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He was in love.
God, was he in deep.
The way his hair curled when the moist summer’s air would whip through his locks. The rough caress of his battered hands as he pawed at his skin. The lilt of his voice when he would belt out a tune to slice the silence of the night. They would dance languidly around the flames and charred remains of their dinner. Neither were great cooks, but they made do.
He couldn’t pinpoint the moment he fell in love with the kind, Russian. Maybe it was the time he shielded his body during a rock slide. Maybe it was when his lips at first brushed his own during a sleepless night. Or maybe . . . It was the moment they locked eyes in that dank department store in the heart of France.
But now, he couldn’t feel his breath as it caught somewhere in his throat. The pages in his hands curling up at the corners and few stains littered the edges. Probably from all the times coffee was haphazardly spilled almost every day. He had a way of moving his hands so wildly that anything in his wrath would perish.
“Yuuri?”
He glanced up rather rapidly at the call of his name. The intruder of his thoughts laid next to him—fingers dug into his beard as he itched at the hairs. It had grown out again.
He would just have to shape it once more, but he didn’t mind. He was a bit excited to doll up the man again.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah! Sorry, I just spaced out for a moment. What’s wrong?”
“Are you going to read it or what?” The other man said with a childish blush reaching up to his eyes. Yuuri leaned across the makeshift mattress to brush the rogue strands from his eyes. The other man fell into his touch so easily and purred at the sensation.
“I am. Hand over my glasses. You need to sleep however, Mr. Nikiforov.” Yuuri jested with a jab to his naked chest. Hairs had gathered there as well from lack of grooming. Viktor had the habit of waxing himself before attacks, and obviously the ritual no longer was part of his life. Yuuri combed a few fingertips through it as he pushed the other man down to lie flat.
“Wake me up when you finish it. It’s not very long. Just a short story.”
“Of course,”
Viktor smiled softly as he threw one of his forearms across his eyes darkening his world. Soon enough he was slumbering next to the other man. Yuuri was still amazed at his talent of being able to fall asleep anywhere. He had caught the other man a few times either falling asleep in trunks of cars, on horseback, or even against a shredded tree stump. It was another thing he could add to his list of reasons to be wholly in love with the man beside him.
After a few more seconds of admiring Yuuri sunk down into the covers to pursue Viktor’s chicken scratch. He had come accustomed to the scrawls, and the handwriting suited the other man. It winded around with each letter and flowed easily like how his mind did. He never hesitated or held back. He was an open book as much as the cliché hurt to think of.
He flipped over a few pages ready to dive in as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. There was no title yet. Viktor had said he felt like it wasn’t ready for one yet.
And as he began reading the words to Viktor’s soon to be novel, he realized.
Oh, this was about him.
~
One thing about Katsuki Yuuri baffled me. The way he easily shifted from dangerous, no, sultry to quivering coy minx. A minx that I would have gladly let stick the barrel of his gun down my throat if he kept looking at me with those eyes. His eyes were more so the pivotal point of his features. Never wandering, always observing, and roving my own figure just as eagerly.
He never hid his attraction towards me even with the first moments we spoke to each other. The illuminating fire fluttering across our features as we shared a lukewarm soup he whipped up. Another thing about Katsuki Yuuri was that he was kind and real.
Something tangible was few and far when bombs wiped out everything in your path. Not just the real bombs, but the figurative bombs constantly going off in my head. My brain never seemed to cease its constant spew of thoughts until he brushed his fingers across my face.
Everything went quiet for the first time in my life.
No screaming lieutenants.
No slurs thrown my way.
It was just him and I.
And the look of softness across his features as he took it all in.
He was breath taking.
I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Yuuri was the first to initiate anything. I didn’t want to scare him off.
I couldn’t.
He was like this ethereal being that brought me to my knees with a click of his fingers. The way his voice would curl into my brain like a snake and never cease it’s hold. He may not know the power he has over me . . .
He probably doesn’t.
Should I keep it that way?
No, he already knows.
He must.
Right?
Travelling with the man was easier said than done.
A list of things Yuuri hates:
Early Mornings
Beans. He’s quite over them at this point.
When Makkachin’s hair gets all caught up in tufts. He usually makes me brush them out.
Whenever I’m sad.
. . . Whenever I’m sad.
I try not to be sad for Yuuri. Hell, it’s an everlasting battle between two sides of me. God, I just hope he loves us both.
I wasn’t sad for a while after I had first met Yuuri, but sadness just doesn’t flutter away like a candle against the wind. Its always there. Pressing at the back of my brain like a dull headache.
I’m not sad about the people I’ve lost or think I’ve lost. I’m sad for the future . . .
A future possibly without Yuuri.
Not that he would leave me. Sometimes being abandoned isn’t by choice but forced from you. The cruel way the world has twisted itself into makes it even more plausible.
I’m not sad that Yuuri will leave me.
No, I’m sad that I’ll leave Yuuri.
And then he would be sad.
However, he is always smiling I’ve taken note of. He could be dead asleep in the middle of the night, but yet—a smile is still plastered across his gorgeous face.
I wish I told him more often how he leaves me dumbfounded.
He’s all I have in the world save for a few maps and the clothes on my back.
I thought Geneva would have been paradise. My safe haven. I never thought I’d find that on the way there.
I never thought I’d fall in love with you.
But here I am, inconceivably in love with a man who is always smiling. Who is never sad. Who is living.
Living.
Not dead.
Not living like the dead.
Loving and thriving, and just being.
He’s like porcelain. Perfect. Angelic. Sturdy.
And I’m like glass that has been shattered and mended back with shaky hands. But the pieces are starting to blend together smoother with each touch, each tender whisper . . .
Whenever I’m sad I just think—I love you.
And that fuses the shards.
~
The crack of dawn woke him up. Not the burly Russian wrapped around his frame. Yuuri could tell the other man was awake by the lazily circles being rubbed into his naked side. Yuuri turned over to grasp the man’s face in his hands and trace his thumbs across the high cheek bones he was blessed with.
“What’s the title?”
“Hmm?”
“The story. What are you going to call it?”
He wasn’t expecting Viktor to lean in so close after his question. His breath washed across his features, and if he wasn’t even more so in love with the man he would’ve pulled away at the smell. Instead, he nuzzled up into the bottom of his chin and sank into the heat of his embrace.
“Kintsukuroi.”