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—
i. I find it hard to hide it, my pride is no longer inside
—
“And now, presenting your Gold Medalist, 5-time consecutive Grand Prix Finals Champion, representing Russia, Viktor Nikiforov!”
Viktor stepped up onto the podium’s top level, a rehearsed, dazzling smile painted across his face. The crowd roared as he waved and blew little kisses. He knew, judging by their reactions, he must look authentic, but the ache in his chest as he drew in cold breath after cold breath made it impossible for him to believe his own lies too.
Standing on the top of the podium had lost all of its thrill.
Before, the screaming of the audience, the weight of the medal around his neck would’ve made him euphoric, tricking him into believing that all the hard work and sacrifices he’d made had paid off.
Viktor wasn’t so naive anymore.
Now, all it did was choke him, push him further and further down until he felt like he was drowning.
When he was younger, he used to think that winning was what made people love him. And it did, in a way; he was guaranteed the public’s affection for as long as he was still their living legend, their golden god, but he wasn’t loved, not really. Viktor Nikiforov was admired, revered, respected, idolized and lusted after, but he wasn’t really loved.
He hadn’t realized, when he had first started winning, that all the gold medal gave him was loneliness. Sure, he was still surrounded by people, but all they wanted was his fame, his skill, his insight, his attention. They weren’t around him because he was interesting to be around, or because they enjoyed his presence; they enjoyed all the things he could bring them. Every confirmation of this realization only served to increase the amount of frost building in his chest, until he felt more like the ice he had built a life dancing across than an actual person.
He bowed his head so the ISU president could slip the gold medal onto his neck, accepting the bouquet of flowers and the handshake he was offered with a gracious smile. He cradled the flowers to his chest as he straightened back up to hide the shivering of the muscles there, his ribcage frozen over. The anthem of Russia began playing, and he forced his smile even wider, bringing the gold up to his lips. As he pressed a kiss to the chilled metal, he winked flirtatiously at one of the dozens of cameras on him, riling the already-screaming crowd up even more.
Distantly, Viktor wondered how his heart could feel colder than the ice he used to love, colder than the gold that was slowly dragging him deeper into the sea. The shivering in his chest grew, spreading out to his joints, and it was all he could do to draw his shoulders up and lock his knees, praying it wasn’t visible as he started mouthing along the words to his country’s anthem. Breathing was starting to feel like trying to force air into his lungs in the middle of Russia’s most frigid winter evenings, when even the security of multiple layers couldn’t quite ward off the chill that hung stagnant in the air.
He was so, so cold, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the arena.
He tried to ignore the rattling of his ribs, the chill only growing until it felt like his lungs were made of ice, solid and unforgiving. How fitting.
Viktor clasped the bouquet tighter to hide the tremor that had started in his hands as he descended from the podium. ‘Just the adrenaline,’ he told himself, wearing a smile he couldn’t feel as he skated a lap and waved. He knew it was a lie.
“Just the adrenaline,” he smiled at Yakov upon stepping off the ice as his coach noticed the way his hands shook upon exchanging the flowers for his skate guards. Judging by the crease that formed in his coach’s brow and the way the typically vocal man was now looking at him with uncharacteristic silence, it seems Yakov knew it was a lie too.
After slipping the plastic covers over the blades of his skates, Yakov’s firm, warm hand came to settle between his shoulders as he guided him towards the locker room. Viktor could barely stop the sob that threatened to burst from his lips at the heat of the contact. He didn’t know why, but he always craved these small touches, from anyone who would offer them. The fact that he knew Yakov was probably the only one aside from his mother and Makkachin who actually loved and cared about him as a person made him crave the contact, the closeness, the gentle reassurance and declarations of love found in these contacts even more. He hoped Yakov couldn’t feel the vicious thundering of his heart as he bit his tongue and focused on trying to breathe evenly.
Viktor maintained his composure through the remainder of that day, fake smile plastered across his lips through the post-competition press conference, through the compliments and congratulations from his sponsors, through the endless halls of the arena and the achingly long cab ride back to the hotel. He maintained his composure all the way through to when Yakov was handing him the keycard to his room and pushing him towards the door, telling him to rest and that he would come and get him in a few hours for dinner. The mask of success, of calm, of confidence and bravado he couldn’t be further from feeling held out until the door of his hotel room shut with a loud thud behind him. Until he was finally alone.
Alone, alone.
The emptiness of the room, the chill of the door on his back as he stumbled backwards against it struck him like a bad fall on the ice, radiating pain through his chest.
He gasped, once, then the mask finally fell away.
He slid down against the door, drew his knees up to his chest, and let the tears come.
The air conditioning of the room made them feel cold against his cheeks, as he sobbed for the realization that he may never feel warm again.
Even through the sobbing, his breath rattled, frigid in his lungs. In that moment, he wanted more than anything for it to stop.
—-
ii. i ponder of something terrifying, ‘cause this time there’s no sound to hide behind
—-
Viktor felt like he was running in circles.
The man of his dreams, the man who made his gray world brighten and who stole the breath from his lungs all those nights ago, on a snowy evening a continent away, was right beside him, so close their shoulders were brushing. He could feel the soft rise and fall of Yuuri’s shoulders as he breathed, slow and steady like the waves gently cresting onto the shore right in front of them. The smooth rhythm of Yuuri’s breathing coaxed his own lungs to follow, wrapping him up in a gentle embrace and soothing his worries away.
However, Yuuri only seemed to be just as stressed as ever as he looked out at the horizon, extending out in front of them. He was tense in a way he only ever was when Viktor was close to him, as though he was afraid of what Viktor would do. He wanted so desperately to give Yuuri the same peace he had been giving him, longing for it just as he longed to be closer to the younger man. He just didn’t know how.
None of Viktor’s previous relationships had ever felt like this. Never quite so intimate, so tender and authentic. The people he’d seen before had always wanted something from him, be it his body or his attention. He would easily give those over, and in return, the other would give him moments of warmth, but they were always weak and fleeting; the flickering flame of a small lighter, not even close to the bonfire that Yuuri’s presence lit in him. Eventually, they would get bored, or he would get bored, and they would move on.
It wasn’t the same with Yuuri, though. He would do anything to hold onto Yuuri, to be able to stay close to him, for their whole lives and hopefully beyond that too. He cherished the warmth of Yuuri’s touch, his smile, his voice, more than he cherished anything else in the world. The two weren’t even dating; hell, sometimes it seemed like Yuuri barely even wanted to be in the same room as him, let alone date him, but Viktor couldn’t help how he felt.
“I used to come here a lot when I was younger,” Yuuri said, voice light like the breeze that coasted over the shoreline. “I used to jog here early every morning to see the sunrise before school.” He smiled, then turned to face Viktor for a moment. “We should come here to see it sometime; I think you’d like it.” Viktor nodded in agreement, a gentle smile growing on his face; unlike his stiff media smile, this one was tender and sweet and demanded nothing from him. Yuuri turned back to the coastline, lapsing back into silence, but Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off of him. There it was again; that glimmer of discomfort, teasing Yuuri’s brow and twisting his lips down. He’d seen that expression over and over on Yuuri, and it only grew more frequent as the two spent more and more time together. Viktor couldn’t help but see the correlation, and he hated the verdict it gave him; he was the cause.
He needed to know what to do. He needed to know where he was messing up. He had to make it right, had to be right. He couldn’t lose him.
“Yuuri, I have a question,” he murmured.
“Yes, Viktor?”
“What do you want me to be to you?”
Yuuri’s cheeks turned scarlet red, and he ducked his head. Desperate for an answer, Viktor feigned ignorance and continued on. “A father figure?”
“No,” Yuuri muttered, still not meeting his eyes.
“A brother?”
“No,” came the same answer.
“A mentor?”
“No,” but he sounded more hesitant this time. Viktor decided to risk it.
“Your lover, then?”
“No!” Yuuri cried, jumping to his feet. Viktor’s heart sank down to his stomach, and he fought desperately to keep his face even. He was foolish to even assume Yuuri would want him, that he could ever be good enough for him, this was the part where Yuuri told him that he wanted him to leave and he would never see him again and he would be so cold again and-
“All I want is for you to be you. I don’t want you to be anyone but Viktor.” Yuuri said. As Viktor met his eyes, he could tell he meant every word. All the air left his lungs in a sharp exhale, as though he’d been punched.
All Yuuri wanted was him. Warm, beautiful, sweet Yuuri, wanted him. Viktor was suddenly reminded of a gloomy April morning in a dark, empty St. Petersburg apartment, reminded of the way the breath had been ripped straight from his lungs as he saw Yuuri Katsuki skate his free program with every inch of longing and desire that Viktor had tried to infuse into the program.
Yuuri had surprised him by answering then, and he was surprising him by answering now.
He realized why this relationship was different, now.
He was in love with Yuuri Katsuki. He was fully, completely, wholeheartedly in love with Yuuri Katsuki. The realization left him breathless, giddy and scared and feeling alive in a way he hadn’t been in so very long.
Viktor grinned up at Yuuri, awkward and uneven and real, and Yuuri gave him an answering blush and smile in return. He reached out and grabbed the younger’s hand.
‘I can do that,’ he thought, gazing into warm brown eyes, ‘I can give you every last piece of me. Nothing would bring me greater joy.’
“I can do that,” he said, hoping Yuuri realized just what he meant by that.
Judging by the way Yuuri pulled him up into a tight hug, some of the nervous tension finally dissipating from his shoulders, he thinks he understood pretty well.
—
iii. one thing consists of consistence, and it’s that we’re all battling fear.
—
Yuuri was an anxious person.
Viktor had known that from the first night he had stayed at Yutopia Katsuki; the way Yuuri had ran upon seeing him in the onsen, the way he refused all of Viktor’s advances with wide eyes, and the way he refused to let Viktor in as anything more than a coach, for the first while. Then, there was Hot Springs on Ice, in which Yuuri had been trembling so hard Viktor mistook it for shivering at first, until he saw the glimmer in his eye and recognized the emotion for what it was; fear.
Yuuri was an anxious person; Viktor understands it, respects his struggle with it, and even admires him for making it through so much in spite of it.
One thing Viktor didn’t understand, though, was how to help him through it.
It had been a long week, in which Yuuri had stressed about the upcoming Rostelecom Cup for most of the time he was awake; and judging by the bags that hung heavy under his eyes, most of the time he was asleep, too.
In hindsight, Viktor should have seen it coming. Should’ve ordered a rest day for him, forced him to take a break before he drove himself to injury or exhaustion, before he broke apart. However, in the moment, it was all he could do to take Yuuri’s reassurances that he could still practice, that he was okay. He didn’t want to breach the shaky trust formed between the two of them in their newfound relationship by going against what Yuuri was telling him about his own limits, and Yuuri was also well-known for his stamina. Maybe, Viktor mused, he just needs to skate it out. Although he was learning, especially after what happened in China, there was still a lot he didn’t know.
He would learn some through experience, four days before they were due to fly to Moscow.
—
“That was better, Yuuri, but your landing is still too shaky on the quad flip,” Viktor called out from where he was leaning on the boards across the rink. Even from the other side of the rink, he could see Yuuri’s wince at Viktor’s mention of his weakest jump. Yuuri had been particularly focused on getting the flip down ever since returning from the Cup of China, making Viktor run through it over and over again with him for hours on end. Viktor would be proud of Yuuri’s determination if it weren’t for the toll it was taking on him.
“I’ll run through it again,” he answered with a nod and pushed off, gliding to the center. Viktor watched with a critical eye as Yuuri ran through his free skate again, hearing the rhythmic piano melody of Yuri On Ice playing in his head in time with the younger skater’s movements. As he approached the jump, Viktor could see the slight shake in Yuuri’s knees. Shit.
Mental images of Yuuri falling, breaking bones or tearing muscles, concussing himself on the hard ice and lying motionless flooded through Viktor’s mind as he watched his student gear up to jump and the tremble of his knees grew worse. He’s too tired; I shouldn’t have let him run through it again, god, he’s going to get hurt.
Viktor opened his mouth to call out to Yuuri, to stop him from pushing off for the jump, anything, but before he could even make a sound, Yuuri was already in the air, spinning once, twice, three times, a fourth, then landing with a severe wobble that forced him to touch his hand down to the ice for a moment to steady himself, but landing safe nonetheless.
By the way Yuuri had been trembling, Viktor had been certain he didn’t have enough strength left to even land, nonetheless get four even rotations in too. But as he noticed the shaking spread up to Yuuri’s extended arms and through to his chest, heaving as he tried to keep his composure through the last spin, he realized he wasn’t shaking because he was tired or strained.
He was trembling like he had been during the Cup of China; shaking as though there was an invisible force inside of him that was rattling him all the way down to his bones, disrupting the rhythm of his breathing and leaving him dazed.
Viktor pushed off the boards of the rink right as Yuuri stretched his arm out in his final position. The hand that was extended out towards him was quivering. Viktor skated forwards swiftly. As he approached, he noticed how Yuuri’s pupils were blown wide, and his eyes were glassy. As Viktor drew closer, Yuuri gasped and fell to his knees, a hand coming up to his chest. Shit, this was worse than the Cup of China.
Yuuri hunched over, his head bent low and nearly touching the ice as he heaved in air, his shoulders quaking with the force of his breaths.
“Yuuri!” Viktor called, falling to his knees in front of the trembling skater. Yuuri didn’t acknowledge him. His hand was fisted in the material of his shirt at the center of his chest, his grip white-knuckled and pulling frantically. Viktor took a second to think about what Yuuri needed.
After the Cup of China, he had done research into anxiety and how to help, painfully aware of all the places he didn’t even know he was lacking in. He was given the singular honor of watching Yuuri throw himself into his training and his programs, and he was lucky enough to be the one who wonderful, sweet Yuuri was devoted to. He would be a terrible coach and an even worse boyfriend if he couldn’t even bother to put in the effort to understand something Yuuri struggled with, to try to help him through it. Viktor tried his best to recall what he had read. Yuuri was obviously panicking, so he’d need someone reassuring and stable. He’d need comfort, and guidance. While it was terrifying for him, to see his Yuuri so distressed, especially when he didn’t know what was wrong or what had caused it, he had to try to stay calm, for Yuuri’s sake. He needed to be there to guide him back from the edge.
“Hey, Yuuri, can you hear me?” he asked, making his voice as soft and sweet as he possibly could. At Yuuri’s jerky nod, he continued. “Okay, good. Do you think you can look at me?”
It took a moment in which Viktor felt as though his heart was going to beat right out of his chest from sheer worry, but Yuuri’s head raised the slightest bit, so he could look up at Viktor through his lashes, which were damp with tears.
“There you are, Лапочка,” he smiled tenderly, though a bolt of pain raced through his chest at the lost, terrified look in Yuuri’s eyes and the rivulets of tears sliding down his cheeks. It killed him, not being able to immediately take away his pain. He reached out, palm up, into the distance between the two of them, offering Yuuri his hand. Something for him to ground himself against. He had read that while touch can help, it could also make it worse. Better to let Yuuri decide what he needed than to force it on him, after how spectacularly the latter had panned out in Beijing.
A sob burst out of Yuuri’s throat as he grabbed onto Viktor’s hand. He tipped forwards, burying his face into his neck. Viktor could feel Yuuri’s rough wheezing against his skin as he tried to draw in oxygen to his fear-addled brain. He felt like his heart was shattering at the pained whimpers that accompanied each of his sharp exhales.
“Oh, милый,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around his trembling lover. “It’s okay, Yuuri, I’ve got you.” Viktor held on tight as Yuuri sobbed against him. He brought a hand up to cradle the base of his head, gently weaving his fingers through the soft baby hairs there. Yuuri trembled viciously in his arms.
“I’m sorry, Viktor,” Yuuri cried, voice brittle, and Viktor felt tears build behind his own eyes at the tone of his partner’s voice.
“Yuuri, my love, you have nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay.”
“I messed up, I keep messing up,” Yuuri’s voice was desperate and messy now, shaky gasps breaking up his sentences, and Viktor could feel his trembling intensifying. “I’m not good enough, I’m never going to be good enough, you deserve better, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Viktor’s heart really did shatter, then, and he couldn’t hold back the few tears that slid down his cheeks and into Yuuri’s dark hair.
“Oh, родной мой,” he said, trying his hardest to infuse all the love and warmth he felt for the man he held in his arms into his tone, “you are so good. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, my Yuuri; you’re beautiful, you’re amazing, you’re perfect. It is me who doesn’t deserve you, золотце.” He pressed a sweet, lingering kiss into the crown of Yuuri’s head.
“I love you, Yuuri. I love you so much,” he murmured against his hair. He started to rock back and forth gently, a facsimile of how his mother used to comfort him through thunderstorms when he was very young, before he’d been captivated by the siren song of the ice. He was grasping desperately for anything that could comfort him; he absolutely hated seeing his lover in such pain. Yuuri’s arm came up to clutch at his back, pressing his body as close to him as he could.
Eventually, as Viktor cradled him close to his chest and whispered how much he loved him into his hair, Yuuri’s sobs eased, until all that was left was rough, harsh breathing. Viktor smoothed a hand up and down Yuuri’s back in slow, gentle circles.
“Mилый, I need you to breathe for me,” he instructed, “can you do that, sweetheart?” At Yuuri’s nod, he drew in an exaggerated inhale, making his chest visibly rise so that Yuuri could feel it, holding it for a few seconds as his student followed suit, albeit much more raggedly. He audibly exhaled, and felt a wave of relief flood over him as he did the same, warm breath fanning out across his neck and collarbone.
“Good, Yuuri, you’re doing so well,” he praised, dropping a gentle kiss onto the crown of his head,”just keep breathing with me, детка.”
They breathed together for a few minutes, until Yuuri’s breathing was deep and even again, and the deep trembling of his body had somewhat calmed. Yuuri pulled back a little bit, wiping his face on the sleeves of his Team Japan jacket.
“I’m okay now, Viktor, I’m sorry,” Yuuri said quietly, keeping his head lowered towards the ice. Gently, Viktor reached out and cradled his jaw, tilting his head up so he could meet the younger’s gaze.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured.
“But I broke down in the middle of practice, I’m wasting time, I keep messing up, I-”
“Yuuri.” At his sharp tone, Yuuri snapped his mouth shut, wide-eyed. “You didn’t do a single thing wrong. Sometimes, these things happen, and it’s okay. You’re allowed to mess up, you’re allowed to feel, you’re allowed to break down if you need to. The only thing you need to do is keep trying.”
Yuuri just stared at him for a beat; Viktor could feel the muscles in his jaw and throat working as he swallowed harshly. Then, he spoke, his voice little more than a whisper.
“How will I know if it’s enough, though?”
“Do you trust me, Yuuri?”
“With everything.”
Viktor smiled tenderly.
“Then trust me when I say that I know you, and I know your best will be more than enough. It always will be.”
Yuuri just smiled at him, soft and shaky but a smile nonetheless.
“Okay, I think I can do that,” he said. He reached up and clasped the hand still cupped around his jaw. He smiled, and felt his heart flutter when Yuuri’s smile grew in return.
“Oh, and Viktor?”
He tilted his face in Viktor’s grasp, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to his palm.
“I couldn’t say it earlier, but I love you, too.”
He grinned, breathless, and leant down to seal his lips around Yuuri’s.
—
iv. peace will win, and fear will lose.
—
As usual, Viktor woke early.
A habit built from over a decade of early morning training, one that he couldn’t seem to shake even in the off-season, when all that was required of him was relaxed practice sessions, planning, and the occasional meeting with sponsors, which left him with a lot more free time than usual.
That morning, he woke with his cheek pressed to Yuuri’s shoulder, legs tangled together under the thick duvet and hands loosely intertwined. Yuuri’s face was turned towards him, his even, slow breaths ghosting across the crown of his head. Viktor could feel the gentle thrum of his heart, strong against his ear. He had never been so warm, both under the thick, soft blanket and in the arms of his fiance. Nothing was expected of him, here; all he had to do was be.
Viktor tilted his head a little to catch a glimpse of the alarm clock that rested on Yuuri’s bedside table. In bright, red letters, it read 6:30 AM. Still a while before Yuuri will be up, he thought with a smile. He pressed a gentle, featherlight kiss to his collarbone before going back to looking around the dimly lit room again.
He loved mornings like this, where he could wake slowly, peacefully, before starting his day. Something about the stolen moments of serenity and quiet in the mornings made him feel more in control and capable of taking on the day.
Beyond the clock, he could see the first rays of the sun filtering into the room, barely creeping over the horizon. It took him a moment of musing on why exactly that felt wrong, until he realized with a start that meant they’d forgotten to close the curtains when they went to bed the night before.
Their schedule for the day was free; as it was decently early in the off-season, all they had to do was stay relatively in shape, and brainstorm some new program ideas. Life slowed down, allowing for the two of them to simply exist and enjoy their time together.
Viktor loved it.
Since their schedule was free, though, and he knew how much Yuuri loved to sleep in, he rose slowly, carefully from the bed. Yuuri, whether he wanted to or not, always woke with the sun; he was very sensitive to light. Already, Viktor could see a wrinkle taking shape in his lover’s brow, his eyes squeezing shut just a slight bit more as he tried to block out the light disrupting him. As he drew the curtains closed and the room was enveloped in darkness once again, a gentle sigh left Yuuri’s lips, and the crease in his brow evened out again. Viktor smiled gently, and crossed back to the bed. He sat on the edge and brushed Yuuri’s bangs out of his eyes, carding a loving hand through his hair as he went.
After a few still minutes of Yuuri’s soft breathing and the feel of his silky hair as it moved through his fingers fluidly, Viktor stood from the bed. He stretched, then with one last tender kiss to his cheek, he left Yuuri to sleep.
He slowly walked into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. From the entrance to the kitchen, he could see Makkachin lying on the couch, sleeping. He smiled and moved over to sit next to her, carding a gentle hand through the curly fur on the top of her head. Viktor’s smile grew as her eyes gently opened and, upon focusing on him, her tail began to gently wag against his thigh.
“доброе утро, симпатичная девушка,” he murmured. He leant down and kissed her snout, right in between her eyes. He smiled even wider as she licked his chin. “What do you say about going for a walk, girl?” At the mention of her favorite activity, she perked up. In one fluid movement, she jumped off the couch and sat down expectantly at his feet, head cocked to the side. He laughed and gently patted her head.
“Okay, Makka, let me write our Yuuri a note and then we’ll go.”
—
After leaving a simple note explaining where he went, in the unlikely event Yuuri woke up while he was out, he slipped on his jacket and shoes, clipped Makkachin’s leash to her collar, and slipped through the apartment door. Upon getting outside, Makka immediately started to pull on her leash, leading Viktor down the street, along the route they had been running together ever since Viktor moved into the apartment. Laughing, he took off on a light jog, matching her pace.
He let his muscle memory and Makkachin guide him, and focused on the feeling of his feet gently connecting with the pavement. Something about the gentle motion always left Viktor feeling at peace and connected with his body in a way he could never truly otherwise feel.
As he ran through the streets of St. Petersburg, he thought back to Yuuri’s first week here.
Citing the need to ‘settle in’, Viktor had declared that Yuuri would take an entire week off any kind of practice. While it was true that moving to a new country was strenuous, and could lead to exhaustion or even injury if he didn’t give himself time to properly adjust to his new environment, Viktor knew just how resilient Yuuri was. It was likely he didn’t need a whole week, but, sue him, he wanted to show his fiancé the town he had grown up in, and bring him to all his favorite spots, which, privately, he hoped could become their favorite spots. Yuuri was always working so hard, and Viktor wanted nothing more than to give Yuuri a week of joy, of good memories in the place they would both be calling home for the foreseeable future. He smiled as he remembered the pure bliss in Yuuri’s eyes as they had walked through the winding roads of his birth city, hand in hand, the joy that had bloomed across his face as he got to experience St. Petersburg through Viktor’s eyes, and reconcile all the stories and places Viktor had told him about to actual locations.
It had felt so freeing, to join the places that had brought him the most comfort with the man who made him feel again. There was something so healing about bringing his future to the places of his past, and seeing them the way Yuuri saw it; not as memories, not as remnants, but as something entirely new. To be honest, it had changed the way he saw St. Petersburg; it had infused his daily life with love. Just another way Yuuri had changed him.
Under the sun’s golden rays and the gentle breeze of his hometown, Viktor realized, probably for the thousandth time, at this point, that he was hopelessly in love, and forever indebted to Yuuri for loving him right back.
He thought of his love, then, as they slowed to a stop at a crosswalk, lying in bed at home. While it was likely he was still asleep, he probably wouldn’t be for much longer. In Viktor’s expert opinion, a man as pretty as his Yuuri should never wake alone, without being reminded how loved he is. Not while he was around to shower him with affection, at the very least.
Gently, he guided Makkachin back towards the flat, towards the man he couldn’t wait to be with again with a gentle tug on her leash and a soft utterance of, “Home, Makka!”. Call him clingy, but with someone like Yuuri in his life, Viktor didn’t see how he couldn’t be, at the very least, just a little bit attached.
Judging by her excited bark and increase of pace, Viktor presumed she couldn’t wait to be home with him again too.
He sped up to match his girl’s pace, thoughts entirely focused on the man waiting for him back home.
—
Upon getting back home, Viktor gently crept into the bedroom, smiling when he found Yuuri still asleep. He took a moment to admire his love’s soft breathing and peaceful expression before turning back to the kitchen.
He knew Yuuri loved waking up to tea, especially on rest days, so he filled the kettle, added and set it to boil. He pulled out two bowls from the cabinet, filled them both with yogurt, pieces of fruit and granola, and set it on a tray. Then, he placed two green tea bags into the two mugs he and Yuuri both used in the mornings, and filled them both with the water from the kettle. He placed it all on the tray and gathered it up carefully. Once he was sure it was stable, he slowly made his way to the bedroom, nudging the door open with his foot. Makkachin came trotting down the hallway, weaving between his legs and pushing the door open further. Viktor set the tray down on his bedside table gently. The alarm clock beside the tray read 9:00.
Viktor sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching over to card a hand through Yuuri’s hair gently. “Good morning, солнышко,” he cooed softly. The hand that was in Yuuri’s hair moved down to lovingly stroke his cheek as his eyelashes fluttered.
“Vitya?” Yuuri mumbled, consonants slurring together under the haze of sleep. His eyes cracked open, cloudy and glittering in the faint light.
“Hi, Yuusha,” he smiled, “I brought you breakfast.” Yuuri smiled gently.
“You spoil me.”
“Maybe so, but you deserve it, .”
Viktor felt his heart swell at the gentle blush that dusted Yuuri’s cheeks, and the way he tried to hide by pressing his face into his pillow. His chest burned with warmth as he leaned down to kiss Yuuri’s cheek. He reached over to grab Yuuri’s cup of tea off the tray.
“Here, лапочка,” he tugged on Yuuri’s sleeve, holding the tea out to him. Yuuri sat slowly, accepting the mug with a grateful smile. He leaned against Viktor as he sipped the warm liquid. Viktor could feel Yuuri’s warm breath against his shoulder as he spoke.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Oh, just a few hours. I took Makka out for a jog. It was nice, waking up with the sun.”
“I’ll never understand how you do that,” Yuuri murmured, “it’s way past sunrise and I still feel like I could doze off at any minute.”
“My sleeping beauty,” Viktor smiled as he handed Yuuri one of the bowls.
As they ate, they leaned into each other, relishing in the warmth of skin and shared space, of breath ghosting over skin like gentle caresses.
In the past, Viktor had felt so lonely and empty in the off-season, even more than in the grueling competition cycle. Sure, there were more expectations he had to bear, more responsibilities and more eyes on him, more chances to fail and more roles that needed to be played, but at least he wasn’t entirely alone. Before Yuuri, it had been just him and Makkachin. But now, with the warmth of his lover curled against him, Viktor had never felt more secure.
He had never been more grateful for the breath flowing through his lungs than he was in this moment, for it was the thing that allowed him to feel Yuuri’s infinite, radiant warmth. It allowed him to love and to be loved. It allowed him to simply be, safe in the knowledge that he would always have his fiancé to love and to cherish.
Viktor thought back to who he was, when he was younger. He thought of the frigid days and colder nights, to the ice that locked his chest down and stole the breath from his lungs. He thought of the sleepless nights, the tears, the crippling weight on his chest. The startling lack of love and light. The drowning.
If he could say one thing to him, it would be to hold on. He would tell him to hold on with everything he had; Yuuri’s love was worth it. He was worth it.
“Vitya?” Yuuri asked, turning to look at him. His breath was so, so warm on Viktor’s jaw, raising goosebumps on his arm.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay? You looked like you were a mile away.”
“I’m just fine, Yuusha.”
Viktor pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s sleep-warmed cheek, and leaned into the heat, both the one on his lover’s skin and the one burning bright in his chest.
“I’ve never been better.”
And he meant it.