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“I didn’t think I’d ever meet you.”
Harsh lights and loud music is replaced by a warm, yellow glow radiating through paper lampshades. Even here, so high up in the darkened sky, the bustle of Barcelona below can still be heard, the pleasant, vibrant hum of the city deceptively ordinary. Suits are thrown haphazardly over carefully laid costumes, left to wrinkle throughout the night, and the smell of alcohol and victory is replaced by hotel shampoo and minty toothpaste as they crawl into bed, exhausted but together at the end of the journey. Victor’s arms are wound gently around Yuuri’s waist, chest pressed against his back, chin resting against the mop of messy black hair.
Yuuri opens his eyes, already half-asleep, and blinks blearily. “Hmm?”
Victor says nothing, and smiles, enigmatic.
Yuuri sighs. “Victor.” The vowels linger, lazy and gentle in his mouth as he turns, nuzzles his cheek into Victor’s collarbone. A month ago he would not be so bold. Now, he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on his fiancé, and what he has to do to get his way. “Tell me.”
“Fine, fine.” Predictably, the other man gives in, laughing quietly. Yuuri feels the vibrations of the sound buzz in his bones. It tickles a little, and he smiles, curls his hands into the soft cotton of Victor’s shirt.
“The banquet had me thinking.”
Yuuri hums, leaning in to Victor’s touch as the other man traces his cheek with errant fingers.
“When I was young, I thought the ice would be enough.” His fingertips flutter over Yuuri’s eyelids, “I thought they would love me for it, and they did, and for a time it was enough,” run down the length of Yuuri’s nose, “Then it wasn’t. And I got desperate,” brushes gently across Yuuri’s lips. “All that time I’d been alone, until I’d met you. There were so many banquets, but I couldn’t remember any of them.”
Yuuri giggles as Victor’s fingers skim over the side of his neck, creep down his arm, dance lightly over his side and slip just under his shirt to rest lovingly on his hip, caressing the extra pudge he’s been allowed to keep above the bone.
“Then I saw you in Sochi. And you were amazing.”
Yuuri groans and feels his cheeks warming, presses his face further into the crook of Victor’s neck, as if he’ll melt into it if he just tries hard enough. “I was drunk.”
“And beautiful.”
“Very red. Kind of splotchy. Definitely shameless.”
“But beautiful,” Victor insists, heartbreakingly gentle.
There’s something devastating in the way his voice, quiet and a little hoarse from the strain, breaks over the silence. “You grabbed me by the tie and dragged me onto the floor and you made it all different. You showed me how to live again.” He leans down, gaze meeting Yuuri’s, and his voice chokes a little in his throat. “I hope you know that.”
Yuuri can’t see much without his glasses, but even among the blur, he can pick out Victor’s smile trembling minutely at the edges. His heart tugs a little at the sight, clinches, and he gives in with a quiet sigh.
“And afterwards, I was so scared.” Victor continues. His voice wavers, a faint tremor, and Yuuri pulls him a little closer, squeezes just hard enough to be grounding. “You evaporated. I know now – I know you didn’t remember, but I thought…I thought it was a fluke. That I was being silly. I thought something as amazing as that couldn’t happen to me.”
Yuuri makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and frowns, reaching up to brush silvery strands out of Victor’s eyes.
“I know, solnyshko. I know.” He catches Yuuri’s hand, presses a kiss reverently to the knuckles.
They are impossibly close under the covers, arms thrown haphazardly over each other, legs tangled. The picture of peace.
“I was just…scared.” Victor admits. “Because before, I thought I’d never meet you, and it was fine, but then I met you and I needed you. I needed you so much it hurt every moment until I saw you again.”
“Victor,” Yuuri breathes.
“Hmm?” Victor’s gaze lifts, meets Yuuri’s in stunning blue.
And there is nothing he can say to make it better. He can only hold on tight, for the rest of their lives, and never let go. His heart grows in his chest and he ignores the pang of pain.
It takes him a moment, but he figures it out. “I guess it’s all backwards, since I already asked you to marry me…but…I want you to never have any doubt.” Yuuri smiles.
He smiles, and he doesn’t turn red, doesn’t look away, his voice doesn’t waver. He doesn’t run like he does that first night, months ago, when Victor asks to sleep with him. He has faith: they’ll fall asleep next to each other and wake up together now, every night and every morning. In the end, he should have expected this. It comes as natural as breathing. “I love you.”
Victor’s eyes go incredibly wide.
For a moment, he just stares, shaking. And then there are crystalline tears falling from his cheek. He breathes in, and it sounds kind of like a sob. Yuuri makes a noise halfway between sympathy and fondness, rubbing soothing circles into Victor’s back as he buries his face in Yuuri’s hair.
He murmurs something in Russian. Yuuri may not understand the meaning, but he understands.
Eventually, he pulls back to look at Yuuri with shining eyes. “Yuuri, I…” The words catch in his throat and his mouth hangs open in an adorable impression of something like a fish.
“You don’t have to say it, you know,” Yuuri reaches across, wipes away the tears with the pads of his thumbs, “I can tell. And I’ll still be here. I’ll love you tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day after that.”
Victor frowns, shakes his head, but can’t resist adding: “Even when I’m red and splotchy?”
“Mmhmm.” Yuuri’s heart swells.
“Even when I go bald?” Victor drags his sleeve across his face. His voice is muffled.
“No matter what.” Yuuri promises.
The silence sits between them, comfortable.
“Yuuri?” Victor’s voice cracks a little. It’s late, and he’s been under duress, but it doesn’t stop him from flushing, covering his face with his hands.
“Yes, love?”
“ I’m so happy.” His voice trembles minutely. “I didn’t know I could be this happy.”
“Silly Victor.” Yuuri pulls his hands away from his face, fond, pressing feather light kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the tip of his nose. It’s exquisite and painful in a good way. He swears he’ll make this man happy for the rest of his life if that’s the last thing he does. “You should sleep. We have an early flight tomorrow.” He smiles, sleepy. “I’ll still be here tomorrow.”
“And the day after that?”
“And the day after that.”
“I love you.”
His smile grows, stretching lazily. “I know.”
Silence, broken only by the bustle of the city. Peace, translated through careless limbs and heavy lidded eyes. They are tangled together, intricately and inexplicably tied.
Maybe all is not well. But they have each other.
(Of course, the only interruption occurs barely a beat later, when an epiphany occurs: “…Did you just Han Solo me?”)