Disclaimer: they are not mine.

SINCE I FOUND YOU

…

/ I believe in us /

…

morning.

What Yuuri was doing has never had any matter: whether he was cocking or enjoying his favorite songs or reading a beloved book. When Viktor Nikiforov's eyes are upon him, Yuuri can feel it in every inch of skin. It's the most wonderful kind of burning heat.

Yuuri wakes up: the world, of course, is blurry due to the absence of glasses. Still, he spots Viktor over him, quiet and smiling and slightly blushed. Just like in every occasion, despite looking at them attentively, Yuuri is unaware of the special kind of brightness present in blue eyes: warm-brown strands are the ones that move a heart that, for so long, craved inspiration.

Viktor could look at him forever.

"Доброе утро, my love." To touch him is addiction: Viktor's fingers, as agile as his ice-skater legs are, outline the shape of his waist and he nuzzles Yuuri's neck. Yuuri laughs with the tune of a song.

Another perfect day waits for them.

"Good morning, Viktor…"

midday.

"Viktor?"

"Mmmh?"

"You okay?"

Viktor blinks, as if waking up from an enchantment.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, you're… staring at me quite intensely." Yuuri then realizes that he chose the wrong words: he just lead to a situation that will probably make him blush.

"Is it a sin to admire you, my love?" Viktor purrs. He is grinning in the way that makes Yuuri tremble like an autumn leaf: just as red as the bowl in his hands, Yuuri pretends not to care by wiping away some rice from the corner of his mouth and adjusting his blue-framed glasses. He then focuses his attention back to the TV in front of them.

"Eat up or the katsudon will get cold."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Viktor, stop it!"

Viktor's answer consists in surrounding his waist, getting Yuuri close to his body while burying his nose in black hair. Yuuri performs a series of juggling in order of not dropping his lunch. He knows that Viktor will not listen to him and, probably, the food in from on them will get a minor role.

Their eyes meet: both of them smile, because the other is there and they couldn't ask for more. Just a few seconds are enough for Yuuri to decide to drop his head on Viktor's shoulder. A sigh, slow and happy, blossoms in two chests.

Everything is quietness.

He's a man-child that, more than desirable, scares all of the goddess out of him but still Yuuri feels that he wouldn't change an aspect of their oh-so-mundane life.

A thousand colors explode every time they look each other to the eyes: that's all Yuuri needs, really.

evening.

"Look at me," The younger man's sobs seem to go louder at Viktor's words. Viktor cups his chin in one hand and presses their foreheads together. "Yuuri, look at me." Finally, swollen brown eyes do so. "This isn't your fault, okay? So please… stop crying. You know I can't take it."

"But I should have been more careful, you know that!" The howl echoes in the empty hallway. "I-I mean, how could I be so dumb? Everybody knows that dogs aren't supposed to eat chocolate and I just…" He trails off. "I left those candies so close to the floor…" And Yuuri is tearing up again. Viktor sighs, slightly kisses his forehead and smiles when Yuuri relaxes a bit.

"Makkachin is not in danger, you heard what the vet just said," He says, trying his best to comfort him. Viktor caresses some strands of bright hair off of his forehead; he still can't help but feel wonder at the fact that every part of Yuuri seems to be tender to the touch. "And he's a strong boy, too, you know that." He adds, softly. "So no more tears, all right?"

"He's going to totally hate me from now on." Yuuri mutters, rubbing his reddened eyes and Viktor, discreetly, takes a hand to his own chest, because he can feel the way an overwhelming love crashes against his heart; how could his Yuuri look so damn beautiful while merely being himself? "He'll probably growl at me if I try to pet him. And I think I deserve it."

At that, Viktor can only smile, very knowingly.

"No way on Earth. Makkachin basically worships you from the moment you go through the door. He can't let go of you, if you hadn't notice." His voice is soaked in sweetness, blue eyes overflowing with longing and he feels at complete peace with everything that's around. And it all makes sense, since Viktor is staring at his whole world. "He's… just like me."

Yuuri's smile, soft and shy and unknowing of its own shine, almost manages to stop his heart. And Viktor knows he would place it whole in Yuuri's hands without a second thought.

night.

Viktor can't quite remember his favorite color as a child: perhaps it was green, or red, or even golden, he recalls, because the different associations and meanings these colors had had enthralled his younger self.

He's not sure, though, and he knows it doesn't have any matter anymore.

Because brown is the color of coffee cups at evening, of leafs that fall lazily from trees, it's even a couple of shades apart from the consuming darkness of the last time he is going to close his eyes: it's everything that is right now, when he's on top of Yuuri.

"Yuuri…"

"M-More…"

Breathing heavily, Viktor spreads kisses all over his body, running through it with his lips and teeth and fingers as if he was tracing his edges for the first time, as if he would never have this chance again for what is left of his life.

"Viktor, don't stop…"

"I never have enough of you," It's a prayer, an objective truth that has being the center of his life since the first caress of skin against skin. "Yuuri, please, I want…" His fingers finish off the sentence: Viktor pierce into the softest parts, swallowing Yuuri's moan.

In the dark quietness of the room, their bodies vibrate as one.

What happens next is surrounded by shadows; Viktor, however, sees nothing more than warm-honey eyes in the darkness.

sunset.

The world looks marvelous through the window, with its orange and red and pale-pink colors worthy of his admiration. The way that the Sun has the leading role of everything would never stop to make his heartbeat increase. So when warm hands suddenly appear to settle over his chest and a kiss is faintly bestow on his right shoulder, Viktor shivers and let's himself be, convinced that if Yuuri decides to give a new shape to his body, he would allow this: because all that is made by Yuuri can only be wonderful.

"Come to bed, Viktor…"

Viktor craves for this with an almost religious devotion, craves for falling on the bed and being embraced by arms that made him feel safe and sound like nothing else can. Nor ever would. But he won't, not at this exact moment at least.

Smiling gently, Viktor turns around: he only regains his steady breathing when he sees Yuuri right there, half-naked and smiling and perfect, he only feels like himself again by staring at him.

Because he has to make sure that gentle brown eyes and kind words hushed at night and bright, soft ebony hair are not dreams that, sooner or later, will fade away from this world.

And Viktor knows that he was born just for the sake of this, for him, for the life that the two of them share.

Yuuri seems confused by the rather intense cloudless eyes fixed on him, if his arched eyebrows and tilted head are anything to go by.

And, nevertheless, he looks so gorgeous while at it.

Quietly, he takes Yuuri's hand into one of his own: that one hand with the gold ring around a perfect finger. A couple of jewelry pieces glow, almost magically, under the morning sunlight and blue eyes go watery of pure joy at the image. Viktor then opens his mouth, but it's his heart more than his mouth what does the speaking:

"Thank you," He says, and it's basically a muter, yes, but he knows that Yuuri would make out those two honest words. He just knows it. "Thank you: you're my life and everything I need and... And thank you. For being born, Yuuri." He caresses a cheek that's velvet and flower fields, a land where everything is prosperous and soothing.

Yuuri throws himself at him, clings to him, because alongside Viktor is the place where nothing can hurt him –not anymore, not after all Yuuri went through–, and they fit together without a single hollow space between them.

This was meant to be.

They lay in bed now, and the world reduces to the color of the opposite eyes, to the rhythm of breathing raising a chest and the most memorized, familiar warmth that the other has ever felt.

Brownish and sky-blue eyes, not blinking at all, express the same unspoken words to the facing color: since I found you, even tears turn into loving blades, falling from cheeks, leaving only cracks on the ice surface.

*Доброе утро: good morning.

AN: So, this is yet another translation exercise from an original Spanish story of mine. I hope you had a happy time while reading, at the most! :'D

Since this is just practice, all kinds of comments and/or observations are very much welcome. There is no way in which I can write something perfect. Feel free to point out anything!

Thank you for your time, really, it's always an honor that you decided to click on the story. Have a great day/evening/night. :')