bakerstreet | since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

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since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

(harmless) hanahaki meme

hanahaki (literally "vomiting flowers") is a fictional illness that began in japanese literature. most commonly, it happens in the case of unrequited love; flowers bloom in a person's lungs and their love suffocates them until it is either requited or they die.

that's pretty angsty. instead, consider a world where hanahaki is a normalised inconvenience and it's never hurt anyone. flowers grow in your chest from the cultivation of love — for your friends, your family, your dog. and it's a feeling that wants to be known, so maybe you can't help spilling petals sometimes when you laugh, or sigh, or shout at someone. everyone knows what it means and it's something to be celebrated. you love.

maybe you don't want to, though. maybe you chew on the petals and swallow them back, so that no one knows the feelings you're carrying around in your heart. but maybe that's not going to work forever, and sooner or later, you're going to cough those feelings up.

the short version
① hanahaki means your characters cough up flowers. plain and simple.
② it's caused by unspoken love, in any form, platonic or romantic; whether the love is requited has nothing to do with it.
③ the disease is not harmful in any way, and it's no more annoying than a persistent cough; it's treated as more symbolic magic realism here than concerned with the real life implications of coughing up flowers.
④ it's "cured" when a person expresses their love, whether the feeling is requited or not.
⑤ so basically, you can rp any everyday scenario... but now your character might have to deal with the minor nuisance of hacking up petals around the people they love. and those people are going to know what that means.

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[Viktor could've said anything or nothing at all in those long moments that he waited for a response. It could've been seconds--or hour. Regardless of how long it had been or how long the silence stretched on hardly mattered to him--every breath after the truth had left his lungs was agony. Yuuri had immediately been lost in his own mind, a cloud of 'what ifs' filling his head with cotton and blocking all sounds but the ones of his own heart.

But Yuuri had done it. There was no going back from this, because Viktor knew now. Viktor knew, even if he somehow didn't want to, even if it was too awkward, even if he somehow didn't want him--

But the touch to his skin jolted Yuuri back to they present with a strangled squeak, eyes flying open--

--to be greeted with flowers. So many flowers that were gathering around their feet. Enough that Yuuri could hardly discern any genus from another in the blur of emotions. Though some flowers in particular caught his eyes; gardenias. Matching his, which meant...

...which meant...

Yuuri was caught in a trance, over-bright eyes slowly rising to meet Viktor's. So they...so the feelings were mutual. This whole time he had been so worried about any of this getting to Viktor, enough that he had nearly made himself sick choking back blooms. And here they were now, standing in his room and nearly drowning in a wave of flowers of their making about each other.

He blinks--before giggles bubbles in his chest. It starts out soft, hiding behind a sniff and an arm while Yuuri rubs his eyes again against his shoulder (Don't cry, he tries to scold himself again--but another voice screams Viktor kissed your hand, when would there be a better time to cry? Neither one truly wins out.). It's only a stuttering breath later that the laughter starts in earnest. It's deep and full and full of scarlet chrysanthemums and cape jasmine, making him hunch over. Yuuri worries he'll bruise his ribs with how hard he's laughing. But he can't help it--somehow it feels like he hasn't laughed in a lifetime. He had spent so much time policing his emotions--telling himself it was okay the way it was--that he never realized how much strain it had put on him.

Now he was free. Or maybe he should say they were free?]

...well, that was stupid of us.

[It took Yuuri a long moment to compose himself--but his gaze is glued to Viktor when he does. Soft, with a crooked smile that matched the flush of his face. But it was earnest. It was true.] I mean, now that you say you should apologize too, it makes it sound kind of silly that I apologized. [There's a small cough, clearing a few more flowers (jonquils this time) from his throat.] ...uh, you don't have to, of course. We're even?

[The chuckle that comes now is more sheepish, trembling hands giving Viktor's a squeeze that he hopes is comforting. One that says me too. But his next words come out as a mumble--trying to sound remotely teasing from under all his raw emotion.] We have a lot more to clean up now...

[ Yuuri laughs.

Yuuri laughs and Viktor can’t recover, his once tired heart now put to work in loving the one who once fell into his arms months and months ago. Viktor can’t recover, each and every shadow stripped from over the garden of his heart in the sun of Yuuri’s adoration. All at once, there’s nowhere to hide and Viktor doesn’t want to run.

Beautiful, beautiful – you’re beautiful, his heart calls. You’re so— He wishes he could say it, but his mouth is full with the knowledge of it, in the knowledge Yuuri wears joy as though he born to be surrounded with it. Yuuri wears it in the way his eyes sparkle, the way his laughter makes Viktor’s heart stutter, ache. Viktor thinks that he could give Yuuri endless clusters of purple stock and it would not begin to describe the way Yuuri looks to him now, flush high on his cheeks and lost to blooms of his own. It wouldn’t be enough, so Viktor holds on. It’s all he can do.

When Yuuri is able to stop, Viktor is still caught in the throes. Even still, his eyes don’t move from Yuuri’s. He has no shame in being this far gone. He never did, but now – he can show. He can share his love freely, as freely as Yuuri now shares his. ]

A little, [ he admits once he can find his voice, low and rasped from the strain he’s placed upon himself. It’s as if the flower petals stuck in senseless constellations against the green of his jinbei, pooled at his feet are not evidence enough. He laughs, more with the tremble of his shoulders than the sound. More only come and Viktor surrenders to them in all their grand admittances, chest burning and throat sore. I love only you, in flowers pink and white – belled. Arbutus. As if he could not love Yuuri, as if he could deny him even if he had not asked in the spill of jonquils, the answering squeeze of Viktor’s hands. As if he could not love Yuuri, in the secondary brush of ambrosia – small and pale, yellow. I return your love.

Still, he knots his fingers with Yuuri’s and tries to breathe. He tries to concentrate on Yuuri’s proximity, that warmth that blossoms behind his ribs. He tries to focus on the fact that Yuuri loves him, that all his pining – they’re still arbutus when he opens his mouth. ] We’ll discard our apologies for now.

[ The corners of his mouth tip up, carry warmth up to his eyes. It reflects not at all the posters that once lined Yuuri’s walls, unschooled and effortless. He fights the compulsion to lean down and kiss him, to feel the blush that stains Yuuri’s skin. He makes a compromise, in the way he guides Yuuri a little more into his space. Stay close. ]

If they're because of you, I don't mind cleaning up as much as I need to, [ he hums, sincere and good-humored, without hesitation or restraint. He doesn't mind at all. ]

Edited 2017-11-01 05:26 (UTC)

[This is the Viktor he loves best, Yuuri decides.

Of course there was steep competition because there was a lot of Viktor to love--and he loved all the facets there could be. From the strict coach to the clingy drunk; the overly blunt or embarrassingly sweet Viktor. But this imperfect one, with a smile much too wide, a voice scratchy from petals, and disheveled from a rice tub was perfect to him.

To be privy to this, the only audience to this side of Viktor was indescribable. Yuuri was worried he wouldn't be able to comment every smile line at the corners of Viktor's eyes to his memory quick enough.

Maybe he should make it a point to make him smile like this again?

There's no resistance as he's pulled closer, clearing his throat of the few straggling jonquils and chrysanthemums. Yuuri feels like he should be more embarrassed--and his face is still impossibly flushed (and if he hadn't lost most of the feeling in his body he would probably take note of the rapid drumming of his heart)--but the giddiness that he feels snuffs out any other symptoms for now. It was hard enough just to keep himself from laughing more, a mixture of disbelief and elation trying to squeeze it out of his lungs. For now he settles on a wide smile, pushing one of their interlaced hands closer to Viktor so he could brush some of the petals off his chest with a finger.]

I mean, [Yuuri begins, voice stronger than it was with his last playful jab,] just because you don't mind it, doesn't mean that we should make it harder for ourselves. [And because words are always harder there's a mumble that follows, his head turned to stare at the wall.] Not that it doesn't. Uh. Make me really happy. Because it does.

[Bashful or not, it seems that Yuuri can't keep his eyes off Viktor's because he's turned back a moment later, a delicate trail of lily-of-the-valley left on his shoulder. The smile he gives now is crooked.] We should start cleaning up what we have here already, before we make a bigger mess.

[Is what Yuuri says, but he makes no sign of moving away.]

[ It seems as though a fabrication, that Viktor's spun together from the depths of his own pining. Yuuri, here with him. Yuuri, with his hands caught up in his. Yuuri, pliant and willing to follow where he leads for now. Yuuri, who touches him with a gentleness he's never permitted for himself, flushed in reds to the tips of his ears as Viktor shares small, uncertain parts of himself. That Yuuri teases him about, merciless.

Viktor thinks he could keep looking at him like this for the rest of his days, hear him make fun of him, and be happier for it. He's already happy. This flustered, open Yuuri is one he wants to keep (shamelessly, selfishly) alongside all the rest. ]

It’s already hard, [ Viktor sighs, hitched and halted. His mouth tastes of roses. He’s hopeless, helpless. His confessions are endless, stained in the colors that Yuuri’s instilled in him. He thinks if he were to show Yuuri what he’s done to him, what he’s really done to him, then there would be no end to Yuuri’s teasing. If there were a way to see the extent of the garden that Yuuri’s planted in him, the roots that have dug into all that he is, there would be no hope of escaping that same laughter.

You really are an idiot, Yakov had told him once. More than once, certainly, when he noted that Viktor never did give back. He hadn’t thought he could, that he would, that he would want to so much that he thinks he might suffocate with it. He coaxes his expression into a gentle moue, one hand untangling from Yuuri’s own as his shoulders round and his lashes fan down. ] I’m already a mess and I’ll make an even bigger one if you let go now! That’s how it goes, isn’t it? [ It’s half-serious. For all that Viktor knows about flowers, he knows if he were to let go of Yuuri right now, he isn’t sure if he’d ever stop. His heart has beat off-time and off-measure since Yuuri had allowed him into his room. It beats harder now, a returning tide that threatens to burst against the shores of his own body.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, it tells him. He loves me, it reminds him again. The joy that rolls through him is alight and luminous — blinding. In the wake of it, Yuuri's hold is a guide, an anchor, a harbor. It's enough to keep him afloat against the flood adoration that subsumes all, but Yuuri's steady presence before him. ] Yuuri, is that what it is? [ He presses their still knotted hands against his chest. Viktor wonders if Yuuri can feel the way his heart hiccups at the barest brush of Yuuri's skin. He wonders if he can feel the shape of the garden that Yuuri himself had seeded there. He opens his mouth and all there is red petals, unmistakable. ] How cruel! [ The hope to seem wounded is lost against weight of roses upon his tongue, falling past his lips. It's already fatal, he supposes. It's terminal in all ways Viktor does not want to fight or fear. ] You really want to see me drown!

[ He knows that's probably not true. He knows that, but it doesn't stop Viktor from taking into fact that Yuuri hasn't moved despite his suggestions. Viktor trails his hand up Yuuri's arm, molds it to the curvature of his left shoulder. His fingers settle on the delicate stems of the lilies-of-the-valley that he's scattered there. All there is of hesitation is the tremble of Viktor's fingers as he tucks them behind the warm shell of Yuuri's ear, into the dark ink of his hair. He lingers there, this time purposeful. One the way back, his fingers map with reverence the soft, flushed spaces between his throat and his jaw. He wants —

He heaves a breath. It's colored with countless reds. The pout's still there, but there's something closer to disbelief as he brushes the rest of the soft, belled flowers from Yuuri's shoulder, skin. As if he could question that Yuuri feels as he does. As if he could not understand how he could pull Yuuri into his orbit, press kisses against his hands if he so chose to. ]

How am I supposed to stop when — [ He clears his throat, words caught behind a twisted burst of jonquils. His eyes have never left Yuuri's, not really. Not for long. Viktor's half-convinced that if they do, he'll realize he's just been dreaming of the same, desperate dreams he's had for months now. ] When you tell me that you're happy too? [ When you look at me like that? ]

Edited 2017-11-02 17:46 (UTC)

[Scratch that last highest ranked Viktor contest he held in his own head--this was the Viktor he loved most.

It was absolutely ridiculous how he was acting. Reminiscent of a child; only this child was a grown man and one of the highest decorated figure skaters in history. A grown man that Yuuri had discovered had a heart beating as wildly as his own. The pout Viktor wore was as absurd as it was endearing, screwing up his face as more flowers (red, unmistakable flowers that make his heart feel like bursting) fell from his lips. Cute was the only thought that came to mind. It made a part of Yuuri want to tease him more, to see what other cute faces he could make. The urge was so strong. But he made an effort to reign in his sadistic glee.

Mostly.

But Viktor had let go of his hand, and Yuuri is perfectly still at his ministrations. The light touch to his ear tickles, and he has to resist shrugging against it. However the brush against his skin and down his throat feels anything but light. How quickly it turned into heavy and branding, lighting a trail of fire in it's wake. How was Yuuri supposed to cope if every little touch from Viktor would affect him so?

And how was he supposed to control himself when every touch he received only made him want to give it back tenfold? Such thoughts had scared him before--desires to touch, hold, kiss had been schooled back for months. Now, with everything out in the open, he didn't have to hold back--well, at least within reason for these confessions coming to light not even an hour before.

A wide smile split Yuuri's face--the love he felt was really too much. It was going to take some getting used to--being free to feel.]

What are you even talking about anymore? [Yuuri can't fight against all the laughter anymore, yellow tulips of hopeless love stuck on his lips as he chuckles. He uses his now free hand to pluck the petals from his own lips, letting them fall to the ground.] You're not going to drown--that's superstition! [The rose petals that haven't fallen to the ground are picked next, gently plucked one by one from Viktor's jinbei and placed atop a sea of silver as he speaks.] Don't be dramatic! I'm not going to feel bad for you, because we still have practice and we still have to clean.

[Once his work is done, Yuuri's gives in, unable to resist. He reaches out to pat the top of Viktor's head, trying his hardest to not openly melt at how soft his hair remained (how was it possible for hair to be this soft?). A few pats before Yuuri rests his palm there, as a small reassurance.] You know I'm not going anywhere, okay? We still have time. [Not only after they clean. There was time to explore this new and beautiful thing between them. And there was so much lost time to catch up on--time they had both spent wondering when the other would notice them, pining over someone who was already longing for them.] We can still talk more after we clean.

[ Everyone has superstitions.

Viktor was born in a country that held many, that warned children away from swallowing their flowers unless they wanted to succumb to their poisons, and Viktor thinks perhaps there'd been some truth in that. Even now, he feels a twinge when his lungs start to fill. As if, after so long, it's still trying to exorcise the damage he's done to himself.

But, Yuuri makes it easier. For each bloom he coaxes out of his chest, Viktor feels more vibrant – alive. Even when Yuuri scatters over him his own declarations of love, laughs at his dramatics, touches him just so – Viktor feels the old injuries he'd built himself start to lull. If it were left to him, he'd form stories around the way Yuuri makes him feel like he's more than his own titles, that he's more than just a group of words strung together to form a garotte at his throat.

He'd form tales about the way it feels when someone finally sees you. The way it feels when he can't form the words to tell Yuuri that his love suffuses through all of him, hooks a smile as honest and free as Viktor's ever felt. This Yuuri, who shows his happiness so expansively and wears it so well, has more power than Viktor even knows. ]

Superstitions have reasons for existing! [ Viktor mock protests against the returning tide of red petals just as Yuuri dusts him off. Yellow roses is what Yuuri gives him, stuck against his lips. It isn't a fleeting thought that he wants nothing more than to kiss them off, to taste roses that aren't for once his own. It isn't an image that leaves him, the petals so bright and real – a contrast to those he'd had forever thrown at his own feet. A contrast of those that once stained the mouths of those who loved the dreams the held of him, untouchable and alone. He feels like he should be a little more embarrassed about being comforted as though he were child, Yuuri’s palm resting light and loving upon the crown of his head, but Viktor leans into it instead. He concentrates on the weight of Yuuri’s fingers, how they smooth over his hair. It isn’t fair, how easily Viktor welcomes any kind of affection. It isn’t fair, that he’s so hungry and shameless for it despite being fed after so long. ] I can see the reports already: [ Viktor starts, laughter welling up in his throat. Was it always this easy to do that? ] Viktor Nikiforov, coach to Katsuki Yuuri, was found Tuesday drowned in a sea of his own flowers while his beautiful, driven student laughed at him. [ He tries to school his expression into something more serious, but it's impossible. The mirth that saturates him makes it impossible to do anything, but smile. ] “He’s fine,” Yuuri said. “Don’t worry about it.” [ He gives Yuuri's captured hand a little squeeze, his cheeks aching. ] Viktor couldn’t be reached for comment because someone [ – he clears his throat, pointed. ] didn’t believe him until he was already buried.

[ He laughs again, shoulders trembling. It's so hard to want to disentangle himself from Yuuri. It's so hard to even think about, but he sobers up enough to give Yuuri's hand a final squeeze – to mumble a low and bracing okay - before releasing it, fingers mapping his all the way back.

It feels wrong, empty. It itches by his side, as Viktor reaches up with the other to coax Yuuri's touch from the top of his head. He can Yuuri's pulse beneath his fingers, just as high and just as thin. ] But, if you don’t go, [ he isn't even thinking, as he leads it down to cradle his own cheek. He isn't aware of how much he relaxes, how simple it is to breathe. ] then I think I’ll be okay.

[ He'll be just fine. After all this time waiting, he knows. Even if there is more time on the horizon, Viktor is only a human. While the world had fallen away for a little while, Yuuri grounds him. He sighs, the garden within him impossibly full. ] Let me know when you’ve had enough of me? [ Viktor doesn’t want him to have enough of him. He knows, logically, that a separation for the evening is only that. But, Viktor’s heart thrums and aches. For the first time in a long time, he's afraid someone will.

It's with reluctance, that he lets Yuuri go. But, it isn't as though he leaves. His hands return, to clear the blooms that have settled on Yuuri as well. He lifts each one as though he would break them if he handled them too much, piles them carefully into his opposite palm. He looks up between each one, eyes crinkling at the corners. There's a joke there, but there's also an affirmation: I'm not leaving either. ] After all, I don’t want to be reason my student can’t practice tomorrow.

[ I want to keep talking to you. ]

[Viktor was at it again. Yuuri's cheeks were beginning to hurt with how much he was smiling, biting at his lips to keep his laughter contained. He didn't even know how Viktor could think of such intricate scenarios so quickly (must be all that latent genius he held for anything theatrical)--but Yuuri was sure his laughter would only encourage it more, and then they really would never get anything done again. It doesn't stop his shoulders from trembling as he tries his best to keep up his facade.

The "beautiful" comment almost breaks his resolve however, eyes widening in disbelief that someone like Viktor (really, anyone) could look at him and claim beautiful. Especially now--mussy hair, sweatpants and sweatsuit which are baggy after losing weight, standing awkwardly in his room next to the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He fights against the urge to protest and instead directs the conversation back to Viktor so he can distract himself from his own embarrassment.]

I know we focus a lot on performance in our careers, but maybe you should stop skating and be an actor. [Yuuri allows himself a snort of amusement--a reward to himself after doing so well keeping the dam strong.] You're already too good at it with all that nonsense you're spouting.

[Viktor's guides his hand down with a gentle touch, letting it rest against his face in a moment that was much too fleeting. It's not nearly long enough for Yuuri to fully enjoy the heat he feels there, or to let his thumb sweep fully against his the apples of his cheeks--but he'll savor what he gets. The touch was first and foremost on his mind that he almost glanced over the rest of what Viktor said to him.

But a moment of reflection turns the corners of his mouth, pursing his lips while he considers the words spoken. Viktor was smiling, joking around with him--but there was still something that bothered him. An implication there that Yuuri feels he should address.]

I mean. [There's a small sigh--directed more at himself than Viktor.] I know that you're being nice, but I just want to make sure that... [There's a pause, Yuuri looking to to the petals in Viktor's open palm as he organizes his thoughts.] ...it's not that I'm going to get tired of you. We just have...responsibilities. I'm trying to be responsible here but you're-- [temping me seems a bit forward. There's a lot of things that can be implied with the word tempting--and honestly, all of them are probably true. Yuuri nearly chokes on his tongue, clearing his throat before starting again.] --uh, you're making it hard. Not because you're doing anything wrong, because I'm having a lot of fun and everything's going fine, but...!

[He has to groan at himself--again with the babbling. What was it with him and trying to explain emotions that made him forget how to speak clearly? He was nearly twenty-four; he should be able to have an adult conversation about things like this!]

[Yuuri closes his eyes, counts to three, and tries again.] Sorry. What I mean is, I'm not going to get tired of you, even if I send you away. And I never said I was going to send you away in the first place! [There's another opportunity to direct the conversation away from him, and Yuuri jumps right on it. The eyes focused on Viktor now twinkle with mirth, a brow raised.] I'm pretty sure you're going to get sleepy before I do. [I'll stay with you for however long I'm allowed isn't voiced, but his heart thrums with the conviction.]

[Yuuri finally, finally forces himself to move away and kneel--action made a little easier by the slightly embarrassing things he just sprouted from his mouth. Bashful peonies are hidden by his hand when he clears his throat again, Yuuri trying to slying tilt them off his hand into the pile of petals he was gingerly brushing together. He scoops some between his palms before straightening to put them in the tub.] The quicker we clean, the longer we'll have to talk about stuff that isn't me telling you we should clean! So! [And Yuuri has knelt again, gathering another handful.] Let's do that first!

[ There's a moment where he wonders if he misheard him. There's a long moment where he's almost certain he has, but the moment passes and Yuuri is still clarifying. I'm not going to get tired of you, Yuuri tells him. Even stumbling to tell Viktor what he means, each word pries a little further into him and disturbs knotted clusters of emotion that Viktor had never bothered to attend to, buried deep in the soil of his heart.

Yuuri, despite his disbelief, is the most beautiful and dangerous thing Viktor's ever come to know. And still, he hands him a spade. Do what you'd like, he doesn't have to say. Viktor would give him anything. But, the pause is only a pause for so long. It breaks around Viktor's start. ]

Okay, [ Viktor breathes.

He can't get the words up. They lodge themselves under his heart and don't budge, but the flowers do. They shift up from secreted places, little pieces of himself once shorn away like ice under blades. His empty hand comes up to his lips before he's able to breathe out another, softer "okay," capturing between his palm and his fingers the jumbled menagerie that blossoms out.

Viktor doesn't mean to keep them from him. It comes up like a reflex, something he can say is a deference to Yuuri's suggestion to hurry along – so they could talk about something else. From what escapes, he knows one to be hydrangeas. They're waxy, luxuriant things. Viktor, had he the power to think on it, would have wondered over the depth of their purples. But, the sentiment is as clear as it was earlier. It hasn't changed. He doesn't think it will ever, despite the way his heart beats – raw and aching, like hands bruised from a hard fall.

He doesn't recognize the other. They're stained beyond immediate discernment, dry and whole and fragile. Half never make it past the lip of the tub as he instinctively drops them there, their edges crumbling like parched earth in his palm. Heat prickles up the back of his neck, but he can't bring himself to hide. Yuuri is already in all the places he would usually go. Yuuri is already there, his words disarming Viktor's deflections. Yuuri sees the vulnerability for what it is and does not look in distaste upon it. He only holds it down with gentle fingers finger and does not permit Viktor – with all his practiced efforts – to obfuscate its name.

He lets out more of a huff than a laugh, uncertain as to what to make of himself and unwilling to investigate the implications of something so old. He's neglected so much already. He doesn't want to neglect it anymore. And so – ]

Edited 2017-11-05 02:10 (UTC)

I'm having a lot of fun too, [ he says, soft and delayed and finally coming to kneel carefully amid all the blooms that paint the flower in confused mosaics. As he does so, the roses that have kept so neatly upon the crown of his head rain down and he doesn't much mind them as much as he minds the ones that Yuuri has given to him, a mix of gratitude and consideration gilding his movements. Never crush another's flowers, 'lest you crush another's feelings, had been what was told to him since he was little. He understands the superstition now.

He rises a little after Yuuri does, cupping all the blooms he's gathered as though he were cupping water. He moves them into the tub with a gentleness they deserve, trying not to bruise their edges. ] Even if Yuuri keeps implying that I'm getting too old and should move on to acting, [ he grouses with neither fire nor conviction before he's turning back again. Fondness floods into the smile Viktor gives him, eyes bright and clear despite the dim of the room. ] But, I'm happy with my student's progress! [ The sincerity in his statement is unavoidable, even if the conflict of his career roils underneath. He ignores it for now, because this much is true: I'm happy coaching you, I'm happy that I'm here, I'm happy with you. His heart hammers it out, disclosed in the way that he, in contrast, gathers his own blooms. It isn't careful or precise. There's no hit of ceremony as he dumps those too into the tub. It's perfunctory, as he goes back for more of his own. ] And it isn't as though I've never stayed up before! [ He can't help the laugh, even though he's trying very hard to make a point he has no real investment in. ] I've gone to bed just as late as you do!

[ He can protest playfully as much as he likes, but he doesn't deny he goes to bed early. It's true. Compared to the creature of the night Yuuri is, Viktor is an old man through and through. Even if, he supposes, it wasn't too long ago that he'd stayed out all night drinking to absorb Yuuri's declaration that katsudon of all things was his Eros. He'd accepted it and worked with it of course despite his personal confusion, because it was still Yuuri, but now – it's amazing, how much Yuuri admits to him now. ]

Ah, I was even going to tell you that – [ he pauses midway through the next trip, catches a short cough against his elbow. It isn't a pleasant sensation. It pulls up from something deeper and the evidence is scattered up against the green of his jinbei. No matter how aged they are, they're more distinctive this time around: marjoram. It's a small pause, but then Viktor's sobering enough to laugh, a short and breathless sound as he continues on with the task. He doesn't quite look at Yuuri, but his voice is steady and sure. It isn't until the very end, when he's gathered enough of Yuuri's flowers back into his hand, that he looks up again. ]

I don't think anyone could tire of you, [ he says. His fingers curl around the petals in his hands, as if to shield them. It takes a monumental effort, to quiet the need to flower in his chest. He needs Yuuri to hear it. ] You always surprise me.

[The diligence Yuuri is putting into cleaning up is admirable--though the source of his motivation is less so. Still slightly embarrassed and eager for distraction, the pause between his and Viktor's reply is mostly glanced over--though he does feel a little guilty. Was he pushing too hard with asking Viktor to hold back? Yuuri blinks back fully into existence after his coach has knelt to help with the cleaning--looking up from his work for the first time since he started. Viktor is smiling, dissolving all of Yuuri's worries with it. And he's able to smile back wide and true, because even working together on such a simple task as this brings warmth to his heart.

Besides, he wasn't lying when he said the faster they got this done, the faster they could talk about other things. Cleaning up any new petals would be easier if there wasn't already a mountain of them to climb past, which would save them time in the long run! With the work they've put in so far the pile is already thinning, Yuuri cradling another handful in his hands.]

I'm not even calling you old--I think you protest too much. [There's an undignified snort, mischief in his voice.] For the record, you're not old, but if you keep wanting to act like you are, then I wont hold back.

[He was in the process of straightening, releasing another handful of petals into the tub, when Viktor coughs. It startles him, the sound rough like it was deep from the chest. Concern has him turning back, to see...something he doesn't readily recognize. Whatever they are, they're wilted with age--a sight that he had never really seen. Most of the time blooms either came immediately or not at all, chewed back and swallowed to never see the light. But this one...looks like Viktor had been holding on for a while. Like a secret prayer.

Yuuri's hand reaches out instinctively, wanting to grab one of the blooms off of Viktor so he could discern what it was--but his hand stops between them as he hesitates. Would that be a little too personal to just grab a flower that had been clearly held back for so long? It seemed rude to grab it and inspect it like a lab project, clinically dissecting Viktor's feelings with an old bloom. And it was obviously older--there was something about the age that made it seem more intimate.

A moment of debate passes before Yuuri gingerly steps over the pile--to work next to Viktor instead. Close enough that their thighs would bump as Yuuri knelt, brushing together a pile of Viktor's flowers in a small mound in front of his knees. Roses, jonquils, ambrosia--gently topped with one of the aged flowers that had escaped Viktor's clothes.

Yuuri didn't want to dissect the meaning of the older flower--but he wanted reassure Viktor he wasn't shying away from it. That he was open to talk about it. Whenever he was ready, of course.]

[His eyes are glued to the pile of gifts from Viktor's garden, soft smile aimed at the emotions before him.] I'm sure someone out there could tire of me--but I still appreciate you saying it. [A few shy flowers fall at his next words--violets, blue and white.] As long as the people I care about don't tire of me, then I'll be fine.

[Watchfulness as they take a chance on happiness together.]

[ There’s something comforting in doing menial chores side-by-side.

He’d had tastes of it here and there, in the dinners he’d have with Yakov and Lilia. He’d had it in the way they would clear off the table, work through the dishes. He’d had it in the conversations they would have as they crossed into each other’s spaces, in the elbows accidentally caught. He’d had it, every once in a while.

It warmed him, if a little, in the nights he’d spent with Makkachin in his apartment back in St. Petersburg. It kept him company, as Makkachin did, when he cooked and cleaned in the silence that he’d banished beneath the evening news. He held onto it, in the hours he’d spend reading with Makkachin’s head a fixing weight upon his chest.

But, it's different in Hasetsu. It's different with the Katsukis, in their noisy kitchen full of music and rapid conversation that he could barely comprehend. It's different, in the way elbows were inevitably rubbed and all the flowers that Viktor never shared were swept off his skin. It's peaceful, calming in the quiet of Yuuri’s room, with Yuuri so close that he could touch him if he wanted. It's comfortable.

It was comfortable and it had been a long time since Viktor felt as though he had permission to be who he is. He no longer had to come in with new faces, with new attitudes. For once, he’d been told they weren’t interested.

It isn’t that he misses Yuuri’s debate. He sits quiet for it, watches him in the way Yuuri watches him. And it isn’t to say he takes the playful jab without some of his own carefully held back for proper opportunity. It’s just that they go still and soft when Yuuri opts to come over to his side, close enough to touch. And when they do, Viktor’s skin tingles at every point of contact. Yuuri centers him, gives him flowers with careful and quiet purpose. Unlike the riot in Viktor’s heart and how emphatically he gives his own feelings, Yuuri makes them count.

They count now, in a small and clustered shower. Violets, as unassuming as Yuuri thinks he is. As beautiful as Viktor thinks he is, looking upon the pile of declarations that he gathers by his knees with a smile that treats them kinder than Viktor ever did. ]

Maybe, [ Viktor concedes, though it's colored with a small laugh. The pile he’d built up in his hands is gently deposited again before him, Viktor’s eyes moving to the flowers Yuuri's given him and back up to the expression he wears. He doesn’t have to decide, before Viktor leans into his space, leans against him to collect the new sentiments with particular gentleness – as though touching them too roughly would shatter them. But still he leans, allowing himself to indulge the brush of his arm against Yuuri’s, the press of Yuuri’s shoulder against his. He lingers, one hand cupped and full of blooms for a moment or two. He never quite leaves as he lays them down upon the pile of his own as though it were being crowned. ] I'd have to meet them.

[ That much is true, Viktor thinks. Yuuri was more likable than he gave himself credit for. If anything at all, spending time with him had only cemented it. It had only proven to him, in Yuuri’s unspoken question to be happy with him, that he was observing him as much as Viktor did him – it seems silly, to go back for more flowers only to replace them with the curled and white petals of lilies, the crimped edges of white carnations. It seems ridiculous, but he gives him answers without ever giving them: Yes, I’ll take a chance with you. Being with you is more than I could ask for. ]

But, I don’t think you’ll have to worry, [ he says. There’s conviction there. An admission, echoed in the way that Viktor keeps cradled in his palm the emotions that Yuuri had shared, growing slowly. His eyes are warm with mirth. ] Even if you threaten to treat others the way they’re acting, I think you’ll be just fine.

[ He thinks he will be too, even between the next breath and the next gathering of blooms. That he replaces those too is only natural. It’s an assurance, an unspoken explanation to dried flowers that had once kept under his heart. Unfurled and deep, pale in purples – your presence soothes. Petunias. With you, I’m comfortable.

I won't tire of you. ]

Edited 2017-11-08 05:23 (UTC)

[There's a moment of reflection Yuuri has--an absent thought in the back of his mind. Only a few months ago would see a very different Yuuri. A few months ago, he would've found an excuse to have any reason to escape a Viktor this close, leaning against him and into his space. Yuuri would gone to room, spent hours contemplating meanings and second guessing his judgement--before ultimately locking it in the back of his mind as something that would never come to fruition.

Now, when Viktor comes into his space, Yuuri finds himself wanting more. He wants Viktor to press into him more and for the touch to linger for longer--he wants to lean back, to bring Viktor back into his side so they can stay like this for a while.

It flustered him, how quickly his thoughts were becoming bold. He had grown used to Viktor touching him at all possible moments even before now--but he kept his own urges in check before they could even manifest as comprehensible thoughts--a safety mechanism to keep his heart safe. But now the safety was off, and Yuuri was faced with a loaded gun he had no idea to use.

Too late, Yuuri realizes, that the trick was to just act. Viktor is out of his immediate space quicker than he can come to a decision, leaving Yuuri's arm cold. There's a pout on his face as he looks down at the gathering of mixed sentiments Viktor had adorned--aimed both at his self and the joke aimed back at him.]

What's wrong with treating people the way they act? [There's an attempt to make up for his lost opportunity with a playful bumping of shoulders, leaning his weight against Viktor's.] Even saying that still isn't going to make me stop--wait. Crap. [Righting himself in a frantic burst of movement, Yuuri reaches into the main pile of petals to grab a handful and put it away. Pink creeps up into his cheeks as he realizes he's been doing the exact thing he's been telling Viktor not to do. It was too distracting having him around.]

[It isn't until he gets a few good sizable chunks cleaned up--enough that he has to push the edges back in to consolidate the pile--that he sits back on his calves with a huff.] Okay, okay. No more distractions. We're almost done! [At this point Yuuri is speaking to himself, a reminder to actually be a good example. A more gentle pace is set for the next handful, extra mindful of his handling to make up for his rush.] Should we take this back to your room after we're done cleaning, or should we wait?

[An honest question not at all posed to get them to look toward the future instead of back at his embarrassing antics!]

[ Bold has a broad definition. Bold is Yuuri skating his program with more emotion and potential than he’d ever thought it could possess. Bold is Yuuri coming into himself, unfurling who he is to Viktor like the bright bells of morning flowers.

Bold is flying half-way around the world to see a person from a video. Bold is bursting into an inn on invitation, flowers caught up in your mouth, only to find out that no one seemed to you were supposed to be there. Bold is being there anyway, pulling out all the stops you were assured were work. Bold is expansive gestures, warm and tactile expressions of love. Bold is careening into new roles faster than one could count them, only to be told to be bold by being yourself and trying.

Viktor’s always liked Yuuri’s bold much more. Viktor has always been a bird of paradise in a vase of lilies, but Yuuri is the one who dares to be the most delicate and beautiful lily of them all.

But, Yuuri is not delicate. There’s power in all of him, strength in all of him. Like Yuuri, he sees the progression that Yuuri makes daily. He knows that the proximity he’s asked for all night – pined for all night – was hard won. When Yuuri pouts at him for moving, jokes, jostles back into him, Viktor can feel himself light up. Yuuri’s warmth creeps into him like vines, settles down roots, and he hopes and hopes and hopes it’ll never leave.

Viktor had never known his heart to be good for anything, but the ice he’d looked at day in and day out. Viktor had forgotten what it looked like, what it dreamt like. He’d compartmentalized every bit of it, shared simulacrums of it on TV. No one had to know that he was greedy, that himself was the only thing he buried in the dark earth of his body. It was the only thing he had that was his, but even he didn’t want it. That Yuuri wants the neglected thing that tries so hard to beat and flower and sing – Viktor can’t help, but mirror that pout when Yuuri steers himself back on track with such sudden movement. That it leaves Viktor trying not look as though he’d let himself get comfortable enough to have to catch himself with a hand down on the floor is up to debate (it isn’t). ]

Yuuuuuri, [ Viktor whines, but the laugh shows itself in the tremble of his shoulders. ] You’re not doing a good job of “treating people how they’re acting” if you don’t give an old man warning!

[ Even still, he concedes to Yuuri’s need to finish the job. It seems like even Yuuri’s incredible work ethic isn’t entirely immune to Viktor’s charms. He straightens himself up and sets himself to picking at some of the piles. As he continues, he's still more considerate around Yuuri’s flowers than he is his own at every pass. But, he pauses midway through another trip, hands poised over the tub. He tips his head to the right and opens up his hands, watching the flowers snow onto the rapidly accumulating pile.]

Hmm, [ he starts. He idly brings his index finger up to tap against the corner of his lips. ] Yuuri, [ he takes extra care to stretch the “u,” a clear hint that whatever is going to come out of his mouth is aimed to tease him. ] Are you saying you wanted to sit in my room for a while? [ He throws a wink Yuuri’s way. ] You only had to ask.

[ And just like that, he’s already going back to cleaning. But, his expression softens into something more sincere, more open. He kneels down to sweep more flowers into the main pile, almost depleted already. ] I don’t mind keeping them in here for now. [ Being in here with you is comfortable. I’m surrounded by you. ] I’ll remember them before I get too tired.

[Yuuri is back in the grove after his slip-up, pleased with how quickly things are progressing. Every few gentle handfuls he takes some time to bring in the edges again to make sure the pile is manageable. Dare say, Yuuri is becoming comfortable again--enough that he can laugh at the whine aimed his way, a chirp of,] You'll be fine! [disguising his secret laughter.]

[But Viktor Nikiforov is a dangerous man. There's danger in the way he moves, entrancing and enticing. There's danger in the way his looks could strike down anyone in a room, outclassing all and outmatched by none. And there's danger in the way he speaks--especially now in the way he stretches out the vowels in Yuuri's name, which Yuuri had quickly associated after Viktor's arrival as a warning of something ridiculous to come. Yuuri tries to keep the upper hand, keeping up his work like he never heard his name.

But...Viktor Nikiforov remains a dangerous man, and his jest (topped with a wink of all things!) hits its mark--and Yuuri sputters.

A futile attempt is made to cover his mouth...but it comes a moment too late. A few red carnations slip past before they could be caught by his hands, an embarrassing yes to a question posed in jest. One second Yuuri is blinking as he regains his composure. And in the next a scowl is whipped in Viktor's direction, though his gaze holds no real heat. Mostly it accuses. You're doing this on purpose, it says. Distracting! it yells. You already know the answer to that, it huffs. There's a lot in his gaze that Yuuri doesn't say out loud, but he's sure to emphatically project all his disgruntled feelings Viktor's way.

Really, with all that he's been teasing Viktor himself, he should have seen it coming...so he can't fault Viktor completely.

But there's still a huff that escapes him when he finally deposits the carnations in his hand to the tub, bumping his shoulder against Viktor again--a little rougher than necessary perhaps, but his next over dramatic puff of air at least assures it's still in good fun.] We can stay in here, that's fine. I can help you carry the tub to your room when you're ready to go.

[The pile is small enough that Yuuri starts picking up petals individually, making pleasing color combinations on his palm before letting them flutter away into the container with the rest. Currently it's the white of jonquils mixed with the pinks of camellias, gingerly sorting the petals in an idle game.] My room doesn't have as many places to sit though, but we should both be able to sit on my bed if we don't want to sit on the floor. Nothing weird intended! [Before Viktor can even think of saying something Yuuri is sure to clarify his meaning, another playful bump of the shoulder punctuating the sentence.]

[ He deserved that one. He takes the sulk that Yuuri puts on like a champion, the unrepentant mischief in him an open secret in the way he blinks in mock of innocence, hand lowering and curling to rest near his throat as if the reaction Yuuri had given had been a surprise (it isn't). Cute, is what he's really been thinking, at least up until Yuuri regains his footing and bumps shoulders with him hard enough for Viktor get the idea that he's a menace.

No, that's when his heart makes itself stutter, drunken and dizzy. Yuuri is just as dangerous, made more so by the idea that he has no idea at all. No idea at all, as he shares with Viktor the deep reds of carnations and Viktor can feel the garden in him thrive and grow with escape their inevitability. ]

Ow, [ he whimpers, low and plaintive as Yuuri just as soon abandons him. It doesn't actually hurt, but he sends Yuuri his best and most pointed betrayed look as he goes, like he can't quite believe Yuuri'd do something so cruel to him. But, he can never seem to cover all his tells. The blue of his eyes is too bright, the moue on his lips too tremulous and soft. ] So mean! It was an honest question!

[ It was an honest question and a mutual tease, thank you! Still, he can't suppress the little laugh that comes up as Yuuri sweeps back to place more petals in. At this rate, Viktor wonders if there's ever a possibility that he'll dry up at the rate he'd given them, but — he watches Yuuri sort them, make of them a palette of emotions he'd never quite allowed himself before — and hopes he never does. ]

Are you sure? [ He asks after a long moment. He recalls the red. The carnations were beautiful, something he knows means he's touched on Yuuri's heart just so. Yuuri does this to him in ways Viktor's not always sure he's aware of, the ferocity of his earnestness sometimes more than Viktor can bear. But, still — the playful edge vanishes, but the warmth never does. ] I don't mind if we sit in my room either. [ He pauses, reaches out to gently catch at Yuuri's elbow when their paths pull them back into each other's space again. He lets his eyes flit to the tub they've nearly filled and lets his voice go quiet and hoarse with sincerity. It blooms about small, fragrant flowers and clusters in subtle, pale pinks — winter daphne: I want to do what pleases you. He can't quite hide that now. It's out for him to see. ] You're always welcome to.

[ He means it. And as much as he wants to be tempted by the warmth Yuuri exudes, he doesn't allow himself to. Even if he wants nothing more than to rub the meat of his thumb into the crook of Yuuri's elbow, stain himself with the gray shadows he sees sleeping there, Viktor's hand lingers for a moment and then leaves him. He wants, he wants and it is only just enough that Viktor can stand by him. ]

Not that your bed isn't fine too, [ he clarifies and assures in one, warm stroke. He smiles, his heart caught up in the way his mouth bows. He's sat on Yuuri's bed before, sure, but it'll be different with him! But, he knows what Yuuri means and just being with him makes Viktor happy, so he gestures open-palmed and broadly for no reason more than to underline it. ] Even if it's tiny, it's still just as comfortable! [ — Ah, right. He should be cleaning! Yes, that's something he should be doing. So, he moves back out of Yuuri's orbit (with great reluctance) to get what might be ostensibly one of the last handfuls. He hums as he crouches down, making a game of it as much as Yuuri does. He sorts by variety, genus. He sees if he cannot puzzle them whole in his palm, make them the shades of flowers they could have been in the full weight of their form. Even still, he hums as he comes near again, his voice as light as the way he adds new petals to the tub: ] After all, Makkachin seems to approve and Makkachin's always had the best taste.

[ He gives a little, decisive nod in support of his own statement. It's not as if he hasn't noticed! And Makkachin really did take to Yuuri so well. In fact, he suspects Yuuri sees her more these nights than he does. ]

Edited 2017-11-13 13:14 (UTC)

[The grab at his elbow catches Yuuri's attention and breaks his concentration on his little game--though the touch is not unwelcome. Any lingering pout has disappeared when he looks back at Viktor, just in time to catch the few new blooms he had offered. The blushed stars of flowers that fall are ones Yuuri's seen often. Not only in nature, but from his own mouth. They were flowered promises he had made countless times towards his coaches, his mentors--and even to himself. Eager to please, he had told them all. And now Viktor was telling him something similar.

In a way, it irritated him.

Not that he was ungrateful that Viktor wanted to do what would make him happy--there was no denying the rush it gave him and the butterflies it set off in his stomach. Everyone liked to be spoiled once in a while, right?

But...he didn't want Viktor to do something just to please him, even if Viktor himself wouldn't mind doing it. Yuuri didn't need or want to be catered to. And he didn't want Viktor to think of him as a person who would needed to be appeased to receive affection. He was happy spending time with Vitkor in whatever way they could, no matter if it was in this room or another.

That and...Yuuri was more than a bit stubborn. His mind was already made up, so he tosses his game aside and leans forward again to gather up the last remaining petals. A few stragglers escape his grasp--but those would be easy enough to clean up by himself later. Yuuri rises to his feet instead of worrying about them, and pointedly sits on the bed.]

There's no reason to leave now. [Yuuri gives the spot next to him a pat, another strong indication of his conviction.] We can go to your room next time. [Whatever frown of concentration has faded now, and Yuuri offers a smile Viktor's way.] It may be tiny, but it fits me and Makkachin just fine. [He crosses his arms for a moment, a mock of seriousness in his voice when he speaks.] You're lucky she's not here, because I think we both know she has priority.

[ Next time, Yuuri says.

Viktor knows there will be – hadn't Yuuri said so earlier? –, but to hear him say it again stirs the flowers in his heart like the idle pass of a warm hand. Yuuri needn't give him more than that, for him to be turning from their mutual task. Viktor had spent so much time in the winter of his own life, that he'd forgotten what it was to feel earth within him thaw. But, Yuuri reminds him. He reminds Viktor in moments like this, where Viktor's offer isn't taken, and for the briefest moment Viktor feels the as though he's overstepped.

But, he should know better by now. Yuuri is prone to doing what Viktor does not expect – cannot expect. Yuuri is stubborn and defiant in all the ways that Viktor once was – still is. And Viktor barely allows Yuuri to finish his statement at all before his mouth fills with happy betony – surprise – as Yuuri invites him to sit beside him on his childhood bed. It is with a quiet decency that he at least catches their small, thin bodies in the cradle of his palm. He doesn't think twice about it as he dumps them into the near proximity of the tub and tells himself slow as he moves to join him.

On anyone else, it could have been considered overeager. For Viktor, whose grace was born into him, it makes itself seem more like a firm acceptance as he settles down beside Yuuri and feels himself thaw, the knot of uncertainty in his chest subsiding with Yuuri's easy jokes and beautiful will. The word “okay” rests at the tip of his tongue.

It takes all of Viktor’s own focus to not allow himself to drift, imagining what it must have been like to wake up in here all these years. It takes even more focus, not to think on what it must have been like spending a quiet morning in Hasetsu, walking to school. The light that casts through Yu-topia is often low and warm and Viktor has to place down the thought before he thinks about Yuuri as he is now, in the early hours, sleep-drunk and bedraggled. ]

Of course she does, [ Viktor says, a perfect imitation of solemnity. He thinks only an idiot would pass up the chance to be close to Yuuri. Makkachin, like Viktor, is no idiot. And Yuuri is a man who loves his dog, who now admits he loves him – he lists into Yuuri's space as he talks, presses the warm line of his body against his as he balances back on one hand. The sheets beneath him are old, worn smooth. Viktor thinks it might be one of his favorite things to feel, outside the dark of Yuuri’s hair, the heat of Yuuri’s skin – the thick of Makkachin’s curls. His gaze seeks out Yuuri’s naturally, the smile returned with no sense of automaticity. Viktor is here with Yuuri. He’s here as himself. And Viktor would give him anything. Even if Yuuri might not be aware of it, that is just one of the ways he loves: in an outpour of giving. ] All should be so lucky to have her four paws grace their bed.

[ But, the illusion of serious conversation is ruined as soon as Viktor laughs. It’s a small, bright sound and he tries his best to continue, but his words are too rounded for true lamentations. He presses his free hand over his heart, just to try to recover some of it, and wonders absurdly if he can feel the pulse that keeps his flowers blooming. ] Even if it means I’m abandoned by Yuuri and Makkachin both, left in quiet of my room and my thoughts. [ He tries for a sigh, but there’s no way to pull one up around another, smaller laugh and all the inevitable adoration that smooths the jests. ] She wanted to be next to you the moment she saw you.

[ I did too. ]

Edited (vanquished some typos!!) 2017-11-15 17:14 (UTC)

[Viktor's laughter is infectious--it pulls the rumble of chuckles from deep in his chest, stifled by a hand only so he could enjoy the sound of Viktor's uninterrupted. Yuuri plays it off as trying to keep up his charade of seriousness with varying success. He manages to quell the laughter and keep his posture...but the smile he wears strains his cheeks.] Yes, poor Victor. How will he manage in his huge bed with the fancy sheets and soft mattress while everyone else sleeps on this tiny old thing?

[The weight leaned into him is returned with a gentle press of his own, Yuuri seeking out the warmth Viktor's body offered. All this talk of dogs only made him wish that Makkachin was with them--but she often sought out Mari for scraps at this time of night.]

I'm glad Makkachin likes me though. [There's a moment of quiet from Yuuri, though it's not unkind. It's thoughtful, filled with the sounds of his hand idly rubbing against the sheets.] She reminded me so much of Vicchan when I first saw her--ah, my dog, I mean. [A little color sprinkles his cheek, well aware of his mother's nickname for Viktor and how that could easily be misconstrued.] Makkachin is much bigger than he was, but they have the same coloring.

[Being in a house without Vicchan had hurt. Even though he had been gone for years before Vicchan's died, he had heavily equated his home with the sound of his barks, or the pitter-patter of small paws scrambling through the house to meet Yuuri at the door after practices at the Ice Castle. The first few nights back home--in bed without a furry weight at his feet--had been terribly lonely. The guilt of not being able to see Vicchan one last time or be there for him in his final moments had eaten away at Yuuri for months.

When he first saw Makkachin--in a flash of curly, chocolate brown fur--he really did think it was Vicchan for a moment. After wanting so bad to see his dog again, it was hard not to immediately equate the two. But Makkachin was not Vicchan. And that was okay, because Makkachin still helped fill the hole in his heart he had dug out of regret. She couldn't replace Vicchan, but she did help assuage some of that guilt.]

I was really happy to see her. It's like a little bit of Vicchan is back in the house. [Yuuri's idle hand had switched--now the one between the two of them creeps closer until his ring and pink finger rest on Viktor's knee, palm sandwiched between their thighs.

Yuuri didn't talk much about Vicchan with anyone--he mostly avoided the topic since the pain was still fresh. Talking about it now though with Viktor's reassuring presence didn't invite the lump of sadness that usually sat in his throat about his dog. It actually felt nice to share a bit of his life that Viktor wouldn't know about.] You would've liked him too, I'm sure.

[ He really is beautiful.

He never truly forgets, but whenever Yuuri gives him reason to think on it again, he finds his heart tripping over its own sense to beat. When Yuuri laughs behind his hand, struggles to keep up the act with him – his smile catches on all of Viktor’s rougher edges and smooths them in such a way that he thinks that maybe the sun is what he needed after all. That someone like Yuuri, just Yuuri, was what he was looking for all this time.

But, the retort goes quiet the moment Yuuri starts to really speak. Viktor might not always know how to read an atmosphere, but there’s something in this one that stays him. It’s in the way Yuuri pauses, the way he tells him he’s glad about Makkachin.

This is new.

And so, as Yuuri goes along, Viktor gives him the full of his attention. He does not interrupt, even as Yuuri brings up the name that Hiroko now uses on him. The reason now isn't hard to draw, with the way Yuuri's cheeks color as he does it. For anyone else, it would have perhaps been a little strange, but all that it does to Viktor is make him love Yuuri more. It brings up such an unexpected wave of affection that he has to keep his mouth shut to not disrupt him with the promise of broad, flat petals. Tulips, no doubt. He can feel the wax of them against his tongue as Yuuri brushes his fingers over his knee, confesses to him the story of his own dog. He doesn't have to guess that it was more recent. If it weren't, he thinks Yuuri might have shared it with him.

This is new too.

And so, once Yuuri finishes, the hand at Viktor's own chest goes slack and loose. His fingers curling inward, knuckles brushing up against his own sternum, gaze steady – fixed. It isn't that he wants to hide what he feels, but he keeps himself in check. This is about Yuuri. This is about Yuuri, who has given him something precious. This about something Yuuri loves, had loved. ]

I would have loved him, [ Viktor says with sudden, firm conviction. The words have already left his mouth before he has time to register them, but he has no doubt. Just as surely as Yuuri loves Makkachin, the way that Yuuri describes Vicchan assures Viktor that was his dog was just as kind and just as adoring. It assures Viktor even more that Vicchan was just as wonderful in his own way – it showed up in the way Yuuri opened his heart to Makkachin immediately. A dog can teach humans many things and Yuuri knew all the secrets on how to treat and treasure them. Briefly, Viktor thinks that one day he too will have to speak of Makkachin like this, but that day isn’t now. And so, Viktor refuses to give it more time. ]

I would have loved to have met him, [ he continues, softer now. ] I think he and Makkachin would have no doubt gotten along. [ He smiles, the warmth of it catching at the corners of his eyes. The flowers in his chest stir, small blooms of adoration caught on a breath. They don't rise, but Viktor knows the sound they make. His inhales thin, taper – they grow stronger again, the moment he decides to lay the hand over his heart just below the curve of his knee instead. It rests palm up, an invitation. He remembers long ago what Yuuri had said about the girl on the beach. He won't intrude, but he will listen. He'll listen with all that he has, with Yuuri’s fingers a grounding weight between them both. ] As much as she likes having us around, I think she would have liked to have had someone else to sniff about the downstairs with.

[ He lets the tilt of his lips go absent, crooked. It's a small imperfection, something he would have once never allowed. But with Yuuri, he's free. He's free to give it as much as Yuuri is free to give what he's comfortable with. ] I'm glad you like her too. [ And he is. He'd been glad the moment Yuuri had rubbed behind her ears, showered her with all the affection she deserved. Deserves, Viktor corrects. For a long time, it had only been Makkachin and himself. Viktor feels a pang of guilt, to think she must have been lonely before they'd both come here. Now, Makkachin gets her fill. And now – now Viktor does too. ] I already knew she'd like you.

[ He had no doubt. Viktor never had any doubts about that much. ]

Edited 2017-11-17 12:29 (UTC)

[There is no hesitation from Yuuri when Viktor offers his hand. The one that had rested at their thighs, sneaking a connection with the lightest of touches slides to rest in the offered palm. Yuuri's fingers lace between Viktor's with a firm squeeze--appreciative. It was easier to talk about Vicchan now with Viktor here, but it didn't mean that Yuuri wasn't thankful for the extra support. Tightness he didn't realize he had been holding his his chest relaxes, and Yuuri breathes out a sigh punctuated with a few petals that he doesn't bother cleaning up or holding back. Pale pink roses of appreciation for Viktor being here.]

They would've been a sight. [Yuuri wears a soft smile, imagining how small Vicchan would have looked next to big Makkachin.] Makkachin already gets so spoiled by everyone, so how much worse could it be if she had backup? [A laugh, before Yuuri dares to lean his head lightly against Viktor's shoulder. Yuuri pulls up their joined hands and gently twists his wrist back and forth, occupying himself with watching how their hands move together.] I don't think I would have a bed left if they both had their ways.

[There was a certain catharsis in talking about Vicchan after all these months. His family didn't bring the subject up often--probably to spare Yuuri's feelings. Which was fine; Yuuri didn't bring it up either--and even if he could've talked about it, it would've most likely inspired more feelings of guilt in him. His family had been there for Vicchan when Yuuri had not, after all.

But now that he'd started sharing with Viktor, who could only experience Vicchan through him, any guilt was smothered by the yearning he had to share and paint Vicchan in the best light he could. And in a way, that offered some closure to Yuuri.]

When I first got him he was too small to make the jump up onto my bed and he would end up bumping his head on the wood. I always felt so bad for him! [Yuuri sits up leans away from Viktor, only to fondly rub a spot next to his pillow.] So I would pick him up and he would sleep curled up right next to my head until he got a little bigger. He would end up kicking my head a lot when he was dreaming though.

[There's a moment of rustling as Yuuri grabs his phone from under his pillow. He finally lets their clasped hands drop back between them when he settles back against Viktor's side, letting his head lean a little heavier.] When I went to America for training, Mari would send me pictures of Vicchan a lot to keep me updated on him. [Yuuri clicks his phone to illuminate the screen and holds it up for Viktor to see--it was one of the pictures Mari had taken of Vicchan for him. Rolled on his back with a stomach that just begged to be pet.] My roommate even got me this phone case because of the pictures I showed him of Vicchan.

[It was kind of funny how many little glimpses of his life Yuuri was able to give Viktor through Vicchan. It was a testament to how much his dog had mattered to him.] He was a good boy. I wish you and Makkachin could've met him.

[ Viktor doesn't dare interrupt.

He listens closely, squeezes his hand when Yuuri squeezes his. He watches, as Yuuri travels through his own memories, shares with him parts of himself that Viktor has never seen. Months ago, Viktor would have considered these moments to be an impossibility, another door closed in his face. He would have thought it would be another night, trying anything to let Viktor be close to him. But now, Yuuri holds onto him. He welcomes Viktor into his past, his present, his room. He shows Viktor what is old and new, raw and fresh. Yuuri lets himself be vulnerable and Viktor listens, almost afraid to let himself move first – almost afraid that he'd wake to find it was air and smoke, a result of all his desperate, endless pining.

And so, Viktor lets him keep speaking. He lets Yuuri fill him with stories, tales. He lets Yuuri tell him of times before Viktor ever knew him – ever really knew him. He lets Yuuri keep giving what he dares, his focus single and gaze fixed. He lets Yuuri tell him as much as he desires, until Yuuri is turning the phone to him and stirring up with it the delicate rose petals that Yuuri had given him earlier. And finally, Viktor thinks he can lean his cheek against the crown of his head as he says: ]

Of course he was, [ His syllables are colored warm with the thin petals of red chrysanthemums, with the answering fall of pale, pink roses. His heart aches just a little, even this close. It aches just a little, for Yuuri who gives him more than he'd have ever thought. For Yuuri, who shares with him what he loves. I appreciate all that you love. I love and appreciate you.

He shifts, lifts his free hand to stroke toward the middle of Yuuri's phone with the tips of his fingers. It's a gesture, a confirmation. He thinks Vicchan's fur must have been as soft and warm as Makkachin's. He takes a breath, lips bowed beneath the weight of his affection, understanding. ] I'm glad you would have wanted us to meet him too.

[ It takes a lot, to not nose into the dark hair pressed up against his cheek. It takes almost more than he can bear, but he transfers the need into the way he holds Yuuri's hand. He squeezes Yuuri's hand, holds it just a bit tighter. He lets out a tiny laugh, gentle and self-humored. ] I don't think either of us would have been able to give him a moment's rest, being as cute as he was. [ There's no hint of lie. None at all. He knows the love of dogs, he knows how much he loves his own. And by the way Yuuri speaks of Vicchan, there's no room to doubt. Anything that loves Yuuri in earnest that much, anything that Yuuri loves in earnest that much – there's no way that it could be anything, but good.

But, he continues, stroking the flat of his thumb across the rise of Yuuri's knuckles. ] And I don't think I would have had the heart to deny them anything, if they had sat side-by-side. [ His voice goes low and thoughtful, as he were sharing a secret. And he is, in a way. ] I can barely scold Makkachin for nosing in where she doesn't belong. Even if she's trained well, I can't help breaking a few rules here and there just for her. [ She was clever and cute. She knew it. But, she had been Viktor's only companion for so long. He would have given her and still would give her anything her big heart desired – within reason, of course. ] Vicchan would have done me in for sure.

[ He would have. Double the ammunition, after all. It's only math. But –

His chest feels tight, full. It isn't a feeling that Viktor dreads anymore. He knows what's there, waiting for a reason to exist. It's flowers, it's flowers for the Yuuri who is letting him in. ]

But, [ he starts again, ] sleeping on the floor to make room would never do. [ He absently rubs his cheek against the dark of Yuuri's hair, smile still not leaving. He hopes it never does. He hopes it never has to. ] My precious student deserves to be sandwiched in by things he adores. [ And, with no measure spared for fondness: ] Even if one of those things liked to kick him in his sleep.

Edited 2017-11-22 02:42 (UTC)

Sandwiched would be right! [A inelegant snort is given at this new mental image--sandwiched between two fluffy dogs on a bed barely built for one human. Not the most comfortable way to sleep, but he could only imagine how warm and relaxing it would feel. Honestly, he would give them the whole bed just so he wouldn't get in the way of them stretching out. There wasn't much that Yuuri wouldn't do for the sake of a dog.] It wouldn't be practical--or even comfortable, but I would still enjoy it.

[Viktor's hand is given another firm squeeze, reaffirming his comfort as Yuuri goes quiet for another moment. Again, not an unkind quiet--a low hum sounds in the back of his throat, free hand picking a few pink roses and red chrysanthemums to lie in a row on his leg. There's a thought that Yuuri is trying to work through, but he hasn't quite connected all the dots. It shows on his face, a quirk of his brows and his lips turned down in concentration. A vague conviction he's had before resurfaced, talking about Vicchan bringing a nostalgic feeling for it.

Vicchan...right. It was about Vicchan.]

I...want to win the Grand Prix this year for Vicchan. [Hesitation sounds in his voice, but Yuuri pushes through. He had never really been able to piece together this urge he had felt--but now that he had, he wanted it off his chest. To make it real.] He died right before the finals last year, and...I just felt so bad for not being there for him. I kept thinking I should've visited home more while I was training--or even just video chatted more with everyone so I could've asked to see him.

[The guilt that had gone unvoiced for so long accidentally comes tumbling with the other thoughts, Yuuri finding himself foiled by his own stream of consciousness for the umpteenth time in his life. For a moment he worries that he's oversharing, grip on Viktor's hand going lax, as if he would pull away.

And there was a time that he would've pulled away, not too long ago. There were plenty of people that he would've pulled away from. He didn't want to bother people with his feelings at the same time that he didn't want to be comforted about his feelings.]

[Yuuri grips Viktor's hand with twice the conviction. This time, he allows himself to lean on someone.] I mean, that sounds kind of silly right? I want to win it for myself too--and for everyone who has supported me so far, but... [Yuuri huffs a sigh, voice low. Even if he felt the want he had was no amount of ridiculous from any sane point of view, he still felt as if it was a secret had to share. Maybe it would help Viktor to understand him--or maybe it wouldn't make any sense at all.] I was away from home for so long so I could train, so I want to honor the time I was away from Vicchan with something to show for it. If that makes any sense. [Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if none if it made sense, or Viktor thought he was slightly crazy at this point. Either way, it had felt good to share--enough that Yuuri manages to chuckle at himself.]

Sorry for rambling about it. [His head doesn't lift from Viktor's shoulder, but there's a smile in his face as well as his voice.] I guess it had been on my chest for a while, but I never could figure out a way to voice it.

[ Months ago, Viktor would have never given it thought.

To be having a conversation like this, to have anyone’s hand to hold – it would have been swallowed by the demands of the ice, by the ache his muscles and old injuries so sore that sleeping seemed easiest if it were dreamless. It seemed simplest, if all the distraction he had was Makkachin’s weight pressed up against his chest, her limbs sprawled every-which-way. It seemed the way it would be, moving day after day in the same, tired routines. People are creatures of habit, a reporter once told him. But, you seem to have so few.

It was meant to be a joke, of course. No one could be so without habit. But, they hadn't realized that Viktor's habits were a weight that smothered him. They hadn't realized that cycle of his days had become tired, that his living life as others had taken its toll. They hadn't realized that Viktor would have given anything at all to feel something brighter, but Viktor could not put into words what he needed himself.

And for a long time, Viktor accepted it as normal. He accepted the drag, the continual fatigue. He resigned himself to it, felt the flash and flare and fluidity that had once defined his skating and his life vanish. That is, until Hasetsu. That is, until Yuuri literally stumbled into his life in the haze of champagne and the heat of a challenge. And now, for the first time, Viktor feels lighter. For the first time, Viktor doesn’t want to change his face. He wants to change with him, with Yuuri. He wants to grow. It’s funny to think, how quickly even that had happened. In a world that has welcomed Viktor finally, Viktor finds himself knowing now how to be patient, how to listen. Viktor finds himself knowing that the man at the banquet is only a part of the man he talks to now on a childhood bed in a country Viktor had never lived in. And Viktor, unable to deny himself, allows himself a moment to imagine it – Yuuri, his Yuuri, smothered by thick, poodle curls as he confesses he wouldn't mind being sandwiched between all that he loves, had loved.

But, the snort that Yuuri gives at that same thought warms him. To him, it's not inelegant. To Viktor, it might as well be the most endearing thing he's ever known as his mouth takes the opportunity to bow a little more without his permission. He's sure Yuuri can feel it, the way his shoulders tremble with a laughter he doesn't quite let go. He doesn't want to jostle him, he just wants to keep Yuuri close. Viktor wants to be sure that he can hear him, especially as they settle back into the quiet again and Yuuri squeezes his hand, grounding himself as much as it grounds him.

There's signs he's picked up in his time of knowing Yuuri. Viktor identifies the way Yuuri's brow pinches when he's thinking, how his mouth tips when he's caught on something he can't quite form. Right now, Viktor has the feeling it is neither worry nor anxiety. At least, not entirely. So, he keeps quiet and lets Yuuri process. Viktor does not prompt him, but instead lets him keep his hand as he'd like. He gathers up petals to feed Yuuri's game of arranging them across his leg, but his attention doesn't wander far from him. It stays there as he stays there, absorbing all Yuuri gives to him in secret.

It's difficult, not to want so much – not to grasp Yuuri's hand when he tells him about his Vicchan. It's difficult to not interrupt, to provide him the comfort that Yuuri does deserve, but he knows Yuuri. Giving comfort in this way is what Viktor wants, not him. And if Viktor intrudes now, if he steps in too fast – relief and sympathy bloom in his chest in equal measure when Yuuri demands his hand and Viktor would give it and more without question if Yuuri wanted it. He holds onto him hard and Viktor answers him, without pride and without hesitation. ]

It isn't silly, [ Viktor hears himself say, caught low in his throat like the so many of the flowers he'd long since given this evening. It's conviction, rawer than he's ever allowed himself in the past. He squeezes Yuuri's hand, lifts his head to look at him. To really look at him, the blue of his eyes bright with the same certainty he's always seemed to carry, but it isn't for himself. Not right now. ]

Yuuri. [ It's more of a breath than a name. ] Everyone has something they want to fight for. [ He doesn't think about it. If he does now, he won't. And so, Viktor lifts his free hand, reaches over to tuck the dark of Yuuri's hair behind the shell of his ear. He doesn't pull back, so much as he moves his hand enough to comb through the thick of his hair without trouble. Each sweep is slow, thoughtful. There's nothing in it that implies anything, but tenderness. ] Whether that’s for the memory of their dog, for themselves, or for their country – it’s never silly.

[ He could never think that of Yuuri's reasons to fight. But, he can think that of himself. ] You know, [ he says after a moment or two. ] Even I had my moments of inspiration. [ His voice is almost too light, breezy. ] I had many years that I dedicated. [ He doesn't say to himself or to anyone one else, but the implication that he also might have fought for something once hangs there. To say it was something he wanted to really wanted to fight for is questionable, but Viktor wants nothing more than to fight now. He wants to fight for Yuuri, for this – for all that surrounds them, for the feeling of Yuuri stationed comfortably by his side.

When he starts again, the easy quality that had crept into his voice is gone. In it's place is something else. It's – ]

But, for you to go out and compete even after such terrible news, [ he pauses. The hand in Yuuri's hair stills, but only for a moment. He doesn't want to think about himself in that sort of position, but he thinks of Yuuri back then and sees something that Yuuri doesn't mention himself. ] I think he would have been proud of you, for being that strong. [ And that tone comes in more strongly now. It's always been in his voice, but now it permeates his words, drowns his syllables. Now that it has no need to hide, to mask itself – it's love. ] I don't know if other people could have managed it.

[ Viktor wouldn't have been able to. Especially not where he was, last year. He knows that. ]

Edited 2017-11-29 18:06 (UTC)

[Even though he knew Viktor wouldn't make fun of him or belittle his feelings, there was always a part of Yuuri that would worry he had crossed the line that would make Viktor--or really, anyone--realize that Yuuri was just too much of a mess to deal with, what with his weird convictions and average skating.

Of course the rejection doesn't come. Viktor has a way of making Yuuri wonder why he was ever scared to open up in the first place. Always patient, always willing to wait for Yuuri with a hand outstretched without any pressure to hurry or grab on. It was nice to have his worries assuaged, for someone to understand that it was hard to skate after such a big part of his life like Vicchan was had disappeared. There was no ridicule or pity from Viktor. Just understanding.

It made Yuuri sink more into Viktor's side, a relief he didn't know he was craving drive warmth from his chest to his fingertips. The hand in his hair is an extra comfort--Yuuri never thought of himself as a person who needed or wanted to be touched, but he finds himself hoping that Viktor doesn't stop. He was always the type who accepted hugs but rarely sought them--but perhaps the times have changed.]

Thanks for understanding. [A glance is tossed Viktor's way, a smile that is nothing but sincere offered along with it. The smile soon fades though--again to lips pursed in concentration, a new wrinkle in his brow.]I mean, I didn't manage it properly at the time though. My feelings. [There's a low hint of bitterness in his voice--towards no one but himself.] And I sure didn't manage it well the months after either. [He could've found numerous better ways to have managed his stress and grief instead of almost costing him his final leg of his career. But hindsight was always much better than foresight. The moment of regret passes though, and Yuuri's features soften once again. He tries another glace up through dark lashes, not willing to move his head from Viktor's shoulder. But his eyes are bright.] At the time, I at least wanted to try to finish what I started. Now...I think I'm better equipped to try again this year. I think...I understand myself a little better.

[He plucks red and pink petals from his thigh to move them to Viktor's, in rows as neat as before. An act of giving back what he's gotten. Yuuri's not sure if Viktor truly understands the effect that him coming to Hasetsu has had on him--how much better it's made him. Not just in skating either. Having someone like Viktor, who he had spent years admiring, come into his life and show that he was human--came in to challenge the perceptions he had on himself, of the town he had grown up in and the people who supported him...it all had really forced Yuuri to think. About what he wanted and what he needed. And how some of the things he wanted and needed were already around him, if he would just let them in.

He was still learning about himself, and he was still making mistakes along the way. But it was nice to have someone like Viktor who would wait next to every new open door for him until he made it through to the other side.]

Thanks for listening, though. And...uh, for always helping me through these things too. [The hand that had been moving petals reaches to rest on top of the hand still clasped, unconsciously seeking more touch.] I know I'm talking about myself a lot...I guess I got on a tangent, huh. [There's an undertone of nerves to his chuckle--Yuuri still wasn't sure how he felt about bringing his internal monologue out into the open for someone else to hear. It still felt awkward and egotistical to talk so much about himself. But those feelings only conflicted with how cathartic it was. He only hoped the discomfort would go away with time--with the more things he could share with Viktor in the future.]

[ Viktor can't even dream of belittling him.

Viktor has known precarious places before. He might not have displayed it or understood it, but he had recognized them for what they were long after he stepped back into the roar of competitions, spent late nights spent at the rink. It might have taken a comment or two, his ear pulled, but Viktor thinks everyone has been a mess once or twice. That’s just part of being human, right? Even if Viktor never let himself live it, there’s ways of coping and dealing and living that Viktor sees now that he had never up close. For Viktor, all there had been was to smile through it. Everything else wasn’t consumable, was a distraction to himself and his expectations. But, hiding it away somewhere else didn’t make it go away. He just starved it, starved himself. He starved for so long, that he thought it would be impossible to ever bloom again for someone else, much less himself. And in the regrowth of it all, trying to learn what it even means to have time to be Viktor and not anyone else makes Viktor feel at times more lost – uncertain. Uncertain, in a way that he had never been before. But, Yuuri helps. Yuuri, his Yuuri, who pushes him back into place and doesn’t let him stray back into old and well-worn habits. This Yuuri, who melts against his side and stays by no matter how much he fumbles through the disaster he’s built inside himself. ]

I love learning about you, [ Viktor breathes before his tongue can catch itself, chest tight and skin warm wherever Yuuri touches it. His hand stills in the dark of Yuuri’s hair, his next words caught up in his throat by the sincerity of Yuuri’s confessions, the neat line of petals against his thigh, the way he glances up at him through the devastating fall of lashes. Viktor feels heat prickle up the back of his neck at the lay Yuuri's hand over his and there’s no keeping back the thin, pink flowers that unfurl and bloom once they tumble past his lips. It’s incredible, how much love Yuuri has infused into him. Incredible, how much he can feel at all. He can feel the warmth that Yuuri has shown him again take its root everywhere, through every part of him. He doesn’t know how he went without for so long, how much his body craves every scrap of affection Yuuri levels against him. ] I’m happy to listen to you. [ Can’t you see how happy you make me? It’s a question that doesn’t need to be asked. The pleated edges of every petal declare it no matter how understated – love consumes me. Rose of Sharon. ] If you want to share, that is.

[ He knows how hard it is, for Yuuri to open up. Even Viktor, who crowns the earth in his emotions each time he breathes these days has difficulty with showing what’s beneath the loud and grand. Vulnerability aches, stings. He thinks that sometimes, Yuuri will conclude that the blunt and bright is all that Viktor is. It’s irrational, he knows. Beneath, Viktor needs and gives with equal measure. He loves to learn, loves the way new languages settle on his tongue. He’s sensitive, occasionally defensive of where he stands with the people that he loves. He entertains, sometimes that something better will come along and knock him from his placement, that nothing he will say or do will capture their attention anymore no matter how faceted he is. Showing parts of himself to Yuuri, his uglier edges – it’s a lot. And so, he doesn’t pressure. He doesn’t push for it. He waits, as he’s learned to do. He made the error once. He does not want to make the error again. ]

But, [ Viktor starts after a moment, the hand caught between Yuuri’s tangling itself up hopelessly further. ] You’re remarkable, Yuuri. [ There’s no sign of jest in that statement. Instead, Viktor lets himself lean back into his space a little more, press his cheek against crown of his head again. He smiles, fond and easy. ] You dusted yourself off. You didn’t stay there. [ He pauses, the hand Yuuri’s hair working slower than before. ] Some people just don’t come back. [ He’s seen it happen before. Viktor, himself, had once thought about it. Is still thinking about it. But still, he distracts himself away by picking his head back up just enough to press a kiss into his hair. It isn’t hard, to hear how much admiration comes from that. Even if the next words are muffled, for a moment, before he thinks to return to previous position. ] But you, you took it as a learning opportunity. [ Even fewer people say something like they understand themselves more after. Few even try to get where Yuuri now is. But, still – ]

Don’t worry about thanking me for any of that, [ Viktor says, his hands are happily occupied, so he instead shrugs the shoulder that Yuuri doesn’t lean upon, playfulness catching at the corners of his lips. Even despite it all, he’s serious. The fingers that work through the dark of Yuuri’s hair find their way down to stroke at short hairs, his thumb catching the curve of his jaw. The little lilt that had entered his voice the moment before goes soft and lazy, warm. ] Isn’t that part of my job description?

[ He wants to help out like that always. ]

Edited 2017-12-07 15:08 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

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[ 1/2 ] rip me

[ 2/2 ] LMF well ok there

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