we were together; i forget the rest
by: tg
summary: One thing you'll never find in any interview is this: Viktor's always been afraid of being alone. It's a fear that seems inexplicable when he thinks about it, because he's always surrounded by people – fans, sponsors, rinkmates, coaches and instructors. He knows he's well-loved, favored to win. He knows he's inspiring and charismatic and charming. But the truth of it is this: the top of the podium only has enough room for one.
warnings: depression, wedding
If anyone had asked Viktor a few years ago whether he'd consider marriage, he'd have laughed. he'd have laughed, and claimed that he was already married to the ice, and then he'd have gone home to his big, empty apartment and held Makkachin close to his chest until he fell asleep in his big, empty bed.
One thing you'll never find in any interview is this: Viktor's always been afraid of being alone. It's a fear that seems inexplicable when he thinks about it, because he's always surrounded by people – fans, sponsors, rinkmates, coaches and instructors. He knows he's well-loved, favored to win. He knows he's inspiring and charismatic and charming. But the truth of it is this: the top of the podium only has enough room for one.
A lot has changed since Yuuri danced into his life.
He still goes home to his big apartment and falls asleep in his big bed, but now instead of emptiness his home is filled with laughter, and there are photos on the walls and two blankets that sit bunched up on the coach where there used to be one; now there are two plates and two sets of silverware and two dirty mugs on the kitchen table, and two toothbrushes in the bathroom (and the two tubes of toothpaste because Viktor hates mint and Yuuri hates bubblegum flavor and they've never been able to find a compromise).
He still falls asleep to Makkachin curled up against him, but now instead of blankets he is wrapped up in Yuuri's loving arms with Yuuri's warm breath on his neck and his chest pressed against his back; now there's fingers carding through his hair on nights when he has trouble sleeping, and softly murmured lullabies, and cold feet against his calves and the memories of sweat and passion pressed into the sheets.
Viktor is so thankful for Yuuri's understanding and patience, because happiness this big and this full still feels like a foreign concept and Viktor still wonders sometimes if he isn't dreaming.
But he's standing at the altar facing the love of his life, looking into the eyes of the man he's pledging forever to, and he can feel the way the crisp white slacks are soft against his legs and the way the shiny gold band Yuuri slips onto his finger is warm from being in the pocket next to Yuuri's heart. He can feel the eyes of the congregation on them, and the pure love and happiness radiating from every pore and plane of Yuuri's body.
Not a dream.
Real.
"Do you take this man," the priest asks, "to love and to cherish from this day forward until you are parted by death?"
Yuuri's fingers, warm and shaking, brush beneath Viktor's eye to wipe away the tears gathering on his lashes, and the love of his life smiles at him, small and gentle, and says, "I do."