When Victor slid open the screen door to Yuuri's bedroom, he was not greeted by darkness and the heavy breathing of an athlete who had been worked hard all day, as expected. Instead, as Makkachin squeezed past his legs and into the room, there was the faint blue light of a laptop screen lighting the walls and the soft, pale flesh of Yuuri's face, reflecting off the lenses of his glasses in a bright glare. Yuuri, usually painfully conscious of every move Victor made around him, did not turn at the rattle of his door being slid aside. He was too consumed by what was playing on his screen. Besides the jingling of the tags on his dog's collar, there was also the faint tinny noise of music playing a bit too loud through shoddy earphones.

Victor did not try to get Yuuri's attention immediately. He just appreciated the sight of the man in front of him. He had done his best to scare Yuuri into a leaner weight for his competitive season. And while he had made some progress, that little bit of weight still clung to his hips and to his cheeks. That extra flab could be damning in formal competition. Yet while Victor chugged away in his head that final push Yuuri would need to shed that tiny bit of weight, he also happily observed the curves and dips of Yuuri's body as he lay upon his bed. He had gotten up close and personal with that body at the Grand Prix Final banquet the year previous, but the Yuuri in front of him was different than the Yuuri he had been confronted with.

The Yuuri of a year ago had been primed for competition, with the lean muscle and lithe grace that is required for professional skating. That Yuuri had been gloriously shrouded in a sweaty button-down and dress pants that had no business being that tight around the thigh. That Yuuri had been just at that spot between drunk and faded, toeing the line between a good time and just bawdy; the Yuuri who dipped him in a sloppy rendition of the tango, who made him forget he was Victor Nikiforov for a while, who made him feel just Victor. And as appealing as that Yuuri Katsuki had been, the one Victor was looking down on was just as appealing: in worn-down sweatpants and Ice Castle Hasetsu t-shirt that must have been printed in 2002. This Yuuri who, confusingly, turned beet red at even the suggestion of physical contact. This Yuuri, who had literally swept Victor off his feet last year, who now shied away from even a friendly pat on the back or arm around the shoulder. When considering it, it was the fact that Victor had seen this man wrapped around a pole, had felt his hand firmly gripping his thigh, had him openly grind against his hips at a public event that made this Yuuri so endearing. In comparison, with his soft face and stockinged feet, he was almost adorable.

Though Yuuri couldn't hear Victor coming into his room or Makkachin's tags jangling on his collar past his headphones, it was hard to ignore a twenty-two kilogram ball of fur barrelling into your side. Yuuri's attention was very quickly drawn away from the video playing on his screen and instead was taken up by a failed attempt to fend off all of Makkachin's kisses. Though Makkachin was getting up in years, he still romped around and bounced like he had when he was just a puppy. It took him a while to tucker himself out, but once he did, Yuuri finally turned around to greet Victor.

"Hi," he said simply, some of his fingers still tangled in Makkachin's fur.

Ever since Victor had arrived in Japan and begun his stay at Yu-topia Katsuki, Yuuri had been perplexingly stand-offish. When he did speak to Victor, it was in fits and starts, with lots of stuttering, blushing, and flustered hand waving rather than actual speech. This change in behavior was the most confusing for Victor. Victor knew what it was like to spurn a lover— and to be cast aside himself. Yuuri had shown his disinterest clearly the night after the banquet, grimacing and turning away when Victor jokingly asked for a commemorative photograph. Yet by all accounts, Victor should have been the one nervous around Yuuri here in Hasetsu; he was the one who had been turned away. At first, it seemed his rendition of "Stay Close to Me" was what made Yuuri sheepish, but it had been weeks since the infamous video had gone viral. And since Yuuri would not open up no matter the subject Victor tried to pry open, so Yuuri's actions continued to confuse Victor. Yuuri's simple hello was several steps forward from the initial shrieking Victor had gotten from him since he had arrived in Hasetsu however, so Victor smiled one of his most fetching smiles at Yuuri.

"Good morning, Yuuri," he said, stepping further into the room and sliding the door close behind him.

Yuuri sat up straighter. "Morning?" he asked, a note of panic in his voice. "Did I stay up all night?" He quickly exited the full screen on what he had been watching on his laptop. His eyes stinging slightly from looking at the bright screen, Victor read the time: 02:41. The tension visibly lifted from Yuuri's shoulders.

Victor couldn't help but laugh. "You still have time to sleep before we get started tomorrow. I only say good morning because I didn't expect to see you up at this hour."

"Ah, I got distracted," Yuuri said sheepishly, gesturing at his laptop. "The time got away from me." Victor tried to see what Yuuri was watching, but Yuuri distracted him, saying, "If you thought I would be asleep, why would you come in here?"

"I just wanted to check in on you," Victor said honestly.

"Oh," said Yuuri. Though the room was dark, the light from his laptop betrayed the heat rising in his face.

"May I sit down?"

Somehow, the color on Yuuri's face darkened even further. "On the bed?"

"Where else? Would you have me sit on the floor, Yuuri? With the weather turned so cold?" Victor asked, feigning horror.

"Of course not!" Yuuri assured him quickly, flapping his hand in that embarrassed way of his. He visibly wracked his brains for a moment. "I'm just worried that you'll disturb Makkachin."

"He'll be fine," Victor said, getting into the bed next to Yuuri. Makkachin, who had only been draped over Yuuri, soon enough readjusted himself so that he was laying over his owner as well. The dog had been dozing off, but he roused himself at the movement from Victor. He began licking Victor's leg, leaving a wet spot near the cuff of his pajama pants. "See? He may even be happier now." He turned to point his smile at Yuuri, but his smile faded at the sight of Yuuri's expression. "What is the matter?"

"You just said sit," Yuuri answered, back to his flustered state. "Not lay down!"

"Well, it is late," Victor said.

"Mm." Yuuri said. It could have been a confirmation, it could have been the only sound his mouth would allow him to make.

"Maybe I'll just sleep here!"

"Victor!"

"Only if you are fine with it, of course," Victor said as he eased himself down, making himself more comfortable in Yuuri's bed. It wasn't as soft as his bed back in St. Petersburg, but it was better by far than what he was sleeping on in his Yu-topia Katsuki guest room. It was warmer as well. Somewhere above him, still sitting up, was Yuuri, who sighed heavily. He then unplugged his headphones from his laptop.

"If you're staying, I guess you can watch too," Yuuri said.

"And what is it you're watching?"

"Opera," Yuuri said. Most ice skaters did their routines to classical music, but not everyone could call themselves an avid supporter or listener of the genre. And even those who adored the music inevitably got tired when four hours into a Wagner opera. Yet Yuuri seemed alright with watching a cheesy 1990's production in the dead of night.

"Oh? Why?"

"Well, I thought I would see if anything caught my ear, to use during my short program."

"And here you told me that your coaches usually chose your music!" Victor again spoke in mock horror. Yuuri though, unable to see Victor's face, did not register the sarcastic tone. He gasped,

"They have! This was just a spur of the moment thing, don't worry!"

Victor leaned up slightly, bringing his head to rest against Yuuri's left arm. "Two and a half hours into Turandot doesn't seem very spur of the moment," he said, smiling up at Yuuri.

"I just got absorbed in the plot," Yuuri hedged, defending himself. Victor turned again to the laptop screen. He couldn't read the Japanese subtitles scrolling down on the side of the video, but he knew the plot of the Puccini well enough. It was Romantic, and romantic as well. Poor, lovestruck Calaf trying to make the cold and calculating princess care for him throughout the entirety of the work. The torture of Liu, her strength found in devotion, and the promise that her torturer will ultimately know love as well. Turandot seems cruel, but her heart is eventually softened— "Il suo nome è… Amor!" It was a fine opera, and a story that pulled on all of your heartstrings.

"And here I thought you were bored with it. Who would have thought! Are you a Romantic, Yuuri?" Victor asked.

"Don't tease," Yuuri said, a little waspishly.

"I would never! Of course I'm speaking of Romantic as the artistic movement, Yuuri." Victor almost smiled, but thought better of it. He sat up, and it looked like Yuuri was suddenly conscious of how close he was to him. Victor watched as the younger man swallowed heavily. "Though there is nothing wrong with being a romantic in that simpler, smaller way."

He made sure Yuuri was meeting his eyes, and then he finally did smile. It was a slow affair, and it reached all of his face. His brows lowered and his eyes softened as his lips curved upwards. Yuuri was sitting very still, and he did not flinch as Victor slowly reached towards him to cup his jaw in his hand. During last year's Grand Prix Final banquet, Yuuri had been full of sexual energy. He had gone against all convention of a formal banquet; it was taboo, lewd, it was sexy. While Victor had spent many more hours than he was comfortable admitting of that Yuuri mouthing at his neck, clutching at his hips, whispering praise into his ear, this quiet encounter in Yuuri's childhood bedroom was just as good. Better, even. This soft Yuuri, who met Victor's eyes while Victor gave him soft touches. Victor couldn't help but smile wider as Yuuri allowed him to rub his thumb along his jawline. Victor went further, moving his thumb to trace Yuuri's lips.

Throughout all this, Yuuri remained still. It took him a while to find his voice. "Why do you do this?" he asked weakly.

"Do what?" Victor whispered. It felt appropriate to whisper.

"You always toy with me." Yuuri brought up his hand, curling his fingers loosely around Victor's. Slowly— reluctantly?— he pushed Victor's hand away. "The smiles, the soft touches… all the flirting. I feel like you're playing around with me."

Victor heard the last part of that sentence that Yuuri did not say. "You aren't a toy, Yuuri. You aren't something I will just play with for a few weeks and then throw away."

Yuuri ducked his head. "That's just what it feels like. It feels like one day I'll wake up, and you will have gotten bored with me and gone back on the first flight to St. Petersburg."

"Yuuri, of course I would never." When he remained looking down at his lap, Victor brought a hand down sharply on his own thigh, the smack! making Yuuri bring his head back up. Makkachin whined, and moved away in his doze, coming to rest near Victor and Yuuri's feet. "How could I? You have made such an impression on me."

When he met his eyes, Yuuri looked like he was approaching miserable. "How, Victor? Besides that video, the only time you've seen me skate was me crashing and burning at the Grand Prix Final."

"It's not just the skating, Yuuri, it's…" Victor trailed off, meeting Yuuri's eyes evenly.

How could Victor say it? Yuuri hadn't been his best at the Grand Prix Final the previous year, obviously. But it wasn't the skating that mattered to Victor. Skating had been his life practically since he could walk, it dominated him and occupied all his time. It was seeing Yuuri at that banquet that made him realize he really could let himself go. He didn't have to be sober and professional at every turn. He could dance with charming men at parties without worrying about judgemental looks, he could laugh with his peers and have a good time with the people around him. He could live.

He could throw away his career to help the man who had shown him all this.

Yet for some reason, when Victor met Yuuri's eyes, he couldn't tell him this. It was him who was tongue-tied, too embarrassed to say what was actually on his mind. Though Victor was known to be free with his charms, totally comfortable delivering casual touches and copious amounts of flirting, he couldn't just open his mouth and confess openly what he was feeling in the deepest parts of himself.

"Yuuri, you're just… special," Victor finished lamely. "You inspire me," he amended quickly. He reached forward to place a hand on Yuuri's knee.

Yuuri did not seem to be very satisfied with the answer, but Victor still saw the hint of a smile as he looked down to look at Victor's hand on him. When Yuuri lifted his own hand, Victor swore he could feel his heart skip a beat. Yuuri seemed to be going to link Victor's hand with his own, but he changed direction and tangled his fingers once again in Makkachin's fur. With Makkachin resting at their feet, it was an almost comical motion, Yuuri whipping his hand away from Victor's and instead reaching towards his feet, but Victor did not laugh. He instead said,

"And what a good thing that you inspire me! I've already got plans in mind for your Short Program!"

"What!" Yuuri exclaimed, and then clapped the hand he had been using to pet the dog over his mouth. The fact that he was sharing a living space with his family as well as paying guests could only keep his excitement at bay for so long, however. "Do you really? What is it?"

Instead of responding, Victor yawned and reached over, shutting Yuuri's laptop close. "Hm. Well, I believe I'm too tired to say."

"Victor, you can't just do that!"

"Do what? I'm just so tired!"

"You aren't a very good liar."

Victor bit back a laugh. "Yuuri, let's sleep."

Yuuri squawked as Victor eased himself back down on the bed, throwing an arm across his torso and curling against him. Yuuri slapped weakly at Victor's arm once or twice, but quickly gave up. At any rate, Victor was faking a heavy sleep, complete with a stock still body and exaggerated snores. With a heavy sigh, he moved his computer off his lap and onto the floor next to his bed. He took off his glasses and put them on his bedside table. He then laid down, tucking up his feet so they would not bother Makkachin, and pressing his back against Victor's chest.

"Don't expect this to be a regular thing," Yuuri said quietly.

In response, a very obviously not sleeping Victor pulled Yuuri closer. To counter this awake-seeming action, Victor put even more effort into his fake snoring, so much so that Makkachin barked in reply. Victor felt Yuuri shake slightly with laughter against his chest, and heard the younger man shush his dog, getting him to lay back down. Swallowing his own snort, Victor quieted down with his snoring and opted instead for slow, steady breathing.

Neither could see it, but both were smiling into the dark of the room.

A/N: Much love and thanks to Claire, the sweetest beta with the most yoked nodes. Feel better soon! All of the love and all of the thanks to Kubo-sensei, for giving me inspiration to write again.

This takes place between ep1 and ep2, but was written post-ep10.

I really really love opera, and I highly recommend Turandot! Even if you don't watch the whole thing, I suggest looking up "Nessun dorma". I didn't reference it within the fic, but GOSH it is so Yuuri! "Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincero!" So good. Pavarotti did an awesome version of it, and its literally the first thing that pops up when you google it, lol. Check it out!

Title comes from Liu's death lament in Act III of Turandot.

Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are always appreciated :~)