#yoi ficlet

[triptychgrip]

Viktor and Yuuri Answer The Web's Most Searched Questions

“I’m Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov!”

“And I’m Yuuri Katsuki Nikiforov!”

They turn to look at each other and grin, attempting to speak in unison.

“And this is the WIRED Autocomplete Interview.”

They’re a little off on the wording, but what is simultaneous is the way they break out into giggles right after saying ‘interview’. It’s only been a few seconds since the cameras have begun rolling, and Viktor is already feeling charmed by the pink tint staining his husband’s cheeks.

“Aww, and we even practiced that a few times!” Yuuri says, now donning a cute little pout.

“It was my fault,” Viktor automatically pipes up, before letting his heart-shaped smile take over his face. “I started speaking a half-beat too late because I was too busy admiring your pretty eyes, love.”

Giggles and hushed whispers immediately break out on the WIRED filming set, but Viktor only has eyes for the way Yuuri’s lips instantly morph, curving into a pleased, albeit shy smile. 

“You’re sweet, Vitya,” he murmurs, before reaching over to hold his hand. 

There’s not much space between them to begin with on the bench they’re seated on, but Yuuri closes that miniscule gap so that their thighs are pressed right up against each other. Viktor hopes the audience is grateful; the slight tension his love is now holding in his leg will give the cameras a nice view of his immaculate, muscular thighs, outfitted in the sleek trackpants that Mizuno specifically designed for him. (After some sleuthing, Phichit had informed the two of them that Kenjirou had gone ahead and bought four different pairs.)

Nyala – the WIRED production assistant in charge of this episode taping – then hands them the show’s distinctive looking question tableau. On it, are Google’s top ten most searched questions containing their names. They’re partially covered, which adds to the fun: they’ll be taking turns reading them aloud, while unpeeling the adhesive covering to reveal each query.

As they’d agreed earlier, he will read and answer the first question, so Yuuri holds the board steady.

“What did Yuuri and Viktor…”

Viktor pauses to draw out the suspense, and then whips off the adhesive in one rapid motion, his enthusiasm almost causing Yuuri to topple over.

“Oops! Sorry, Yuranya!” he exclaims, feeling a bit flustered as he helps his spouse right himself and presses a kiss to his temple. 

Nyala’s eyes are glittering with amusement, so he aims a sheepish smile at her before facing forwards.

“What did Yuuri and Viktor do before they met?” he reads off, feeling quite pleased with this clear opportunity to extol Yuuri’s praises (and, additionally, to lambast certain International Skating Union officials for not recognizing how talented he was prior to that silver medal win at the Barcelona Grand Prix Final).

“Well, the short answer is that we were both competitive figure skaters, but the long answer is more interesting! Let’s start with my Yuuri, because my side of things is boring, not to mention quite sad,” he chirps, not even batting an eye when his husband begins to splutter in protest next to him (“Vitya! Five gold medals at World’s is not sad!”)

But Viktor feigns an inability to hear Yuuri’s counter, and whips his phone out. 

One of the first things he’d done after they’d met at the banquet was to look up as many of Yuuri’s Senior division competitions as he could, hungry to expand his personal archives with any video or photos he could get his hands on. By now, his love is aware of his meticulous culling efforts, because he wears a pained expression as Viktor begins to talk and flip through his photo gallery.

“Where to even begin?” he says, allowing his voice to slide into that grandiose tone that Yurio claims “makes you seem even more punchable than normal”.

“Since we only have an hour for this taping, I will unfortunately have to limit myself to the year of Yuuri’s skating career before he and I met,” he continues on, making sure his annoyance is plain. “And, for those that don’t know, we met in December 2015 at the Sochi Grand Prix Final.”

It’s a testament to their many years of being together, because Yuuri doesn’t even tense at the mention of Sochi. He knows Viktor would never try to embarrass him by contextualizing the event in a way that makes him uncomfortable, and, besides, his spouse now shares the opinion that pole-dancing into your soulmate’s life is a pretty badass meet-cute. Even so, it had taken awhile to convince Yuuri’s anxiety of this, and Viktor owes a lot to their couples’ therapist for that mindset change. 

“Look at this picture of my beautiful Yuuri on the podium at Four Continents’ in February 2015!” he exclaims in triumph, holding his phone up so that the camera operator gets a perfect view. 

Taken in Seoul’s Mokdong Ice Rink is a photo of an adorable, 22-year-old Katsuki Yuuri, wearing a shy smile and holding a bronze medal. Next to him is an obviously ecstatic Celestino Cialdini.

“Now, no offense to anyone, but take it from me: my husband was severely underscored at that competition and should have been standing higher on that podium. Well before he ever broke my World’s winning streak, Yuuri was commanding audiences the world over with his stunning artistry. Particularly, his dazzling interpretation skills,” Viktor states declaratively, his tone brooking no argument.

Well, almost no argument. 

Yuuri makes a barely perceptible noise of disagreement, but it’s enough to make him turn and bestow his most unimpressed expression onto him, as if daring him to issue a rebuttal. 

“Something to say, Yusha?” Viktor prompts, a bit goadingly. “Do you wish to argue with “Living Legend” Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov, who, I daresay, might know a little something or two about judging politics and biased scoring?”

His love gives him a light smack on the bicep, and when he replies, his tone is prim.

“If you want biased scoring to be the focus of this question, then I’ll have to bring up your European Championships score from 2013, where you were unfairly beat out for gold by our good friend, Christophe Giacometti.”

An “oooohing” sort of taunting sound ripples around the set, but far from flustering Yuuri, he just raises a brow and sets his jaw. (Viktor feels quite turned on at the look, as well as his protective instincts.)

“I know how the internet loves to spin things but there’s nothing to spin,” Yuuri continues, dryly. “Christophe, himself, made a big stir at the post-skate press conference about judging bias, and he still regularly tweets at the officials from that competition…so much so, that two of them have blocked him on Twitter.”

Viktor gasps with delight at the memory of this juicy event and his spouse’s answering smirk is all the permission he needs.

“Ok, let me set the scene for you all!” he eagerly volunteers, sitting up straighter on the bench. 

He makes a big show of clearing his throat and Nyala – who, evidently, has the patience of a saint – hides her smile behind her hand. It’s a wonder that she hasn’t redirected their attention back to the question list, yet.

“January 2013: Zagreb, Croatia,” he continues on, in the grave “I’m narrating a documentary” tone that he knows will make Yuuri laugh. “Twenty-three-year old Viktor Nikiforov takes his starting position on the ice of Dom Sportova arena. Unlike present-day, his hair is much more lustrous, and he has not yet needed to start using thickening oil as part of his nightly primping regimen.”

Yuuri smacks his bicep a second time.

—

Hope you enjoyed this ficlet! I adore writing post-canon interview/game content featuring sappy/extra married Viktuuri, so if I get the energy (and need the distraction from my WIPS *nervous laughter*) I may expand this into a proper fic.

If you’re also a fan of this type of thing, you may like my story on ao3 featuring their joint appearance on Vanity Fair’s Lie Detector Game series. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever written :)  

[sugarbunbie]

for my love on ice

by AG1234VL

Summary: When Yuuri is confronted with a much younger version of his husband one morning, he decides to take him to the rink.

A soft, fluffy fic with de-aged Viktor and Yuuri showing his love on ice. Roughly 1.5k words. Rated G.

Written for Yuri On Ice Gotcha For Gaza.

Thank you @lamusadelils for the donation and prompt! I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy this little fic <3

Thank you @yuri-on-ice-action for making this all possible.

[altruistic-meme]

debating sharing the really rough ficlet im writing right now... and if i do, if i'll bother posting it to ao3 or just posting it here......

[farashasilver]

Ficlet, LeoJi, YOI

A little snippet of what was going to eventually be a road trip fic for Leo/Guang Hong, but then I got distracted by a dozen other things and fell out of fandom. Written for a the prompt "one-night stands"

They still hadn't talked about Beijing.

Leo tried really hard to tell himself that Beijing wasn't a mistake, that it hadn't screwed anything up and that they were still best friends. It was kind of hard to draw that firm conclusion about not screwing stuff up with neither of them were talking about it, though.

It was really hard to figure out whether he was mad about the fact that they wouldn't talk about Beijing when Guang Hong was asleep against the passenger side window, his face mashed against the glass, his nose wrinkling adorably when Leo hit a bump in the road that jostled him against the window.

Beijing had been everything Leo thought he wanted. Naked, freckled skin underneath his fingers. Pink lips against his own. Breathy little sounds into his ear. Feeling Guang Hong shake apart underneath him, his fingers wet with come.

Guang Hong snuffled against the window, shifted and sighed, curling around the other way in the passenger seat. Leo knew from experience that sleeping in a car wasn't the most comfortable thing. He still reached out and gently tipped Guang Hong's head back against the window so he wouldn't get a crick in his neck.

So they weren't talking about Beijing. Maybe before this trip was over they'd be not-talking about Flagstaff, Amarillo, Tulsa, St. Louis, Detroit. Leo could maybe learn to live with that.

[ashes0909]

Current Obsessions: Star Wars (Prequel Era, TCW Era, Kenobi the Series, Ahsoka the Series; Obikin); Marvel (all ships); Good Omens; RWRB; OFMD

a guide to my fic

TUMBLR FIC:

Check Please (web comic)

omgcp: jack/bittle

Champion of Blushes

Harry Potter

hp: draco/harry

Communication Cube

Oh How the Tables Have Time-Turned

I fear…

Marvel Ficlets

mcu: steve/tony

Hold Your Hand

Denial

A Battle

Union

Nightly News

Little Ketchup

chocolate, storm, and warm

travel, Canada, animal

raspberry, snow, flowers

sunshine, piano, hug

HP/MCU Crossover AU

The Beat of his Pounding Head

Adverse Anniversaries

The Telepath

Enlisted Omegas

Landline

kitten, chocolate, sunshine

Possessive + Shield = Love 

A Little Hocus Pocus

Scientific Method

McJailbait

“I am eating bread and crying on the floor.”

The worst thing that I ever did / Was what I did to you

"You are the best thing that's ever been mine"

Last Great American Dynasty

mcu: tony/bucky

relief, lost, and found

blue, sunflower, and wonder

monochrome, light, and star

Possessive, Protection, Paperwork

sunburn, piña colada, stingray 

fracture, scream, cry 

lost, angry, armed

humor, magic, Brooklyn

tender, green and trust

A Little Sweetness

“I am crying and the onion is laughing.”

“This blond man has stupid ideas.”

“I do not need to read your terms and services to accept you.”

mcu: steve/tony/bucky

Night Terror Routine

Relinquish, expectation, punish

chocolate, pillow, snow

hand sanitizer, belt, panic

mcu: steve/bucky

Autumn Leaves

mcu: clint/bucky

penguin, marshmallow, cuddle 

dessert, embarrassment and knives

banana, coffee table, golden retriever

mcu: clint/phil

Photo

mcu: gen fic

Planet Z - Natasha, Sam, Bucky

Heels - Bucky Barnes

Red White and Royal Blue

rwrb: alex/henry

The Death of Me (with Kneepads!)

The Sweater

Star Wars

sw: obiwan/anakin

“Please take my jacket.”

Nightmares

“I do not trust men in suits.”

Master of Arts

sw: gen and obikin

Star Wars Tumblr Posts

Yuri!!! On ICE

yoi: viktor/yuuri

Crash and Yearn

AO3 FIC:

Marvel Cinematic Universe (156)

Yuri!!! on Ice (8)

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid (6)

Supernatural (6)

Harry Potter (5)

Star Wars (4)

Check Please! (Webcomic) (3)

Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston (3)

방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS (1)

[scribeoffate]

Whumptober Ficlets

Hello! I am sad I have not written any whumptober fics and I have some extra time today and I haven't done ficlets in a while!

So send me up to 3 prompts from The 2023 Whumptober List . Please send individual prompts not "number 1" and feel free to mix and match to your heart's content. You can send up to four characters, a pairing/s, or friendships as you desire. Use / for pairings and & for friendship. If you don't send me any characters, I will just choose ones I like and we will probably get more Scott whump. 😈

Ficlets could be anything from one sentence to full-blown fics. I really don't know yet. Let us see!

(If you want to send non teen wolf prompts, please feel free yoi frens. I am out of practice but it might happen. <3)

[joeys-piano]

Writer Interview

Tagged by @backwardshirt to share story linkies. No clean sweeps here. Mostly works from my 2016 - 2018 era are represented here, and they are not good indications of what my work is like now 🤣

Most hits: As Far As You'll Take Me (HP, Tomarry)

Most kudos: When Angels Kiss (YoI, Viktuuri)

Most comments: Mer!Ficlet (YoI, Viktuuri)

Most bookmarks: When Angels Kiss (YoI, Viktuuri)

Most words: How to Tame a Heart (YoI, Viktuuri)

Least words: Soft Makkachin (YoI, fanart)

Tagging, for fun: @feu-eau and @voxofthevoid

[victuurikatsu]

The many times Victor Nikiforov dreamt of how soft and pliable Katsuki Yuuri’s lips were seemed to be endless. But he knew boundaries, he wouldn’t kiss him unless the circumstances called for it, and god did he hope for them to call for it.

In Hasetsu, Victor found himself falling out of love with the idea of him and in love with the very core of Yuuri. His drive, his unrealized beauty, his passion the moment he glided across the ice and truly became the most beautiful person he’d ever seen on the ice, were what drove him to remain patient and hopelessly loyal. Victor figured if his lips wouldn’t be graced by the soft plushness just yet he would find an excuse to brush at them every chance he had. Whether it was to demonstrate his own Eros by asking him to show his true one soon while gently traversing the softness of his lips with the pads of his thumbs, or applying lip balm on his constantly chapped lips, or even swiping away at a grain of rice that stubbornly strayed at the corners of his mouth no matter what he did, it was enough for Victor especially when he was rewarded with a blush and a shy look down to the ground for the first few weeks.

Victor had gotten close once to knowing the feeling during a beautiful summer day where he had decided that they should have an off day and explore the beach. He adored the way the sound of the seagulls reminded him of Piter, but the beauty of the beaches of Hasetsu were enough to render him speechless. He’d sat at the shore with Yuuri an endless amount of times, but he wanted to truly explore it with him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled so broadly that his cheeks hurt from the flawless effort. Makkachin seemed more like a puppy as she kept up with chasing them around the water, Yuuri had even initiated a water fight as he splashed Victor senseless, eliciting a chorus of giggling and laughter. After a long day chasing Yuuri and Makkachin across the sand, getting enveloped in the salty ocean water and only resting to have a few snacks that Hiroko had graciously packed for them, eventually it was time to call an end to their day by rinsing down in the accessible showers to get the remnants of sand away. As soon as he twisted the spout on, Victor saw Yuuri staring at him through the gentle waterfall. His heart shaped smile only grew broader as he reached over to rustle up Yuuri’s hair and he returned the gesture as they laughed together under the spouts with Makkachin prancing between them and shaking excess water against them.

As they reached to turn off the water, Victor made a grab for the towels and worked to pat away at the droplets that clung on to his silver tendrils and again he caught Yuuri staring.

“Do I have something on me?” Victor asked brightly.

Yuuri furiously shook his head and continued to look on with a look that was a mixture of awe and possible curiosity. After a few moments Yuuri appeared to find resolve and found the nerve to ask something that Victor had learned seemed to be truly intimate in Japan.

“Could I dry your hair?” Yuuri inquired.

Victor threw the towel over at Yuuri and stood directly in front of him, peeking over his shoulder with a wink.

“Of course, I’ll leave it to you, Yuuri!” Victor said absolutely delighted.

He could hear Yuuri laughing nervously but soon his hands were working the towel gently against the length of his hair. It was something Victor thought he could get used to if only to have any excuse to be this close. He hadn’t realized he was in a daze and that Yuuri was done until he opened his eyes and saw Yuuri was directly in front of him.

“Will you do mine now?”

With softened eyes, Victor nodded and ran his fingers through the dampness of Yuuri’s hair. He had previously worked with his hair as they tried to figure out what look would be best suited for him when he was out on the ice, and each time he got lost in the raven strands. Today Yuuri smelled like the ocean and he could still make out the scent of his shampoo. Just as he was sure there were no more stray drops, Victor nudged Yuuri and smiled fondly down at him.

“Shall we head back for dinner and a soak in the onsen?”

Yuuri nodded and walked beside Victor, his body seemed less stiff than it usually was and Victor was delighted to witness that.

“Hey Victor?” Yuuri began.

“Yes, Yuuri?”

Yuuri abruptly stopped walking and looped his arm around Victor’s shoulder, bringing his head down so he could lace a quick kiss against his temple and the top of his head.

“I...I feel a lot of gratitude right now and I didn’t know how else to show it so.” Yuuri said clearly flustered.

Victor’s heart threatened to burst from his chest, as he gently placed his finger tips against his temple, though it was quick the feeling of Yuuri’s lips against them were even softer than he could have hoped for.

Yuuri was about to apologize for the intrusion when Victor asked, “May I show you mine?”

Wordlessly Yuuri’s mouth gaped open in curiosity, his eyes searched Victor’s for a clear answer on what he was about to do, but he nodded all the same. Victor smiled gently down at the man before him, as he drew a lithe hand up to rustle at the tendrils of sunkissed hair once again. Victor then made the swift move to kiss against Yuuri’s temple and then his forehead. He heard Yuuri gasp at the forehead kiss and glanced down to see that same lovely blush he loved to see starting at the bridge of his nose and scattering to the edges of his cheeks.

“Thank you for a wonderful day, Yuuri.” Victor said softly.

He noted just how close he was to Yuuri’s face, and was surprised that Yuuri hadn’t repelled back as he usually would have. Instead, Victor had to be reminded once again that Yuuri was a world of surprises especially as he felt Yuuri’s fingers interlocking with his own. There were no more words that had to be spoken between them, and for now Victor was more than okay with working through the feeling of how wonderful it was to feel the warmth of his hand against his own as they walked back to the inn in absolute harmony.

[and-then-yoi-happened]

After Victor got back to St. Petersburg he got his bathroom renovated to fit a bathtub big enough for two grown men to comfortably take a bath together. Did he choose the one with a whirlpool option? Yes, after all they’re good for massaging those sore muscles. Did he also get a shower that could fit them both, and came with an array of shower heads that had various settings? He sure did. 

He knew that one of the things he’d miss in his apartment in St. Petersburg was the Hot Springs, and relaxing in them together with Yuuri after a long day of training. It was a luxury he didn’t want to deny himself nor Yuuri. 

For the other things he’d have to try and come up with compromises... investing in a bigger dining table, so they could have friends and rinkmates over, and maybe (secretly) learning some of Hiroko’s recipes...? Preparing his apartment so that Yuuri would feel at home there was more important to him than any gold medal he’d earned until now. 

There were only a few days until nationals left, when Mila gave him an exasperated look. 

“You haven’t been sleeping much lately, have you?”

“There’s just so much to do...” and after a short break he added, “and I didn’t sleep very well since I arrived here. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, or I’ll take hours to even fall asleep...”

“Worried how Yuuri’ll do without you by his side at nationals?”

“Yes, partly... but I’m also,” he swallowed and looked down at the ice under his skates, “I’m also nervous Yuuri won’t like living here... what if he doesn’t like the apartment? What if he feels alone without his family, in a country where he doesn’t speak the language? What if—“

“Ok Vitya that’s enough,” Mila laughed. “It will be fine, trust me. You don’t have to have everything perfect for Yuuri’s arrival—I know you want to—but it‘s really not needed. You want it to be Yuuri‘s and your home, don‘t you? Then wait until Yuuri‘s here, and arrange the apartment together. You can even go on fun little dates to home department stores...“

Victor felt a light blush forming on his cheeks and nose. That was a lovely thought. Building his, no their home together with Yuuri...

“Glad you like that thought, but please try to get your head into your training or Yakov‘s vein will pop,” she said with a wink before she put her bottle down on the board again and skated away. 

[sailormelanie]

Raising Yuri: Yuri’s Accidental Love Confession to Otabek

Yuri (18), Victor and Yuuri are in the break room at the rink. Yuri fiddles around with his phone and holds it up to his ear.

Victor: Yuratchka! Are you making a phone call? Are you calling your grandpa?

Yuri: *annoyed, but shakes his head no*

Victor: I thought your generation didn’t make phone calls!

Yuuri: We’re in the same generation…

Yuri: *growls* Shut up! I’m calling Otabek. He’s with some relatives in the mountains or something and doesn’t have wifi or reception. I have no idea when the hell his flight is supposed to get in tomorrow because the idiot didn’t send me his-

Yuri gets cut off by an answering machine with a message in Kazakh.

Yuri: *gets nervous* Uhh...hi...it’s um...it’s Yuri. Plisetsky. Uhm. Otabek. Calling Otabek. Uhm. When...when are you supposed to get here? Just...let me know………*silence* …….just call me back all right! It’s Yuri by the way……*realizes he already said that* OK LOVE YOU BYE. *hangs up*

Yuuri & Victor: *shocked*

Yuri: *also shocked*

Yuuri: Uhm...did you just...use the L word?

Yuri: *still as a statue* fuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-

Yuuri: Have you guys even used the L word together yet?

Yuri: *panics* NO. WE’RE NOT EVEN DATING.

Victor: Yurio! What happened?!

Yuri: I PANICKED, OK?! I ONLY CALL MY GRANDPA. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO HANG UP.

Yuuri: *waves his arms in the air* It’s ok! It’s ok! I’m sure you can just tell him it was...an accident?

Yuri: THAT’S SO STUPID. SHIT. SHIT SHIT SHIT. WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO.

Victor: *takes out his phone with a flurry and holds up a hand to calm Yuri down* It’s ok. I got this.

Yuuri: *turns to Victor* Are you…?

Victor: *nods* Yes. *puts phone to his ear* It’s time to call...the Network.

*cue hair-brained Victor scheme to somehow get the message erased from Otabek’s relative’s answering machine - a helicopter may or may not be involved*

Prompts and ideas are welcome :)

Find me on AO3

[croaissant]

Happy Birthday, Best Boy!

Yuuri’s birthday begins, as it has for the last seven years, with Phichit’s birthday song. His friend had written it for him during Yuuri’s first birthday in America, insisting that an original Chulanont masterpiece was better than the tiring, still copyrighted Birthday Song.

(Honestly, Yuuri still couldn’t believe that it would be under copyright for the next decade or so.)

Phichit called him from his laptop. It allowed Yuuri to get a better look at the large red and gold banner his friend hung above himself, wishing him a happy birthday. Phichit wore a pale blue party hat and a large, black shirt with “Hap Birth Yuu” meticulously detailed in silver sequins.

Bunched together in his hands, Phichit’s three hamsters donned tiny conical hats on their heads. They sniffed and squeaked at the camera sending Yuuri their own little greetings. They’re much cuter now that they’re not being used to nip at him until Phichit had his attention.

Though, their presence hadn’t been as whiplash-inducing as Phichit’s new way of starting his birthday. With his custom ringtone, his call shocked Yuuri out of his comfortable cuddle pile then banished his fiancé and dog out into the hall for the foreseeable future.

“But Yuuri, it’s your birthday!” he pouted.

“It’s midnight.”

“Exactly,” Phichit laughed.

His hands disappear off-screen, where Yuuri is sure he releases his pets into the wilderness at his his bedroom floor. When he reappears in Yuuri’s field of vision, Phichit’s right hand is wrapped around the neck of a guitar, one he purchased seven years ago and never bothered learning to play.

He strums it experimentally, it is clearly not tuned. But that was alright, as Phichit would only really need it a handful of times.

“Are you ready for your birthday song, birthday boy?” he shrieked, pointing dramatically at the camera.

Yuuri couldn’t help the smile on his face. “Do your worst.”

And Phichit did. He’d apparently prepared background drumming and animal noises to supplement his occasional downward strum.

“Happy, happy birthday to you, the best boy

It’s your special day, you great boy

Happy, happy birthday, my sweet, precious boy

You’re the best boy to have ever boy-ed!”

“Are you do—”

He shushed him, “You know this thing comes with a big finish! You’re the best boy to have ever… boooooooy-ed!”

Yuuri winced through the cacophony of monkey screeches and firework explosions. Phichit jumped off his bed and waved his guitar above him manically like a man possessed. Glitter and confetti rained above him, quickly joined by tiny, crudely-made Yuuri plushies thrown by unseen hands. One in particular had been aimed right at Phichit’s face.

“Mayuree!” he squawked.

His sister’s unrepentant voice came from his left. “Whoops!”

He glared off to the side for a moment before turning back to Yuuri. With all the flair of a hooked fish, he leaped backwards onto his bed with a final, jovial, “Happy birthday, you beautiful, pancake child!”

All in all, it was a sparkly, noisy disaster. And Phichit had outdone himself again, all to start Yuuri’s birthday right.

“8/10 this year, Phichit,” he said, failing to keep his voice deadpan. “I docked points off for all the clean up you’re gonna have to do after.”

“Boooooooooo!”

[briapia95]

As Yuuri stood in his final pose he finally started to register the audience’s applause. It was not the first time he had been cheered on after a performance on a competition but, by far, today it was one he would held close to his heart.

His short program had been clean, the best he had performed in the season so far, an accomplish that was made even better when it was at the GPF.

Last year, no matter how much Viktor disagreed, he felt his short program had been underwhelming, rendering him to fourth place. Now he could feel it, this time around it was a performance worthy of Viktor or even Yuri.

He looked at the exit where Viktor was standing, eyes gleaming with passion and a heart-shaped smile directed at him. Yakov was on his side screaming something at him but it was clear that Viktor was only paying attention to Yuuri.

The feeling of content that came to him every time Viktor only focused on him was better than any applause or world record, Yuuri would skate a thousand times more just to have that look directed at him.

He started skating towards his fiancé, the other man opening his arms as he came closer, and Yuuri jumping in his arms as soon as he had the chance.

“Did you like it?” He asked, a little out of breath.

“Like it?” Viktor gasped.

As soon as he finished he dipped Yuuri giving him a kiss on the lips, “I loved it, my sunshine. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“I’m glad,” Yuuri replied shyly, vaguely aware that they weren’t alone.

“Vitya,” Yakov rasped, making both of the skaters stand straight again, “You need to let Yura get his scores and get in the ice right now.”

Oh, that’s right, Yuuri thought, they were still in the middle of the competition and Viktor was about to skate next.

Giving his fiancé one last kiss Yuuri whispered to his ear, “Go, Vitya. I’ll be watching you.”

As he walked to the kiss and cry he was greeted by Minako, his old ballet instructor giving him a knowing look as she hurried him to take a seat.

“That sure was a spectacle to watch,” she spoke.

“Thanks, it was my best skating of the season, I think.”

“Oh, that too, but I wasn’t talking about that,” she replied, mischief in her voice.

It took a few seconds for Yuuri to understand, once he did he blushed furiously. “Mi-minako sensei!” He stammered.

“Hush now Yuuri,” she laughed, “Nothing the world hadn’t seen before.”

He didn’t have time to say anything since in that moment his score was announce.

Yuuri couldn’t believe his eyes; 123.45, a world record. Surpassing both Yuri’s previous record at the GPF and Viktor’s current world record.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, congratulations!” Minako screamed as she hugged him tightly, “Viktor will have to do a heck of an effort to surpass that!”

“I…” he trailed off, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, just enjoy the moment.” Minako said, still holding him close, “How about we get some good seats?”

Yuuri nodded, standing up and following her.

He looked at where Viktor was standing in the middle of the rink, the happiness that the other man was showing could be seen from miles away.

Viktor was buoyant and Yuuri couldn’t help but feel the same, right now he was the holder of both the short and free skate world records.

Yuuri didn’t know if that was going to be the same after Viktor finished his performance, he had seen his Vitya’s program and it was something else.

For now, though, he didn’t have to worry about that, he would enjoy his accomplishment for as long as it lasted.

But, more importantly, as he heard the first notes of Viktor’s song beginning to play, he would enjoy Viktor’s skate. The astounding performance of the one person he loved the most in the entire world.

For @yoitrainingweek day 7: competition day.

<— Previous

[devwrites22]

You Already Know

VITYAWEEK DAY 1 (SURPRISES)

You can also read it here on Ao3!

Part One: Yuuri

Yuuri peered through the glass casing that held an array of delectable treats, kneeling to get as close a look as possible. At the front of the display were truffles and toffees, tiny cakes and something that looked like marshmallows coated in shiny chocolate. So many to choose from, yet Yuuri’s mind had been made up long before he walked into the store. He just wanted to get one more look to be sure he wouldn’t have a last-second change of heart.

“A small box of the salted chocolate-covered caramels, please,” Yuuri said to the young woman behind the counter as he straightened back up.

Victor, who had agreed to tag along with Yuuri on a few errands today, looked like his mouth was watering. “Whose birthday did you say this was for, again?”

The woman finished boxing up the confections and gave Yuuri his total. “My cousin’s,” Yuuri answered as he paid. “He’s turning twenty soon, so I wanted to get him a few special things.”  Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Yuuri did have a cousin who had a birthday in a few days, but that’s not why Yuuri was purchasing the candy. “I just hope they don’t melt in transit.”

Victor kissed the top of his head, causing a blush to spread across Yuuri’s cheeks despite how often his fiancé demonstrated little acts of affection. “I’m sure your cousin will love them, melted or not.”

Yuuri smiled up at him, then thanked the chocolatier before heading out the door. He took Victor’s hand with his free one, intertwining their fingers.

“Where to next?” Victor wondered with a light squeeze of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri hid a smirk. Victor had no idea what was going on, and it was happening right in front of him.

“The florist. We could use some flowers to brighten up the apartment.” With a glance at the sky, Yuuri noted the sun would be setting soon. He had to hurry if he wanted the timing of this to be perfect.

At the florist, Yuuri picked up a bouquet made up of roses and chamomiles and peonies. He had originally planned to also stop at the liquor store for Victor’s favorite champagne, but when he’d told Phichit his plan over the phone, Phichit warned that Victor might start to catch on at that point. Excuses could only get him so far, and Yuuri didn’t want to risk the surprise being ruined.

“Let’s take the scenic way home,” Yuuri suggested as they left the shop. He could feel nervousness creeping up on him now. He tried to keep it at bay. He had no real reason to be anxious, after all. “We haven’t taken a walk through the park in a while.”

Luckily, Victor seemed oblivious to Yuuri’s slight shift in mood. “That sounds lovely.”

Yuuri kept up casual conversation as they took their usual route through the park near their apartment, but his mind was whirring. His heart did a little jump as they approached the right turn in the path that would eventually lead them to the main road. But before the street came into sight, the park opened up into an area where a gazebo sat between two large trees. Yuuri had seen people studying in it, or enjoying some quality time with a friend, or simply people-watching. And tonight, it would transform into something entirely new.

When they rounded the corner, the sight in front of them stunned even Yuuri. The gazebo was sparkling with pale yellow and pink fairy lights, which also wound around the trees. The roof was adorned in banners of white cloth that fluttered in the light breeze. In the back, a bottle champagne sat in a bucket of ice next to a lit candle on a glass table. Yuuri silently thanked Yakov, Yuri, Mila, and Georgi for their help in setting all of this up.

Victor let out a faint gasp. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “Yuuri? What is this?”

Yuuri merely answered with a crooked smile. He held Victor’s hand again and led him to the center of the gazebo. As he set the flowers and chocolates on the table, the music of Etta James’s At Last began playing from behind them. Right on time. Victor turned as the first notes of the song filled the air to see a string quartet emerging from their nearby hiding place. Yuuri heard him whisper his name again.

When Victor turned back around, Yuuri was on one knee. Yuuri grinned at the look of pure love and happiness on Victor’s face. Tears had already welled in the taller man’s eyes, and Yuuri had to fight from crying, himself. He’d let his own tears flow freely, but not until he said everything he wanted to say to the man before him.

“Vitya, you already know you’re the love of my life. You already know that I’ve been head-over-heels for you since the moment I laid eyes on you. That I’m captivated by your kind heart, your contagious smile, your carefree spirit. You already know I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life by your side, wherever that takes us. But even though we exchanged rings, I never officially asked you the question I already know the answer to. So, I want to ask that question now.” Victor lifted a hand to cover his mouth, as if he was trying to keep himself from openly weeping.

Yuuri paused a moment to take everything in. He wanted this moment etched into his memory. Every bit of expression on Victor’s face, the beauty surrounding them, the sweet summer breeze. Finally he took a steady breath, gazed into his fiancé’s gorgeous eyes, and said softly yet clearly, “Victor Nikiforov, will you marry me?”

He barely got the words out before Victor responded with an exuberant, “Yes, of course!”

Yuuri kissed Victor’s ring and beamed up at him. “Good,” he whispered. Victor knelt to Yuuri’s level, and Yuuri blushed as his fiancé gently caressed his face in the palms of his hands. Then their lips met, and a jolt of electricity sparked through Yuuri’s body.

He lost track of how long they sat kissing on the floor of the gazebo. But it must have been at least the length of At Last, because another song was playing when they finally pulled apart. Yuuri wiped the tears from Victor’s face with his thumbs. “Would you care for some chocolates and champagne?”

“Always,” Victor murmured. They moved to the table, where Yuuri poured each of them a glass of the Laurent-Perrier. The candle flame flickered and stretched. Yuuri held his glass up, and Victor did the same.

“To you, my Victor. For being the best fiancé I could ever ask for.”

“And to you, my Yuuri,” Victor said with a smirk, “for never failing to surprise me.”

Part Two: Victor

Each time Victor thought he knew true happiness, Yuuri seemed to prove him wrong. When Victor dared to think, ‘I am the happiest I have ever been,’ Yuuri managed to bring an even brighter smile to his face, even more warmth to his heart.

Now, looking down and seeing the love of his life on one knee before him... This. This is what true happiness must feel like. 

It took everything in him not to break down in tears. He dropped to his knees, almost threw his arms around Yuuri in a tight embrace. But instead, he gingerly cupped his face, gazed at him in adoration. Kissed him ever so sweetly.

As they toasted to each other, an amused and impressed smile played at his lips. Yuuri had managed to pull all of this off right under his nose, and he hadn’t once caught on. 

One of these days, Victor was going to have to surprise him back. 

[yoisoulmatezine-blog]

The first thing Yuuri perceives is an insistent pulling deep in his gut. It’s not quite pain, but it’s not exactly pleasant, like a finger tugging at his navel. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is the ribbon, floating out from his chest and disappearing into the blackness.

He puts his hand over his heart quickly to keep the ribbon inside. Although he’s not sure how it got there, the touch of it against his hand feels like his mother’s cooking, sitting snug in the warmth of the kotatsu with Vicchan, or lying in the grass with Yuuko, watching the cherry blossoms fall. In the enveloping darkness, the red ribbon seems to glow. The tugging stops. He wraps his free hand around the ribbon, and cautiously tugs back twice.

The ribbon begins pulling him forward into the void, but he’s not frightened, not worried, just mildly curious.

The smooth glide of the ribbon’s lure reminds him of playing at the rink as a kid, when bigger skaters might tow him around the rink, his little hands clutching tightly to the sleeve of a spare jacket. He can even feel the slip of the blades beneath him, cutting through the ice.

The air around him brightens gradually, stars bursting into life in the blackness; the ribbon’s path is illuminated in the swirl of distant galaxies. Beneath his feet, the ice is mirror flawless, reflecting every pinpoint of the stars and planets in perfect symmetry. It stretches unbroken on every side, with no horizon visible, no edge, like skating through a placid ocean of night.

A single beam of light lies straight ahead at the end of his ribbon, and Yuuri feels his heart surge when he sees it. Eagerly, he propels himself forward, no longer simply pulled along by the threads of his heart.

Though there’s no wind here, his hair whips as he picks up speed, the stars blurring to streaks of light all around him. In the distance, the figure of light remains a beacon, pulling him in, closer, faster, not fast enough.

Too fast. The light is approaching too quickly. Yuuri can feel the warmth of it on his skin like the rays of a winter sun, and still his advance isn’t slowing. He bends his knees, trying to brake, but catches on emptiness, the feeling of his blades dissolving until there is no ice, no friction, only air.

He knows he can’t stop his collide with the figure ahead, but it shows no signs of recognition or response.

“Look out!” Yuuri cries. He has no fear for himself, only a paralyzing terror fizzing through his limbs at the thought of breaking his beacon. He wants to protect the shining figure, even if it means shattering himself.

The beacon resolves, turning. Victor Nikiforov stares back at Yuuri, his eyes blown wide, with Yuuri’s red ribbon wound tightly around his fist.

When Yuuri jerks awake, his palm is still flat over his heart.

Thank you to @louciferish for writing this beautiful ficlet to go along with @morgen‘s artwork.  

[youremarvelous]

Birthday Suit

Viktor gets his first taste of it in Hasetsu.

Yuuri sits in a pile of his old costumes one lazy evening—months after Onsen on Ice—parsing through swathes of gleaming panne velvet and sparkling sequined lace.

“You should try them on.” Viktor is sprawled out on his bed, lying on his stomach with his head propped in his hands. He brushes the hair from his face—still faintly wet from his after-ocean shower. “All of them.”

Yuuri looks up from the tumble of wine-colored velvet pleated over his fingers—Viktor’s costume from when he was 22 and toeing the line between the bombastic, energetic routines Yakov preferred and the quietly powerful sentimentality of his own personal choreography. His glasses gleam in the ambient light from Viktor’s bedside lamp. 

“It’s okay,” Yuuri’s voice is soft—the words plucked from his tongue with caution—like he’s scared to contaminate the history of Viktor’s career sewn into every stitch. He turns his attention back to the delicate golden embroidery on the sleeve. “Just looking is enough.”  

It’s strange, Viktor thinks, to be jealous of his past self. But he wants Yuuri to look at him. The present him. The one who had spent the day chasing Yuuri up the shoreline, teasing him into the waves with feigned foot cramps and knocking his knees out from behind so he was forced to lean into Viktor for support.

Viktor wants Yuuri to pay attention to the him who observes Yuuri now in comfortable silence, eyes half-lidded with reckless affection.

“How did you get into it?” Yuuri’s eyebrows knit together as he trails his fingers carefully along the seams, searching for a zipper or a secret row of buttons.

Viktor folds his legs under him—his borrowed yukata dipping low enough to allow Yuuri a covert glance at his bare chest—and settles on the floor next to him, their knees barely grazing. “Here,” he says, taking Yuuri’s hand and guiding it to the hidden zipper extending from the hip to the inconspicuous hook and eye at the shoulder.  

Yuuri hums in the back of his throat and nods, dragging the zipper up and down once, then twice, in appreciative interest. “Clever.”

Viktor bumps their shoulders together. “Are you sure you don’t want to try it on?” He slips the costume from Yuuri’s hand and holds it up to the round slope of his cheek. “Mm, I knew it. The color looks gorgeous with your complexion.” Viktor thinks Yuuri would look gorgeous in a paper bag, but it’s probably still too early to say such a thing.

“Um,” Yuuri chews on his bottom lip.

“For me?” Viktor’s voice cants into a playful whine. His heart skips a beat when Yuuri presses his lips together and swallows hard—a faint blush rising in the apples of his cheeks as he nods his assent.  

Viktor doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed to have used himself for leverage or delighted that it actually worked. He tries not to appear over eager when Yuuri grabs the hem of his t-shirt and yanks it up over his head. The collar gets stuck on his ear and it takes everything in Viktor not to reach over and pull the shirt off the rest of the way.

He does grab the string of Yuuri’s sweatpants and pull the knot loose, which, in retrospect, is probably worse. ‘Definitely worse,’ he mentally amends when the knot unravels in time with the sound of a short knock and the telltale squeak of the door being shouldered open.

“Yuuri, Vicchan, Kaasan wants to know if you—” Mari looks up from the basket of clothes in her arms and raises an eyebrow—quietly observing them: Yuuri’s shirt pulled up over his head, Viktor’s hand precariously close to Yuuri’s waistband. Viktor half expects her to scream or maybe march across the floor and slap him, but she is surprisingly composed compared to how Viktor is used to seeing these kinds of scenarios play out in books and movies. “I’ll tell her you’re busy,” Mari says simply, voice as deadpan as ever. “Lock the door next time,” she adds on her way out.   

Yuuri sputters and scrambles back into his shirt so fast he nearly elbows Viktor in the face. He doesn’t even re-tie his waistband before he’s tripping out into the hall, shouting unneeded explanations while Viktor follows at his heels—plucking up the back of his pants whenever they start to droop below his butt.   

The interruption soundly ends any fantasies Viktor harbors of standing in as a one-man audience for a Yuuri Katsuki fashion show that evening, and the spandex, glitter-laden ghosts of Viktor’s costumed past are boxed up shortly after.

Even so, the mental image of Yuuri swathed in Viktor’s well-worn, well-loved garments needles at him like an annoying jingle that won’t stop blaring through his thoughts at inopportune times.

It isn’t just about the costumes, Viktor realizes when he drops his jacket around Yuuri’s shoulders weeks later during their post-workout cooldown walk across the shore. Yuuri had been faintly trembling—chilled by the September evening winds and his drying sweat—and he huddles into Viktor’s windbreaker with minimal argument, barely pausing in an animated story about his experience getting his driver’s license in America.

Yuuri recounts the time he accidentally drove counterclockwise on a clockwise roundabout—wrinkling his nose and hiding an embarrassed laugh into the jacket cuff that extends a good inch or two past his fingertips—and Viktor finds himself overcome by a dry mouth that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

He is officially losing it, he decides later in their hotel room in Beijing, watching from the foot of his stiff mattress as Yuuri paces around the room on the phone with his Mom—hair dripping wet from his shower, clad in nothing but Viktor’s bathrobe. Viktor thought he’d sobered up since dinner, but the mental exercise of parsing together how to explain to Yuuri that the robe is, in fact, Viktor’s and not the hotel’s without disturbing the vision that is Yuuri swaddled in pale blue plush cotton with an embroidered “V” on the lapel has his head swimming.

(“I thought it stood for ‘vacation,’” Yuuri shakes his head into his hands when Viktor is finally forced to re-pack the robe and shatter the illusion.

Viktor laughs and starts singing L.O.V.E because he’s giddy and happier than he ever imagined possible following Yuuri’s reckless display of devotion and their subsequent first kiss.)

Yuuri looks beautiful in everything he wears: his workout gear, the chinos he’d been gifted from his Uniqlo sponsorship, even the moth-eaten navy pullover he insisted on donning every night that winter, but nothing could quite compare to his red nose peeking over the top of Viktor’s favorite cashmere scarf or the maddening curve of his hips in Viktor’s old Britney Spears’ Oops! I Did it Again era Halloween costume.    

“If you sigh one more time I’m replacing your shampoo with Nair,” Yurio growls over the laptop. He’d taken to stopping by Viktor and Yuuri’s place once a week for dinner and routine reviews. That was his original excuse for coming, anyway. In reality, he usually ended up watching reality tv with Yuuri or complaining about Yakov and Lilia and their swear jar and strict curfew enforcing.

Viktor’s elbow is on the table, his head in his hand, and his attention fully compromised by the sight of his husband passed out on the couch, snuggled up under Viktor’s Olympic jacket. “But Yurio,” Viktor whines, stretching out the syllables in a way he knows will annoy him, “he’s just so dreamy.”

Viktor can practically hear Yurio’s eye roll over the sound of his typing. “And why the fuck do you have a google search for ‘is it possible to be too in love with your own husband?’”

The answer to Viktor’s fixation with Yuuri wearing his clothes doesn’t sink in until a few years into marriage. By that time, Viktor can barely distinguish between their scents anymore or the pile of dirty clothes in the hamper. He’s accidentally worn Yuuri’s clothes, too, more than a few times—arriving at the rink with relentless teasing from his students for not noticing that his sleeves were two inches too short. He never used to miss those kinds of details in his youth, but it was easy to be absent-minded when he had a sleepy husband climbing into his lap during breakfast and pressing warm kisses into his neck.

Viktor slips his wedding band on Yuuri’s finger one morning in late autumn like he has many times before. Yuuri is lying on top of him, his head nestled in the crook of Viktor’s neck. Their bare bodies press against each other—the shared body heat shielding them from the encroaching cold of the room.

“I’d marry you every day if I could,” Viktor tells him, twisting the loose ring around Yuuri’s finger.

Yuuri snorts into Viktor’s shoulder. “You have morning breath.”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Viktor teases, tickling his fingers up Yuuri’s side.

Yuuri huffs faintly and takes Viktor’s hand in his own, removing Viktor’s ring from his finger and sliding it back into its well-indented home. “I do,” he smiles, looking up to meet Viktor’s eyes. Viktor wants to cry, but instead, he cheers and wraps his arms around Yuuri—kissing him so hard it chases the air from his lungs.

This intimacy is exactly what Viktor had been seeking whenever he'd pull Yuuri into his coat on late night ice cream runs or roll his own thermal socks up Yuuri’s feet after trimming his toenails. It was an expression of their bond—confirmation of their intertwining lives.

Viktor doubts he’ll ever tire of seeing Yuuri dressed in his clothes, but he also doesn’t require it with the same voracity he once had. The real proof of their connection is somewhere intangible, stirred into their coffee every morning and tied into their shoelaces when they leave their home—reflected in their inability to imagine a future without the other in it.

Yuuri and Viktor lay in bed for a while longer, counting breaths until their heartbeats synchronize. They need to take the dogs out and get ready for the day, but neither is in a hurry to extricate themselves from the moment.

“It’s our wedding morning,” Viktor reasons after thirty minutes of them saying they need to get out of bed but failing to do so.

“Right,” Yuuri laughs—“what is this, anyway, our thousandth?”

“Mm. 1,157th, actually.” Viktor traces his fingers along the rocky landscape of Yuuri’s spine, enjoying the way his skin blooms with goose pimples beneath Viktor’s touch. “And after all this time, you still wore your best suit for the occasion.”

[ferluccia]

On my love

Loving Yuuri Katsuki through Victor’s eyes.

Read on AO3

I’m always hit by the crushing realization of how much I love him in the most unexpected moments. It’s there – in the smallest things.

Like how there’s love in the way he hooks his pinky timidly around mine as we’re walking down the streets, swinging our hands in rhythm to our steps. He doesn’t look at me at first – instead, he pulls his scarf (my scarf) up to his nose, but the blush on his cheeks and the shy smile don’t go unnoticed.  It’s love in his eyes when he peeks at me moments later, when he thinks I’m not looking, almost as if wondering if I really exist.

Little does he know that I am the lucky one.

And it’s when he says “we” when we’re grocery shopping together after a long day, thighs sore from exertion and backs hunched from a long day out. “Do we need more? Do we have this at home?” And I can’t help but smile at myself, thinking of how it’s in the smallest of words is that I’m reminded of what we have is real.

It’s when he links his arm on mine when we’re walking back home, sharing an umbrella, using that as excuse – as if he really needed one – to stay close to me, the warmth of his body on mine, and how he laughs when I pout as he steps out.

I don’t ever want him to leave.

It’s when he hugs me tight and I am reminded once again about the perfect spot on his forehead that was made to be kissed, and make sure to kiss him there as I murmur gentle words about our love.

There is a softness to him I cannot hope to put in words.  

It’s his cheeks – how they bloom into color, so beautifully dusted with pink when I compliment him. It’s his hands as he reaches to touch my own and bring it to his lips, following a ritual I know by heart – kissing first our ring, then my knuckles, the palm of my hand, then my pulse, looking at me through his long dark eyelashes with a smile speaking of a love too great to put into words.

It’s his smile, that not always comes from his heart, but when it does I can feel it in my soul. His happiness flows through me as I watch his smile mirrored on mine, and I learn that words are not needed to speak of fondness.

Words fail us. They cannot make justice of what we feel for one another.

It’s when he sees me dancing with our dog in my arms and shakes his head gently, but joins us in that music-less dance in our living room that soon becomes just the two of us, holding me close and cradling my head on his hand.

It’s when he does small things that remind me of how much we care about each other, like giving me the most beautiful pancake of the batch on purpose, or saving the last cookies in the bag for me when I’m not home.

It’s in the intimacy we share, the comfort of being just himself and no one else. When he sings in the shower or talks to himself when he knows I’m home, and when he dances in his pajamas when he thinks I’m not looking, doing chores while humming a song from his childhood.

It’s in his morning grumpiness when he pads into the kitchen and plasters himself against my back like a limpet to a rock, making noises about me not waking him up while wrapping his arms around my chest. It’s in the sparkle in his eyes after a mug of coffee, when he blinks the world back in focus and finds me there with him and smiles.

It’s when I know he’s comfortable enough to speak about his insecurities without worrying about what I’ll think about them, opens up and asks me for reassurance. It’s in the darkness of our bedroom when he confesses to me that he thinks he’s not enough – not good enough, not talented enough, not trying hard enough – and when he tears up, hiding his face in my chest, and I try to kiss his tears and worries away.

There is peace when I wake up on a silent morning. The pale sunlight creeping through the sheer curtains bathing our bedroom, bathing his dormant shape beside me, fast asleep. I take that sight in, thinking about how a year ago I would have deemed something like this unlikely.

It’s real. It’s here. It’s him.

And without noticing, my hand is on his hair, fingers gently combing through his soft hair, and he stirs softly in his sleep, warm and soft and real. His sleepy eyes gaze back at me with something akin to reverence, as if he’s thinking the same thing, gently cupping my cheek in his hand.

It’s there. We share a silent knowledge that moments like these are the ones we carry with us forever, treasured memories of unspeakable intimacy that even when we are old and gray, with wrinkles from all the times we’ve smiled together, will be remembered as dearly as it was in that same morning.