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Yuuri can’t sleep.
It isn’t the first time it’s happened, but this… Yuuri squints at the glare of the clock on the microwave, blinking a few times because even with his glasses the numbers are trying to swim… Morning. 2AM counts as morning. This morning is different.
His stomach gurgles and squelches like there’s an army of men walking through muck down there.
Well, maybe not so different.
Still, he thinks as he stares down at his right hand, resting idly on the counter, eggs and butter and milk abandoned for the moment. He picks his hand up, examining the gold band wrapping around his finger. He can see tiny scratches in it, now, the sink light overhead catching the metal just right to tell the story of how many times he’s spun it around his finger with his thumb, all the times it’s clattered against tables or ice, every time Victor’s fingers have rubbed against it when they threaded through his.
Yuuri sighs.
He picks up his other hand, spreading the fingers to mirror his right, and tries to imagine such a band hugging the ring finger. He knows he could just take the one from his right hand and slip it onto his left—he’s pretty sure it will fit—but—
Victor, gently grasping his hand, speaking softly, cold metal sticking against his knuckle for the briefest of moments and then sliding over, sealing the promise. Victor’s eyes—
Unconsciously, Yuuri smiles. He hasn’t taken that ring off once, and something sentimental and superstitious keeps him from ever trying.
“Yuuri?”
Yuuri rockets in the air, half-heartedly noting that, apparently, ice skating is engraved so deeply in his body that his first instinct when surprised from behind is to perform half an axel in order to turn around. Of course, he can’t even manage to land that and throws his hands behind him for stability, instantly feeling the splintering crunch of something fragile crushing under his palm, needling it with dull points and a wash of slime.
Yuuri stares at Victor.
Shirtless, tousled, sleepy Victor.
His eyes are just as round with surprise.
They look at each other for a long moment as Yuuri’s heartrate drops back to something reasonable.
Victor lifts one hand to stroke along Yuuri’s cheek. He leaves it there. He tilts his head, eyebrows drawing in. He looks concerned. His lips part. Nothing comes out.
“I—got hungry?” He’s honestly not sure if he’s offering the explanation as a statement or a question. Either way, it’s only half the truth.
Victor’s gaze drops off to his side, to the counter.
“Yuuri… your hand is in an egg.”
Dumbly, Yuuri picks up his left hand and brings it up to his face to examine. Indeed, it is smeared with egg. So that’s what it was. Looking into Victor’s eyes, he’d managed to push the sensation to the back of his mind. Now he feels it in all its cold, slippery, glory.
He watches as a curl of egg yolk slowly crawls around the finger he’d been staring at.
“—ad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?”
Yuuri snaps out of his distraction when he recognizes Victor’s voice. He blinks a couple of times. His stomach makes more unpleasant sounds. It takes him a minute to register what Victor has said.
“Why am I the bride?” he protests—far too loudly for the hour, but it’s 2AM and he’s tired and nervous and hungry and Victor’s concern seems much less important than that particular distinction at the moment.
A sly smile steals across Victor’s mouth, and his hand drops to the junction of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder, massaging it lightly. He steps closer, letting their bodies bump casually as he leans in to murmur, “Because you’re my katsudon fatale, of course.”
Yuuri hears the lilting tease and the hand that’s palming his hip and heaves out a shuddering breath. He leans forward until his forehead is resting on Victor’s shoulder and brings his clean hand around to wrap around his waist. He inhales deeply, letting Victor’s warm, familiar, scent wash over him.
“If it’s bad luck to see each other before the wedding, I should have stayed at Yurio’s tonight.”
Victor’s right hand stops its massage and snakes around his back, tightening his hold until Yuuri is practically cocooned in Victor.
“Nooo,” he whines.
Yuuri can’t help but chuckle. He tries to move his arm enough to pat Victor on the head, but only manages about his mid-back. He taps at his spine.
“Victor, get off, I need to wash my hand. And the counter.”
Victor squeezes him just a little bit tighter before freeing him, stepping back only enough to let Yuuri move—he still brushes him with every move he makes.
“What were you making?” he asks through a yawn, blearily looking down at the mess of egg debris as Yuuri washes his hand thoroughly.
“Uh.” Yuuri glances over at Victor, nervous to admit it. He stalls by turning off the faucet, drying his hands, and retrieving the cleaning supplies. Victor tracks him the whole time, prompting him again when he’s finally wiping at the counter. “Yuuri?”
Yuuri uses the excuse of throwing the soiled wipe away to turn away from Victor before he answers, “Cake.”
“Cake?” he parrots before Yuuri can even look back at him. When he does, he looks confused.
“Yeah.”
“Why cake?” Yuuri is helpless to fight the fond smile that overcomes his lips as he watches Victor’s brows pinch and his lips pout. He really is too adorable for his age and looks sometimes.
“I was just craving cake,” he shrugs, feeling heat spread around his cheeks and up his ears.
The furrow deepens. “But we’re going to eat cat later today. A lot of cake.”
Yuuri squirms a little where he stands, looking down at the counter again.
“I know I just—” Another sigh. “I’m just… nervous… and I… I—You know I want to eat when I’m nervous and I just figured this one time it would be okay because it’s our wed—” he chokes on the word and rephrases, “a special day and I just really wanted a cake.”
He realizes he’s talking to the ingredients, not Victor, but he decides that’s okay when Victor presses his warm skin against him once more, idly running his fingers around Yuuri’s firm abdomen. He hums into Yuuri’s neck.
“Then let’s bake a cake,” he mutters.
Yuuri tries to twist in his arms, but Victor just shifts with him. “What?”
“Let’s bake a cake.” He presses a kiss to the side of his neck. A shudder runs down Yuuri’s spine.
“But—”
Victor straightens and declares with much more of his usual cheerfulness, “My husband wants cake, so he’s getting a cake!”
Yuuri finally manages to turn himself around in Victor’s hold and look him in the eye.
“I’m not your—mm.” Victor’s lips sealing over effectively ends Yuuri’s sentence. Yuuri automatically melts into it, but Victor moves back with a small pop of their lips not a moment later. His eyes go soft and he leisurely drinks in Yuuri’s features.
“You will be later today. In my heart, you already are.” He presses a lingering kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. He can nearly feel the moisture left by it evaporate, his cheeks are so hot, but he doesn’t shy away from Victor’s cerulean gaze.
“Victor—”
“I love you.”
Yuuri’s mouth snaps closed, but his smile is instant. He leans in towards Victor. Presses their foreheads together. Looks into those eyes, so filled to the brim with his spoken sentiment.
“I love you, too.”
Victor’s smile grows. He kisses Yuuri again, long and sweet.
“Now,” he says brightly. “Let’s make that cake.”
Yuuri’s stomach squawks its agreement loudly. He laughs, and he feels Victor shaking with his own repressed laughter.
He looks at Victor, and is filled to bursting with affection.
This is the man I’m going to marry today.
“Okay.” He swivels again, turning back to the ingredients on the counter, feeling Victor automatically press against him at every possible point.
It was 2AM and he was baking a cake with his future husband on their wedding day.
It was ridiculous.
It was perfect.