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Viktor stares at his reflection in the mirror. He's got a bit of silvery stubble creeping up on him, and he'll have to shave, but that isn't what's captured his attention this early morning.
He pinches his cheek and frowns.
Is he gaining weight?
Looking at Viktor, it's almost absurd to think he would be self-conscious about his weight. But constantly being in the public eye, especially during adolescence, has done some damage to his body image. He must be in top shape at all times; if he gains even a little bit of body fat, someone will notice, someone will write something in a drugstore tabloid and someone will read it and everyone will know. He won't be perfect anymore.
Obviously, this is blowing it out of proportion. But when something's been drilled into your head as subtly and succinctly as this, it's hard to remove. It's hard to tell yourself that no one actually cares if you gain a pound or two when you've been obsessing about it for years on end.
It's hard to believe the facts when you don't trust the source.
Viktor smears shaving cream on his face and sighs heavily. Looks like he'll have to lay off the katsudon for a while.
Yuuri holds up a black skintight suit. "This one!" His smile is blinding.
Viktor smiles back. It hurts. Yuuri is so confident, he thinks. He's still soft around the middle, none of the sharp angles Viktor had when he had worn the costume, but he's still sure he'll fit. Even though he gains weight easily, he always seems sure that he'll be able to get rid of it. Viktor envies him.
When they are done finalizing the costume decisions, Viktor goes on a very, very long run.
When he gets back, Yuuri is standing at the entrance to the inn with worry written clearly across his face. "Where have you been?" he asks as Viktor trips inside, peeling off his jacket.
"Just went on a run," Viktor slides past him easily, making his way to his room. He needs to get rid of the rest of his sweaty clothing and check his weight again.
Yuuri bites his lip, hesitantly following him. "Are you okay?"
Viktor's heart skips a beat. "Yes..? Why wouldn't I be?" He laughs nervously, subconsciously walking a bit faster.
"Well, it's just, you haven't been eating as much lately— I mean, you've been eating enough, but it almost seems as if you're following some sort of fad diet or something." Yuuri frowns. "Which I don't understand."
Viktor can't meet his eyes. "Don't worry about it." His room is in sight, maybe he can shake Yuuri off his tail for a few hours in the name of rest—
Yuuri resolutely steps in front of him and crosses his arms, glaring now. Viktor stops dead in his tracks, nearly bowling him over.
"Are you watching your weight?" he asks, irritation giving way to concern.
"I— Yuuri, please—" Viktor's panicking. What would Yuuri think, if he admitted he was obsessing over his body? Yuuri, who struggles with his weight on a daily basis, whose stomach is still round and soft, whose muscles have yet to define themselves; Yuuri who is the one skating, the one showing off his body for everyone to see. And yet here Viktor is, worrying about a few pounds. Yuuri would feel terrible, he would—
Wrap his arms around Viktor's waist and pull him close.
Viktor stops breathing for a moment.
"Are you watching your weight?" Yuuri repeats, muffled, into his chest.
Viktor's arms close around Yuuri's shoulders on their own. He swallows thickly. "I know it's stupid," he says quietly. "But I— I've always been like this— eating too much comfort food lately, and I gained some weight— my face—" His hold on Yuuri tightens and he buries his face in his hair. "I didn't want to say it because I didn't want to make you feel bad about yourself— and here I am saying it anyway— I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
Yuuri keeps him close as he babbles, words becoming increasingly pained, and shuffles them down the hall to Viktor's room, nudging open and closing the door with his foot. He sets Viktor down on his bed and sits next to him, petting his hair as he works through his emotions and scrubs at his eyes, even though they're tearless.
He's tired.
When he's finally calmed down, Yuuri ambles over to the bathroom and gets him a glass of water, taking his place at Viktor's side again as he drinks, but laying down this time.
"You always tell me you don't mind my extra weight," Yuuri starts, staring at the ceiling. "You say that as long as I'm still in good enough shape to skate my best, then it doesn't matter. But I also haven't been in the spotlight since I was fifteen. I haven't had to worry about appearing perfect all the time. But I think—" he turns on his side to face Viktor— "I think you look perfect no matter what." He reaches up to cup Viktor's cheek, fingers cool against his warm skin. "And I don't think anyone really cares how much you weigh. I know it doesn't seem like that sometimes, but the people who obsess over how much someone else weighs need to get a life. If it wasn't weight, they'd find something else to shame you with." Yuuri tucks Viktor's hair behind his ear, gentle and slow. "The people who really matter won't care at all, Viktor."
Viktor takes a shaky breath, lowering himself to lay next to Yuuri. "I'm sorry," he says again.
"It's okay. You didn't hurt me. You don't have anything to apologize for." Yuuri presses a kiss to his forehead. "Just don't keep stuff like this from me anymore, alright?"
"Alright." Viktor scoots closer, tangling their legs together and clasping his hands behind Yuuri's neck. "Can we stay like this for a while?" he whispers.
"Of course." And honestly, Viktor smells pretty awful, like a men's locker room of stale sweat, but Yuuri isn't about to tell him that.
The room falls into a delicate silence. The wind whistles against the window and the birds in the trees outside screech and warble as loud as ever, but inside the room is peaceful, muffled. Viktor's breathing slows until it seems he's fallen asleep, but Yuuri knows he isn't because his eyes are wide open, staring at him with unabashed gratitude. Yuuri blinks lazily back, not perturbed by his intense gaze in the least, a slow smile creeping up on him to match Viktor's.
And there they lay, bodies pressed so close it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, but it doesn't matter.
Viktor tilts his head down to lazily kiss Yuuri on the lips, mouths falling open easily as they slide against each other in a dance they know by heart.
It never really mattered.
They break apart after what feels like hours, lips bright red and swollen. "I want katsudon," Viktor says.
Yuuri grins.