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Chapter Text

“Mister Nikiforov." The woman stood up on too-skinny legs. She looked like a reporter—one beyond her prime, but with money for cosmetic surgery to hide it. Viktor wasn’t in the best mood—he had just finished competing. He won, of course—but he just wanted to go back to his hotel room and gather his energy for the gala the next evening. But it had been a special request, and Yakov had wisely informed him of it at the rink. He had been backed into a corner of acceptance. But just because he was here didn’t mean he was happy about it.

He shook her hand—her knuckles nobby and claw-like nails painted red, smiling politely before sitting down with her.

“You even smell Russian!” she tittered. Viktor bit his lip, trying not to react to the strange comment. He was still in his skating costume, his team jersey zipped over it. If anything, he smelled like sweat.

Later that night in bed, Viktor would remember a childhood story where Baba Yaga crooned the same phrase at a child before snapping up and devouring them.
He would push the memory away, reaching for sleep instead, labeling the strange prickle in his muscles as strain from competition.

Viktor would never know that he was particularly correct. The woman was a popular reporter, but only for the last twenty years.

“It is the best country,” Viktor smiled, trying to move off the topic of smell as soon as possible.

“Of course,” she crooned. “A country that has lifted you up to be the best in the world.”

Viktor’s mouth twitched. Sure, his country lifted him up. Not his mother’s struggle to cover lessons, or his countless hours of work. His sacrifice that landed him a gilded half-life. “It is,” he said flatly.

Her expression grew stony the further into the interview they got. Soured by exhaustion and strange interaction, Viktor talked at length about himself and his own hard work. He ignored the more baiting questions from the reporter until his phone buzzed.

“Ah." Viktor picked up his phone. He had set a one hour timer, and it was now ringing his salvation. “I have to go.”

“You can’t spare another ten minutes?” The reporter had few notes, and remained sitting even as Viktor stood.

“Sorry. I have events tomorrow. Thanks for your time." Viktor offered his press smile, though the second it took pained him. He turned to the door, fighting back the shiver that buzzed up his spine.

Chapter Text

“I—I have to go." Viktor gulped. He went from having another boring gala night to having the best of his life, and now, ten seconds after being grinded on by the best dancer in Sochi, he was in the worst pain of his life. His body felt like he was on fire, every cell vibrating, his stomach twisting. The Japanese man just stared up at him with his sparkling, beautiful eyes. Viktor scrambled away, reaching the bathroom just as his legs went out.

~
Yuuri’s eyelids were heavy, and the light feeling in his head was quickly draining into a champagne whirlpool of pain and regret. The buzz of 15 flutes of champagne—or was it 20?—was slowly wearing off and all Yuuri wanted to do was curl up and sleep. But it was hard when he was in the middle of a hotel ballroom, surrounded by a myriad of languages, and all he could think of was Viktor Nikiforov and where he’d gone.

“Yuuri! There you are!” Celestino shouldered through the remaining crowd before grabbing his student by the shoulders. His jacket was thrown over pajamas— he had spent the evening battling a bad lunch—and his hair was loose. “I think it’s time we go to the room, okay? Before any other international incidents happen." Celestino chuckled. Yuuri just squinted, squeezing his eyes shut as Celestino pulled his tie off his head and back around his neck. Celestino adjusted his glasses before patting his student’s cheeks.

“Go to the bathroom and get a drink of water, will you? I’ll find your pants.”

Yuuri muttered a reply in Japanese. Celestino just laughed. He had no idea what Yuuri was saying, but it didn’t matter. He had damage control to do. Yuuri stumbled off—Celestino needed to find his shoes too, apparently.

Yuuri leaned against the granite countertop in the bathroom. It was too bright and there were too many fake houseplants. His happy mood quickly dissipated. Yuuri distracted himself by turning on the tap and splashing his face with water. He soaked the front of his shirt, but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t smell like Viktor for long.

“Viktor…” Yuuri slurred, blinking away the tears that filled his eyes. Maybe he should’ve taken his glasses off before splashing his face too.

“Oh, thank God." Viktor’s voice, volume dialed back a few notches, came from one of the houseplants.

“Eh?” Yuuri squeaked. He managed to dry his glasses on one of his shirttails. “Viktor?”

“Down here,” came the voice again, and Yuuri tried to follow it. But there was only a pile of clothes… oh. Very expensive looking clothes. Very familiar, expensive looking clothes.

Yuuri knelt onto the fancy tile floor. “Viktor?” He said, poking at the pile. The belt remained buckled, the shirt buttoned in the odd pile.

“Yuuri!” Viktor’s tiny voice cooed, tiny arms leaning on the starched collar of his dress shirt—now 16 times too big.

“Yuuri!” Celestino boomed from the door, knocking on the solid wood. There was nothing keeping him from fetching his student, other than habits he formed while coaching Ladies and the fact that Sober Yuuri liked his space.

“Yabai." Drunk Yuuri hissed. He snatched Mini Viktor from the pile of his clothes, fumbling before decidedly shoving his hand— and his idol—up his shirt..

“Here. Your jacket… your pants, and your shoes." Celestino opened the bathroom door just enough and handed the pile to Yuuri. “Please put them on.”

“Okay!” Yuuri chimed, somehow managing to juggle most of his clothing back into the bathroom. His shoes fell to the floor, but he remained unaffected. He pulled his hand from his shirt, setting Mini-Viktor on the counter. Viktor—dazed from the sudden movement and from being pressed against the best abs he’d seen in ten years—just stared. He watched Yuuri hop back into his awful pants and slide on his suit jacket. They weren’t tailored at all, much too boxy, and on top of not having a pocket square, Viktor was pretty sure Yuuri had left the outside pocket sewn shut. Nevertheless, Viktor had never met a more coordinated drunk than Yuuri.

Yuuri knelt on the floor again, until he was eye-level with Viktor. A beautiful blush graced his cheeks.

“Hadaka… “ He breathed.

“Um.. yes… I am naked." Viktor stammered. Yuuri didn’t seem to mind. He picked Viktor up again, setting him in the inside breast pocket of his jacket. Viktor could feel the warmth of his body and feel the hammer of Yuuri’s heart amongst the polyester fabric. It was a little stifling, but better than being trapped in his own clothing on the floor.

Yuuri pushed out the door.

“Good enough,” Celestino sighed, gathering Yuuri’s shoes and escorting his student back to his hotel room. They usually shared rooms, but Celestino had cashed out his membership rewards after the fateful call earlier in the week. He hated it, but he knew that Yuuri was not in the condition to share a room with three other people when he had barely made it through airport security with dry eyes. For his own sake, Celestino hoped that Yuuri was too drunk to remember his idol ditching him in the middle of the gala. He had made sure no one would be sharing pictures or any word of what happened that night—if only to protect Yuuri’s heart.

“Okay, Yuuri! I’ll come get you in the morning. Are you sure you want to stay in Russia?” Celestino patted Yuuri’s hunched back in the elevator after crossing the lobby without incident. Yuuri had planned an additional three days in Russia (including a quick visit to St. Petersburg) after making it to the Final.

Yuuri finally returned to English.“Yes, yes." he said before taking the hotel room door and pushing it closed. “Nighty night!”

Viktor pushed his head out from Yuuri’s lapel, grimacing. Polyester lining was not the best feeling, especially when he was 10 cm tall and naked as the day he was born. However, it turned into a lifeline the moment Yuuri flopped onto the bed—thankfully onto his back. Viktor crawled out onto his chest—he could feel this Yuuri’s heart beat a steady rhythm before the body beneath him shook.. Yuuri’s mouth twisted with swallowed sobs, salty tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asked carefully. His own heart ached just from a few seconds of hearing the man's emotion welling up out of him. He hadn’t done well, but he still had come to the party… maybe drank a little too much… but it was the best night of Viktor’s life. He had never felt better—that is, until whatever turned him into this tiny fairy-like form had happened.

“Viktor,” Yuuri mumbled dreamily, his eyes unfocused, focused on memories and not the miniature form resting on his chest. “I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you to stay…”

It was hard watching Yuuri, but any effort to communicate or even have him realize the weight on his chest was fruitless. The alcohol haze around his brain kept Viktor a mystery, and Yuuri eventually calmed down enough to fall asleep, still dressed in his awful suit.

~

His alarm blared at the ungodly post-hangover hour of 9 am. Yuuri was definitely not a morning person—he only rose at the third alarm and immediately tripped over his own feet before he fully made it out of bed. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and even pulled on his team jersey before he even really opened his eyes… forget noticing that he wasn’t really alone in his room.

“Ah… good morning, Yuuri!” Viktor smiled nervously from atop a mountain of sheets that Yuuri had left on the hotel bed. He had finally settled into looking at his phone, standing listlessly by the nightstand, bare feet and blue jacket over a pair of too big sweatpants.

Yuuri looked over from the screen, his honey brown eyes flickering to the bed before he did a double-take. He pressed the phone to his ear before narrowing his eyes, face twisting in confusion.

“Over here. Hello!” Viktor forced his media smile and waved. Yuuri found him a split-second later, his phone dropping with a painful clatter onto the wood nightstand.

“What?” He gasped, sober enough to default to english as he dropped to his knees, eye-level with bed and the tiny Nikiforov. “Viktor?”

“Yuuri! The one and only!” Whether it was the silliness of the current situation, or the fairytale-like party last night; Viktor felt theatrical, sweeping his arm up and arching his back just so— the way Chris had taught him to pose for Instagram butt shots.

Hopefully his hand was small enough that Yuuri wouldn’t see it shaking.

Viktors stomach leapt when Yuuri swept him up, cupping him in his hands and lifting him up to his nose. He stared, wide-eyed and in awe, before his cheeks burned pink and he sputtered.

“You’re naked. S-s-sorry!”

“I’m just glad you remembered I was here." Viktor tried to smile comfortingly.

“How could I forget you?” Yuuri breathed. “Oh. I mean. Is it really you…? Am I still dreaming?”

Viktor pinched the skin between Yuuri’s fingers as gently as he could while still serving a purpose.

“Oh. I’m not,” Yuuri gasped cutely. If Viktor was not smitten before, he definitely was now. Yuuri slid down until his back was against the mattress, Viktor sinking down to sit in the palms of Yuuri’s hands. “Holy shit.”

“I’m so glad you found me, Yuuri." Viktor tried his best to arrange himself, although his current situation was more apparent than any wooing he could do in the nude.

“What happened?” Yuuri’s blush grew darker.

“I… don’t know. I did an interview this morning for a local paper, then attended the Gala… I danced with you… then I felt awful… I went to the bathroom… and then… this." He gestured to his body.

“Oh… That makes sense." Yuuri mumbled.

“Does it?” Viktor tried not to frown. “Because it doesn’t to me.”

“Oh… No. Just... the headlines..." Yuuri stumbled over his words, shy and awkward. Different from the suave and gorgeous dancer from last night. “You were reported missing.”

“Ah, Yakov,” Viktor sighed ruefully. “Of course.”

“Should we… should you go to him?” Yuuri couldn’t take his eyes away from Viktor.

“Well,." Viktor hummed. He tried to imagine Yakov’s reaction to Yuuri. Would he even allow Yuuri to explain it? Or would he get laughed out, or at worst, arrested. “That can wait.”

“But.. everyone is worried." Yuuri thought to the hundreds of fan accounts and the panic he could feel second-hand in his veins.

“I’m a little chilly, and while Yakov is like my father… Maybe some clothes first?” Viktor used his most charming smile.

“Oh… of course,” Yuuri glanced toward his suitcase, and then to the skater in his hands. “Where?”

“Where?”

“Well… where can you get… teeny tiny clothes? You’re like.. A doll…”
Viktor’s heart fluttered at the way Yuuri said ‘teeny tiny’.

“You’re right! Can I borrow your phone? Do you have a Cyrillic keyboard?”

Yuuri unlocked his phone, switching from the kana keyboard to cyrillic before handing it to Viktor. He had to use his entire hand on the touch screen, the buttons bigger than he remembered.

“Here!” Viktor slapped the screen, opening up google maps. “A special toy store, less than a kilometer from here!”

“Okay. Just let me find my wallet." Yuuri’s voice was soft, still shy and so sweet.

Viktor blanched. “Oh no, I can pay for it. I can—”

“You can’t, though. You don’t have any of your belongings, and they probably locked your accounts… It would take you days to walk a kilometer.." Yuuri couldn’t help himself and he giggled.

This time, Viktor rode in Yuuri’s pocket, carefully cupped behind his hand. He heard Yuuri check-in with Celestino, confirming the details of the Airbnb he would check in to later that afternoon and the flight he would take back to Detroit.

Yuuri’s hand was a blessing, keeping the cold Russian air away from Viktor’s body. He bit his lip when Yuuri entered the tiny mom and pop store and the owner greeted them in Russian. Yuuri only nodded politely, smiling and edging away to walk down the aisles.

“Wow." Yuuri breathed. “ Everything is so… small.”

“Let me see!” Viktor hissed, trying to crawl out between Yuuri’s fingers. Instead, he lifted Viktor before settling him on his shoulder, in the folds of the hood of his jacket.

“Look.. a miniature house.. With a porcelain bath… there’s even a tiny rug on the wall." Viktor was just in as much awe as Yuuri was at the tiny gilded objects in the Victorian era house.

“Everything is handmade." Viktor breathed, eyes scanning the cramped aisle until his eyes lit upon the carefully arranged hanging display of clothing. Each dress hung on a hanger fashioned from a paper clip, tiny pieces of silk and bits of lace fashioned into flowy and antique silhouettes in eggshell blues and blush pink.

“I don’t see any pants." Yuuri murmured, thumbing through the row of miniature outfits hung on a tiny rack. The dolls that the clothing fit sat a few feet down the aisle, completely ignored.

“That’s okay,” Viktor replied before snapping his mouth shut. He hoped Yuuri didn’t notice how quick his affirmation was.

“Oh... here..." Yuuri lifted up a large bag stuffed full of outfits, delicate sheet fabrics and gold beading in a rainbow of colors.

Viktor read the marker handwriting on the red sticker label. “It’s on sale.”

“Think it will fit?” Yuuri picked up one of the hangers, a rose colored silk dress with a deep court neckline and floor-length skirt. Yuuri froze as a mother and her daughter scooted past him down the aisle, the mother giving a passing harsh look.

He didn’t move for several minutes before he feigned brushing his hair back and dropped the tiny outfit on top of Viktor’s head.

He set the hanger in one of the folds of Yuuri’s hood, slipping the dress over his head. Viktor felt warm— it fit like a glove, and the tiny neat rows of hand stitching on the inside were soft against his skin.

“Perfect.”
~
Yuuri seemed to blush constantly even when Viktor remained hidden in his pocket. No one seemed to notice, but Viktor tuned into the nervous movements Yuuri made during checkout and the short ride to his next room. He could hear it in his voice—Yuuri was a nervous thing and it was precious.

The nerves Viktor felt at wearing the gown faded as soon as he noticed that Yuuri blushed-- even harder than he did when he was naked.

“You haven’t eaten anything yet,” Viktor commented when he was finally released from a pocket in Yuuri’s new place.

“I... I guess you’re right." Yuuri, however, continued unpacking, setting the bulging bag of doll clothes next to Viktor on the nightstand.

“You should eat,” Viktor repeated.

“I won’t starve with the way I’ve been eating lately,” Yuuri replied, laughing humorlessly.

“There’s a really good cafe nearby,” Viktor retorted, his stomach twisted--not in hunger, but in regret.
He had been there. Skating was hard, the training rigorous, and Viktor could tell Yuuri was finding something to beat himself up over.

“Okay..." Yuuri agreed more readily than Viktor expected him to. “You should dress more warmly though. I think there was a coat in there.”

As Yuuri said, there was a tiny coat made out of thin black wool felt with gold bead buttons. It flared out from the bust with room for a skirt, and it made a better choice than the Burberry plaid cape shoved behind it.

“I was thinking... Maybe the pocket is too much… maybe…”

Yuuri offered his sleeve. It was snug, but Viktor felt more secure, his head hidden under Yuuri’s hand as they walked the two blocks to the bakery. They returned with a bag of two pirozhki and a jar of homemade jam for tea to be brewed in the kitchen from tea bags left for guests by the landlord.

Yuuri buzzed nervously around the kitchen, waiting for the pot to boil. He laid a pirozhki on two plates, even though the sausage and onion pirozhki Viktor had chosen was larger than his entire body. The most he could do was pick off crumbs.

“Oh… oh no." Yuuri groaned, setting down a china cup of tea next to Viktor’s spot on the table. It was big enough for him to bathe in. Yuuri looked embarrassed, shoulders slumping at the crumb of bread in Viktor’s hand. He had torn it off easily, unperturbed. Being this small was actually kind of nice. He didn’t have Yakov yelling at him, or the expectation to have every hair in place. He was only known to Yuuri, who took the greatest care to make sure he was safe. It was cozy, nestling in a pocket or pressed against a pulse point—full body contact without the mess of a partner. Not that Yuuri wasn’t a good partner—he was perfect. Soft, sweet, and shy, but with a spark of fire in his eyes whenever a challenge crossed him or passion of his came up in conversation.

“It’s alright, I can use my hands—” Viktor said, but Yuuri refused. A few texts via Airbnb and some shuffling through drawers, and Viktor was sipping tea out of a brass thimble.

They mainly talked about skating at first. That was really all Viktor had to share, after all.

“You were underscored on your PCS this year." Viktor interjected, saving Yuuri from another spiral down into how he isn’t good enough for the grand prix final—despite placing 6th, which was better than the other men who didn’t place at all.

Yuuri flinched. “No… I scored better than I deserved.”

“No way! You fell, but that doesn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. I messed up,” Yuuri interjected this time. “I had a hard time. I’ll do better. I have to.”

Viktor watched Yuuri’s face and the sadness that settled into it. “You… have something to fight for, don’t you?”

Yuuri bowed his head, staring down into his cup of tea. “It’s all a waste if I give up now…” he mumbled, his eyes glittering with unshed tears. He cleared his throat before gathering the dishes with a graceless clatter.

“It isn’t a waste.. You made it to the Grand Prix!” Viktor tried to be encouraging, but it was hard.

“And because of it, I never got to say goodbye. “ Yuuri said into the sink, his back to Viktor.

There was nothing more Viktor wanted to do in that moment than hug Yuuri.

Wrap him up and squeeze the sadness out of him.

But he was 4 inches tall, and a stranger to Yuuri’s specific breed of sorrow.

So all he could do was wait.
~

Yuuri busied himself with a task too involved for conversation. The sewing kit Yuuri sourced the thimble from was pulled from a drawer, and Yuuri’s neck pillow was sliced open and gutted for a small pile of stuffing. Viktor filled the quiet with rambling conversation that Yuuri barely participated in. Yuuri’s tongue stuck out from the corner of his mouth when he threaded the needle, and he responded with the bare minimum of conversation, his fingers pulling the thread deftly through the mutilated scraps of a handkerchief.

The box spring was fashioned from a matchbox, and ten minutes after Viktor started talking about tourist spots in St. Petersburg (that he’d never visited) Yuuri looked up, pushing a fully furnished bed toward him. Yuuri carefully stitched two pillows together, as well as a larger mattress. He even fashioned a blanket out of a glasses cleaning cloth pulled from his luggage.

Viktor has been in the throes of attraction since their dance the night before. But now, Viktor’s heart aches with the bloom of love. He’d had scores of people do favors for him—give him exclusive tickets, invite him to expensive parties. But they’d all been means to an end. No one had ever made something for him, nevertheless something they couldn’t benefit from. Viktor watched Yuuri sew tiny even stitches—watched Yuuri flinch and wipe blood from needle-poked fingers—to make something that was no use for him.

Viktor had never had anyone slide a gift over to him with anything but expectation. Yuuri moved the bed over shyly.

“I’m sorry about last night… I wasn’t safe… I don’t really remember anything, but it must have been scary, sharing a bed with someone who could crush you.”

Oh.

“You don’t remember anything?” The warm feeling in Viktors chest cooled.

“I’m kind of glad. If I’m anything like my dad, I probably did something really stupid when I was drunk." Yuuri laughed nervously. “I probably embarrassed myself.”

If embarrassed meant giving Viktor the best night of his life, Yuuri was right.

“Thank you,” Viktor murmured, running his hand over the zig-zag edge of the fabric.

“It’s nothing,” Yuuri chirped with false positivity. “We—You should see if there's any pajamas in the bag,” he stuttered.

Yuuri bounced to his feet, walking to the bedroom where the bag of doll clothing lived. It felt lonely, even if it was only for a matter of seconds, sitting alone on a kitchen table. But the world felt larger when you were only ten cm tall.

Yuuri came back holding up a tiny white coat with tatted lace trim and delicate embroidered roses on the front and on the sides of the shoulder capelet that extended from the tall fur collar.

“Amazing,” Yuuri hummed, examining the fine details. Viktor picked it up from where Yuuri set it on the table, slipping it on and twirling in it, the fabric moving with the court-rose dress he had been wearing since they left the store.

Yuuri layed out every tiny piece of clothing reverently onto the table.

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” Viktor said without thinking. It’d been years since he’d let himself dress the way he wanted to. Yuuri wouldn’t understand the feelings swirling in Viktor’s gut, but they were close to happiness.

The fact that Yuuri was indulging him… it felt like a blessing.

“This one would look good with your hair. It looks like your second Juniors free skate costume,” Yuuri rambled, picking up a short lavender dress with a handkerchief layered skirt. It reminded Viktor of a flower, the square hem layered over and over like petals.

“My second juniors?” Viktor repeated without thinking, looking up to see a deep blush grace Yuuri’s cheeks.

“I’m a fan,” Yuuri muttered, smoothing out another gown made entirely out of gold lace.

Yuuri was enough of a fan to know what skates and competitions each costume belonged to… trivia even Viktor, the one who wore the costumes and skated—did not remember.

“Not all of my fans remember my junior days." Viktor felt warm again, picking up the lavender dress, pulling his current costume over his head.

“How could they? They’re what inspired me to skate,.” Yuuri bit out, a spark of fiery passion igniting in his eyes.

“Inspired you?” Viktor paused, his hand resting on the soft round neckline of the dress.

“Well,” Yuuri flustered. “My best friend had a rink, but I didn’t think I would ever be good enough to compete… I did it for fun, and then I saw you… and I wanted to try. I wanted to be that beautiful and perfect.”

“Wow,” Viktor breathed. The filmly mint and gold dress in Yuuri’s hand didn’t matter anymore. A hundred gorgeous dresses didn’t inspire the same feeling growing in his chest.

Yuuri ducked his head, his hands fidgeting with the small piece of fabric restlessly. “I still have a long way to go.”

Viktor thought back to the night before, and Yuuri’s smile as he dipped Viktor in their pas de deux. Yuuri had what Viktor had ground out of him after years of practice—love. Love for the sport, for the techniques behind it. The fact that he danced when it wasn’t for a scoreboard was proof enough.

“I think you’re already there." Viktor murmured, looking up to meet Yuuri’s soft brown eyes.
He stared back for a moment, before with a clatter, Yuuri was on his feet.

“I—I’ll be right back." Yuuri stuttered, running a hand through his hair, pulling at it nervously before quickly retreating back into the bedroom.

~
Viktor remembered tucking into the matchbox bed on the kitchen table, but when he awoke the next morning, the bed had been moved to the nightstand in Yuuri’s bedroom. The clothing they had been perusing on the kitchen table was stacked neatly behind the bed, organized by length. Yuuri slept tangled up in the bed, snoring softly despite the morning sun shining from the window directly onto the bed. The nightstand had been arranged into Viktor’s own room, except for one corner where Yuuri’s glasses sat folded on top of his charging iphone.

It sat face down, the case a familiar looking print. Viktor had the same case before commissioning one of his favorite costume to date. He remembered the thank you letter from the designer, who ended up with a waitlist six months long after being tagged in one of his Instagram posts.

The leap from the nightstand onto the bed was a terrifying drop, but Viktor made it without injury. He sat on the bed, worrying and waiting until the angle of the sun told him it was nearing noon.

“Yuuri." Viktor placed his hand on one of Yuuri’s cheeks, trying his best to be gentle. He had spent the morning thinking of places that Yuuri should visit while still in Russia.

Yuuri wrinkled his nose, shifting in bed with a soft sigh before going still, his breathing just as even. No luck.

“Yuuri—” Viktor jumped when Yuuri’s phone alarm blared, the nightstand humming with frantic vibration. It was loud and harrowing. The point of an alarm, Viktor supposed.

Yuuri’s eyes opened and his hand slapped blindly for his glasses. He shifted, inadvertently covering Viktor in a pile of sheets while he blinked awake with his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

His eyes focused on the tiny bed before he blinked, taking a moment before panicking.

“Viktor?”

“Right here,” Viktor replied, his voice muffled by the blankets.

“Oh god, what did I do?” Yuuri squeaked, rolling onto his hands and knees, shuffling through the blankets. “I’m gonna die if I crushed you,” Yuuri chartered nervously.

“I’m fine!” Viktor called, drawing in a gasp of fresh, cold air once the blankets were pulled off of him. Yuuri’s panic took several minutes to dissipate.

“I’m glad you’re up. I didn’t want you to miss the opening hours of the arboretum or the museums.."

“Oh…” Yuuri mumbled, calmer after scooping Viktor up into his hands. “To be honest, I wasn't really planning on going anywhere.”

“You weren't?” Viktor cocked his head to the side. “But you’re here for another week.”

“I… I just didn’t want to go back to Detroit just yet.”

Viktor frowned. Was Celestino a bad coach? He had never heard any rumors, but if Yuuri’s plans were to just sleep for a week… something was definitely wrong.

“I know it’s stupid… but when I was in the airport, my sister called about my dog Vicchan…” Yuuri’s voice tightened with emotion, the words rough and edged with tears. “That he died… and I’m scared if I go back…” He trailed off, trying to blink back the tears before they fell.

Viktor’s heart squeezed in sympathy. He dreaded even imagining Makkachin getting sick. The thought of her dying was only reserved for his deepest of spirals.

“I’m sorry…." Viktor breathed.

“I didn’t go home for five years because of my skating, and I now I can’t even say it was worth it." Yuuri’s voice broke, his lips trembling. “It’s stupid… but if I can at least do my program without screwing it up before I leave…”

“You’re staying here to skate?”

“There’s a rink a few blocks from here,” Yuuri answered with a snuffle. “Even if there’s no one watching, I have to do it for myself.”

When was the last time Viktor skated for himself? Was there really any meaning in skating if it wasn’t for the audience?

Yuuri was full of surprises.

“Sorry,” Yuuri mumbled, setting Viktor down on the nightstand carefully. “I…” He trailed off again. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Part of the Airbnb was a custom-stocked fridge, each item pasted with a fluorescent pink post it note with english translations of the Cyrillic labels. It had not been cheap, but it was worth it. They even had the imported pancake mix that Yuuri had added to the request on a whim.

Viktor watched Yuuri in the kitchen, the boiling of the tea pot and scrape of utensils the only sound between them. Yuuri poured the powder and milk into a bowl, mixing it before setting a pan on the stove to warm. Yuuri stuck out his tongue as he worked, his back to Viktor, quiet after his emotional implosion that morning.

“I...uh...sorry,” Yuuri stuttered, handing over a jam jar lid with four tiny pancakes arranged neatly in the middle of it. His heart skipped a beat at Viktor’s sparkling heart-shaped smile and gasp of delight.

“Wow, Yuuri!” Viktor cooed. The jam lid was more of a platter, but it didn’t matter. The fact that Yuuri had taken the time to make him food—perfect food—was enough. Viktor loved cooking, but thick, fluffy foreign style pancakes were hard to get right. Blini were quick, and pancakes were quick too—quick to burn. Yet every one was a perfect golden brown. “Perfect!”

“I have a lot of practice… “ Yuuri said shyly, sitting at the table with his own plate. One drop of syrup drowned Viktor’s entire plate, and he had to eat with his hands but it was worth it.

Viktor finished eating, getting his fill before Yuuri, who cut and tore the pancakes to shreds more than ate them.

“Are you sure you aren’t going out?” Viktor asked cautiously. Being here, eating with Yuuri… it was nice. But it felt like a waste. Viktor knew that he would do the exact same thing, holing up away from the world if he was in Yuuri’s shoes. A world without Makkachin wasn’t a world worth living in.

But it was not okay to let himself sink into the misery of it. It felt wrong to let Yuuri drown in it like a casual observer.

“I’m feeling better than I thought I would,” Yuuri said softly, his gaze distant as he fidgeted with his fork. “I guess I didn’t factor in having company.”

“Oh... I’m sorry." Viktor straightened his back. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go, or a way to get there alone. He could call Yakov, but he was old and his heart was weak… It had only been a day, but Viktor found himself almost enjoying his time being miniature. The care Yuuri took with him, the brutal honesty he already shared with him, as if being larger than life really was in the past. Yuuri was treating him like Viktor, the 27 year old man with a weakness for dark hair and dancer’s-feet, and not Viktor Nikiforov, five time world champion, Russian athlete and pride of the federation.

“Don’t be,” Yuuri answered severely, even though his face was the softest, the smallest of private smiles on his lips. “I’m really lucky.”

“A lot of people say that,” Viktor said, a bit on wryness in his voice.

“Do a lot of people know that you’re scared of roller coasters?”Yuuri said. Unlike Chris, Yuuri was not teasing. His bluntness was smoothed over by genuine curiosity, not coy teasing.

“No." Viktor laughed nervously. He had forgotten he had rambled about that topic the night before, just to fill the quiet between them. He didn’t think Yuuri had been listening. He had just felt safe enough to share it.

“Why? “ Yuuri asked. Viktor only blinked, and he must have looked like a deer in the headlights, because Yuuri quickly stuttered on clarification. “Why are you scared? I think… it's kind of the same feeling as a spin, right?”

“I’m in control of my spin." Viktor blurted instantly, blushing when Yuuri laughed. “What?” Viktor pouted.

“You like being in control, don’t you?” Yuuri laughed.

Viktor felt hotter, nodding petulantly. “So?” How dare Yuuri have such a good read on him so soon?

“I thought you would. You’re the only skater I know who choreographs their own skates and has their costume designed from their own ideas. Phichit and I just try to find something that matches our theme…”

Ah. Of course Yuuri didn’t know how in control Viktor tried to be. In control of his emotions, his appearance, his life. He was in so control of himself that he didn’t notice when the real control of his life disappeared with his first Olympic medal.

“You always are so calm and composed… I try to pretend being you, when I medal and I feel like a mess…” Yuuri trailed off before shaking his head, just like Makkachin did after a bath to clear her ears of water. “I’m sorry… “

“For what?”

“For… saying so much. When we’re strangers." Yuuri’s voice grew quieter.

“I don’t want to be strangers, though." Viktor’s answer came easily. When Yuuri had asked him to be his coach at the end of the gala… he knew what he wanted to do—what he was going to do. Sitting inside Yuuri’s pocket an hour later hadn’t been part of the plan. But at least he was still with his dancing prince.

Yuuri’s worried expression eased into an almost-smile, but his gaze flitted away into his tea cup. “...what, exactly should I see in Sochi?”

~

Viktor only knew a few things about Sochi, mainly from having to research as part of Yakov’s Olympics homework years ago. The only attractions that stuck in his mind were the one he was interested in himself.

So they spent the day together, Viktor tucked in Yuuri’s sleeve perusing the Sochi art museum, Yuuri’s eyes wide in awe at the tall roman pillars surrounding the building. The Singing Fountains were turned off for the season, so Viktor directed them toward the Arboretum instead. It was mostly empty, typical for being late november, but Yuuri delighted in it. They rode the cableway car together, Viktor sitting on Yuuri’s knee and riding in his hood of his coat as he snapped photos of Moorish architecture and various tropical plants.

“You like plants, don’t you," Viktor hummed, proud of himself for realizing after twenty minutes that Yuuri’s indecipherable mutterings were plant names in his native language, and that Yuuri was very, very entertained.

Yuuri paused, flushing a little. “I guess… I just think they’re cool."

By the time they returned to the Airbnb apartment, they had spent several hours in the cold. Yuuri’s nose looked permanently pink and the cold had seeped into Viktor’s bones despite his close quarters to one of Yuuri’s pulse points on the walk back. Yuuri shivered, though he tried to hide it, rubbing his hands together while he stared listlessly into the refrigerator.

“You should take a bath. It will warm you up." Viktor pulled on a second dress—this one made of ink black flannel with flowing sleeves.

“Oh. Good idea." The teapot on the stove began to whistle— the one thing Yuuri could do mindlessly was make tea. He busied himself with pulling out a tea bag before he froze, jolting as if a light had gone up over his head. He shuffled to the china cabinet, still in his wool coat.

“You first." Yuuri said with a smile, setting a tea cup with painted roses and a gilded lip on the kitchen table next to Viktor. He filled it halfway with boiling water, before tempering it with a cup of water from the sink. Viktor’s eyes widened, and Yuuri swore they sparkled.

“You genius!” Viktor cooed, pulling the dresses off over his head and carefully climbing over the lip of the teacup. He sunk into the water, sighing happily as Yuuri placed a washcloth a few inches from the teacup.

“My parents own a bath house...I know a lot about hot water." Yuuri smiled softly. Viktor wanted to squeeze Yuuri in a hug until the adorableness oozed out of him. But right now, Yuuri was a giant, and Viktor could barely wrap his arms around his wrist.

Yuuri left to take his own bath, and the loneliness hit Viktor twice as hard. Would he ever get to hug Yuuri? Was his stuck in this bizarre fairytale forever? Yuuri had taken his miniaturization in stride, taking him into safety, shopping with him, cooking for him. There was no reason for what happened, no explanation for what happened. He could have had an angry fan in the Grand Prix crowds, the subject of random malice, or the strange reporter from the interview could have done it as well.. Would this ever end?

Viktor didn’t have an answer for that, and neither did Yuuri. He ended up falling asleep before Viktor did, his phone RPG game cycling idling animations on his chest as he snored, his glasses slightly askew on his face. It looked uncomfortable.

Viktor hopped from his matchstick box bed to the nightstand, hopping onto Yuuri’s pillow instead of dropping down to the mattress. It was a struggle, his large lenses taller than Viktor, but he managed to pull them off of Yuuri’s face and fold them safely at the edge of the mattress. There was a mark on the bridge of Yuuri’s nose, but Viktor found himself distracted by his dark eyelashes and the soft part of his lips.

Yuuri really was beautiful, no matter his size.

Kind and sweet, too. Viktor had no idea what would happen next. Yuuri only had four days left in Russia before he would fly back to the States to resume his training. There was no way he could coach Yuuri when he couldn’t even see out from the top lace of a skating boot.

Viktor obsessed over unknown solutions to his problems until exhaustion pulled him to sleep.

He tried to focus on the present—showing Yuuri the Nikola Tesla museum and pushing him to visit the park to see the dolphinarium. He busied himself with entertaining Yuuri, using his phone at night to research and plan events to keep them busy. On Yuuri’s third day, Viktor had a full day planned for them, ready and eager to guide him through the city and share what he had learn.

But it was not meant to be.

Viktor waited until the digital clock on the dressed flipped past noon with no luck. Yuuri laid in bed with his back to the nightstand and Viktor by proxy.

“Yuuri?” Viktor called, breaking the solemn silence. He could just see the flutter of Yuuri’s eyelashes. He was awake. “Are...you okay?”

Yuuri shifted in bed, tucking his chin into his chest. “I can’t do it.”

The sentiment was painfully familiar. Viktor had done the same thing—felt the same way—countless times before.

But this was the first time he’d seen it in someone else.

“Do what?” Viktor smoothed down the skirt of the gown he was wearing, running his hands over the baby blue cotton. The sleeves were made out of lace, the same trim at the hem, a delicate embroidered rose sewn into the collar. He hopped down onto Yuuri’s pillow, wobbling as he found his feet on the soft terrain.

“Join the club.” Viktor offered a pained smile, sliding down the microfiber cloth onto Yuuri’s mattress, finally able to look at his face. How someone managed to look so perfect and so messy at the same time…Viktor couldn’t feel envy. Just appreciation that he got to see such an angel.

“But… you’re good at it," Yuuri mumbled, stubbornly stuck in his negative spiral.

“Skilled, maybe. But I’m not happy."

Yuuri’s eyes shone with fresh unshed tears, his soft face crumpling. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” Viktor’s brow furrowed as he sank to sit on the mattress next to Yuuri’s elbow.

“That you’re not happy," Yuuri croaked. Viktor’s face softened, something strange rising in his throat.

“We all make sacrifices.” Viktor shrugged.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be happy,” Yuuri said with a frown. “Just because you’re the best in the world and inspiring and beautiful doesn’t mean you should be miserable." The fire grew in his voice, the heaviness in his limbs being burned away by passion.

Viktor smiled softly. Yuuri really was so sweet. “Then let’s work on being better together?”

~

Yuuri’s last full day snuck up on him. Yuuri began to pack soon after dinner, full and happy from a plate full of authentic pelmeni and a light-headed/tipsy from a glass of vodka.

“Yuuri, what are you doing?” Viktor looked up from Yuuri’s borrowed phone. His disappearance had faded from the headlines, but only due to worse news cropping up in his motherland.

“My flight is at 11 tomorrow.” Yuuri blinked, a rolled up pair of socks in his hand. “Why?”

“Oh… nothing." Viktor bowed his head. He had spent more time talking to Yuuri and learning about him than he had paying attention to the numerous attractions they had visited over the past few days. He couldn’t remember what year Tesla was born, but he did know that Yuuri was a ballet dancer before he was a skater, and that his favorite color was glacier blue. That Yuuri liked his coffee sweet and milky but his tea straight, and that he loved food just as much as Viktor himself did.

He also knew that he already missed Yuuri.

Yuuri finished packing relatively quickly, settling into bed with an English paperback he had purchased from the airport. Viktor hadn’t been brave enough to share that he liked romance novels, too. et.

“Yuuri…” Viktor murmured when he saw Yuuri’s eyelids start to grow heavy.

“Mmm?” Yuuri blinked sleepily, still fighting the drowsiness, a finger tucked into the paperback to mark his place.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Yuuri flushed. “No way! I’ll crush you!”

“You won’t. You sleep like a log." Viktor answered wryly. “Please?”

“S—sure." Yuuri hid his blush behind the embossed cover of the book, sinking down into the pile of blankets. Viktor jumped from his bed, too excited for any reservation, hopping to Yuuri’s pillow and settling with his miniature blanket next to his cheek.

“I’ll miss you, Yuuri." Viktor sighed. He didn’t expect to see confusion in Yuuri’s eyes, or worry.

“Why?” He set his book face down and open on his chest, looking at Viktor. “You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

“Am I?”

“I had a plan to get you through the airport. I’m not sure after that, but I have to help you get fixed, don’t I?”

Viktor felt oddly warm. “You don’t, actually… This isn’t your fault.”

“It’s not yours either." Yuuri shrugged.

“Why do you want to help me, Yuuri? When you do, we can’t have this anymore. It’ll be back to normal. I’ll go back to skating, and photoshoots and interviews…”

“Can’t I just… want to help?” Yuuri’s eyes flitted away from Viktor’s. “Even if you go back to skating and photoshoots and interviews…I still got to know Viktor.”

“Viktor?” He tried to emulate the reverent tone Yuuri had said his name in, but he couldn't. It didn’t make sense.

“Viktor the person." Yuuri smiled softly to himself. “No audience or spectacle. Viktor… being Viktor.”

Viktor felt his heart flutter, a strange sensation that was somehow pleasant.

“Goodnight, Viktor." Yuuri said before turning off the night.

“Goodnight… Yuuri.”

~

Yuuri Katsuki was not a morning person. He did not wake unless forced to, and even when he did, he was rarely happy about it.

However, there were a few things that could change that. One was the weight of a dog on his chest.

This was not that.

Yuuri opened his eyes slowly, squinting at whatever shape that was definitely at least ten times bigger than Vicchan. He didn’t even have time to be sad about thinking about Vicchan. The thought was immediately replaced by the strange stickiness of skin against skin, the press of a jaw into the crook of his neck, and the pale pink expanse of skin and bones pinning him down in bed.

“Oh—fu—aah!” Yuuri jolted up, scrambling out from under the touch of the very heavy very human form on top of him and the strange sensation of it kissing his neck.
Viktor’s eyes snapped open and he caught himself, sitting on the edge of the bed. He frowned, dismayed by Yuuri’s look of abject terror, before his blue eyes widened.

He was staring directly into Yuuri’s eyes.

Nearly—more slightly above level with them, even.

Yuuri clawed at the nightstand, scrambling to shove his glasses onto his face. They sat crooked, and the look of shock didn’t fade from his face.

“Viktor?” he gasped, the terror replaced by awe as his gaze slowly moved down Viktor’s very large, very 180 cm tall body.

His naked 180 cm tall body.

Yuuri turned a beautiful shade of tomato red, jerking his head to the side, biting his lips. Sure, he had seen him naked before, but the detail between true to life and 1/16th scale...it was a world of difference.

“Yuuri!” Viktor pulled Yuuri into a hug, squeezing him until Yuuri melted into his arms. He wanted to hug him a thousand times over. He wanted to kiss him… but Viktor usually waited longer than a week for that level of commitment. Moreover, Yuuri looked like he was about to faint.

“You saved me, Yuuri!” Viktor hugged him tightly again, the tension of Yuuri’s immediate reaction melting away faster than the first time.

“I don’t know what I did…” Yuuri muttered, before his beautiful bright smile broke out. “But at least I have good timing.”

Viktor’s smile dropped instantly. “I can’t go with you to the airport now, can I?”

Yuuri’s smile faded, and he shrugged, avoiding Viktor’s eyes yet again. “No… but you can go back home now, right?”

“What if I don’t want to?” They had spent so much of the past week being brutally honest with each other… it seemed pointless to start now.

“I...don’t know.." Yuuri’s warm brown eyes met Viktor’s glacier blue.

“What if I wanted to go where you go?” Viktor ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t done his usual routine in a week, but it didn’t matter.

“You don’t want to… Detroit’s not that great." Yuuri laughed humorlessly.

“But it has you.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, his teasing half-smile dropping into shock.

“Yuuri… I don’t want you lose you… If that means I retire and go to Detroit, so be it.”

“N-no! No way! Don’t retire!” Yuuri waved his hands desperately.

“How else will I be your coach?” Viktor pouted. “You’re the one who asked me to, after all.”

“Oh god, seriously? I was drunk! I can’t believe I did that!” Yuuri panicked.

“You did. And maybe… I say yes." Viktor said coyly, suddenly free from all the worries that plagued him the past few nights.

“I—I don’t know what to do— The flight leaves in four hours— and—”

“It’s okay. We can figure it out together. Maybe breakfast first?” Viktor cupped Yuuri’s face in his hands, trying his best to be comforting.

“Okay. First, breakfast.”

Chapter Text

It still felt like a dream. A few days after a hard goodbye in Adler Airport, Viktor was here, in Detroit, sitting on the ugly couch Yuuri and Phichit had found on Craigslist. Sitting on the couch, alive and very Viktor sized, his skin glowing with the light off of dollar tree christmas lights.

Celestino had gifted them the tabletop christmas tree their first year in Detroit. It was a tradition strange to Yuuri and Phichit— neither of them came from a country that celebrated it, other than Japan’s date night and decorated shopping centers. But it was a nice tradition, especially once Phichit started decorating the branches with mini polaroid prints of the two roomates. And now, Viktor too.

Yuuri fidgeted nervously. He knew Russians didn’t celebrate Christmas in December, but it was still Viktor’s birthday and he still had the gift he bought in the Sochi toy store. He had planned on giving it to Viktor, until he had returned to his full size a few hours before Yuuri planned to take him home. To take care of him.

Now Viktor had returned to his life. He had told Yakov that he was sorry to worry him, but he was alive and happy. It was easier to say he was tired and needed a break than explain the real reason for his absence after all. Yakov had been mad, but Viktor had only needed to sit through two days of it while he arranged his and his poodle’s international travel.

Makkachin had instantly taken to Yuuri, bowling him down in the doorway of his apartment. Viktor was jealous, but he couldn’t be mad at his girl. Especially when he understood how she felt about Yuuri—he felt it too.

She helped Yuuri, too. There were a few times Viktor caught the sparkle of tears in Yuuri’s eyes before Makkachin threw her whole weight into him for cuddles. She sensed when he was upset and nervous.

Which was why she had her head in Yuuri’s lap, while he and Viktor sat on the couch, quiet in the light of the christmas tree.

Yuuri was nearly tearing up the pink tissue paper wrapping of the tiny box in his hand, running his fingers up and down its side. Yuuri wasn’t very good at being sneaky, but Viktor was good at being patient.

“Viktor… I know...it hasn’t been that long." A few weeks, but enough time that Viktor had considered proposing. He was a little smitten. Yuuri’s adam apple bobbed as he swallowed. “But… happy birthday." He held out the tiny box, his cheeks turning a cute shade of pink.

“Are you proposing?” Viktor teased, laughing at the weird turn of phrase. Yuuri flushed a deeper shade of pink, shaking his head.

“I—it's not like that, it’s just…” Yuuri stuttered as Viktor peeled off the layers of tissue paper to find a white jewelry box. He hummed, lifting off the lid and gasping at the miniature ice skates nestled within.

“Yuuri…” Viktor breathed, feeling his own cheeks warm with a blush. They were perfect. He recognized the handwork from the many outfits he had worn over his week in Sochi.

“I bought them...when you would fit them." Yuuri’s knees bounced nervously, his fingers digging into Makkachin’s curly fur.

“Thank you,” Viktor sighed, lifting the skates by the delicate laces. They were pure white—a color the ISU never let him wear on the ice, even though he only fit into women’s sizes in his Juniors years. When it had mattered the most.

“It’s useless now, but I felt bad… I wasn’t brave enough to give them to you,” Yuuri rambled, Makkachin looking pointedly at her daddy. Yuuri was so cute when he was flustered and Viktor was smitten.

“You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.” Viktor curled his fingers around the tiny skates, calling on his own stupid bravery to close his eyes and press a light kiss to Yuuri’s lips.

Yuuri gasped, his lips parting against Viktor’s of their own volition. His hands trembled on top of Makkachin’s head, her tail beating a steady rhythm on the carpet. Their eyes met, Yuuri’s wide and nervous.

“I—-”

“Yuuri. If you’re going to say you’re not brave, I don’t want to hear it." Viktor traced Yuuri’s bottom lip with his finger lightly.

“It’s just a pair of skates.." Yuuri’s lips moved under Viktor’s touch.

“Yuuri,” Viktor frowned, tilting his head to the side. “I didn’t kiss you because you gave me a gift. I kissed you because you’re you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Yuuri muttered under his breath.

Viktor laughed, shaking his head. “Yuuri, can I kiss you again?”

Yuuri nodded wordlessly, stunned.

It was already the best birthday—best Christmas— yet.