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Yuuri looks at facts like this: Fact plus fact equals another fact and that’s that. There’s no room for interpretation, no wiggle room for alternate solutions, because numbers are numbers and numbers don’t lie.
For Victor, this is a hindrance because he’s used to haggling, to lots and lots of wiggle room and to interpretation if the results are not to his liking.
They meet somewhere in the middle.
In their earliest acquaintance, it was a surprise for Victor, who’s lived and breathed ice for what feels like his entire life, the fact that Yuuri did other things than skating.
“You studied? In Detroit?”
Yuuri had wrinkled his nose. Even that had been adorable. God, even then Victor had been so gone on him. “What did you think I did in Detroit when I wasn’t skating? I went on a scholarship, after all. No one offered me anything if I batted my eyes at them.”
Ouch. Yuuri, lovely, beautiful Yuuri, who can be blunt to the point of rudeness, sometimes casually offers words that hurt. Not by design, but hurt nevertheless. Ouch. It’s a little like the time Victor had returned a book to Georgi and Yuuri had playfully asked, “Oh, you read?” Okay, so Yuuri was joking, but still. Yuuri in the morning, not caffeinated yet, is occasionally incubating the personality of a cave troll.
In the present, Victor sits down in Yakov’s office, heavy and burdened, and he says, perhaps a touch too dramatic for what it warrants, “I’m retiring at the end of the season.”
Yakov says as he presses a hand to his chest, “Thank god, I wasn’t looking forward to trying to convince you. Your knee is not what it has been,” and nods because that’s the way all skaters eventually go. There’s no use crying about it, no point in raging about it, and Victor has been resigned to this fact for years, and, hand on his heart, he’s probably pushed a season longer than most skaters are able to. He’s not on the brink of breaking yet, but he’ll stop before he’s forced to. Yakov is still nodding. “What’s the plan, then?”
Victor breathes in. “It turns out I’m not really good at coaching unless it's Yuuri.”
Yakov nods again, because this is evidently not news to him. “You’re lucky Katsuki responds so well to you.” With which Yakov probably means that it’s not really a viable coaching technique to grope someone into positions on the ice, and that he and Yuuri are so attuned to each other on the ice that Yuuri mostly just needs nudges, if anything. Yuuri’s biggest strength is his self-discipline.
“It also turns out I don’t really have a plan.”
Yakov… isn’t nodding anymore. “You’re young, Vitya. You don’t need to have it all figured out, yet. There’s school, maybe you’d like an education. You could choreograph, because that is something you’re very good at. What about Katsuki, what’s the plan?”
“If he stays injury free, we’re aiming for two to three more seasons, so I’m not immediately out of a job,” Victor shrugs even if the thought alone is a little bit scary.
“You know, Vitya,” Yakov says as he leans back in his chair. “Two years ago, you saying you wanted to retire for good would probably have sent me into panic, but you know what, I’m not worried for you. Not a single bit.”
“Yeah?”
Yakov nods again, slow and measuring.
Victor nods back. “I’ll talk to Yuuri before making any decisions.”
There’s something like a smirk hiding in the corner of Yakov’s mouth. “What’s that? You let your fiancé in on all your decisions?”
Um, yes? “If I want to get married, I think that’s a good idea,” Victor laughs even if he’s still feeling apprehension tugging at his spine.
The thing is – he really doesn’t know what he wants to do. He sort of wants to choreograph, but he’s not sure he’ll want to do that for the rest of his life, and he’s not sure school is for him, either. Yuuri, though… Out of the two of them, Yuuri is the one who would make a fantastic coach. He could also choregraph or go back to school, because he’s genuinely good at it and has a shot at a good academic career. He’s probably the one who’s going to bring home the paychecks for them in the future (even if it’s not really necessary – Victor’s been smart about his money, investing and the like, and he knows they won’t need to earn extra unless they decide to buy a new house every month and keep the old ones).
At home, what he says is: “My love, what if I retired right now?”
Yuuri’s eyes take a second to focus and he lifts his head from the pillow, and to his credit, he doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed. “I thought we were talking about the end of the season?” His voice is raspy and lovely and Victor twists his fingers, just because he can.
Yuuri sighs.
“We did,” Victor says. “I’m just saying, what if…?”
Yuuri’s head falls back down the pillow with a dull thud, eyes fluttering when Victor’s other hand presses to the tender skin on the side of his throat.
“Yuuri?”
“I – I, oh, I think, if you wanted to – to – uh, don’t stop – retire now, you’d be so bored,” Yuuri rasps and then arches into Victor’s hands. Yuuri’s body: so responsive to Victor’s touch and it’s such an incredible ego boost even if he has no moral high ground to speak of, because his entire body is one shouted yes to Yuuri’s every move.
Victor nods and lets his forehead drop to Yuuri’s stomach. “I don’t have any plans,” he says like it’s news to Yuuri. They’ve been over this; Yuuri probably knew before Victor did that Victor might have been smart about his career and his economy but kind of dumb about the rest of his life. Yuuri, who can be so blunt, has been remarkably kind not to call Victor dumb to his face, which Victor appreciates.
His fingers apparently hit the right spot, because Yuuri nearly arches off the bed and Victor, smug, glances up and catches sight of Yuuri’s gasp. He gives Yuuri a break – he wants it to last.
Yuuri pants as a shaky hand finds the side of Victor’s head. “You’re going to be great.”
Victor – pauses. He leans into Yuuri’s hand and closes his eyes. “I don’t know what I want to do.”
“Me,” Yuuri says, smile quick and wry, and that makes Victor grin. “And after that, no matter what you decide to do, someone is going to be so, so lucky to work with you. You’re so good.”
There’s something lodged in his throat and something in his eye, he’s sure of it. He slides his fingers out from Yuuri’s body and hugs him close, arms around his wonderful thighs, face pressed into Yuuri’s stomach. Yuuri’s fingers card through Victor’s hair.
“Do you want to retire right now?”
“Not planning on it,” Victor murmurs. “It’s the principle of the thing.”
He can feel more than hear Yuuri’s soft laugh. “You have your whole life after this. We have our entire lives after this. It used to scare me so much, how life would be after I didn’t have the ice anymore, because we have such short time, but it doesn’t, not anymore. Vitya, we’ll figure it out. You’re not alone.”
Wise Yuuri. And Yakov had asked if Victor discussed everything with Yuuri? Yes, because Yuuri is kind and smart and very wise and all Victor’s to keep. “Because we’re a team,” Victor concludes.
Yuuri’s fingers scratch at his scalp for a long soothing moment and Victor rewards this by pressing kisses to the soft skin of Yuuri’s stomach. Yuuri sighs again and melts beneath him, and Victor gets on with the program. Sliding into Yuuri, slow and savoring, holding his gaze and taking him apart, Yuuri’s fingers are tight around his shoulders. Victor can never be close enough.
After, sated and spent and not inclined to move at all, Victor says to Yuuri, who hasn’t shoved Victor off yet (because Yuuri likes the weight of Victor on him, something Victor finds simultaneously hot and endearing); “What do you want to do when you retire?”
Yuuri breathes, long, even and comforting breaths, and his hands are swiping slowly up and down Victor’s back. “Maybe coaching,” he allows. “Although I think I’d really like to go back to my books.”
“You can do both,” Victor knows. He’s biased, probably, but Yuuri can do anything. “And I’d get to call you professor. That’d be hot.”
Yuuri laughs, his body jumping against Victor’s. “That’d be weird.”
“Hot,” Victor insists and squirms when Yuuri pinches him gently. “No shaming what I find hot.”
“I’m not,” Yuuri grins and presses his smile into Victor’s neck. “I’m just saying I’m not, maybe, into a professor-kink.”
“Yet,” Victor allows. “My kink is you, in any way I can get you.”
Yuuri laughs like it punches out of him, and he’s beautiful, Victor’s exotic flower that he went all the way to Japan to pick and bring home. “Okay, it was nice, but please get off, I can’t breathe.”
He rolls off, obedient like a dog following its master, and Yuuri pats his head, wry smile back again. “One day I’ll get used to the things you say, I swear.”
Victor smiles and stretches when Yuuri sits up and looks back down at Victor. “Shower?”
“In a bit,” Victor says. “I don’t want to move just yet.”
Yuuri links their fingers briefly, presses his lips to Victor’s knuckles, before he pads to the bathroom and the shower switches on shortly after. His life is all surplus right now. Yuuri sees Victor’s future as an inarguable fact, an equation that is solvable, which is comforting in ways Victor never knew he needed.
He’ll need his haggling skills too, he thinks, when he retires. His bones ache, he thinks as he stretches again. Sometimes it’s like a coldness settling in his bones, making him weary and achy, but most of the time he can negotiate. Resting, ice packs, heat lotion, massages – all great bargaining chips. The thought of not seeing his feet bleeding again is somewhat nice.
It’s just that the future is daunting to think about sometimes.
*
Victor learned very early on in their Russian cohabitation that they don’t get to have any we need to talk-conversations. Any conversations starting with those words make Yuuri’s brain go: Victor + We Need To Talk = Oh No, and Yuuri’s brain runs with it and files it under the We’re Doomed archives.
They’re doing the adult thing and actually trying to talk about their issues if they have any, which is often difficult for Yuuri, not because he’s bad at being an adult, but because words are sometimes Yuuri’s worst enemy and run away when they see him coming. If the entire world operated in staunch yesses and nos, it’d be much easier for Yuuri to exist, because the result would be immediate.
Victor likes to believe that in the time they’ve known each other, he’s opened Yuuri up to negotiation, to see where their lives lead them without needing the result immediately. In some aspects of his life, Yuuri has been doing this all along, but Yuuri is nothing if not stubborn, so convincing him of this is not ever going to be an easy endeavor. Luckily for them both, he thinks, Victor has never done things the easy way.
He’s made it his mission to make the We’re Doomed archives smaller, vastly smaller, if not entirely obsolete.
It does help, though, that between the two of them, they’ve invented the language of Russhinese. Japishian. Victor is not entirely decided on which of the names makes the most sense, but it’s definitely helping. It’s not entirely lost on Victor now, in hindsight, that they spent their first summer together speaking, literally and metaphorically, two different languages, and English can only get him so far. He’s competed professionally for more than half his life, but he’s never lived with English the way Yuuri has, and Yuuri is fluent. He has his moments of his cute Japanese accent, but a lot of the time, he has what sounds (to Victor’s admittedly unqualified ears) like an authentic American twang.
(When, before, he was amazed that Yuuri was an internationally ranked skater while studying overseas, now he’s amazed at how Yuuri spent years being an internationally ranked skater, taking care of his studies overseas and fist fighting his anxiety on a daily basis. It will never stop being a marvel to Victor. Mentioning this to Yuuri usually warrants a shrug and a I was mostly just the guy with a face mask-reply. Victor very gently wants to shove self-esteem through Yuuri’s skin.)
Now there’s an odd mix of three languages between the two of them, and they get by. Then there’s skating, and the entire set of language that Yuuri speaks without ever opening his mouth, so there’s that for Victor to puzzle out.
What Yuuri doesn’t entirely realize in any language, not yet, is that Victor loves going to Japan when Yuuri is going there for business rather than personal reasons. Obviously, Victor loves Japan, period, for a veritable myriad of reasons that all start and end with Yuuri, but there’s something very special about being a spectator to Yuuri being universally adored, which is how the state of the world should be as far as Victor is concerned.
With Yuuri in Tokyo for a press junket, Victor could just as well stay back at the hotel and sleep to restore a semblance of sleep rhythm, but he’d much rather watch Yuuri: on a morning show, stylists dressing him in charcoal knitwear (Victor could kiss them; Yuuri looks fantastic in knitwear, Victor will buy him lots and lots of it when they get back to Russia), eating breakfast of his choice (yoghurt with blueberries), showing clips of his skating and discussing them (Yuuri’s gorgeous triple axel from a back counter into a spread eagle, Victor’s gasp is probably audible on camera), Yuuri patiently trying to explain what he misses about Japan while still liking Russia, mentioning Victor (Victor almost whoops but rams his knuckles in between his teeth at the last moment) and then writing a wish on a piece of paper and putting on a plant (Victor so doesn’t get it).
Going to the next show, sitting close on the backseat of a car, Yuuri’s smile tucked safely into the collar of his jacket when Victor sneaks his fingers up his sleeve, and laughing unashamedly and proudly at a video Phichit linked Yuuri to (“Five Minutes of Victor Hearteyes Nikiforov Talking About Yuuri Katsuki”).
Yuuri bites his lip, pleased and lovely, and if Victor had the choice, he’d want Yuuri to always be this happy.
“What’s this called?” he asks at the next TV station, and he pulls gently at Yuuri’s clothes.
“Haori,” Yuuri says obediently and follows Victor’s hand with his eyes to the robe underneath. “Kosode.” The robes have a plethora of names and Victor wants to know them all.
In front of the camera, beside the panel of hosts, Yuuri is all smiles, polite and lovely, and Victor doesn’t hear a single word he’s saying, and even if he did pay attention, it’s not like he’d understand all of it. He should probably feel bad about that, but when the camera is off Yuuri again and he walks to Victor, he raises an eyebrow like he knows exactly what Victor is thinking, which is something along the lines of holy shit he’s going home with me. Or to be more precise: Holy shit, I am going home with him.
He never really stops thanking his lucky stars.
(Besides, he understands more of Yuuri’s Kyushu accent than the Japanese he speaks anywhere not Hasetsu. He says Victor’s accent is the cutest thing he’s ever heard, so it’s not like Victor is making an honest effort at not having an accent.)
The afternoon sees Yuuri on a gameshow hosted by a boyband. Victor is so confused about how this works. He sits in the audience and waves when the camera is on him, he answers when the band addresses him (“How do you think your fiancé will do today?” “Absolutely amazing, Yuuri is amazing at everything!” and flashes a peace sign while ignoring how Yuuri is face-palming, covering his flushed face, knowing he just added ten seconds to the Victor Hearteyes Nikiforov videos. He’ll wear the badge with pride.)
Yuuri climbing a wall is doing things to him he’d rather not be on camera for, and even if the entire objective of the gameshow is to have fun, Victor knows how competitive Yuuri is. Yuuri wants to win, even if it’s for fun. Yuuri kicks ass in Victor’s biased opinion, looking devastatingly good while doing so. (Yuuri’s team wins.)
The evening finds them in a hole in the wall ramen restaurant, in which no one recognizes either of them, which is absolutely fantastic. Yuuri gets in a somewhat heated discussion with the owner over the best way to pickle one thing or another (Victor is watching his mouth, it’s a thing), and Victor knows he’s looking besotted. Here, he’s just Yuuri’s foreigner fiancé, Yuuri is just another regular guy wanting dinner.
It doesn’t occur to him until later that Yuuri likes the anonymity just as much as Victor does, possibly even more because while Victor knows how amazing Yuuri is, Russia knows who Yuuri is mostly because of his association to Victor, not because of who he is.
Yuuri rather likes being known for his own merits even as convinced as he is of how little there are of them.
In the hotel, Yuuri exits the bathroom, pushing his wet hair away from his face, while Victor is doing his best imitation of osmosis with the bed.
“How are you, my love? How was your day?”
Yuuri gives him a flat look. “You were there for all of it.”
Well. Yes. But. “I want to know your brain, you can’t blame me for that. Tell me something about your day I couldn’t possibly know.” There’s this urge gnawing at the back of Victor’s mind that just wants to know Yuuri. Not the biblical sense, although, ha, that too. Yuuri’s brain is just so endlessly fascinating, even the bits that make him frustrated. There are always some new and exciting roads Yuuri’s thoughts wander down, and Victor intends to walk all of them with him if Yuuri will let him.
“I really liked the breakfast on the morning show,” Yuuri offers, although he seems to realize Victor already knows that. He sits down on the bed, one hand on the towel still around his shoulders, the other falling to Victor’s ankle. “I was really afraid I’d hurt myself on the game show.”
Victor frowns. It’s a valid concern, but… “You were terrific.” And it’s not even just Victor saying so, because Yuuri is astoundingly athletic and determined, which is a thoroughly winning combination whenever his self-esteem and his capabilities align.
Yuuri licks his lips, looking like he’s searching for the best way to say something Victor won’t like. Yuuri likes to think of himself as having no tells at all, but Victor knows him now. “I never want an injury, but when I’m so close and only have one or two seasons left, I’m scared I’ll get hurt in some way.”
They’re not afraid of physical pain, either of them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t fear it. Pain could be the end of their careers. Victor understands this; any athlete would.
Yuuri looks away from him and squeezes his ankle. “I’m afraid that if I get hurt… I’m afraid of what it’d mean for you, too.”
Oh. Oh. “Yuuri…”
Yuuri’s smile is quick and gone. “Someone is going to be so, so lucky to work with you in the future,” he murmurs, reiterating what he’s already told Victor once before, but his voice is slightly thin like he’s trying very hard to breathe evenly, “but for now, I just want it to be me. That’s all.”
His voice doesn’t crack, but it’s a near thing.
It’s so typical and Victor should have seen that one coming from miles and miles away. He’s always known he can be dumb and kind of slow on the uptake, but this is such an obvious red flag. Leave it to Yuuri to fear injury because of how it will affect Victor. It’s sweet, even, in a convoluted way, but Yuuri has never claimed to be smart about this, either. He wonders how long Yuuri’s brain has run rampage and stirred up shit with his anxiety.
They’re really quite the pair. Yuuri sees the world in absolutes, but, see, he’s missing some of the variables here. Oh, the irony of Yuuri’s brain missing the factors it needs to calculate an absolute result.
“Stupid,” Victor murmurs fondly and sits up, catching Yuuri’s hand when it moves from Victor’s ankle. “For one so smart, you are so incredibly stupid sometimes.”
A year ago, saying this would mean Yuuri fleeing, regrouping and returning while pretending it doesn’t matter, smarting with hurt all the while but convinced Victor knew best.
Now, it means Victor can catch and hold on to him, can bring his lovely, unresisting hand to his mouth and brush his mouth across the skin even as he tugs him closer. Yuuri doesn’t resist even if Victor can feel the tension in his body as he follows when Victor tilts backwards, and settles beside him easily enough, their edges fitting together seamlessly.
“Enlighten me,” Yuuri murmurs right back at him. “Since you’re so smart.”
“I never said I was the smart one, because you’re clearly the brains in this operation, just that sometimes you think stupid things. Your brain is your worst enemy, sometimes.”
Yuuri looks away and his gaze catches on their hands, on his own finger adorned with gold. “I know,” he says like a confession.
Victor cards his fingers through Yuuri’s wet hair and cradles the back of his skull. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, love, but if I could bash some sense into your brain, I would.” He punctuates that with an affectionate squeeze and is rewarded with a wry smile. “If you were injured? My career as a coach would be the absolute last thing on my mind. If you were injured? Fuck my career as a coach.”
Yuuri looks floored, which Victor thinks he should probably find more insulting than he actually does.
“Yuuri,” he says and reaches up to cup Yuuri’s face now with both hands. “My darling. You said whoever got to work with me would be so lucky – don’t you ever think that I’d be the luckiest to keep working with you? Any way I can, it’d be with you.”
“Even me nursing a busted knee?”
“A busted knee, a broken ankle, a hip replacement,” Victor promises.
Yuuri grins, a tired one but honest enough. “You say the sweetest things.”
Before there ever was a Yuuri to love him, Victor thought he’d known what love was but just hadn’t had it, not properly, not for real; hadn’t had the time to invest or the energy to spend. What a fool; he’d known nothing about love before Yuuri.
“Yuuri, all I care about is you. Us being together is not contingent on you skating. We’re getting married.”
Yuuri sighs and the sound is slightly wet – his eyes are misty but the tears aren’t falling yet. “We are, aren’t we?”
The way the words are spoken in disbelief is something Victor can relate to. It will never cease to make his heart tighten that Yuuri doesn’t quite believe he deserves it, not yet, but Victor feels the same way every time he looks at Yuuri and feels the knowledge hit him like a freight train. He looks at Yuuri and sees his future; a whole, complete person who looks back at Victor and stays.
“Sometimes,” Yuuri murmurs and reaches up to mirror Victor’s hold, “sometimes you look at me in a certain way…”
“Well,” Victor says and pulls his head closer, “I’d like to believe I look at you like you’re precious to me. I like to believe you look at me just the same.”
Yuuri’s lips curve a smile. “I will get used to the things you say, I swear I will.”
“I don’t want you to,” Victor admits if only to spot the dusted pink crawl across the bridge of Yuuri’s nose. He’d known absolutely nothing about love before Yuuri, he’d known nothing but mere notions of what it meant to be romantic or even how to try. He doesn’t try with Yuuri, he just does, and if Yuuri finds that ridiculous, then so be it.
He’d thought once that he’d wish for the honeymoon phase to last forever, to always want to find new things about Yuuri to love and to find new ways to please him. He still wants that, but there’s a deep-rooted pleasure in knowing what Yuuri likes, having learnt and having had permission to explore, knowing he’s the one Yuuri gave approval to go ahead and love him. He never knew he’d like this so much, love the daily hustle and bustle and the battles with Yuuri’s anxiety.
He knows how Yuuri likes to be kissed and Victor likes it when Yuuri likes it.
Yuuri sighs into his mouth, goes boneless and sinks into him. Victor cants his head to get closer, and this close he goes cross-eyed trying to look at Yuuri. They’ve got such an impressive amount of practice at kissing and when Victor pushes, Yuuri folds and they never even part, not even when Victor presses Yuuri into the mattress and Yuuri’s legs fall open for Victor to settle between.
Yuuri really does like weight. Victor likes keeping Yuuri safe and boxed in, so that works out for the both of them.
“Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs into his lips and even cross-eyed, Victor preens when he sees Yuuri’s red-kissed lips. If Victor has a way of looking at Yuuri, then Yuuri has a way of saying Victor’s name that makes heat bloom in his ribcage. He brings their mouths back together because he can’t not. Sinking into Yuuri’s mouth, deep and sucking and perfect, Yuuri’s little noises and the sounds of wetness and pleasure, even the clicks when their teeth collide, the smiles and readjustment before they fall even deeper into each other.
The flush so high on Yuuri’s lovely cheeks when they break and Yuuri's breath falls in short pants.
“I’ll love you through your hip replacements,” Victor promises, his voice a ruin, “Will you love me through mine?”
Yuuri grins, sharp, and his eyes glitter. “I’d just have to do the work for a while,” he says and rolls them again, and sits astride Victor’s hips and looks down at him like a captor. He licks his lips and his eyes are fire when they meet Victor’s. “Think that’d be alright with you?”
Victor doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life. Every cell in his body is a screamed yes for Yuuri. “It’d require extensive research, of course,” he says and doesn’t even care that his voice is still wrecked. Yuuri’s grin is still sharp, a touch predatory now, and Victor’s mouth is so, so dry. “I am, of course, willing to submit to it.”
“In the name of science,” Yuuri murmurs and blows Victor’s mind.
*
Yuuri with a face mask (Victor thinks perhaps it’s time he started wearing one, too, because if nothing else, it does grant at least the illusion of slight anonymity when they go somewhere) and his hand safely captured in Victor’s, and they make their way to the rink.
“Off with it, why are you even wearing it?” Yuri spits when they’re all laced up and ready to go on the ice. “It’s fucking weird.”
“Are you coming for dinner tonight, Yura?” Victor asks sweetly and hears Yuuri’s accompanying chuckle.
Yuri snarls. “I wish I could, but I can’t make it because I fucking don’t want to.”
Yuuri’s face mask does nothing to muffle his laugh, and Victor grins. When Yuri stalks to the ice, Yuuri lowers his mask to his chin and says, “at least this time he didn’t say he couldn’t make it because he had to wash his hair.”
Victor laughs. “Maybe we should start writing his excuses down and present them to him when he’s outgrown his angst.”
“Mean,” Yuuri says fondly. “Let’s go.”
Even during the off season they’re focused on one thing or another on the ice. It’s early in the off-season, still, but Victor’s goal is to make Yuuri win gold at the Olympics, so the earlier they get their plans finalized, the better. They’re still mostly goofing off when they’re on the ice, but it’s a weirdly focused goofing off, and sometimes when Yuuri comes out of a spin, flush and breathless and beautiful, Victor’s mouth goes instantly dry.
He looks at Yuuri and feels want etching itself into his bones. He wants Yuuri.
They’re so young, still, both of them. He loves skating, but he also wants a life with Yuuri without skating and ice. Yuuri, still so young and vibrant and so stunning, and he can’t wait to be married to him, to be young with him and be old with him and just enjoy each other at all stages. The ice is unforgiving and leaves little more than exhausted evenings and aching bones, but Victor wants whatever he can have with Yuuri.
He’s a living contradiction, Yuuri with his impeccable manners and natural disinclination to any public displays of affection, just as he easily allows Victor’s push into his personal space, as he responds and claims Victor in his possessive moments. Victor is weak for them.
“You make me a crazy person,” Yuuri says into his mouth in the night.
“Good,” Victor says, dazed.
He’s building his life with Yuuri. Yuuri, slightly neurotic with his brain that goes too fast and too slow at the same time sometimes Yuuri, how his brain trips him up and his guarded, too-big heart, and Victor watches him balance on his toes and juggle Victor, life, career, long-distance relationship with his family and best friend, and come out victorious. Victor has never been the sort of person to bubble over with pride for someone else, but it’s a constant companion these days. He goes days at a time without considering his future beyond getting Yuuri gold at the Olympics and after that, who knows.
Yuuri curled up in the corner of the couch, feet tucked under Victor’s from his own end of the couch, looks up when he feels Victor’s gaze on him. “Hm?”
He can deal with Yuuri’s absolutes as long as Yuuri allows Victor to negotiate.
“Nothing,” he says, smitten.
Well, if they’re going to be about absolutes, then it’s not nothing.
It’s everything.
*