Bouncing and fidgeting because I really can't believe I got this far. Here's Chapter 17 - Part 2. Each and every one of you - readers, reviewers, lurkers, everyone - you've made this such a fulfilling journey, a million thank yous!

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Present

And by god, did they dance.

It wasn't the banquet photos or their night at the lounge that proved that. Their dance transcended the physicality of it, went beyond those two exclusive events and the obvious similar glittering lights within them. It snaked through both their lives, reminding them that yes, even when the proverbial splattered across the fan, there was still hope in recognizing and taking that one moment to see. Granted it took copious intakes of champagne in Yuuri's case, but he digressed at the whims of the universe.

Yuuri stretched languorously along his bed, rolling to the left where Victor had been five minutes ago, the imprint of his body warm and inviting. He burrowed into the blanket, weightless in his half-sleep, his thoughts going back and forth between Sochi, and the here and now. There wasn't a day he didn't miss Vicchan, and while he occasionally experienced that dull ache associated solely with loss, he was no longer tormented by guilt. It was Yuuri's own somber acceptance of the inescapable nature of life, and understanding that some things were simply outside his control. Still, he wished Makka had been able to meet him. The thought of the two poodles huddled lazily together, distinguishable only by size, made Yuuri smile childlike into the pillow. That would definitely have set Victor's heart-mouth alight.

Sochi really had been a mess. A depressing, debilitating, wild, adventitious mess. But despite the disproportionate episode, perforated with heartache and failure, infatuation and thrills, there was a sobering (ha!) thought that Yuuri couldn't overlook: perhaps that was also life, bringing people and circumstances together at just the right place and time. It had set the stage, provided the props, and stepped back with an airy wave to him and Victor. If Yuuri had gone to the airport instead of the banquet, would Victor seeing him skate Aria have had the same effect? Would Yuuri have been able to practice Aria without Victor's words in his heart? If they'd never danced, but the viral video remained, would Victor have still come to Hasetsu? If he had recuperated and made it to the podium, would they both have revealed themselves so willingly or hid behind the walls of competitiveness?

So many what ifs. So many ways to have passed the other without seeing. How could Yuuri not be grateful for the progression that led them to each other?

Hearing Victor's explanation for coming to his hotel room would never cease to be astounding. Regret, the man said. He would've regretted it. More than a dance to Victor, more than a kiss. Yuuri's hands went to his flushed cheeks. More than that was the boldness of "I want the time we could've had". That especially drove it all home for Yuuri. Imagining what Victor had gone through in those first two months, the courage it took to stand with Yuuri, knowing he might never feel the same way...Yuuri pulled the blanket closer, a hushed whimper escaping him. All those days spent trading looks, all of which were heavily misconstrued and misinterpreted; Yuuri thinking Victor was being his usual flighty self, and Victor probably thinking Yuuri only saw him as a coach and idol.

And he did at first. Though the fog of 'I've felt this man before', those vivid wet-dreams, and the habitual closeness that transpired, Yuuri carved a wide canyon between fantasy and reality. He knew the difference and refused to get overly warm and fuzzy over the Russian just because he was Victor Nikiforov. He wouldn't be that person, fawning over Victor like he was some public commodity. Having him in Hasetsu was blessing enough, and he focused on the one thing that could show his wholehearted thanks, skating. Victor, of course, met him there with vigor; regardless of any other complexities within their relationship, on the ice they were always in sync.

But things changed since that day on the beach and Victor's quietly simple, "I don't want to lie to you, that's all". By then, they both had an impressive collection of Makka notes, but that particular question about Victor's favorite moment shifted their dynamic. Yuuri tried to reason his way out of it, but the exhaustion of those first strenuous practice sessions wasn't enough to blind him. So, he had given deeper thought to Victor's singularity and how his come hither traits barely scratched the surface of who he really way. The media, a large proportion of his fans, the skating populace, the world, they all had it wrong. Beneath that five-time-world-champion persona was a man who adored his poodle like a candy-hyped child, was embarrassingly petty when he really wanted his way, showed unending patience and kindness without Yuuri ever having to ask, bounced around Hasetsu like it was his home...and the nuances, god, the beautiful details of Victor that planted themselves in Yuuri's heart; that contented sparkle when they went to beach and sat right on the surf; the Russian melodies he quietly sang when he was packing away laundry or maintaining his skates; the reverence that engulfed him when he was alone on the ice, unaware that Yuuri watched, breath caught in his throat; every single note he'd written back to Yuuri...

Victor complimented him, in skating, in friendship, and now in love. And therein lay the difference for Yuuri. For a decade, he had loved the legend, had chased that seemingly insurmountable dream, guided by the distant brilliance of a skater who had the world at his feet. For Yuuri's feelings to have changed as surely as the seasons, him relinquishing the hero-worship and that initial infatuation to feel romantically for Victor Nikiforov, not the legend or the painted version of him, just the man, scared him. Holding Victor that morning, listening to him weep, it wasn't something Yuuri took lightly. Victor had given it all to him, no holds barred, and Yuuri would faster break his own arm than fuck with that kind of resolution.

Victor was mad, truly, unabashedly mad. He'd left Russia, moved to Japan, and gave Yuuri his undivided devotion as naturally as breathing. Waking again that morning, with the handsome Russian tangled around him, whispering wonderful things about how beautiful Yuuri was, and how this was now his favorite thing, and would he like some tea to start the day, Yuuri had felt safe. He would never again let anything interfere with that. They were each other's constants. Maybe that's what they were always meant to be.

It was surreal, too good to be true, perfect and terrifying.

But it was. And for Yuuri, that was worth everything.

Yuuri staggered into the pajamas he'd discarded on his chair hours before, the fabric cool against his sleep-warmed skin. He unplugged his phone, yawning and stretching arbitrarily while skimming through his messages from Phichit. His friend had clearly been basking in the news of their run-in with reporters.

A minor press incident? You call Yuri Plisetsky, the Russian Junior Champion, cursing out a reporter in defense of you and Victor a minor press incident? /P

This. Is. AWESOME! Holy shit, Russian Yuri has no chill! /P

Okay, both you and Victor literally look ready to start a war. I've never seen you look that angry before! /P

Alright, I'm linking you some articles and posts, from proper sources this time. Perspective. /P

Yuuri scrolled amusedly through the links, making a mental note to read them later: Thanks Phichit. Btw, are the posters still under my old bed?

Phitchit responded within a minute, I was wondering when you'd ask. I put them back into the tubes after you left Detroit. /P

I owe you one. How's the move going? /Y

I finished packing today. I didn't realize how much I missed home until now. Detroit really stopped being the same without you. /P

We'll make up for it, don't worry. Don't forget to send me your flight details. /Y

Whoops, I forgot! Let me screenshot it now. /P

Yuuri slid into his desk chair, propping up his legs with a tired groan. It was after ten a.m. and he and Victor could feasibly get in two, maybe three hours of practice before Yurio's session that afternoon. Yuuri harbored that spirited feeling, being drawn to skating. Much like having Victor in his arms, it felt like coming home. The pull grounded him, soothed his soul, and he knew that once he held fast to that sensation, there was little he wouldn't be able to do on the ice. He had to admit though, he was a bit spent after last night's activities. Unparalleled stamina or no, sleep was an inevitability he would welcome.

Not that he was complaining about the reasons he was tired. He'd woken as though recently possessed, taking in oxygen like a man hauled from the jaws of death. His hands gripped the sheets, clawing at them as though they held secrets that would spill from the blunt drag of his nails. Another dream, this one a memory. Victor on his knees. For him. Yuuri had to say it out loud for the words to really make sense and with that vocalization had come a fierce rush of inspiration. Yuuri laughed, a silly, throaty sound because of course it had taken him this long to see the obvious. Denseness aside and breathing relieved, he had gathered his equipment and left Yu-topia.

He hadn't woken Victor, instead giving it all to fate. As always, Victor had not disappointed.

Yuuri leaned back contentedly, tracing the bumps and bruises that would always line his feet. A night overflowing with eros, a quad flip added to his repertoire, Victor's appearance at Ice Castle to witness his accomplishment, the long, leisurely intervals of rediscovering each other's lips, Victor's absolute faith in him...Yuuri would take it all with him when he skated. He would remember every facet of it. And he would be free.

"You're up," Victor said from the doorway, and Yuuri turned to him, his adoration unmistakable. An adorable pink flush highlighted Victor's cheeks (the times that had happened could now be counted on two hands). Makka bounded towards Yuuri for his customary morning pets, and Yuuri smiled as Victor followed and deposited two steaming mugs of tea onto his desk. He watched Makka practically hop out of the room again, before leaning down to kiss Yuuri's temple.

"Good morning."

"Good morning." Yuuri reached for the tea but his mind diverted halfway there, and he ended up holding onto Victor's hand instead, "How are you love?"

Victor's felt his fingers settle into Yuuri's touch; it wasn't conscious, it just was, "I'm okay now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. But. I...I hope I didn't overwhelm you. I just wanted you to understand-"

Yuuri couldn't believe him, couldn't perceive such thoughtfulness on Victor's part, and it was too extraordinary to counter verbally. Yuuri was on his feet, Victor's gasp evidence of his suddenness. The tea sloshed precariously to the side of the mugs (but thankfully didn't spill), as Yuuri planted trembling hands on Victor's shoulders and pulled him forward, cutting off any further need for him to finish that apology. Victor's mouth parted just so, surprised at Yuuri's motions and force, but the unspoken connotation of it, that deep, devastating emotion that no combination of words could hope to capture melted him. He surged forward, responding with his own kiss that said what he needed it too as much as Yuuri's Eros and quad flip had communicated that morning.

"The only thing you did was remind me how amazing you are," Yuuri said after the stars cleared from his vision, his knuckles ghosting against Victor's jaw. The Russian looked at him like he didn't know where the morning began and the night ended.

"You're something else, you know that?" He kissed the bridge of Yuuri's nose, chuckling as Yuuri squinted at the cuteness, "What would you like to do today?"

"Come back to bed with me koibito."

Victor leaned against his desk as casually as he could (which was noticeably unsteady because who was he fooling when Yuuri's eyes were radiating that level of temptation) and pointed to the still billowing tea, "First things first, drink. Your mother said it would help since we were up so late."

It wasn't exactly a surprise that their attempts to be sneaky went in vain. Yuuri cradled the ceramic, taking a grateful sip, "Does everyone know?"

"Yurio asked me to tell you, and I quote, 'The night is for fucking sleeping piggy. Stop fucking overdoing it'." They broke into laughter which soon tapered out into another shared look of fondness. When they had fulfilled their quota of tea, Yuuri slid from the chair and pressed himself against Victor with all the subtlety of an ice-skate to the face.

"Thank you."

Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri's waist, pulling him closer, "For?"

"The tea."

"You're welcome."

Yuuri gave a devious smile, "Now will you come back to bed?"

"At this rate, we'll have to cut practice short today." Responsible Coach Nikiforov? Not for much longer.

"Last night counts," Yuuri's mouth trailed up to the spot right behind Victor's ear, "Ten minutes."

Victor felt a warm hand sneaking along his inner thigh. Jesus, if this was how Yuuri chose to manipulate him going forward, he wouldn't survive, "Make it fifteen."

Yuri Plisetsky, the Ice Tiger of Russia, the Russian Fairy, the Russian Punk, and now immortalized meme of the month.

Yuuri sat in the rink as Victor and Yurio refined Agape, reading through the posts Phichit had recommended he digest. Be it Yurio's impeccable reputation and skill, or his volcanic temper, the media backed right off of Victor and Yuuri. The ones who rashly chose to continue their campaign of bullshit were effectively decimated on social media by Yurio and Victor's fans. Yurio's following in particular were a garrison of inflexibility and viciousness, and their fortress of positivity towards Yurio's actions shocked Yuuri. He sheepishly realized how far down the rabbit hole he had gone, overlooking all the good things that had been, and were now being said. Irrationality of that kind should be a crime, really. Yuuri shook his head, further surprised to discover fans begging both Russians for more information on him, lamenting Yuuri's lack of presence online and whether he had any plans to share more with them and the wider skating community.

Perspective achieved, thanks for these Phichit. I'm an idiot. /Y

Yuuko sauntered to him, dropping into the seat on his right, "You look happy."

"About time, don't you think?" She beamed at him in response, "Did the triplets give Yurio the Agape recordings?"

"Yup! Yesterday, and then Yurio let them skate circles around him but you didn't hear it from me," Yuuko glanced at the Russian duo, "It's going to be an interesting season, isn't it?"

Yuuri smiled, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

After Yuuko returned to the front of Ice Castle, and as round three of Agape came to a finish, Yuuri's thumb hovered over his long deactivated Instagram app. Maybe it was time to consider Phichit's "You need to lighten up" advice. Both Russians skated over and Yuuri handed them their water and guards, pocketing his phone in the process; he'd give himself another few hours to make a decision.

"Let's do another couple of- oh god no," Yurio extended a stern arm to hold Victor back when he leaned over the barrier in a clear attempt to kiss Yuuri, "Vitya, at least fucking pretend you're a professional coach," Yuuri winked at his sulking boyfriend and Yurio rolled his eyes, "You're both ridiculous. Speaking of, has the coverage died down?"

"Most of it," Yuuri said, "The rest is being taken care of by Yuri Angels." He grinned wide and teasing, and Yurio let out a stream of Russian expletives under his breath.

"I'm just glad they got the fucking point," Yurio muttered, narrowing his eyes at Victor using him as an elbow rest while he guarded his skates, "What's interesting is that my inbox is full of questions about you piggy."

"Mine too," Victor watched Yuuri shrug, his red cheeks betraying the indifference, "It's your choice Yuuri. I know you like your privacy."

It was true. Victor, and Yurio come to think of it, were respectful of Yuuri's self-isolation. Yuuri knew Victor had countless pictures of Hasetsu, many of them including him, and not once did he breach that unspoken boundary that Yuuri decisively stuck behind. For Yuuri, the stress of managing online interactions had been much too daunting. It made him wonder about the Grand Prix banquet.

"How come no pictures made it out of last year's banquet?"

The flush he'd gained from practice rapidly drained from Yurio's face. The younger Russian glared at Victor, "We're not supposed to be talking about this. Ever." Yuuri's fixed them both with a confused look but Victor waved it off with a breezy laugh.

"He's only upset because you beat both him and Chris in the dance off," Victor rubbed the back of his head having collected a harsh slap from his Russian colleague, "Given the crowd usually in attendance, media is strictly for eyes only. Leaks are taken very seriously. Also, certain skaters may or may not have used their influence to ensure those confidentiality rules were fully intact that time around."

Yuuri wasn't quite over those banquet photos, so when he said "Thank you" it came from a place of deep indebtedness. He would not have survived that embarrassment at that point in his life.

"Never. Again." Yurio was grinding his teeth, talking to no one in particular. He put on his guards, his curses thick and audible as he stalked off to the bathroom. Victor took the moment to complete his initial mission of pecking Yuuri on the lips.

"I really mean it. Thank you," Yuuri said, "and tell Christophe thanks from me because I'm assuming he was part of this group of 'certain skaters'?"

"He'll much prefer that coming straight from you. He checked in this morning about the press conference. I owe him a lot too actually," Victor walked around to Yuuri and picked up his phone, "Chris found your friend Phichit's account a few months ago. I...well, I looked for you after Sochi and came up empty." He showed Yuuri a screenshot of him on the ice in Detroit, back turned to the camera, light streaming around him. It was one of Yuuri's personal favorites; Phichit's photography skills were as fierce as his skating.

"I'm surprised you never messaged him," Yuuri teased.

"I almost did," Victor confessed, "Multiple times."

"I can't wait for you to meet Phichit. I apologize in advance, though."

"I have the exact same sentiments about Chris," Victor suddenly looked a little rueful, "By the way Yuuri. Um. I'm sure you know the stories. About me. The one about Chris and I, it isn't true. Not that all of the others are, but just in case you thought...um..."

Yuuri had never seen Victor gesticulate this aimlessly before. He blinked and recovered in record time when he realized what Victor was trying to tell him, "You don't have to do that Victor."

"I don't want you to think-"

Yuuri tried to silence him with a kiss, "It really isn't any of my business love."

"It is."

"Victor-"

"No, Yuuri. It is." And it was the firmness in his tone that gave Yuuri pause, "I have some things I'd like to tell you, about me, about my life. Not now, but sometime, if you want. I don't want to lie to you."

"That isn't lying," Yuuri reasoned, "But, I don't mind taking you up on the offer. I have a lot to tell you too." He brushed Victor's hair for his eyes, the strands straight and damp, "Mom asked me to run a couple errands for her, so I'll need to stop by Yu-topia. I'll meet you and Yurio at the beach later, okay?"

They didn't move until Yurio yelled at them to haul ass, mumbling things along the lines of 'You see each other every fucking day' and 'Is this how it's going to be all season?'.

The sky peaked out at Victor and Yurio, sunlight creeping through the slowly dispersing crowd of grey. Yurio took a deep breath, crossing his legs on the sand with a relaxed sigh. He'd be back in Russia soon, and the ability to unwind like this would be few and far between. He soaked in the leisure, the solace of this beautiful castle town called Hasetsu, memorizing the details so he could relay them perfectly to his grandfather. Maybe one day he'd be able to bring him here.

"Are you sure I can just take one of your old costumes?"

"They're not doing any good packed away," Victor said, his fingers drawing random shapes in the sand, "Yuuri already made his selection, and it's only fair since I choreographed both routines. Whatever adjustments you need to make, you can do when you're back home."

"Home..." Yurio repeated the word like he was discovering it for the first time, "Vitya, all these years you've been in St. Petersburg. You've never left the city for more than a week at a time. Yet..."

"Yet I moved away from the only place I've really ever known, at the height of my career, with no warning and no identifiable plan?" The gentle sway of the ocean, that slow, tranquilizing furl of the waves made Victor smile, "It's funny, I never paid much attention to the seagulls cries in St. Petersberg. Since I came to Hasetsu though, I think about them all the time. I think about a lot of things in my life. It can be so easy to forget, to miss the little things."

Yurio was quiet, so Victor continued, "Russia is who I am. Hasetsu is who I've wanted to be. Do you understand?"

He contemplated Victor's candid explanation; the man really had changed. Yurio regarded his longtime rink-mate, the lull leading him to a confession of his own, "I finished Aria with Yakov and Lilia."

Victor let out a slow breath, his smile unwavering, "I know."

"What?" Yurio was incredulous, "What the fuck do you mean you know?"

"You didn't notice that in our sessions you incorporated moves that weren't mine?" Victor was now unconsciously tracing Yuuri's free skate into the sand, "It wasn't as obvious today, and with further practice you will be able to separate the two, if that's what you want, but I'm not so out of touch that I don't know the difference between my and someone else's choreography."

"I didn't realize," Yurio huffed, more for himself than Victor, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I owed you Yura. I should not have left St. Petersberg without finishing your routine."

"But even if you did, you would've left afterwards anyway." Victor looked over at Yurio, an apology forming in his mind but the younger skater's expression wasn't irate or mocking. In his own way, Yurio understood.

"Yes."

"Once he qualifies for the GPF, I'll consider us even."

Victor studied the tracks he'd left in the sand; Yuuri blazing across the ice and setting his heart on fire was rivaled only by the way he kissed and touched and brightened Victor's world with his starlight, "Then I can assure you, we're even by default."

"Thank you Vitya."

"Hmm?"

"You reminded me of something," Yurio said, "I had it half wrong. Guess that's why I only got half a routine. I had to earn it."

Victor dusted his hand on his pants with a low chuckle, "Yakov would be proud."

"This is between you and I. Breathe a fucking word..."

Victor doubled over laughing and Yurio readjusted his scowl into something less ominous as Yuuri walked towards them, Makka happily rushing around him. Yuuri, however, was not so easily fooled.

"Everything okay here?"

Victor was now in stitches and Yurio appeared to be considering his alibis; Yuuri shook his head, "You can kill Victor for whatever he's done after dinner. Deal?"

Victor assumed a wounded slant, hand over his heart in feigned disbelief, "Three days and you're taking his side?"

Yurio grinned, "I knew you had redeeming qualities piggy."

Yuuri sat between them, and they watched Makka soak himself, his barks nothing but pure happiness. Yuuri nodded to himself and gave his phone to Victor; it was unlocked and showing his now empty Instagram account.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Yuuri grabbed Yurio's arm and pulled the young man to him, "This is a good place to start, right?" Victor laced his fingers through Yuuri's own and extended his right arm out.

"Smile!"

One month later

Yuuri flicked through the app, reviewing a few past exercises that were still giving him grief. His nose wrinkled excitedly whenever he made it through without error, and his frowns were sharp and petulant when he botched a translation, or misspelled basic terms he swore were committed to memory a week ago. In those cases, he usually restarted the exercise from scratch, sounding the words softly (in much the same way he did with Japanese, all the way down Victor's flushed chest. He wondered what would be Victor's reaction when he one day did it in Russian). When the automated voice started to annoy him, he went to the source.

He recorded a voice note, and sent it to Yurio, following up with a message: Is that right? /Y

Partially. Listen. /Yr

Yuuri replayed the note he received several times, increasing the volume and adjusting his headphones for maximum impact, smiling at the amusement in Yurio's tone. Comfortable with the feel of the phrase, he sent a second voice note. It was still shaky, but he managed to do it without resorting to his notes.

Better. /Yr

Yuuri breathed out, relieved, and continued, keeping a close eye out for Victor returning from his errand.

It happened little by little much to everyone's entertainment. At first, both and Yuuri and Victor were completely oblivious to some of the finer spots of attention; Hiroko fussing over Victor's shirt, slyly mentioning that Yuuri had one in that exact color; Yuuko smirking at Yuuri, asking if he wouldn't be more comfortable with at least one fold in the legs of his sweats seeing as either he'd shrunk or his pants had miraculously extended.

They eventually realized that their clothes were irretrievably mixed up because, on most days, they tended to grab whatever was in their vicinity, no longer giving thought to which room they woke up in. They sometimes caught the telltale scent of each other's favorite soap on a t-shirt they found themselves wearing, and Yuuri sometimes noticed the brand-name tags on his active wear. Neither of them said a word, secretly delighting in sight of each other. They went so far as to start deliberately stealing things from each other's closet, just to render the other speechless at very inappropriate moments.

Photographs of Yuuri in Victor's Russia track jacket and vice versa made its way onto their respective Instagram accounts. Needless to say, they were inundated with notifications over several days. Everyday clothing was one thing, but that particular outfit was a realm of distraction all its own. They grudgingly promised to keep it for those slow nights they spent luxuriating in the feel of each other, which of course was a rule they constantly broke.

Since Yuuri's quad flip, there was never a night they spent apart and with that came learning to maneuver around each other's sleep quirks; Yuuri was convinced Victor's snoring would be the death of him (he compromised with earplugs), and Victor had to wonder if Yuuri was secretly a personified firestorm that manifested every few nights without fail. They were empty gripes, jibes they threw at each other during those silly disagreements, and each morning saw them intertwined with each other, complaints forgotten.

One night, after a particularly robust day of practice, Yuuri sat exhausted on Victor's bed, bracketed by his boyfriend's legs. Purposeful fingers kneaded away his tension, and Yuuri relished in the sleep that was to come. He ached, the good kind of pain that came with fine-tuning his routines. Yuuri drew a knee to his chin in an attempt to stay upright, eyes fluttering.

"You should take the day off tomorrow."

Yuuri smiled; Victor always knew, "I have no problem with that."

Victor nipped at the back of his neck, his breath hot and ticklish. He moved off the bed to get the lights, while Yuuri sunk into the pillows. Victor settled next to him, taking Yuuri's glasses and placing them safely to the side.

"I forgot again," Yuuri yawned.

"It's okay. You pushed hard today solnyshko." Victor tipped Yuuri's chin, and kissed him softly.

"Something on your mind?" Yuuri enquired because that wasn't an ordinary goodnight kiss.

"I wanted to ask, how would you like us to act during competition?"

Yuuri winced, mostly because of the reminder of their fight, "I don't want us to 'act' Victor."

"Yuuri," he said gently, "It's okay. I understand if you're uncomfortable with public displays in that context. I'm perfectly capable of being professional for a few hours a day-"

"Is that what you want?"

Yuuri was developing quite the audaciousness knack, "No, it isn't. But I'm not saying it isn't something to consider."

Yuuri leveled him with that gaze, the one that often got Victor naked and on his back before he had time to take a proper breath, "I want you to never take your eyes off of me. So, use your discretion."

"I don't have much of that when it comes to you, especially when you look at me like that."

There was something in that predatory curve of his lips that left Yuuri helpless but tonight it was more show than seduction. His expression softened out, and Victor drew Yuuri to him, kissing his eyelids.

"I couldn't take my eyes off you if I tried."

The next day brought the message Yuuri had been waiting for:

Adjustments are done! See you in a bit! /M

Yuuri's eagerness bubbled over. His Eros costume was finally ready, having been tweaked to conform seamlessly to his height and build. He went down to the dining room and showed Victor the message, virtually bouncing with anticipation.

"I've been dreaming about putting the damn thing on for weeks."

'Oh, you have no idea,' Victor thought.

They were halfway through lunch when Hiroko, Minako and the Nishigoris entered, bringing an abundance of liveliness with them. The triplets had their phones at the ready, and Yuuko was pink-faced in her zeal. Axel, Lutz and Loop crowded Victor in a semi-circle, consulting with him on their latest Instagram posts. He smiled dotingly at them. Yuuri loved that after all this time, Victor still looked somewhat surprised by how easily Yuuri's family had accepted him.

"And I thought I was excited," Yuuri said to the group.

"We couldn't help it, especially Yuuko," Takeshi grinned.

"Can we see it now? Please, please, please?" Axel, Lutz, and Loop begged in unison. Yuuri laughed.

"What do you think coach? Are sneak peeks allowed?"

Victor dramatized consideration of the request, index finger tapping against his lips. The triplets were beside themselves, "PLEASE VICTOR! All the skating otaku will love it!"

He chuckled, "I see no reason why not." Yuuri took the garment bag from Minako and proceeded to his room, Victor following very closely behind him.

It was exactly as Yuuri remembered it; that smooth, sultry black blending into the meshing down the right half of his body, and up the back of his left leg; the embellishments were bold across the wide belt and shoulder, and gave a sharp glean in the light; the short frills at his waist, lined in a passionate red, flowed endlessly with his figure. Yuuri was taken apart as he slipped into the outfit, holding his breath in awe. This would always be Victor's costume, but right then, he felt as though he and he alone was Eros' guardian.

The zipper sat low on his back, diagonal in the space it would traverse to complete the ensemble. Victor's fingers were around it, and Yuuri caught the glint in his eyes as they stood in front of the mirror.

"I'm a little jealous Yuuri," his voice was brazenly wanton, "that the world will see you like this. I want you. All to myself."

"They'll all be watching me, but it won't matter. I know exactly who I'm skating for."

"Yuuri..." and Victor's mouth was on his back, all tongue and teeth and oh, that was going to bruise splendidly. He brought the zip up, his lips grazing the shell of Yuuri's ear, "That's for wearing my jacket last week when you were practicing Eros."

If it was one thing Yuuri craved taking advantage of, it was his ability to wreck Victor. The man could flirt his way out of murder, but he hadn't been prepared for Yuuri's brand of eros. If it wasn't for the audience waiting on them downstairs, Yuuri wouldn't yield so easily to Victor's teasing.

"Later," Yuuri said. Victor's eyes twinkled with the promise.

In a show of spontaneity as effervescent as the sunshine that broke through the early morning rains, they took the train to Fukuoka to enjoy the rest of their day off. The pristine fit of his Eros costume endured throughout the hour and half travel time, and though Yuuri was now casually dressed and showing Victor the various pursuits the city had to offer, tingles danced across his skin in reminder of it. When Yuuri had expended his knowledge of Fukuoka, he followed Victor's movements as the Russian snapped picture after picture through the window. There was a beautiful flow about him that always left Yuuri with a tide of realization that, yes, Victor was right there with him.

He wanted to memorize his kaleidoscope of a boyfriend, treating everyday like it was their first and last.

"You're staring." Victor's fingers sailed across his cheek.

"You would be too if you had my view."

Yuuri might as well have hung the moon in the sky with the way Victor lit up, "Trust me, mine is better."

Yuuri smiled; he'd let him have this one, "Any word on my free skate costume?"

Victor glanced over his email, just in case, "Not yet, but don't worry, it shouldn't be too long again."

It had been years since Yuuri made the trip to Fukuoka, and having Victor hanging off of his every word, tripping over his questions as he absorbed the bustle of their new adventure, captivated Yuuri all over again. Victor seldom offered free days, but he did know where Yuuri's limit lay. Yuuri would never willingly give up practice, and Victor was the antithesis for his stubbornness. Their rapport was a boon that extended beyond skating, and Yuuri was grateful for it as he settled into the afternoon, hand in hand with the enthused Russian who proceeded to direct Yuuri around Fukuoka of his own accord. Yuuri knew he couldn't understand most of the signs, nor did he know the layout of the city, but it didn't matter. For the meantime, Yuuri was content to freely roam at Victor's whim.

"Can we go to the park your mentioned?" Victor said, "I really want to see the castle ruins."

"Sure, we can take a bus to get there."

Victor brushed his lips against the back of Yuuri's hand, "We should've done this sooner."

"All work and no play, except I love my work," Yuuri grinned, "C'mon."

It was a short bus ride to Ohori Park, and they spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring, making the stop to Fukuoka Castle (Yuuri had to relay it's history to Victor, and he consciously found ways to mention 'ninja' in every other sentence, just to hear him squeal delightedly), and a quick detour to the scenic Japanese garden before its closing time. Victor, impulsive buyer that he was, gathered much too many souvenirs from the surrounding shops. Yuuri chuckled, quietly thankful that they were all portable items, or else they would've been encumbered by the weight of Victor's shopping spree.

The afternoon soon gave way to softer hues, heralding how quickly the time had passed. They walked along the edge of the lake, enjoying the greenery that snaked through their route, and the backdrop of the city in the distance. Victor sighed happily.

"Thank you for bringing me here. I wish we had time to see more."

"Next time I'll take you to Fukuoka Tower. The view of the city is pretty amazing from there," Yuuri said, "There's also a fireworks festival at the beginning of August. We can come back then, if you want."

Victor squeezed his hand, "It's a date."

They were famished by the time Yuuri tracked down a well-reviewed noodlebar. Victor listened to Yuuri's recommendations and when his indecisiveness got the better of him, he solved it by ordering a bit of everything. Realistically, it was too much food for two people, but neither of them seemed to catch on to that reality, too caught up in the fun they had and were having.

Everything that passed Victor's lips brought forth a hearty "Vkusno", much to Yuuri's pleasure. The discovery of the night, however, wasn't the delicious range of dishes surrounding them but the fact that Yuuri could drink him under the table. It started innocently, the usual servings of sake passing between them, but as Yuuri kept pouring, and Victor followed suit, their competitiveness spurred an impromptu drinking game. Victor should've known he was in over his head (because Sochi) but Yuuri's wicked grin egged him on. He forfeited when he found his hand high on Yuuri's thigh, a signal of how low his impulse control had dropped. He would need that in check for the journey to Hasetsu. Plus, watching Yuuri celebrate his victory with another drink, his eyes ablaze and sentences swirling around Japanese and English made losing the challenge worth it.

Yuuri still had the presence of mind to direct them to the bus stop, and then through the train station. He wasn't grab-a-world-champion-and-romance-him-on-the-dance-floor drunk, but there was an insistence about him, and his bright smile and flushed cheeks were charming in perpetuum. Victor lived for this, seeing Yuuri so happy.

They entered the empty train car, and Victor took a seat opposite the entrance, looking bemused when Yuuri didn't sit with him. The younger skater studied him, and it wasn't so black and white that Victor could immediately perceive it's meaning. Yuuri gripped the handrail next to the seat with his right hand, leaning off of it as he extended a leg behind him as though to twirl. There was memory and mischief in his eyes.

"Vitya, would you like to know something new about me?"

Victor held his breath. He was afraid to answer lest he disturb Yuuri out of his trance.

"I took pole-dancing classes in Detroit. I hated taking ballet without Minako around, but since I had no choice, I decided to do something new, something just for me. I wanted to feel strong. Sexy."

Victor was so fucking grateful he hadn't played beyond his strengths with the sake because if he had missed that provocative look on Yuuri's face because of inebriation, he might as well have resigned from life.

"It's a pity these trains don't have the straight rails," Yuuri ran a hand along the curved handrail, "I would've loved to show you my skills." When Yuuri stepped towards him, hands on the top of his thighs, his lips right there for the taking, Victor stopped breathing entirely.

"Thanks for the time off Vitya. I had a great time today," Yuuri whispered, "but it isn't over. I can still feel your mouth on my back, you know. One hickey isn't enough." The wherewithal for speech was lost on Victor, and Yuuri treated him to the kiss he'd wanted to give since trying on the costume.

"You're speechless."

Victor nodded.

"You're gorgeous." And Victor groaned against the second kiss, equal parts gentle and dirty.

"The things you do to me in my dreams Vitya, it should be illegal. And your mouth, fuck, nothing compares. Nothing. What would you give to get on your knees for me right now? What I would give..."

"Y-Yuuri..."

"It's all for you. Only for you. I hope you know that. I hope it's enough."

Victor snapped out of his stupor, his words a rush, "More than Yuuri. It's more than I deserve," Yuuri shook his head but Victor stopped him with a blinding kiss, "Dance with me."

Time stopped, or so it felt, as Yuuri obliged him, and their laughter echoed euphorically through the train car.

Yuuri had been right, the night wasn't over and Victor wouldn't survive. Not now. Not Ever.

As they spent more time together, Yuuri was able to convey very specific things with his lips; soft thank yous, annoyed nos, grumpy mornings, shy reminders, simple agreements...

Pure eros.

The former he could grasp. The latter would kill him, he was sure of it.

Yuuri undid him like only he could, with that coy smile and those destructive eyes, smooth as mahogany, powerful as a tidal wave. Yuuri was spread wide around Victor's kneeling form, his calves hooked over the Russian's thighs, and god, Victor was praising their athletic flexibility as he pushed Yuuri further up the mattress. Though he was the one who had Yuuri pinned, crowding him into deep, delicious and messy kisses as they rolled their hips in irresistibly sedated tandem, they both knew who was really a mess for it tonight. Yuuri confirmed as such earlier when he sucked Victor into a state of ruin, making sure to hold eye contact as he wiped that drip of cum from the edge of his mouth, and licked his lips like he'd just had the best meal of his existence.

Jesus, what had he done to deserve Yuuri?

Yuuri's room was blisteringly hot, and they were dripping sweat as he circled Victor's entrance, his freshly lubed fingers cool to the touch. Victor arched himself into the contact, latching hard to the junction of Yuuri's neck with a fretful groan. Yuuri had been intentionally picking him apart since they got home, mapping a series of licks and love bites from collarbone to inner thigh, until he was writhing, straining, aching for it. Now, naked, bodies pressed together, cocks all too sensitive with each electric graze, every sensation sending sparks catapulting down their spines, it was torture. And Victor fucking loved it.

"You're impatient tonight."

"You're driving me fucking crazy," Victor moaned against him, struggling for more friction between them but Yuuri merely hummed, lips curled into a devilish grin, "Yuuuuuri..."

Yuuri fought through the haze, awareness still at a viable percentage that he could drag this out just long enough for Victor to reward him with those obscene sounds tied up in his throat. His dick twitched restlessly against Victor's and Yuuri silently counted down from ten, as he pressed against the puckered skin. His finger slipped past that first resistance, slow, sloooow, and Victor's mewls were tangled with Yuuri's tongue as the shock of the cold lube melded with his burning body. Victor supported himself on one arm, reaching between them to Yuuri's dick, smiling through the moans when Yuuri shivered under his touch, the pad of his thumb circling his tip, smearing precum and lube as he created a tight ring along the shaft. Yuuri bit his lip, eyes long dark with lust, and added a second finger in one fluid motion. Victor's forehead dropped to Yuuri's chest.

Scissoring. Stretching. Curling just shy of that sweet spot. Victor gasped.

"Teasing bastard."

"This is for wearing my jacket last week during dinner with everyone," Yuuri growled, and the sound reverberated across him, through Victor and down to both their cocks, "I couldn't fucking think Vitya."

"You deserved it after that stunt you pulled...at the- oh god..." his hand twisted into the sheets, and he whined uncontrollably when Yuuri brushed past his prostate, grinding back with shameless need against the intrusion.

"I didn't say that I didn't," and Yuuri's strokes went right where Victor craved, over and over and over, provoking a string of unintelligible Russian as he set an unrelenting pace. He scratched his way down Victor's back, and they rutted hard against each other until his mind shorted and he split his lip, his whimpers prolonged with the steady rhythm and Victor falling apart over him. God, the man was too beautiful for words.

Their kisses were rough enough to bruise, as was Victor finding purchase in his shoulders, and Yuuri gripping the meat of Victor's ass. The fuse was crackling down, and they chased the ignition, the pleasure building and tightening and cutting through them both.

Close, so, so close. Victor crushed their mouths together as the explosion radiated outwards, shattering, shuddering, the sounds of their orgasms caught between swollen lips and spilling over both their chests. They rode the high together, the warmth that bound them an intoxicating drug. Boneless, they lay splayed and shaking, and with a hoarse whisper, Yuuri carefully slipped his fingers from Victor.

"This makes us even again, doesn't it?"

"I think it does," Yuuri breathed, hands combing through Victor's hair.

Victor nibbled at his collarbone, "I wonder how long it will last."

"Knowing us, not very."

"You're perfect," Victor murmured, "The way you touch me, how you move inside me, I don't know what comes over you but it's fucking perfect."

Color rose along his neck, but it was a habitual response to Victor's praise in bed. Yuuri wasn't as bashful towards their intimacy anymore. No, he felt alive, "It's the same when you do it for me Vitya. I can't get enough of you. Just thinking about it..."

Victor shifted just enough that he could kiss Yuuri again, sweet and slow, "Let's get cleaned up lapochka. I'll make some tea before we go to bed."

Yuuri brought their lips together with a sigh, responding in Japanese. Victor followed with Russian.

They both knew what each other's words translated to in English.

Two months later

The days passed in a blur of glowing routine, a pattern they welcomed as the season grew closer. They went through each routine in painstaking detail, leaving nothing to chance in presentation or technical. It was a long and taxing process that saw difficult days and tired nights, but Yuuri persisted, trusting Victor to never take his eyes off of him. Victor focused on the way Yuuri currently skated, seeming to step into another world altogether, like his very soul would be swallowed by the ice if he didn't give it his all. As his coach, Victor couldn't be more proud of his progress. As his lover, it reminded him of exactly why he'd fallen for Yuuri all those months ago.

Yuuri was landing the quad flip consistently in practice though he hadn't decided on incorporating it into competition. Somehow, after that night in Ice Castle, it felt too personal and the romantic part of him wanted to keep it for himself. His ambitious side made no refute, at least not yet, so Yuuri gave himself time to deliberate. Victor left the judgement to him, confident in whatever he chose to do. He had faith in Yuuri. He'd had that faith since Aria.

"Oh shit," Yuuri muttered as they approached Yu-topia, "I forgot my gloves."

They slowed, and Victor was about to turn with him but Yuuri shook his head, "It's okay. I'll go with Makka."

Victor nodded and kissed him on the cheek, watching as they trekked back to Ice Castle. Not so long ago, those monosyllabic lines would've caused him unease, maybe even upset him. Now, Victor understood. The time was drawing near, and though Yuuri's determination continued to mount, some days saw him subdued and distant. They tended to work around each other until Yuuri was ready to talk. Victor always made sure his poodle was on Yuuri-duty during those times, until Yuuri came to him and he could could wrap him in his arms and shower him with all the good he deserved.

Once they were out of sight, Victor hurried into Yu-topia to find Hiroko. Like Yuuri, Victor wanted to keep surprising him, to always see him smiling (and he could only imagine how enjoyable this particular shocker would be with Yuuri's jacket on). He smirked, fumbling with his phone as he split his attention between accessing the app and navigating around obstacles in his path.

"Where's Yuuri?" Hiroko asked when Victor appeared next to her. She peered around him, just in case.

"He went back to Ice Castle for his gloves."

"Show me," she said and Victor scrolled through his notes to the Japanese phrases he'd put together. It was the collective effort of his language app, and Yuuri's family. Hiroko beamed at him.

"You're improving."

"Speaking it is a bit easier than writing," Victor said, "The app is helping me track the basics."

"You're doing fine. Just keep up with the courses, and whatever trouble you're having, you know where to find us." Victor gave her a quick hug as his ringtone sounded and he excused himself to answer the call.

"Victor darling," Chris sang, "Your tailor is a god. Thank you for the referral. I very nearly died when I realized I'd forgotten to pack a suit."

"It's the least I could do. But I have to ask..."

"I forgot half the things I needed before I flew out. That man will be the death of me," Chris chuckled, "How's the Japanese coming along?"

"A bit more difficult than when I was learning French but its not impossible."

"You're such a sap."

Victor scoffed, "You're one to talk. I know how much Alexander charges for short-notice suits."

"It was worth every penny," Chris cooed, "Aside from that, do you have any recommendations for jewelry in St. Petersburg?"

"I'll send you my personal contact," Victor smirked, "Should I be prepping a tux as well?"

"Oh, teasing me are you? I'll remember that when you introduce me to Yuuri."

Victor grinned as he sent Chris the information. Like his tailor, his jeweler was a right genius in custom-made creations. Victor had several pieces tailored for special occasions, including the Sochi watch. It was one of kind, in more ways now than just expert craftsmanship. Victor smiled at that, and was re-opening the language app when an absolutely mad thought crossed his mind.

'I wonder what Yuuri's ring size is?'

He blinked, unmoving for a few seconds. That...was a hell of a question. To ask himself. At three in the afternoon.

He indulged his insanity for a couple minutes before shelving it with a smile.

Another day.

The ocean was their refuge, easing the stress from their bones as efficiently as Hiroko's special blend of teas. Victor had ordered another day off through Yuuri's thousand protests, and then watched, amused and relieved, as he slept in until two p.m. He'd grumbled his thanks against Victor's lips, and spent another hour in bed with Makka relaxed against him.

It was late evening when Yuuri hugged Victor from behind and suggested a walk on the beach. They arrived under a sky of brilliant reds and molten golds bleeding into each other, and slipped off their shoes so they could stroll on the surf. The colors danced across Victor's sea-breezed hair, and highlighted the lighter brown of Yuuri's eyes, sights they admired without hesitation. Makka ran a few paces in front of them, splashing water wildly as he went. Yuuri sent a few photos of the scene to Yurio; the young Russian's pride prevented an outright request, but Yuuri knew how much he appreciated Hasetsu's ocean.

"Victor, do you miss Russia?"

Victor kissed the back of Yuuri's hand, "Sometimes. There was a time I never thought I'd leave St. Petersburg. I'm really happy that I did though."

Yuuri was quiet, his gaze on the sky, searching. Victor nudged him gently.

"Something on your mind?"

"I'll tell you another time," Yuuri said, "Don't worry."

"Sure?"

"Mm hmm," Yuuri wrapped an arm around his waist, "I'd like to see St. Petersberg one day, and all the things you told me about in the notes."

"I'd be happy to give you the tour," Victor said playfully, "We could take a weekend detour to the hotel in Sochi. Room three-three-five."

Yuuri giggled, "I never thought I'd feel anything but depressed about Sochi. It's good to be proven wrong."

"I'd love to have you pull me into that room again," he noticed Yuuri's confused glance and realized he'd never told him that part, "You kissed me in Sochi. Grabbed me by the shirt like your life depended on it. I kissed you back, obviously, but you initiated it."

Yuuri stared up at him, dazed, "I. Did. What?"

"You cannot tell me you're surprised," Victor dissolved into a bright laugh, "You were the drunk one remember?"

Yuuri shook his head, Victor's laugh contagious, "What even was Sochi?"

"I ask myself that question everyday."

"Why didn't you stay with me?"

"I did, for a while. I sat in the chair while you fell asleep," Victor watched Yuuri's expression, that all too familiar flicker, "Oh Yuuri, you look at me like that now but if I'd gone along with where you were taking me, it wouldn't have been right or fair to you. I could never have hurt you like that."

"And where exactly was I taking you?"

They paused as Victor leaned into his lips to answer the question. Yuuri was as flushed as the sky when they pulled apart.

They walked a bit further, squealing when Makka bolted towards them and shook water in every direction. They ran after him, throwing their shoes on the sand as they indulged the poodle's merrymaking. When they were soaked and out of breath, Victor brushed back Yuuri's hair, thumbing away the stray droplets from his eyebrows.

"I always meant to ask you..." Victor said slowly, surprised at the words on his tongue. Yuuri's smile relaxed him enough to finish the question, "Did you see me skate Aria at Worlds?"

Yuuri remembered that night, lying in the middle of Ice Castle, hearing Victor's voice from the veil of Sochi: Maybe one day you'll show it on the ice...

"I didn't." Yuuri watched Victor's face fall. He tried to cover it, but the disappointment was almost tangible. Yuuri tiptoed and kissed him, their lips wet and salty, "I didn't because that was the night I skated Aria."

"What?"

"Yuuko recorded me. It was supposed to be a memento of sorts, to remind me of why I loved skating. She never planned on posting it but the triplets ended up finding the video and the rest is history."

"You..." Victor couldn't believe it, "You skated with me?"

"I like to think that I did."

Victor laughed, a strange, choked, teary laugh as he embraced Yuuri, lifting him off the sand in the process. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor's neck as they kissed, Victor's tears cool against their lips.

"I'll tell you the story later," he whispered.

Victor was giddy as he ended the call. He motioned to Yuuri, who was warming down for the day.

"Your mom said there's a package for you back home, and my email confirms it."

Yuuri immediately brightened through his exhaustion, "My second costume?!" He grabbed his guards and rushed off to the locker room for his belongings, "Let's go!"

They'd run through ideas with Victor's costume designer. Given the personal overtones of his free skate, Yuuri wanted to project as such in his outfit; the strength it took to overcome his fears, the charm that lingered under the surface, and that splash of uniqueness that would set him apart from his competitors. They went through several iterations before settling on the one Yuuri now held in his hands. It was styled into a jacket, indigo contrasting against the mesh of the waist that curved lengthwise to the back. An intricate vine pattern of rhinestones covered the back, blending into the smaller, luminescent crystals that went all the way over the shoulders and down to the crease of the jacket. It shimmered with every move he made.

"Thanks for your help with this," Yuuri said, the costume more beautiful than he could've imagined, "It's incredible."

"This was all you," Victor said, "All I did was ask for the back to be a little shorter so you could use that ass of yours to your advantage."

Yuuri rolled his eyes, "You're an impossible flirt."

"Did you see yourself in the Eros costume or do we need to go through the pictures again?" Victor smirked, then became thoughtful, "Wait a minute, you haven't given your free skate music a title. Any thoughts?"

Yuuri looked down at the costume, his eyes sparkling, "I know exactly what to call it..."

Epilogue

Fukuoka Airport, Domestic Terminal

Yuuri's eyes were closed, music blaring through his headphones, and the pad of thumb, previously in time with the music, now tapped in nervous beats against his knee. This was it, the beginning of the season. Soon he would be on the ice at The Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu Championship. When placements were announced, and the triplets had woken him up at some ungodly hour to give him the information, he'd reacted calmly. He had three sets of competitions to make his way through, two of which would see him competing against Phichit and Yurio, but he needed to secure a win in this first competition to move forward. As he celebrated his placement in the GP series, the start of the season had felt like a concept. Now, sitting in the airport, hearing the flight information from the speakers and the rumble of airplanes from the tarmac, Yuuri couldn't help his nerves.

So, he settled into the boarding area, shut out the extra input around him, and focused on the time he'd spent preparing for this season, those demanding days on the ice with Victor, the way his heart had reconnected with Hasetsu, the support of his family and friends, and the love he felt every time he woke up in Victor's arms. He let that feeling of freedom spread through him, working to reverse the gears of worry. He didn't open his eyes until a soothing aroma caught his nostrils.

"Black, one sugar," Victor said as he took out his headphones. Yuuri wrapped a hand around the sleeve of the cup, and took a deep breath.

"Thanks."

"What are listening to?"

Yuuri looked at his phone, "It's Phichit's playlist of music that skaters used at the Grand Prix over the last few years."

Victor smiled, "Do you want something to eat now?"

His concern was very sweet, "On the plane." Victor nodded, and sat with him, taking the right side of Yuuri's headphones.

"I want to listen too."

Yuuri drifted onto his shoulder and, even with the coffee in his system, Victor's calming presence was enough to draw him to sleep. He heard Victor whisper against his hair, some of the Russian registering in his mind.

"You'll be fine, my love."

It wasn't a switch Victor could turn on and off, but the words further mitigated his anxiousness. Doubt skittered around the edges, he was only human after all, but Victor was right there filling the gaps, his company bursting through the uncertainty, much like the fireworks they'd seen in Fukuoka not so long ago. His archive of good things was now splitting the seams, glaring at the bad, daring it to fuck with him. A small smile crossed Yuuri's lips. He wouldn't forget. Not this time.

It was another forty five minutes before their boarding call was announced. Victor placed a gentle kiss on Yuuri's forehead to wake him.

"Time to go," he said, handing him the headphone, "Do you want the window seat?"

"If you don't mind."

Yuuri yawned all the way to their assigned seats. Victor watched him fidget with his seat-belt, alternating between staring out the window, picking at the in-flight magazine, brushing long gone lint from his sweater, and scrolling through his phone. He really did hate flying.

Victor tapped him on the shoulder and when Yuuri turned, jumping slightly at his touch, Victor kissed him until he felt the tension fall away. Yuuri sighed and touched his cheek lightly, breathing in the lingering aftershave. His head lulled again, and Victor leaned towards him so he could get comfortable.

"You know something," he heard Victor say, his voice soft in retrospect, "you were right. Trains are easier."