Winters had always meant something special to Yuri. Some of his earliest memories had been of snow gently falling over Hasetsu, coating his home and the ground around it with a layer of white. His memories were clear of his mother teaching him to build a snowman, and clearer still of Mari launching a snowball into his face. As he grew older, he would look back at his footprints in it as he tromped to Minako's studio, and later to the ice rink, his breath forming small clouds in front of him with every other step. On the days when he hadn't been busy, he'd gone out to play in it, sometimes with Yuko and Takeshi after practice-his practice in snowball fighting with Mari helping greatly with the latter.
Now, it was rare that he ever had any time in winter off. When Yuri wasn't training, he was traveling to compete. When he wasn't doing that, there were interviews, appearances, and scrambling to make some sort of time for himself in-between. It didn't help that Victor, his former coach and competitor turned husband, was just as busy. While Yuri was used to their hectic way of life, it was the other moments he enjoyed most.
Moments like these, he thought, bringing his mittened hands to his face. Makkachin trotted ahead, his paws leaving a line of footprints in the thin layer of snow that had already fallen. Beside him, Victor walked slowly, clearly enjoying their lack of hurry. Though they'd decided to get a place of their own here after they'd married, it still felt strange being back in Hasetsu sometimes, as if nothing had ever changed since the moment Victor had first arrived there.
"It doesn't seem like it's been that long, has it?" he asked.
"It hasn't," Yuri replied. "Two years isn't so long."
"It feels like a long time after seeing something like that." Victor turned to him and smiled, and Yuri thought he understood. The two of them had just visited the Nishigoris at the rink and watched Axel, Lutz, and Loop practicing their programs. The triplets had been eager to show them their new jumps, and Victor in particular had been surprised by their progress. "Do you think they'll keep competing?"
Yuri thought for a moment. "Maybe," he said thoughtfully. "Yuko did say they were getting pretty serious about it."
"That's good." Victor's voice was quiet, and Yuri knowingly laced his arm through his and leaned against him. Victor had decided to retire from the competition scene for good the year before, and despite still playing a huge role in the skating world through ice shows, appearances, and commentary, he was still having trouble adjusting to the change in professions. Yuri couldn't blame him. Skating had been a part of Victor's life even longer than it had his own, and so often it seemed that it had completely taken over, leaving Victor to rarely recall more than a handful of memories outside of it. The most pleasant ones, Victor had said, involved Yuri himself.
"Do you regret any of it?" Yuri asked.
"Competing?" Victor asked, and Yuri nodded. He thought for a moment. "I used to think I did, at least in the later years." He stopped, pausing momentarily and glancing down at Yuri. "Do you?"
"No." The words slipped out more quickly than he'd expected, and when Victor raised an eyebrow, he sighed. "You know why."
A small smile played at the edges of Victor's lips. "I still like hearing it."
Yuri felt a small tinge of heat threatening to rise to his cheeks. For a while now he'd wondered if that reaction would ever stop; that he'd get used to the way his husband looked at him, smiled, and teased him. Every time he thought it would, Victor proved him wrong. Even now, walking the same snowy steps toward home and family he'd walked for as long as he could remember. Family, he thought, squeezing Victor's arm as they began walking again. He took in the snowy path and the lights from his home just ahead. He took in Makkachin jumping up to catch a falling snowflake, and the feeling of Victor's arm through his.
Somehow, it all made winter seem even more special.
