Viktor says eagerly, holding up his hands in surrender. "Tell us everything, but let me and Yuuri get our bearings. Clara, tell me you made lattes."
She snorts. "Who do you think I am—yes, and I made your favorite. It's in the kitchen." Clara leads the twins back towards the hallway, smacking Dominik's arm as he attempts to tug his sister's hair and scolding him.
Viktor watches them go as he removes his boots, unaware of his little, fond smile.
"Thank you for telling me," Yuuri says, glancing up and bending forward to untie his shoes.
Thank you for accepting the truth — the sentence manifests on Viktor's lips, blossoming into nothingness as he hums and embraces Yuuri again, chuckling at the awkward, flustered squawk.
If he has Yuuri, Viktor can face everything else.
.
.
Yuri on Ice is not mine. I'm a little late for Viktor's bday but it's okay! His was on the 25th and Georgi's was on the 26th. Can you believe it's been A WHOLE YEAR since the last episode of YOI/the first season ended? I've been doing this project for 52 weeks, every week until now, and it's been great, but alas... this is where our journey ends with YOI Wednesday. I had a lot of fun and laughs, and met so many wonderful readers, and I love you all deeply. Thanks being here. Prompt from yurionicekink: "Teenage pregnancy, Viktor/OMC" and comments/thoughts are deeply appreciated!