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一 / один / one
Their first hug is an impulsive thing, brought forth by Viktor’s soft gaze and soft smile. Yuuri’s standing by the rinkside, watching Yurio skate to the chorus of drums and sliding strings, and his heart pounds, his mouth goes dry, and God, he hasn’t felt this nervous since his junior days.
“Yuuri.”
Then Yuuri blinks into focus, his breath hiccupping deep in his throat, and his hands fly to cover his mouth when Viktor suddenly materializes in front of him. It takes Yuuri a while to realize that the cheering and clapping crashing around him is because of Yurio’s finished performance—that it’s time for Yuuri to take his place on the ice—and then Viktor’s murmuring soft things to him, and Yuuri doesn’t even think because he’s babbling something at a thousand miles per hour and then—
And then—
Because this is how Yuuri is, he doesn’t think about the consequences when his brain’s buzzing like it is now, and he buries his head into the crook of Viktor’s neck to seek something only Viktor could provide.
Yuuri feels Viktor stiffen imperceptibly through the thin fabric of his—their—costume, his heart pounding so fast Yuuri isn’t sure whether he’s feeling Viktor’s or his own. But Viktor’s arms slowly, slowly, rise and wrap around Yuuri’s waist.
He’s warm, Yuuri thinks, melting into Viktor’s hold. He’s warm, and he’s strong, and Yuuri hopes that the small needy noise that he makes when they finally have to let go is soft enough that Viktor can’t hear it.
“…Promise!” Yuuri finds himself asking, tightening his hold around Viktor’s shoulders so that Viktor can’t feel him shake in his arms. And though his heart is still racing, it’s beginning to calm enough for Yuuri to finally focus.
Then Viktor murmurs, his breath ghosting next to Yuuri’s ear, “Of course. I love katsudon.”
They’ve touched before. Just small, passing brushes of skin against skin, warm and fleeting and comfortable, and strangely too much yet not enough. Yuuri doesn’t know what to think of it, but he tucks that small warmth inside his chest as he glides out into the center of his childhood rink amidst the screaming of his hometown and the slight swish of the half-skirt around his hips.
Who am I skating for? Yuuri asks himself, fixing Viktor with a brilliant, sultry look as soon as the Spanish guitar strums across the speakers. And at Viktor’s burning gaze and open smile, Yuuri answers.
I know who.
二 / два / two
The realization washes over Yuuri one day, leaving him breathless.
He and Viktor are lying on the floor of the inn as they usually do during a slow business day, both the AC and fans cranked up to the max due to the sweltering heat. Makkachin’s already parked herself in front of the fan, her tongue lolling out, and her curly fur has puffed out like a cloud due to the humidity.
Yuuri’s playing through Pokémon Platinum for the nth time, watching his Empoleon utterly destroy another trainer’s Mamoswine along Victory Road. But once he’s finished battling, he sneaks a glance up at Viktor.
He’s been reading a children’s picture book written entirely in Japanese for the better part of an hour, scribbling down any unfamiliar characters so he could show Yuuri later. There are wire-framed glasses perched on his nose, and his hair is pinned back so that none of the sweaty silver strands can obscure his vision.
And when Viktor notices that Yuuri’s staring at him, he offers a warm smile before turning his attention back to the book.
Yuuri was surprised when he saw Viktor wearing glasses for the first time, and Viktor explained in turn that his eyesight wasn’t terrible enough to warrant constant use. Not like Yuuri’s.
“Only for reading,” he’d said, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “Not many people know.”
Yuuri is still strangely humbled that Viktor revealed a part of himself that he’d kept hidden, despite how small it was. This means that Viktor trusts him, and the weight of this knowledge would almost be too much to bear if Viktor wasn’t Viktor and Yuuri wasn’t Yuuri.
(He will find that there are many things that Viktor will trust him with in the future, and that includes his heart. It’s only fitting that Yuuri returns the favor.)
“Yuuri,” Viktor suddenly asks, breaking through the lull. “Can you tell me what this means?”
Yuuri looks up from his DS and moves over, pressing himself easily against Viktor’s side. He focuses on the words on the page. “This one?”
Viktor leans in close and nods. They’re both sweaty despite the roaring fans, but Yuuri somehow finds that he doesn’t mind at all. And this is when everything changes.
The rubber band of his body, drawn taut because of fear, relaxes. Settles.
Yuuri ends up reading the rest of the book to Viktor, the Japanese flowing across his tongue without a second thought. Somehow, Viktor has managed to drape an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders during this, pulling him close.
Viktor is a tactile man. His hands are just as expressive as his voice, drawing Yuuri in like a planet in orbit around the sun.
But unlike the sun, Viktor’s touch never burns.
Instead, it makes him feel alive.
三 / три / three
“You’re touching your mouth again,” Viktor teases. “Have you been thinking about my kisses that much?”
Yuuri blushes furiously at the call-out, pulling his fingers away from his lips. “It’s not my fault!” he argues, turning his face away with his lips pursed in a moue. “You’re so—so—”
“So…?”
“Distracting,” Yuuri says, though distracting isn’t quite the right word to describe the fluttering feeling in his chest whenever Viktor’s nearby. “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re around.”
Not even five months ago, Yuuri would never have said that to Viktor’s face. He might’ve even avoided thinking about it. But now, in the presence of the man he’s falling in love with, Yuuri finds that his own inhibitions when it comes to his brain-to-mouth filter are lowered.
Extremely so.
They’re back in the hotel room now, freshly showered and sitting on their separate-but-not-separate beds, and all Yuuri can do right now is rewind back to the feeling of Viktor’s lips on his. They’d felt almost like this, Yuuri thinks, remembering the soft, sweet pressure on his mouth.
“Who said anything about concentrating?” Viktor murmurs, scooting closer. Yuuri’s mouth parts unconsciously. Have his eyes always been this blue? Then his chin is tilted up, and there’s a small kiss pressed against his lips.
“Hi,” Yuuri mumbles into the kiss, closing his eyes.
“Hello,” Viktor says back. The smile in his voice is all-too-evident. He holds Yuuri’s hands in his as he leans forward just a little too much, sending the both of them off-balance, and Yuuri yelps as he falls back on the mattress with a thump.
“Viktor, I—”
“Vitya.”
Then Yuuri stills, absorbing the sight of Viktor’s flushed cheeks and averted gaze. Even now, even after the days and weeks and months they’ve spent with each other, there are still some expressions that Yuuri has yet to discover.
And now, Viktor’s cheeks are pinker than Yuuri’s ever seen them. “Y-You can call me Vitya. If you’d like.”
There’s something vulnerable in the way Viktor’s voice wraps around the word, hesitant and hopeful all at once, and the gravity of this moment is not lost on him.
He softens.
“Vitya,” Yuuri tests, and the flush across Viktor’s cheeks deepens.
They’ve had a conversation about this before, comparing Russian diminutives to Japanese honorifics. How significant it is when honorifics are finally dropped between friends, or even lovers. How stripping his name down to just Yuuri is just as intimate as revealing every single part of himself, and trusting to be accepted despite his flaws.
And how a diminutive signifies the strength of a bond. The connection. So for Viktor to ask Yuuri to call him Vitya…
Yuuri smiles against Viktor’s lips as Viktor leans in to kiss him again, and then he proceeds to pepper kisses all over Yuuri’s face, making laughter bubble out of his throat. Then Viktor wanders down to his chin, then his neck—
Yuuri’s breath hitches.
“Viktor—Vitya—I can’t have any marks,” he gasps, turning his head away as Viktor mouths along his pulse. “The costumes—they’ll show—”
“Then we’ll just have to find a place where no one will see,” Viktor murmurs, his eyes flicking up mischievously. Cold fingers slide under the hem of Yuuri’s shirt, sending a chill shuddering down his spine. And yet, heat explodes in Yuuri’s cheeks at the desire in Viktor’s expression.
He chokes out, “Vitya, kiss me. Please.”
Then Viktor does, taking him apart piece by piece with every touch.
四 / четыре / four
They’re skating in circles around each other, the air charged with something undeterminable.
It’s a game of cat-and-mouse, though Yuuri isn’t quite sure who’s who.
The soft scrape of their blades against the ice grounds him, making him remember that this isn’t a dream. Viktor’s here, he’s skating with him, and his hand is warm in his.
“We should probably work on your exhibition skate some more,” Viktor suggests.
“Probably,” Yuuri agrees, though the sentiment is half-hearted at most.
They both know how deep Stammi vicino is etched into Yuuri’s heart. There’s no possible way that Yuuri could ever mess it up.
But in the end, Yuuri practices the program anyway. He takes his starting position, Viktor presses the play button on his phone, and then Yuuri skates , soaring into the feeling of flying .
His chest is heaving with exertion by the time the strings fade, and Viktor’s grin is blinding when Yuuri skates to the rinkside.
“This was your most beautiful yet.”
Viktor says the same thing each time Yuuri finishes the program. You’re beautiful. Your skating is beautiful. Again, Yuuri. Show me.
Later, after Yuuri’s water break, Viktor extends his hand. And Yuuri takes it.
“Tell me, Yuuri,” Viktor says as they’re chest-to-chest, their warm breaths mingling in the chill of the rink, “what do you think about when you skate?”
Yuuri’s eyes slide up Viktor’s chest and into his eyes, his mouth parting slightly. They look at each other, feeling their heartbeats through the fabric of their shirts, and there’s only one answer that Yuuri can give.
“It’s always been you,” he whispers. “Always.”
Viktor’s eyes glimmer with something that Yuuri can’t place, but the light blush dusting his cheeks say more than mere words ever could. They gaze over the surface of the rink together, carved with countless run-throughs of Eros, Yuri on Ice, Stammi vicino—all stacked over each other even as Ice Castle’s staff resurface the ice each day, leaving behind a clean slate.
A new beginning.
A way for Yuuri to try again.
Yuuri looks at their joined hands, and an idea sparks in his mind. “Stammi vicino. Vitya, can… can we skate together this time? There’s something I want to try.”
The change in Viktor’s expression as he understands what Yuuri is trying to express is fascinating—his eyes shine, his expression unfurls like a rose in bloom, and he seems to wear his entire heart on his sleeve.
Then Viktor’s arms crush around him, a precursor to everything that he’ll leave on the ice. “There’s nothing I’d love more.”
五 / пять / five
Yuuri steps out of the airport terminal in Fukuoka, his heart weighed down with uncertainty. The eleven-hour flight gave him much more time than he needed to think about his future in figure skating—about Viktor’s future—and for the first time since Viktor waltzed into his life, Yuuri feels more lost than ever.
I have a lot I want to tell you, Viktor. What do I say first?
A muffled bark lifts Yuuri from his thoughts. When he glances to his left and sees a standard poodle racing up to the glass, mouth lolling open, his eyes widen. Makkachin? Because if Makkachin’s here, then—
Yuuri’s heart pounds in his chest even before his mind catches up to what his heart knows, and there .
They move at the same time, never looking away, never wasting a single moment, their arms opening wide—
Then Yuuri hits Viktor’s chest with a dull thwump, Viktor’s warmth surrounds him, and Yuuri’s finally, finally home.
This is where he’s meant to be. Yuuri breathes in the scent of Viktor’s aftershave and the crisp winter air still clinging to his brown overcoat, and his eyes flutter shut. When his arms tighten around Viktor’s waist, Yuuri feels Viktor squeeze around his shoulders in return. Yuuri never wants to let go.
But he does, if only for a short moment.
“Please take care of me until I retire.”
Yuuri nearly shouts it, his fear and uncertainties threatening to escape from his lungs. He’s being selfish by keeping Viktor from the world for as long as he’s done—he knows this—but he can be selfish for just a little longer.
The soft sound of Viktor’s laugh nearly breaks him, and so does the gentle kiss pressed against his ring finger. “It’s almost like a marriage proposal,” Viktor tells him, his eyes tender, and Yuuri still manages to smile as Viktor gathers him back in his arms.
I love you, Yuuri sobs in his mind, feeling warmth begin to well behind his eyes. I love you, I love you, I love you.
The strength of his utter adoration and devotion to this one person, to this once-in-a-lifetime love, consumes him. It should terrify him, but Yuuri would gladly sacrifice everything he is to make sure that Viktor will never experience hurt again.
“I wish you’d never retire,” Viktor whispers.
And that’s when Yuuri’s tears fall, in the safety of the arms that feel like home.
もう一回 / плюс один / plus one
“Tadaima,” Yuuri calls, toeing off his shoes at the door.
“Okaeri!” Viktor pops up from the couch, his hair in every state of disarray, and Yuuri’s heart warms at the sight. “How was your walk?”
“Good,” Yuuri says, and it’s the truth. The burst of anxiety that’s been building in the back of his mind for the better part of the afternoon is a low buzz now, nonexistent enough to ignore. “I feel a lot better now.”
Viktor opens his arms in response, and Yuuri goes to fall into them. The couch whuffs with the added weight, and though it isn’t quite big enough to fit them both—it makes them have to snuggle closer whenever they’re lying down together, more so if Makkachin joins them—Yuuri wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Missed you,” Viktor mumbles into his hair, his arms wrapping tighter around Yuuri’s waist. “Didn’t know what to do while you were out.”
“We can make dinner?” Yuuri suggests, though they both know it would take nothing short of a nuclear explosion to get them up once they’ve started cuddling. It’s much warmer here in Viktor’s arms, and he’d much rather prefer to stay there than get up.
And it seems that Viktor has the same opinion based on the way he begins nuzzling at the junction of Yuuri’s shoulder and neck. “Later. Food can wait. Cuddles now.”
His low days are rarer now. But whenever they do come, Viktor’s grown to understand that sometimes he needs space. That sometimes he needs a few more extra hugs to soak up the remnants of the buzzing in his brain. That he’ll be okay.
Their legs tangle together, Viktor’s cold, bare toes brushing against Yuuri’s socked ones, and Yuuri has never felt more comfortable. His eyes drift shut at the warmth that surrounds him, at the warmth in his heart.
This is where he should be. This is where he belongs.
He’s home.