hi guys long time no see hue (well at least not in this fandom)

its been 1-2 years since i've been properly writing or reading so excuse my bad england

warning; this is a work forged from pure impulsive decisions

because episode 11 killed me and this is how i numb myself

ok bye

Sunlight gushes into the room, warm and soft.

Viktor Nikiforov opens his eyes.

Not very far across the bed, a man sleeps soundly, his right hand clutching Viktor's thick sweater like it was for dear life. Even from the side, Viktor could see his chest rise and fall to a hypnotic rhythm, blissful.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

They were in their new apartment, the windows they forgot to close last night offering small breaths of wind, sending the chestnut curtains billowing softly. Makkachin curled around at the foot of the bed, his brown wool-like body glowing. Slight dust from messing around with the pillows last night still mixed with the air, falling into a lazy tango.

Serene.

The silver haired grunted softly and tilted his head sideways, a sound too loud for this tranquility.

But the view of his newly wed husband was all the more worth it.

The light illuminated Yuri's baby features with an angelic glow, highlighting the paleness of his skin and the blush on his chubby cheeks.

The ravenette's eyes were shut, but not the kind of agonised tight squeeze of the eyelids that Viktor hated to see whenever Yuri would get frustrated.

They were simply, gently closed in peace, his impossibly long eyelashes glinting under the morning light ever so slightly.

His puckered, soft lips that are the colour of the evening sun were loosely pressed together, a small gap giving sight to his teeth, his slightly slender thumb resting on the lower lip. His obsidian hair was now in his usual raw mess, a style that Viktor always thought was cut at either a very drunk hour or that a lucky survivor of someone who tried to play piñata on his head with a blade attached to the bat.

Yuri was a man of emotion, always colouring Viktor's days further with a rainbow of expressions. As his coach and constant in the Japanese's life, Viktor was always amused at his student's different palette of emotions, from his dreamy, hazy grin of drunk begging at the banquet, terrified and confused wide eyes the first time Viktor entered his life as a coach, to his determined, contorted look in the skating rink.

Of course, as time flies, he had grown to recognise the appreciate every single one of them.

But this, this face…

Viktor raised a hand to wrap around Yuri's cheek lovingly, brushing his thumb across his lover's soft, soft skin as if it was made of the weakest of porcelain. As if in unconscious reply, warmth surged through Viktor's cold, Russian-bred fingers, cooing him to never stop.

This face was his favourite.

As Viktor's blue eyes roamed through, he spots little treasures; a small dimple winking at the corner of his cheek that wasn't there when he smiled, a small crook at the edge of his middle finger (he probably would never show it as a finger itself), a small mole underneath his soft jaw.

A slight difference in length of his slanted eyebrows.

His long, curvy nails that girls would die to colour on.

A graceful neck that was usually hidden by his adorable shyness.

Viktor's fingers traced them all in the most zephyr, silken manner he could muster. There was still much more to discover. He wanted to kiss every inch of the heavenly entity that is Katsuki Yuri, to memorise his very body and soul that graced this world…

… But that would mean waking him up.

Viktor's fingers paused briefly at his shoulders, caressing the smooth bump of his bones.

Back a few months ago, he wouldn't even care. He would run wild at such a glorious opportunity, peppering kisses and sucking marks against his lover's skin, terrified of someone taking him away.

But it has been after a few months, and Viktor knew.

That at this time, this place, this sublime moment, he had all the kisses in the world left unspent.

And he can wait to get them all after he wakes up.

So he let his hand continue roaming, that is, until he touched a cold band of metal around a finger.

Viktor looked down with his now moon shaped eyes as the gold smiled back at him, gleaming with the morning sun.

He remembered people's expression towards it like chiseled words on rock; Chris's approving gaze, Minako's and Mari's confused stare, Yuri's scowl, interpreting the matching rings differently.

But Viktor knew at that moment, as the snowflakes danced along the harsh winter wind and the Christmas chorus by the streets of Barcelona, as he watched Yuri's burning face, it meant so much more than what anyone else could've thought.

It was a vow.

A confession.

A promise.

His lips curve into a smile of content and wrapped his own fingers around Yuri's. They fit so well.

As soon as he felt his fingers comfortably locked with his, the dark haired man shifted slightly, his lips opening slightly wider.

Viktor felt a squeeze in his hand. Before he could react, his lover made his way into Viktor's embrace in adorable shuffles, resting his head on his chest as his lips open and close to form two words.

Don't go.

Tears pries through Viktor's vision, blurring the yellow-soaked morning scene in front of him.

Maybe it was because of those years where all he wanted was to hold his hand, maybe it was because of all those memories where fate had threatened to pull them apart so badly Viktor thought that was the way it should be, maybe it was those moments where he saw doubt shining in Yuri's eyes after competitions in the hotel rooms.

Maybe it was so many other things Viktor had fought so hard for to finally come to this position of so, so much love and happiness.

He buries his face into the nape of Yuri's neck. His fingers left his, reaching to stroke his dark locks.

"I won't go." He croaks, dampening Yuri's shoulder.

As long as Viktor breathes, he'll never let go.