A/N: I thought so many were going to ignore my author's note. Ya'll showed me. But please still review for others as well. Other writers deserve reviews and comments, too. Many way more than me.

SPECIAL REQUEST! Please provide input. So, I'm planning on joining a Victuri writer/artist event, but I'm not sure what to write. Like, I'm super blanking on ideas here, guys. It has to be a new work and at least 5000 words. I have to sign up by June 8th. Anyone have ideas for a one-shot? Any suggestions are appreciated. Don't be shy. Have a viktuuri headcanon you want brought to life? Or just something innocent or fun or dark or smutty? I'm pretty versatile when it comes to genres and I don't judge. I may not be comfortable writing something, but I will not judge anyone for their suggestions. Promise. So, let me know. PLEASE let me know. Even if I don't use a suggestion for this, there's a good chance that I'll still write a one-shot with it later.

Much thanks, my loyal readers.

Back to the story! Since there is going to be a conversation in another language, I want to make the difference clear without having to do clunky translation. I'm going to put what is in 'Russian' in brackets because it's easier.

[Well, well, well. This isn't what I thought I would come home to.]

Viktor's world stilled. That voice, curled cruel, was entirely too familiar for his liking. It boiled beneath his skin, burning him with taunts from the past, with ancient memories he harbored like knives in his muscles. It was his mother. Valeriya Nikiforova had decided to grace him with her presence. And he was tightly twined with another man on the floor.

Yuuri moved first, pulling away from him in a way that made his chest ache. But it wasn't the time to focus on Yuuri, on the oh so right things that had been occurring up until then. He turned and took in the woman he hadn't seen in years. She looked as disapproving as ever, gaze harsh and words harsher.

[So this is how you've chosen to waste your time…]

Fire burned on his tongue as he saw how her gaze lingered on Yuuri, her eyes turned toward the younger man like sharpened weapons. Viktor immediately acted as a shield, protective, impenetrable, as he leaned over to put himself in front of him. Yuuri didn't deserve anything his mother was primed to inflict. His mother didn't deserve the right to even lick Yuuri's shoes, let alone hurl insults at him, even if Yuuri couldn't understand them.

[What are you doing here?] He tried to sound intimidating, growling out the words, but they were smeared thin, his tone betraying him as the woman leered down at them.

[What am I doing here? This is my house, is it not? It may be in your father's name, but it's still first and foremost my house. I picked it out, furnished it, live in it occasionally. What are you doing here? Besides the obvious of fornicating with a-]

He could hear the offensive names before they were out of her mouth. [Don't you dare.]

She looked amused, silver brows lifted and thin lips perked. [Why? It's not like he knows a lick of Russian.] She glanced at Yuuri over his shoulder. "Right, little one?"

He was extremely aware of Yuuri behind him, almost overtly so. Yuuri shook with her words and Viktor turned, laying a steadying hand upon his forearm until Yuuri's gaze finally fled from the woman and grounded on him. "Yuuri, you should get the cake out of the oven. I'm just going to take this outside, alright?"

"But, Viktor, it's-" Yuuri eyed her for a moment before meeting his eyes once again. "Isn't that-"

Viktor nodded as he drew himself up, lifting Yuuri easily by the wrist. "It'll be fine. Just tend to the angel cake, okay? The strawberries are waiting most desperately for their love by now, I'm sure." He smiled, not entirely faked, but strained with urgency. He wanted his mom as far from Yuuri as possible.

Yuuri escaped to the oven and Viktor faced the woman, now standing up to his full height. It didn't have the effect he was hoping for. His mother had always been an imposing woman and her height added to it. She was only two inches shorter than him on even ground. Her heels gave her the advantage. She always had the advantage.

[Outside, hm? Like trash you don't want to be associated with. Am I being thrown out out of my own house?]

[Now, mother] He gripped her upper arm and pulled. She came willingly, to his surprise. The air was cool when he stepped out, the sky clear, but the night smudged with fog. There was a man over on the side, leaning on a car with a cigarette poking between his lips. He was young and with the way his eyes traveled over his mother, Viktor knew exactly what he was there for. [Really?] Viktor asked as the door shut behind them. [You brought a man here?]

[Like you can talk, Vitya.]

[Don't call me that. Don't.] It hurt his ears coming from her. He only allowed his closest to call him that. While his mother gave him the name, she'd lost her rights to it long ago.

She stood, hip cocked as she rested a hand on it. [What am I to call you then?]

[I don't know. I didn't know cockroaches could talk.]

She smacked him. It was as abrupt as it was expected. She didn't stop there, even as his eyes warned her off. She gripped his chin, shiny, manicured nails stabbing into him, and stared into his face. When he was younger, such a move paralyzed him. He would be a deer caught in headlights, a bunny going still in the presence of a predator, but he wasn't so easily controlled anymore. He ripped himself from her grasp and stepped back, steeling his desire to respond in kind.

She smiled a proud smile, like she enjoyed pissing him off, driving him to the edge just to see if he would jump, if he would fight or flee. [There's my little Vitya.] Before he could bark at her again, she called out to the man just beyond him. "Thank you for the ride, darling. Call me tomorrow." She blew a kiss in his direction and Viktor wanted to gag. The man didn't say anything and Viktor didn't look to catch any other form of response that may have been given.

[He doesn't even have your number, does he?]

[Poor boy will realize that eventually.]

Viktor laughed, because his mom was as true to herself as ever. If he was known as a heartbreaking prince, she was undoubtedly the queen. [Why the show? I know screwing men your son's age isn't the reason you're here.]

A delicate brow arched, drawing lines across her forehead. [Just a bonus. I figured you needed me to talk some sense into that thick skull of yours. Why else would you quit at the height of your career and come out to one of my houses?]

[Ha, needed you? I honestly didn't think you even cared about this house. How was I supposed to know it would act as a beacon to you?]

[Nevertheless, I'm here now.] She paused, staring at him, appraising him. Viktor recognized that look. It was a calm before the storm. She always gave him and his father that look before tearing into them. [Why? Why are you taking a vacation, now, Viktor? You are so strong and perfect on the ice. With Yakov as your guide, you've reached heights only the greats could hope to achieve. Are you just giving up? Is this your way of backing out quietly into the night? After all you've accomplished? I don't understand why. You still have years of skating in you. You aren't quitting, Viktor. I won't stand for it. No son of mine is going to back down when he still has both legs. Every minute you spend like this is an insult to our family, to me. The Nikiforov name-]

[And here it is. The speech.] He drew in a breath, teeth clicking shut as he clenched his jaw. [I was wondering when it would come to that. All you care about is our fortune and our fame and our legacy. You didn't even care about me until I became something in the junior division. Then I was your pride and joy, enough to be talked about in your interviews. Before that I was just a bastard mistake!]

She glared at him. [You don't know what you're doing. You're squandering time that is precious. You can never get this time back. Soon you'll be unable to compete and wish you'd listened.] She stopped and sighed, clicking a heel down into the pavement. [I don't know if this is rebellion or boredom or just another one of your idiotic whims, Viktor, but you are our name now. I gave your father's name meaning with my dance, you have to continue with your skating, and someday your children will carry on our legacy.]

God forbid. He would never give his children such a burden. Her words pierced him, like Yakov's, like Chris's. They didn't know. They didn't understand. It frustrated him to no end. [I can't skate anymore] he spoke between gritted teeth.

[You aren't hurt are you?] She didn't even look concerned. [Yakov knows the best doctors and physical therapists. He could get you healed up with a snap of his fingers. Which is why I'm certain that's not it. Not even a lost limb could have kept you from the ice before.]

He didn't want to say it. It had taken everything in him to tell Yuuri. But he was sick of being spoken for. [I can't skate if I no longer feel out on the ice. My inspiration-]

[Inspiration?] She scoffed. [You left for that? Don't be ridiculous. Only amateurs work from inspiration. We are molded to breathe our craft, Viktor. We don't have to feel to perform.]

Her mockery of his plight sank into his gut. Yes, she was true to form, a frigid gust in a room of warm colors. Her ballet had always been about precision and perfection. Feeling her work, letting it burn into her soul and excite her audience, was not a part of her job description. The woman, who danced through the bulk of her pregnancy, didn't know hurdles or slumps. [I'm finding my way, mother. I don't need your approval for that.]

[Finding your way cavorting around with a Japanese man? Really? All that can possibly do is ruin your image.]

[You don't get to talk about Yuuri.]

[It almost sounds like you care. Since when do you let your dalliances get under your skin? I didn't teach you to care.]

[He is more than a dalliance. Keep your tainted thoughts to yourself.]

She tilted her head, observing him with something like distress in her eyes. [Don't do it, Viktor. Don't let a man hold you back. Especially not one like that. You can do so much better than some no name groupie-]

[Yuuri isn't-]

[What is he? A fan? Some nobody you picked up off the street? All he'll do is take from you, Viktor. Leech away your fame and your money and your happiness. Don't be like that. Don't fall for the same traps I did. You can't feel for him. That will be your first and last mistake.]

His anger heightened. She didn't know Yuuri, couldn't know how terribly wrong she was about a man that held such a genuine heart and soul. [Yuuri gives me more than you'll ever know,] his tone was low, dangerous and on the verge of pouncing. [And dad didn't take a thing from you. He didn't kill your career, as you love to spout. You did that yourself. You're cold and unfeeling like glass, only something you can gaze through, not at. And when you break, all that's left are jagged shards that will cut and hurt.]

She snarled, not having expected something quite like that from her son. He wasn't used to fighting her, but this mattered to him, his fight, his Yuuri. [I want you out of my house.]

[Done.] He began to walk away, back to Yuuri, but she couldn't just let it go.

[You didn't know your father like I did.] Her voice wavered, losing some of its stony hardness.

He stopped and faced her. [Why do you still have his name? If you hate him so much, why are you still a Nikiforov?] His ring still shined on her finger, an antique with little meaning.

[Love and hate are much more intertwined than you think.]

He continued walking. [Stay away from me.]

Yuuri stared down at the cake in his hands and wrestled with what to do next. Makkachin was at the door, staring at it, a little whine sounding out from her throat as she waited for Viktor. Yuuri almost felt like doing the same. His head spun with feelings of embarrassment and shame, but there were still the lingering feelings of Viktor draped over him, feeling him, wandering through him. The back of his mind ached with thoughts, his skull from the floor. But his concern drew most of his energy. There'd been so much inside their eyes, a story of raw anger and crippling pain clashing between them. Yuuri knew what Viktor had told him, which was apparently very little.

Viktor came back, a rush in the quiet. There was more Russian, but it was aimed at Makkachin, the sound soft and syllables rounded into a coo, much better than the earlier caustic gnash of teeth that had grated against his insides.

"Viktor?" Yuuri let his name ask the questions, because he was at a loss of which ones to ask. Or whether he should. Viktor looked up at him and his expression was hardened, barricaded. Yuuri drew back some. Something had changed all too quickly.

"We need to get going, Yuuri. I'm sorry, but I can't stay here. Can you pack up the shortcake while I grab some things? I'll meet you at the door." He offered no other words or explanation. Yuuri thought to protest, to insist something more, but he was still shaken. The eyes of the ocean lingered, but it was not the same ocean he remembered.

Valeriya had been nowhere in sight when they came out of the house. Yuuri was relieved. He didn't really know the woman, not enough to judge her, but she had affected Viktor in the worst of ways. They were in Viktor's rental car. He drove with his stuff and Makka in the back, Yuuri a nearly transparent companion in the passenger seat. Other than the fact that they were driving to Yuuri's apartment, he couldn't tell if Viktor remembered he was in the car with him.

Yuuri could see a battle in his eyes, against what, he didn't know. A storm brewed, turning the depths of his irises choppy, the usually calm current troubled. He didn't want to disturb it any further, but there was at least one question that he had the will to voice. "Are you leaving?" He didn't know why that question came out so empty. Viktor looked at him and Yuuri just glanced at his bags in the backseat. "Are you going back?"

Viktor's eyes widened, like that conclusion had never occurred to him. "Nyet," he clicked his tongue at the word. "I'm not going anywhere, Yuuri." He reached between them, a gap that had grown since they'd separated in the kitchen, and took his hand, fingering the spirals of his knuckles. "I just can't stay at that house anymore. I'll find a hotel or something until I can find something more permanent."

Yuuri breathed a deathly silent sigh, because Viktor was staying. He would still be there. Still wanted to be there. Still held his hand like he still cared. He obviously didn't want to talk, stewing in silence, but he didn't want to let go, either. Yuuri studied his face, wanted him to smile. He had been wanting something more, something deeper, to sink beneath the surface of the man's emotions for some time, but now he wanted that unflinching, cartoonish happiness back. He wanted Viktor to ask him to let him lick him again. Yuuri would have said yes. He would have said yes to about anything.

Viktor pulled up, but Yuuri didn't get out. He stayed sitting, and turned his hand to grip at Viktor's. A yearning tugged at him, pulling something out of him that he wasn't sure he was ready for. He couldn't let Viktor leave. Not like this. Not when he looked a hair-trigger away from snapping. "Stay." What was he doing!? His mind raced, his heart hammered, but he was oddly content with the idea. He looked at Viktor, seeing the man gawking at him like he'd just ripped off a wig and pulled out his teeth. A gag so shocking it couldn't be taken seriously. "Stay here tonight. Or for-" he licked his lips, "for however long you need."

"Yuuri-"

It didn't take long for all of the insecurity to catch up with him. "Sorry, that's a dumb idea. You wouldn't be comfortable at our place. God, you wouldn't even have a bed. And there's another person, and the squeaky hamster wheel, and the neighbors, and the wallpaper-"

Viktor leaned over the space and kissed him quiet. "I'd love to stay at your place, Yuuri. It would bring me so much pleasure. Just tell me where to park."

"Are you sure about this?" he asked again as he helped Viktor with his bags up the stairs. There wasn't much and Yuuri wondered how all of a person like Viktor could be reduced down into his arms. Makkachin was already up the flight, waiting for them at each turn.

"Are you taking your proposal back?" Viktor jutted out his bottom lip, face eclipsed in disappointment.

"No, just-"

"Good, because I'm staying!" He said it with a surge of excitement, dancing up the stairs, all traces of gloom and seriousness fluttering away with the wind.

"You really are going to get me evicted." But it was good to see Viktor back to himself, with that smile and radiant happiness. Yuuri knew that things still weren't okay. Even as Viktor did some weird form of a cha-cha outside his door, eagerly waiting for Yuuri to unlock it, there was an unmistakable hitch in his demeanor. Yuuri didn't press. Viktor would talk about it when he was ready. Or he wouldn't.

Phichit was on the couch as he made his way in. He instantly laughed at him and Yuuri paused, Viktor and Makkachin still hidden behind the half open door. "Somebody had a little somethin' going on tonight." Yuuri looked at him, puzzled. Phichit grinned, pointing a finger at his own neck. "You got a little tattletale on your throat."

Yuuri clapped a hand against the evidence of their session on the floor. He'd vaguely noticed it before, catching his reflection while Viktor was out, but he hadn't been thinking about anything but the conversation outside. Viktor prodded him with the edge of a suitcase at his hip and Yuuri moved aside to let them in.

"And brought that somethin' home..." He looked stunned, but waggled his eyebrows approvingly. "Should I give you some privacy?" Then he took notice of the bags. "Or a room maybe? Are you moving in?"

"It's a long story." Phichit wasn't satisfied with such a half-assed answer, so Yuuri told, first looking to Viktor for permission, which he gave. His best friend was practically praising him with laughter when he finished, looking guilty, but fond.

"Ha! Viktor's mama caught you on the kitchen floor? Good lord." He slung an arm around Yuuri, eyes still staring at the welted trail. "How do these things happen to you?"

Yuuri shrugged the arm off and attempted to tent his collar up over his neck. Judging by the look Phichit gave him, it did very little to help. Viktor was now in the bathroom and the two had some privacy to speak. "I don't know what happened between them, Phichit, but Viktor's been really off since it happened."

"Well, not everyone has perfectly loving parents like you, Yuuri. They probably have issues. Even famous people have normal people problems like little tiffs with their parents."

Yuuri worried at his lip, nipping and biting. Phichit wasn't helping stem off his anxiousness. Yuuri didn't know what Valeriya was there for. What she wanted from Viktor. Was Viktor hiding from her? Was that why he had to split? But why would he have to hide from his mother? What was said? What had been done?

"Yuuri," Phichit chided, "this isn't your problem. I know how you get, worrying so much about things that you even worry about other people's problems, but this is Viktor's worry. Now, he can totally stay here, but…" Phichit's eyes roamed their apartment, taking in the space as he stooped to rub Makkachin. "Where is he going to sleep?"

"Don't worry about it," Viktor said as he entered the room. Yuuri was already firmly in worry mode. "I'll take the couch tonight and buy a cot or futon in the morning. If you guys really don't mind."

"No, I'll take the couch," Yuuri offered. "You can sleep in my room until we get this more sorted out."

"As appealing as that sounds, sleeping between my lovers sheets," He slipped a finger beneath Yuuri's chin, drawing him closer as their noses bumped, "I'm already taking advantage of your kindness, Yuuri. I won't take any more."

Phichit cleared his throat from his place at their side as Yuuri's face heated up twenty degrees. "Um, okay. So I'm just going to head to bed. Make sure you ice that head, okay, Yuuri? It's good to see you, Viktor. Make yourself at home."

"What did he mean ice your head?" The question broke Viktor's entrancing look, though the finger curled more beneath his face, a tender stroke. Yuuri finally came back to himself, to his earlier thoughts.

Yuuri groaned and made his way to the kitchen. He set the bag with the shortcake stuff down on the counter before pulling an ice pack out of the freezer and gingerly applying it. "I may have been so startled by the, um, interruption that I hit my head on the floor. Kind of hard, actually." He felt around the spot with an inspecting finger. Nothing gave, nothing bled, but he hissed at the soreness.

"Oh, my Yuuri," Viktor came in close, like he wanted to help, heal, something. Yuuri eyed him.

"Don't 'oh, my Yuuri' me. Somehow I always end up taking head shots around you." Viktor's face visibly sank, but Yuuri's expression gave him away and he finally chuckled. "It's not that bad. It feels like a bruise, there but too dull to mean anything." Yuuri leaned against the fridge and watched Viktor for a moment. "And you? Did everything with your mom…?" He'd told himself not to ask. Viktor had wanted a private conversation for a reason. But just like at the ice rink, Yuuri wanted to know, this time, Yuuri asked with the intention to soothe.

Viktor's nose twitched, a hint of frustration burrowed beneath neutral features. "It's her house, technically. She was just checking in. At the worst time. As always. She wants to stay there. I no longer do. So I left."

It was horribly oversimplified. Yuuri could discern that even without reading the tightness of his cheeks, the tiredness of his eyes. But, as Phichit said, it wasn't his worry. Such a statement never stopped him, though. "So… what do you want to do? Are you tired?"

Viktor grunted and squeezed his features in denial. "Sleep is actually the last thing I want right now." He walked out to the living room and fwumped his body down onto the couch. It made an awful shriek, but they both pretended it remained silent like furniture was supposed to be. "We could go out to a club. Go dancing. We could go to Spritz?" Viktor suggested. He didn't really know how he felt at that moment. He wasn't sure what emotions were where. They'd scattered inside him, lost children hiding in dark crevices and he was at a loss as to how to coax them out. He wanted to get out, get excited, just be. In the moment. As a whole instead of as one. With Yuuri.

But Yuuri blanched at the suggestion. Right. Spritz. Are we still pretending like that never happened?

"Or there's this club uptown that Chris and I heard about, Vortex. They say it's the best if you want to stay unknown." After being reminded of everything he was and what he was supposed to be, the Nikiforov name plastered like a gaudy brand on his chest, the last thing he wanted was to be regarded by the public eye. No, anonymity sounded nice. Where he could just be with Yuuri. Just the two of them crushed together in a nameless, faceless crowd. That sounded better than nice. That sounded perfect.

"No, that's alright." Yuuri smiled, lips pulled tight and quirked awkwardly at the corners, body tense in all the wrong places. It drew a frown from Viktor.

"What did we do on Saturday? Can you just tell me if we…? Did we do anything that-"

Maybe it was less about the club and more about being alone with Viktor at a place where he would be drunk and vulnerable. Did Yuuri think something more happened between them? That Viktor was hiding such a damning detail from Yuuri and couldn't trust him? Did Yuuri really think that Viktor was the type of person to take advantage of someone who was beyond wasted? Yuuri had been exceptionally intoxicated and Viktor knew that. It was why things had ended with a kiss despite every fiber of Viktor's being singing for Yuuri. Of course, Yuuri had vanished before Viktor could assure the man of his intentions.

"Though I don't have a headache now, I'm sure the lights and noise and people would surely surface something terrible. Maybe next time?" The offer didn't sound genuine. Neither did the excuse. It seemed that they were both hiding between sentences tonight.

"Ah, right, sorry. Wasn't thinking." He was thinking too much. He was supposed to leave that to Yuuri. And Yakov. Oh. The thought dropped a little late in his mind. Was Yakov calling me about mom? "What do you want to do?" The way Yuuri relaxed wasn't lost on him, and he supposed that he would think on Yuuri's earlier actions more later.

"A movie in?"

Viktor beamed. Simple. Normal. Now that sounded "Perfect."

Yuuri nodded, giving his own self-assured smile. "You still want that shortcake?"

"Mhm, need any help?"

"Nope. You can pick out a movie in the cabinet by the window. It's a small selection, but pick whatever you want."

Yuuri hurried away into the kitchen, busying himself with his task. Viktor watched for a self-indulgent moment before picking out something from the designated area like a good, non-ogling Viktor.

He managed to get the TV on, which was like a relic from the humble beginnings of the technology age. It had a bright shimmy in the corner of the screen, pixels that swirled and probably weren't supposed to be noticeable. He struggled with the DVD player, but got it to start the movie just as Yuuri walked back in.

"One strawberry shortcake, sir. My sincerest apologies for the delay."

"Thank you, Yuuri." The angel food had been cut into precise squares and stacked into a pile. His sliced strawberries were piled on top of those with a swirl of whipped cream. Yuuri had even drizzled some chocolate over the mound and Viktor was sure that the man was trying to kill him with sugar. It was a small portion, at least. He took a bite and all of the flavor melted easily over his tongue, pure bliss dancing on his taste buds. It was divine. Could Yuuri ever make something that tasted bad? Or even so-so? If not, he wasn't going to be able to fit into any of his skating costumes. "I love your work, Yuuri, but this has to stop."

"What's wrong?" Yuuri looked between his downcast gaze and the plate. Viktor poked his midsection with the tail end of his fork and Yuuri got it. "I'm so sorry! I didn't even- If I'd eaten this much while dancing I would have ballooned past the point of no return."

"It's alright. My metabolism allows me to have a decently indulgent diet. I'll just have to space it out more. And maybe no chocolate next time… or whipped topping…"

"Or cake?" Yuuri chuckled. Viktor let out a pitiful puff of air. "What are we watching?"

They both sat on the ground between the couch and the coffee table with their legs tucked beneath it. Viktor brought up the case and flashed it at Yuuri.

"I think that's Phichit's…" Viktor waited for the dread to hit his face. One… two… three… "It's not the one with ghosts, is it?" There it was.

"Yes?"

"Do we have to?" he asked in a whine.

"But you love paranormal movies. You said so yourself. Number eleven." He stated it like a fact, etched in his bones.

"I said that they freak me out. I shriek at jump scares and this movie has a crap-ton of jump scares."

"Oops. I forgot."

"Uh-huh." Yuuri didn't buy it, crossing his arms and giving him that look over the rim of his glasses. They slid down his nose, to the very tip, and he looked like a librarian scolding Viktor for disturbing his patrons.

Viktor sought to remedy his concerns with a smooth slide of his arm around Yuuri's shoulders and patted his leg. "You'll be fine, Yuuri. I'll protect you from the ghosties. You can even sit in my lap."

"So you can get off on me having a heart attack every five minutes?"

Yuuri knew him too well.

The movie… was probably not the best choice. Yuuri was practically hiding in his own shirt as the haunting parts started, nails gripping the thick of his jeans. Viktor leaned the man into him, tucking his head onto the slope of his shoulder. Yuuri had just begun to ease when one particular scene made him jump some feet in the air, his head bashing into Viktor's chin. It caused the older man to clamp his teeth down on his tongue. Yuuri apologized over and over, red faced and checking his chin with trembly hands.

He was fine. His tongue throbbed and his chin ached only a little, but he played it up a bit, getting an ice pack and ice water and a few apologetic hugs in return. He could get used to a doting Yuuri.

They switched to a comedy after that. Yuuri made it half way through before exhaustion dampened him into blissful oblivion. Viktor felt a lump fall on his shoulder and looked over to find Yuuri asleep. He paused the movie and laid Yuuri gently down on his lap, preferring to watch his slumbering partner over the raunchiness on the screen. Viktor took the glasses from his nose, setting them atop the table, before his hand traveled aimlessly through silky, mussed up locks.

Viktor shrank all of his thoughts down to that moment where there were no life decisions. No familial obligations. No wavering trust or hidden meanings. Yuuri was in his lap wrapped in a precarious peace. Viktor coveted the movement of his chest, his pulse, the slight twitch to his fingers, the shape of his mouth as little puffs of air drew in and out, all signs of Yuuri's life held so preciously in his hands.

Viktor almost felt burdened by the meaning locked in his chest. It was heavy and it hurt in a way that left mottled bruises on his ribs, each new sensation leaving a new mark. He loved Yuuri. He loved Yuuri so much that just the thought of his career, of his mother, of his old life and the too real world made him curl in closer to Yuuri, cradling his head gently to his chest. He'd never felt love before, so he couldn't be sure that this feeling was truly love, but he'd never felt anything like the emotion that was currently constricting all of his organs. It had to be love. Or something damn near close that it didn't matter if it wasn't.

Viktor stared down at Yuuri, all shiny and new, still wrapped in plastic and shackled in place by twist ties. A rare prize that wasn't given a chance to bloom, wasn't guided to promise like he was. Yuuri wasn't a nobody. He wasn't a leech. Yuuri was everything. Viktor could see worlds in his eyes, galaxies of potential just waiting to be explored. He was a treasure trove sitting in the depths of a bottomless sea. Viktor just needed to find him, foster him, help him flourish. Then everyone would see what he saw. Yuuri would see what he saw.

Nothing mattered more to Viktor. He found life and love in Yuuri. He wanted Yuuri to find that in him, too.