Victor had never considered himself weak. He had his flaws of course: his memory was terrible, he was prone to acting on whims of more than one nature, and he'd always had trouble keeping his focus on tasks outside of his career. Weakness wasn't a common trait in his world, and certainly not for a five-time world champion, gold medalist, or any other of the many titles linked to his accolades. Despite this, he was beginning to realize that he was utterly defenseless when it came to one aspect of his life-one that was currently snaking an arm around his shoulders and staring up at him with the same determined look that Victor now knew so well.

"You had too much again," Victor murmured, a small smile crossing his face as Yuri slumped against him. And taking advantage of it, he thought as he steadied him, only for Yuri to rest his head in the crook of his neck. They'd decided to take the night for themselves, meandering around the city and stopping at any place that caught their interest. The last of these establishments had been a bar with a 1920s theme, complete with a live band playing ragtime and jazz, and the last few glasses they'd had there had done a number on them both.

"I'm tired," Yuri slurred as Victor reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out their room key.

"We're here."

They stumbled into the cool room, Victor holding the wall for balance as Yuri turned toward him and folded his arms around his neck and pressed against him, the cool metal he wore on his fourth finger brushing against his skin. Immediately, Victor caught his arm. "Yuri, you need to rest."

His fiancé ignored him. Instead, he closed the distance between them and gently pressed his lips against the side of his neck. "Vitya."

Weakness wasn't the only thing Victor wasn't used to. For as long as he could remember, he'd stood at the podium a champion with gold around his neck. Later, he'd stood proudly as a coach as Yuri had won his first Grand Prix medal after breaking a record Victor had set himself. But right now, as Yuri coaxed him with the taste of liquor lingering on the lips that'd met his, Victor was losing. Terribly. His fingers tangled in Yuri's messy, dark hair as one of them-and Victor was barely conscious enough to determine who-deepened the kiss. When they finally broke apart, Victor rested his forehead against his fiancé's.

"Yuri. You need rest," he murmured in a tone as firm as he could manage. "We both do."

That seemed to click. Yuri's eyelids lowered slightly as he released him, as if being defeated by the truth of it or the alcohol that was finally taking its toll. Without another word, he staggered around Victor toward the bed and collapsed onto the soft comforter. Watching him for a moment, Victor caught his breath. Even after all the time they'd spent together, he still couldn't predict where life with Yuri might lead next.

And he loved every minute of it.