Yuri Katsuki had made guesses about what his life would be like in his mid-twenties. A year ago, he had pictured himself in retirement, skating at the ice castle when the mood struck him and working with his family back in Hasetsu. As a teenager, he would have imagined himself competing against Victor Nikiforov, hopefully on equal ground, maybe even standing on the podium with him. Both of these somehow seemed a drastically different picture than the scene he stood in now, standing in the kitchen with the very skater he'd hoped to compete against; maybe get to know if he was lucky. Instead, he was kissing him, vaguely aware that Victor had temporarily left their dinner unattended to do so.
"When you asked me if I wanted a taste," Yuri began as they separated, "I thought you meant the food."
"I did." Victor's arm tightened around Yuri's waist as he turned partway, stirring the pasta with his free hand. The recipe-or rather, the parts of it Victor had managed to stick to-was one they'd found online and one that he'd had been insistent on trying, even taking the lead in the cooking process. It was clear that his enthusiasm hadn't wavered either as he held the spoon up to Yuri's lips.
Just like with Victor himself, Yuri never knew what to expect when it came to his fiance's cooking. It wasn't that he wasn't capable-in fact, he cooked somewhat regularly, and the majority of the dishes he prepared turned out well. Yuri enjoyed watching him in the process. Most of what he did made sense, despite having a tendency to make it up as he went along. Yuri occasionally gritted his teeth in the instances when Victor reached for questionable spices, overused some, and left out the more obvious things like salt and pepper. Sometimes, he stepped in to "help," silently correcting the mistakes he could.
This time, it hadn't been necessary. Yuri's eyes widened slightly as he took a bite, taking in the blend of fresh vegetables and creamy wine sauce.
"How is it?"
"Good." Yuri turned to his fiance, taking in the proud smile that crossed his face. It was strange to him just how much Victor took compliments like these to heart. He accepted compliments on his skating humbly, took corrections and criticisms from those he respected. But when Yuri complimented him on something like cooking his face lit up, as if it were the first kind thing anyone had said to him. Yuri wondered if that was a result of him having lived alone for so long or something else entirely.
Right now was no exception. Victor's eyes twinkled beneath his lashes, and a slight tinge of pink appeared on his cheeks as the comment appeared to sink in. "Good," he murmured, turning back to the stove. Yuri watched him, taking in his soft profile, silver hair, and warmth. It was better than good, he thought as he leaned against him. It was perfect.