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Victor experienced random and sudden moments in which he would become keenly aware of how much his heart ached for Yuuri Katsuki. He was always aware of the way his entire body yearned for Yuuri, but sometimes the simplest things would bring him to his knees as he was overwhelmed with just how much he cared for the man. He had known from the first moment they had spoken at the banquet that Yuuri was a hurricane sent by the universe, destined to completely and utterly change ― and possibly destroy ― his life. But when he had arrived in Hasetsu, Yuuri had been the farthest thing from a storm, he had hardly even been a wave lapping at the beach. He was so timid and easily frightened that Victor almost thought he had the wrong person. But slowly, quietly, carefully, Yuuri transformed right in front of his eyes. He embraced Eros wholeheartedly, and when he watched his protégé evolve into the confident whirlwind that had turned Victor’s world upside down, he couldn’t help but feel as though everything he had thrown away, every reckless mistake, every miscalculated move he had made, had been worth it.
Now, of course, Victor knew that Yuuri was a storm meant to shake and bring life to his world. Before the Katsuki family welcomed him in their lives, Victor hadn’t realized just how dry and barren his world was. Yuuri was a force of life, both uprooting everything Victor had believed in while simultaneously bringing color and life into his lonely world with an impromptu quadruple flip.
―
Occasionally, Victor would somehow forget that he no longer lived alone. It happened sometimes when he would walk Makkachin in the early mornings, long before the sun rose over the gray city. On a particularly cold day ― one so cold even Victor, who practically lived and breathed ice, trembled inside his beige trenchcoat ― the silver-headed man ducked into a cafe to escape the frigid temperatures. The barista behind the counter, a nearly bald man other than the three or so strands that clung to his head, scowled at the poodle. He opened his mouth to complain until his eyes lifted and met with those of the Russian legend’s. Quickly then, the scowl melted into the shape of shocked “o” as he scrambled to smooth out his apron.
“Mr. Nikiforov!” his voice was hearty and booming, spreading across the small interior of the cafe, “what a pleasure! What can I get you?”
Victor pushed down a sigh. He was used to this, the way people treated him differently because of his fame. Of course, he was appreciative of the opportunities and comfort his fans and success had brought him, but sometimes it was exhausting being seen as something more than human. Still, he put on his best camera smile: all charm and cold beauty, something a marble statue would don, something far from human.
“Just a latte, please.” he said as he pulled out his wallet and handed over the rubles he owed. Victor pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of Makkachin as the poodle looked up, tongue hanging out of his mouth. Before he could go to post it, the man set down his cup and, though Victor appreciated it when it did happen, spared him of the over-the-top ― and lengthy ― gushing.
Though he considered staying inside the warmth of the building while drinking his coffee, Victor decided to not push his luck. Both he and Makkachin seemed to be on the same page as they exited the cafe. They walked quickly back home, and even though the walk was quick, Victor’s exposed face and ears felt completely frozen by the time he got into the lobby. As the elevator took him to his floor, Victor sipped from his latte, thankful for the warm liquid as it melted the ice that had seemed to grow in his throat and stomach. Makkachin scratched at the door of his apartment as Victor unlocked it, which made the Russian chuckle under his breath. As he opened the door and let Makkachin off of his leash, the fresh smell of sausage and eggs filled his nostrils. His stomach growled, reminding him of how he had skipped breakfast to avoid Makkachin having another accident on their carpet. Victor’s heart throbbed painfully in his chest as Yuuri poked his head out of the doorway that led into the kitchen, a warm smile melting any remaining ice inside Victor painted across his face.
“Good morning!” Yuuri called, “you forgot to eat, didn’t you?” And oh, how could Victor ever forget he shared his life with this wonderful man? His feet remained glued to the floor, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as his throat tightened. Yuuri had turned his attention back to breakfast and Victor could hear soft humming floating through the air alongside the occasional crackle and pop of the food inside the pan. Victor must have been standing there longer than he realized, dazed, because Yuuri peered around the doorframe again with worry etched into the way his eyebrows pinched together. Victor wanted to reach out and smooth down the lines there.
“Victor?” Yuuri, Victor’s fiance, that’s right, fiance! Victor thought. “Vitya? Are you alright?” The skater’s heart pushed against his ribs impatiently, which finally got Victor moving. Though he was unsure whether his brain or heart controlled his legs at that moment, it didn’t much matter.
He wrapped his arms around Yuuri, burying his face in the man’s neck. Yuuri yelped and grumbled something about how cold Victor’s nose was, but it all floated past his ears, unheard. Despite his complaints, Yuuri’s arms snaked around Victor’s waist, tightening as silence engulfed the two. The insistent tug and ache he had felt in his heart disappeared, like his muscles finally relaxing after a long day, when Yuuri pressed delicate kisses down the side of his face. He started at the undoubtedly red and frozen shell of his ear and moved down his cheek, lips ghosting against his cheekbone, the side of his nose, the corner of his jaw, until he ended up against Victor’s shoulder. He didn’t move from there, and though layers of clothes separated them Victor could still feel the soft but undeniable love spreading from the repetitive kisses Yuuri pressed there.
Finally, Victor’s tongue came unstuck and his throat opened again so he could speak. “Good morning,” his voice was rough to his ears, “I missed you.”
Yuuri giggled at that, patting the small of Victor’s back as he extracted himself from his vice grip. “You just saw me this morning, Victor.” He replied as he walked back to the stove, Victor’s eyes following his receding form longingly. “How can you miss me that much that fast?”
Victor didn’t have an answer for that. How could he possibly put into words how much adoration he held for Yuuri? How could he even begin to describe the unfiltered joy the Japanese man had brought into his life when he pulled him into a dance years ago? Victor doubted any language, or any mix of them, could communicate that much love. He opened his mouth to reply with something, maybe something witty, maybe something sexual, maybe with a monologue of his undying love ― though the words died in his throat as Makkachin nosed the hand that had been holding his nearly full cup of coffee. He squawked loudly as the cup dropped on the floor, spilling the hot beverage across the tile. Yuuri wheeled around at the sound, face full of fear until he saw the sight in front of him. Melodic laughter filled the Russian’s ears as he desperately tried to wipe up the mess with the tail of his coat, and though he cherished Yuuri’s happiness, he felt his ears heat up in embarrassment and scowled at the sound.
“Victor ― Victor , why are you using your coat?” Yuuri pushed out between giggle fits, “get some paper towels!”
Luckily, both skaters were trainwrecks that morning, so his embarrassment didn’t last long. Yuuri was preoccupied with laughing at Victor and handing him paper towels, so as the food sitting atop the stove burned neither noticed until the smoke alarm blared at them and the food quickly turned to ash.
Needless to say, Victor left the apartment again ― ”It’s your fault it burned, Vitya! It’s only fair you go!” ― and returned with an unburned breakfast from a restaurant and two lattes. And though he was frozen by the time he got back home, Yuuri warmed him right up when he tangled their fingers together with a coy smile.
―
The Russian’s heart was suddenly ramming against his ribs when Yuuri’s sock-clad foot tapped against his bare one, following the beat of a random song playing from their collaborative playlist that was funneling through the speaker of the laptop that was awkwardly perched in Yuuri’s lap. His knees were pulled up, feet flat against the bed with the bottom of the laptop laying against his thighs. Victor felt his eyes prickle slightly as his eyes roamed up Yuuri’s body. His eyes lingered on the way Yuuri’s thighs flexed just a bit every time he lifted his foot to tap again, he found it especially difficult to look away from the small amounts of pudge left on Yuuri’s toned thighs that spilled past his tight black briefs. Eventually, he pushed his gaze higher. He roamed over the long expanse of Yuuri’s muscular arms, following the way his forearms led into his petite wrists that expanded into his hands. Victor felt his throat tingle in the way it did whenever he was going to cry and for a moment he felt a bit pathetic at the thought of crying at the sight of his fiance’s hands. It quickly melted away, leaving room for the flood of love that filled his chest. He loved Yuuri’s hands, loved the way it gripped his in so many different ways.
Whenever Yuuri was stressed, which was often, he would follow a pattern in which he would grip Victor’s hand tightly, as if he was holding on for dear life, until he realized he was holding a bit too hard and would try to loosen his grip and slide his hand out of Victor’s. Of course, the platinum-haired man never let that happen, and would squeeze Yuuri’s tanner hand until Yuuri would fit his fingers back in between the slots. When he was happy, Yuuri would hold his hand gently, light enough that their palms weren’t pressed together, but never loose enough that their hands slid apart. When he was frustrated, Yuuri’s fingertips would grip Victor’s knuckles firmly, nail beds turning white until Victor would massage the tension out of the space between Yuuri’s thumb and forefinger.
Victor lifted his eyes up the length of Yuuri’s neck, heartbeat quickening at the sight of the purple and red splotches hidden beneath the harsh line of Yuuri’s jaw, until he finally landed on Yuuri’s face. His black hair stuck up dramatically in the back since he hadn’t bothered to fix his disastrous bedhead when he had left the bed this morning. To be fair, Victor had whined and complained the entire time his fiance had been missing from the bed, wailing dramatically about how it was much too cold to lay there alone. And though Yuuri tried to act tough and like he did not break under Victor’s antics, the way he hurried back under the covers and into his arms seemed to contradict that.
Victor followed the gentle slope of Yuuri’s nose, down to where his lips were. Yuuri had his top lip pulled between his teeth, nibbling at the skin there as he typed something on his laptop. He presumed it was an email to his sister or maybe Celestino, though he didn’t bother to look away to check. He didn’t bother to look away even when Yuuri turned his gaze upon him, cheeks turning rosy pink when he realized Victor had been staring.
“Do I have something on my face?” he asked innocently, and oh, Victor felt something deep in his chest unknot. The tears that had dissipated earlier returned with sudden force. A chuckle bubbled out of his throat, coming out a little broken. Yuuri’s brown eyes softened, concern sitting clear and pronounced around the rims of his pupils. His eyebrows came together as he shut his laptop and pushed it away without breaking eye contact. “Vitya?”
“I love you, solnyshko. ” Was all he said, his throat constricting as a few tears escaped. His lips split into a soft smile, his hands, which were laying against his stomach, itched to reach out and touch Yuuri. He held off though, wanting to fully capture the way Yuuri’s face transformed at the words. The concern ebbed away, replaced by something gentle, something Victor couldn’t quite place. His eyes crinkled at the corners, nose scrunching up as he tried to fight off the uncontrollable blush that spread across his face and ears. Then, without warning, Yuuri moved on top of Victor, thighs straddling the Russian’s hips. His hands, his small, dainty hands, came up and gently cradled Victor’s face, as if it was holding something precious.
It hit Victor then that Yuuri was holding something precious. Something precious to him, something that brightened that gentle glow in his eyes and suddenly Victor understood that glow was the same look Victor donned in the pictures taken when he looked at his fiance. Love, adoration, and awe swirled through the chocolate irises of Yuuri’s eyes and if Victor wasn’t crying before, he certainly was now.
Yuuri leaned forward, delicately kissing the space between Victor’s eyebrows as his thumbs swiped across his cheeks, wiping away the tears that fell. Yuuri rarely said the words back, it might have been something cultural or maybe just personal preference. Never did Victor doubt Yuuri’s love for him, he said it in other ways, in his own personal language Victor had learned over the time they had spent together. Yuuri surprised him then though, whispering the words against his skin. He put his hands over Yuuri’s smaller ones, leaning into the touch as he closed his eyes. The two fell into a comfortable silence, the music that had been drifting through Yuuri’s laptop now quieted. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed there like that, sharing breaths and soft kisses, but when they finally pulled themselves from the warmth their bed provided the sun was low in the sky.
―
Yuuri’s matching ring shone like a band of sunlight under the fluorescent lights of the rink. Victor realized this pretty early on when they started practicing together on the same ice, considering how much time he spent looking at the Japanese man. Victor could still remember the look of pure shock and awe that flitted over Yuuri’s face when he walked on. A thin layer of anxiety had covered that excitement as he laced up his skates as he properly realized where he was. However, much to Victor’s surprise, the fear and hesitation completely disappeared as soon as Yuuri’s skates touched the ice. Victor did admittedly miss the Ice Castle, but the sound of Yakov’s booming voice bouncing against the walls and the waves of Russian were music to his ears. Over the months Victor and Yuuri spent together getting settled down into their new life together, the raven-haired man slowly warmed up to his new rinkmates. When he first started, Yuuri had stuck to Victor’s side pretty closely, which he couldn’t pretend he didn’t enjoy. However, Yakov’s repetitive yelling at the two lovebirds ―Y akov’s curses and swears were mostly in Russian but even Yuuri, who could only speak a few sentences, would look horrified as the words spilled completely uncensored from the older man’s lip s― and Yuri’s fake retching and matched cursing ―Yuri didn’t have the same courtesy to swear in a foreign language―mixed with his own pride and determination to be seen as more than just Victor Nikiforov’s fiance turned him into a fairly independent member of the team.
Just because Yuuri wasn’t glued to his side didn’t mean Victor wasn’t constantly staring. Of course, he had the excuse of watching Yuuri as his coach, but even once their sessions together ended Victor found it hard to pull his eyes away from the man. Once, when Victor had to come in early before their usual time to have a meeting with Yakov, Yuuri had walked in a few hours later wearing Victor’s Team Russia jacket over his tight-fit black shirt and Victor had promptly ate ice. Not once, or twice, but three times until Yakov yelled across the rink for Yuuri to “ take that damned jacket off right this instant, Katsuki, or so help me ―”
Victor had been rightly devastated, seeing his fiance shimmy off the jacket with such speed he almost looked horrified to have been wearing it, but he had to admit his knees and ass were extremely thankful to avoid future falls on the cold, hard ice. There had been something about it, not just Yuuri wearing his clothes, he did that enough, but seeing him in his home country’s colors had sent a thrill up his spine. From that moment, it seemed like Yakov did all he could to keep the two separated whenever they didn’t have to be together. Yuuri, in his typical fashion, quietly accepted the boundaries set, but Victor? He threw a tantrum in front of the entire team, refusing to relent until Yuuri actually got mad at him for causing such a scene. He had made it up to him that night, of course. But Yuuri would still use it against him as ammo whenever they argued, like when he didn’t want to make dinner Yuuri would make a big show of whining about it until Victor finally relented, because truthfully, he could never say no to his lover.
―
They moved together in sync, whenever Victor pushed Yuuri would pull, whenever Victor moved Yuuri moved with him. At every point in their life together, no matter the circumstances, Yuuri met Victor where he was. Victor was so used to being seen as something so far beyond human he hardly recognized himself in the mirror before he met Yuuri. He had accepted that lovers came and, once they realized Victor was far from as perfect as the persona he put on was, went. He came to realize that nothing was permanent for him―not even his career.
Until he met Yuuri.
Yuuri peeled back the layers he had built, pushed and prodded and demanded to see Victor Nikiforov for who he truly was. Even when Victor had asked him what Yuuri wanted him to be, Yuuri had asked for nothing Victor had to pretend to be.
Yuuri Katsuki was both the hurricane that had forced him to reform his life and the earthquake that tore apart any foundation he had laid his life upon. Yuuri forced Victor to open his eyes and see the world for what it truly was. He was a natural disaster, a force of nature, something that refused to be ignored, something that demanded to be seen.
And oh, did Victor see Yuuri.