A/N: Originally posted on ao3 under the pen name youngjusticewriter.
They don't talk. It's just fingers combing through his hair after hands had taken his glasses off and put them on the nightstand.
It's Yuuri curled into himself with Viktor next to him on the bed. Close enough for comfort (an unspoken reassurance that Viktor hasn't left him) but not too close to suffocate.
It's nervousness threatening to boil over and feeling like he doesn't having breath in his lungs even though he is breathing.
It's a wet nose poking at his bare feet and despite everything Yuuri feels the urge to smile at Makkachin's attempts to comfort.
It's peaceful and calming when Yuuri feeling anything but.
It's love and that makes Yuuri curl into himself further.