Victor wasn't sure exactly when he'd turned the volume down. The film was one of his favorites and had been Yuri's choice for the evening, though Victor hadn't been paying much attention anyway. He'd lost his focus partway through, the images onscreen blurring together into a gallimaufry of black and white. There was a time when he would've blamed it on the wine—he and Yuri both had had a bit more than their usual share during and after dinner. Yet presently, even the empty glasses on the coffee table neither fooled nor deterred him from the real source of his distraction, one that had rested its head against his chest and fallen asleep.
He glanced down at the mess of dark hair. Yuri's breaths were slow, the shoulder that peeked out from under the blanket they shared rising and falling in the same, even pattern that it had for the past hour. This was a very different sight than the one he'd observed earlier that day, when his fiancé had grown so frustrated with his own performance during practice he'd nearly blocked Victor out completely. In truth, it worried him. Yuri was prone to the worst kind of self-criticism, and the reminder of that fact had come out full force in the form of stiffness, poorly-landed jumps, and overall disconnectedness.
But that, Victor thought as his fiancé shifted, all seemed to have passed. Careful not to move too much, he pulled the blanket tighter around them both, immediately regretting it when Yuri turned, eyes barely open beneath his lopsided glasses.
"I'm awake."
Victor couldn't help but smile at his groggy tone. "Sorry, Yuri."
Yuri blinked at him, as if trying to process his words. "Oh, no. You didn't wake me up." He paused, sitting upright and adjusting his glasses. Victor watched him as he glanced over at the rolling credits on the screen. "What time is it?"
"Almost midnight, and no, I won't accept this as an excuse tomorrow," Victor teased as his fiancé's eyes widened. Yuri smirked.
"Neither will I."
It hadn't taken Victor long to realize the effect the other man had on him. Even when they'd first met on the night he remembered so vividly and Yuri barely at all, Yuri had left a lasting impression. And it was, he recalled in amusement, an unusual impression he hadn't been sure how to define. Back then, he hadn't believed in love at first sight. Not entirely. He'd been sure he'd felt a connection with the strange Japanese skater who moved like poetry one minute and became a drunken mess the next, but love? That idea had blossomed in retrospect. It was one that now he thought he might have been naïve to dismiss.
One he couldn't stand the thought of being without.
Victor brushed his hand against Yuri's cheek. Even now, none of it seemed real. As if to break him from the spell, Yuri leaned toward him and gently pressed his lips against his. Victor savored the feeling of them, the way they lingered and coaxed and tasted of wine.
"Yuri," Victor murmured when his fiancé pulled away. "Let's stay here a bit longer." Yuri's eyes softened, and with a slight nod he let Victor lie back and pull him onto him. Victor held him, taking in the soft fabric of his shirt and the steady heartbeat beneath as Yuri drifted off to sleep again. Everything else seemed a world away and right now, he wouldn't have it any other way.