Work Text:
It starts with a single drop.
One gilded drop of champagne just happens to splash onto Viktor’s sleeve, absorbing into the cotton fabric, and he stares, but assumes he’s only seeing things.
But he is seeing things, things he’s never seen.
Color.
A voice breaks Viktor’s stupor over his shirt.
“Viktor.”
Viktor gazes, astounded, as Yuuri presents himself, one hand extended. His cheeks are flushed, his warm brown eyes are alight with amusement, and Viktor is in awe as his overcast view of the world is colored in, and this man stands before him.
“Viktor,” Yuuri repeats, “dance with me.”