The train ride from to Moscow will take a little more than four hours.

Victor booked premium seats on the Sapsan train, Yuuri is told, when they walk side by side on the platform. It's late January, and St. Petersburg is all about snow and reports of record temperatures, which is why the both of them are wrapped up in scarves, knitted caps and parkas that 'are more convenient than anything else' if Victor is allowed a say, which he does repeatedly.

Convenient or not, it's impossible to stay anonymous. At least, it is together with him. No matter what they wear, where they are, what they do, Victor loves the attention he gets. In Russia it's always about him, which Yuuri still has difficulties with. Not that Victor loves it, it's a part of him that Yuuri has embraced wholeheartedly, the way he entrances people and the way they in return add something to his flame. No, it's the attention part that bothers Yuuri. How people instantly flock around them, or around Victor more like, and how Victor takes his time.

Victor is frivolous with his time, that is something else that Yuuri has a hard time accepting. Victor gets lost in meetings, handshakes and air kisses aimed at cheeks, and he gives and gives without stopping. Yuuri usually gets a bad conscience then, for he is usually the one that reels Victor in, the one that reminds both Victor and the people around them that they are people too with things to do, places to go. Lives to live.

Yuuri glances at his mobile phone and steps to the side, just a few steps, and allows Victor and the people around him to have their fill. Of laughs, photographs, touches, poses, questions upon questions.

Instead of being in the centre of the storm, he remembers when Victor, on an evening earlier that week, came to embrace him from behind. When he in turn braced himself and stopped doing the dishes for a while and just listened to what he knew would be yet another Nikiforovian revelation. Something whimsical, no doubt.

That really is the thrill with Victor. Even though Yuuri knows exactly where he has him, whether close or not, Victor keeps peeling off layers upon layers and in the process, giving Yuuri small insights and even smaller glimpses to who he really is. One might think that Victor is a simple creature, fueled by the attention he gets for simply existing, governed by nothing but whim and impulse and open like a book for anyone to read, but throughout the days, weeks and months spent with him, Yuuri has found that Victor is more than that. So much more.

It always starts the same, when Victor comes close. Victor's chest invades his back, his heat taking him over. Then, Victor's arms find their way around his waist, adding some pressure. Then, Victor's breath that continues to make him heady caresses his skin, just before the kiss he knows is about to be pressed at the nape of his neck.

This time wasn't an exception.

Yuuri knew then that he probably shouldn't be surprised, but when Victor came close with his arms embracing him from behind, lips brushing against the side of his neck, he knew it was Victor's way of saying 'I'm sorry' beforehand, for what he was about to say. For as impulsive Victor is, he's also careful. Private. Thoughtful when alone. Adamant about not pushing him and intent on not making him feel uncomfortable.

"Yuuri," he'd heard Victor whisper, as a kiss was slowly placed just above the neckline of his sweater, "I have a question."

"Yes, Vitya?"

"I want to show you something. This weekend. Would that be okay?"

Upon hearing that, Yuuri removed his hands from the sea of bubbles and put them on the edge of the sink instead. He never meant to hold on the way he did, bracing again but in a different manner, but that happens more often than not when Victor opens up. Like holding on to something, anything, will make him grounded. Immune to what Victor is about to say, not being able to be swept away.

It rarely works.

"Show me something?" he breathed, lost in thoughts about practise that Friday, the meeting with Yakov and the rest of the Russian team that Saturday and the dinner Victor's supposed to have with sponsors that Sunday. He knew there wasn't any time for being shown anything, let alone do anything else than what was already planned, and he was sure that Victor knew that too. Suddenly, despite it not being completely reasonable, Yuuri found himself curious to find out how Victor managed to spirit away all their got-to-dos and have-to-dos for the weekend. And why this weekend has been chosen as important to diverge from ordinary life.

"Mhm," Victor sighed, kissing his neck yet again, "I think you'll like it. No, I know you'll like it."

"How… how come you haven't shown me this earlier? If you're so sure that I'll like it?"

"I haven't been ready before."

Yuuri listened to the silence, to the things Victor just said and to the things still unsaid. He realised that the moment was important to Victor, a reason wrong to question. But in that moment, Yuuri found himself slightly unsteady, slightly swept away by Victor's unspoken secret. Because that's how it works.

"What makes you ready now?" he asked, turning his head to get a glimpse of those blue eyes that sometimes, no, always say so much more than the mouth that immediately greeted him. Than the tongue that instantaneously met his.

"Well," Victor said, nipping another kiss away from Yuuri's lips, "I've thought about it for some time and decided that it was important to me. I… needed to make sure."

Right there, Yuuri felt a small sting of annoyance inside. Victor being in doubt is the only thing that can make him feel excluded and on trial, like their relationship, no, he is something that needs to be assessed. Like he's not good enough to know everything about Victor before Victor thinks he is. Victor, who is sure and confident in everything he does. Generous with everything and everyone when outside of their home. The way Victor is more, so much more. But for some reason, not now. Not with him.

"Don't be like that, love," Victor cooed, resting his head on Yuuri's shoulder.

That too. The way Victor just disarmed him by just knowing. How simple it was and always is for Victor to read him but he, on the other hand, feels flustered and unsure more often than not about Victor and his intentions.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri replied after a while, after hearing Victor's slow breaths in his ear and Victor's heart beating against his back. "It's just that Iㅡ"

"I know, Yuuri. Don't worry. You'll understand why later."

Yuuri laughed then. It was a reaction of interwoven emotions, of both being amused and a little annoyed for he knew that he wouldn't get anything else out of Victor. Not now. But he felt compelled to ask, to really try one last time before he said yes to this offer.

"What did you have to be sure about? Before asking me?"

Yuuri felt Victor's hands on his shoulders, turning him around.

"Things," Victor smiled. That heartstopping smile. That supernova smile that burns away anything within Yuuri that resembles sense and resistance.

Yuuri barely feels Victors hand slide to gently grip his elbow. He's still caught in that smile, the memory of that smile. That smile always makes him say yes.

"Yuuri?"

Victor's voice is muffled through Yuuri's reminiscing, and Yuuri starts when he realises that Victor is holding on to him, talking to him. Just like that, he's not in their home anymore, hands dripping of washing-up detergent and battling not so becoming thoughts. He's on the platform, waiting for the train to Moscow in the freezing cold with Victor's blue eyes intently looking into his.

"I'm sorry, he says apologetically, "I was thinking about something."

Victor lets a small huff, one still big enough to let his breath turn into a vanishing cloud, escape him.

"Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri," Victor sing-songs, drawing an invisible curved line underneath the rim of Yuuri's glasses. "Don't be. Oh, we should get on now. They don't wait for anyone."

Yuuri finds that claim unlikely, that the world, or at least Russia, doesn't stop for Victor, but loses that thought when Victor's arm finds its way around his shoulders. He gives in to the the little pull as they start walking towards the front of the train.

Four hours, that's just a little less than one of their usual practise sessions. Four more hours until he finds out what he'd said yes to.

He never ceases to surprise him. Even after all these months together, for time flies fast when spent with the one you love, Yuuri finds himself nonplussed. Constantly swept away. Remarkably in love, every time.

Yuuri's been taken care of on that train since it left St. Petersburg, by a doting Victor who ordered food and drinks, a Victor who told him to choose whatever he wanted. By a muted Victor who gave him his complimentary blanket when the train had to stop and the cold somehow creeped in, a Victor who also chose to wrap himself up in his parka instead of asking for another. By a loving Victor who told him to sleep, a Victor who hummed into his ear what Yuuri already knew were nursery rhymes, a Victor who whispered sweet nothings after that.

Yuuri's not only been taken care of on that train, he's been loved in a way that almost makes him feel like they are at home and not out in the world and on display. And for that, his love towards Victor can do nothing but swell.

But that feeling of love gets a little chipped, a little torn at its edges, when they get off the train and Victor cheerfully declares that they only have three hours left before they have arrived where they are supposed to. Just a small detail being left out, one that makes Yuuri sigh with defeat.

"We're taking the bus," Victor calls out over his shoulder, leaving Yuuri with their two backpacks to take care of. Two backpacks that are, at least to Victor's standards, packed lightly for a weekend getaway.

Yuuri readjusts them, straps digging into his hand and shoulder as he tries to find the optimum way of carrying them. They teeter and slide as he tries to wrangle them, as he tries not to let Victor's estimated arrival time dampen his spirit. But it's hard, Victor is already several steps in front of him, and Yuuri finds it hard to keep Victor in his sights while veering and dodging Moscow, which is coming at him at full force.

"Wait," Yuuri calls, trying to keep up, "the bus?!"

"Yuuri, this way." Victor's voice is easily distinguished over over the noise, and as much as Yuuri wants an explanation to why they're taking the bus and not the train, Victor offers none. Instead, Yuuri notices that Victor has stopped, now several meters before him.

Victor is pulling a little at his scarf, making it soften up around his neck while he, with his other hand, runs his fingers through his hair. Looking back at him with a smile and a look that needs no explanation.

A lot of things attributed to Victor is a show, Yuuri suddenly thinks to himself. Victor is a true performer, how he constantly has a need to be seen. A need to command. A need to command any space, whether it is an elevator or something as big as a central station.

Sometimes, Yuuri's not sure if Victor's behavior, the way he's perfectly aware, is a show just for him. If he's got the only front row seat or not, or if the world kind of got invited. But the way Victor turns to him there at Moscow's central station, grips the collar of his parka, pulls him in and just looks at him, makes his doubts disappear. That exhibition was, in fact, just for him.

"I can't wait to get there, to show you," Victor breathes against his lips, and Yuuri automatically swallows when he sees those light lashes conceal the blue underneath them.

Yuuri's preparing himself to receive Victor, his eyes slowly closing and his jaw tilting up, his tongue wondering if it should peer out between his lips or wet them but instead, he hears the soft hiss of Victor's leather clad hands slip off his collar. Feels the small tug of it at the back of his neck as Victor lets go.

Just like that, the world is offered to join them again, no, intrudes on them again. It's almost mindboggingly respectless, how the spell dissipates the way it does when Victor enters his space and leaves him like that. How the rest of the world tries to take his place. How Victor says with a laugh, "Three more hours," and continues to lead the way.

"This better be good," Yuuri mutters to himself in Japanese, fighting the disappointment of his budding arousal being cut short and his flaring annoyance close to breaking free, "or you'll hear nothing but 'no' for a month."

The busride is one Yuuri tries to endure by sleeping. But it's hard, with Victor asking questions, seemingly stupid ones at that. Like the 'What do you want to do when we get there'-question, to which Yuuri responds, 'I don't even know where we are going'. Or the 'Did you give Ekaterina Makkachin's food'-question, to which Yuuri sighs 'No, you did, and she's got the keys, she lives next door', and the godforsaken 'Why are you so quiet, Yuuri'-question, to which Yuuri moans, 'I don't know, maybe because I'm trying to sleep'.

It's continuously difficult when Victor understands he's gotten the cold shoulder and tries to make amends, acting like a cat that tries to charm its master into giving it something, anything, by nuzzling and stroking. And purring.

It's downright impossible when Victor pulls up his phone and decides to make a call.

Yuuri listens, with his eyes closed, to Victor's Russian voice. It's slightly different than his English. His English voice is seldom upset, rarely sharp. It's often mellow with a slight hint of brutal honesty wrapped around it. Sometimes, even teasing with all its double entendres and not so subtle innuendos. Always, just for him.

His Russian voice, though, often has a tone he tends to use when being flippant in English, when he acts like whims trump obligations and reasons. When Victor seems to think that the person he's talking to somehow should know that a change of plans, that other priorities are more important than what had been previously decided.

Yuuri listens, and pieces together the small bits of Russian he knows. He's sure Victor knows he's awake, listening, despite that they haven't been talking for a while. He's sure that Victor is consciously not letting him in, using synonyms and phrases that needs a few more years under the belt to fully understand. But he's fine with that, Yuuri realises. He's fine with that, for it's apparent that whatever Victor has planned is something he doesn't want to spoil, something that is important to him. Important enough to make Yakov, it's unmistakingly Yakov on the other end, sound a second shy of becoming livid.

Strange how curse words in either language are easier to remember, Yuuri smiles in secret against Victor's shoulder, listening to Yakov use every single one he understands and probably a lot more that he doesn't.

Victor's voice remains the same through the barrage though, slightly glib and matter-of-factly. Victor definitely has a Yakov-voice.

"There," Victor says, ecstatic, after hanging up. "We're free over the weekend."

Yuuri opens his eyes then, just a little, and feels himself unable to stop that sigh from coming out of him.

"You shouldn't have done that," he scolds, remarkably unsurprised by what he understands just took place, "Yakov will have your head when we get back, and he'll probably cancel your practise sessions."

Victor's arm immediately reaches around his shoulder, pulls him in a little tighter.

"You know," Victor says, almost absentmindedly, while kissing the top of his head, "it'll be worth it."

"Why didn't you tell him sooner? Or better, yet, why didn't you call the sponsors to reschedule? You had time."

"I forgot," Victor says with a shrug, in that mellow tone.

Yuuri knows for a fact that Victor's lying. Victor never forgets, he prioritises, but it doesn't matter and nor does Yuuri care. Not anymore, anyway.

In the beginning, being new to St. Petersburg and new to Victor's relationships with others, Yuuri often felt mortified when voices were raised because of Victor's decisions. Or lack thereof at times. In the beginning, he'd tried to make up excuses for Victor, taking some of the blame too for not knowing better. No, for not knowing Victor better. But after a while, he'd come to realise that Victor's behavior was his and his alone, as well as his business. Now, hearing Victor get reprimanded by Yakov didn't bother him at all.

If anything, it serves as an endearing reminder of how Victor actually works. Planning ahead, he can do and does, often with a fervor. Take the consequences for plans made on the fly, when things, like other people's plans, get disrupted on the other hand… Victor conceals it well though, he has a way of listening, whether to Yakov or whoever else, that makes them think they managed to get the last say. But oh, how wrong they are.

The thing with Victor though, Yuuri thinks to himself, is that even though he gets caught with disrupting other people's plans, reprimands are like water to him and he is a goose. He can take a raging Yakov, screaming at him for a good twenty minutes, with a smile on his lips and lay low for a while. Until he does it again.

Yuuri's still unsure if it's a genius move or that of a complete idiot, but people seem to be quick to forgive Victor and, at least to Yuuri's knowledge, he's never had to really take any consequences of his behavior.

"How much left until we get off?" Yuuri rubs his eyes a little behind his glasses, figuring that it's better to leave the previous conversation. It's a battle he can't win anyway, one he doesn't really feel like waging.

"Oh, Yuuri," Victor laughs into Yuuri's hair, "soon. We just need to get there first."

The meaning of Victor's teasing remark is lost to Yuuri as the bus slowly comes to a stop, in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere in the Russian countryside, three hours outside of Moscow.

"Let's go," Victor says, heading down the road in the same direction as the bus after it dropped them off. Still not bothering with their backpacks. Or waiting. Some things never change.

It's dusk now, the sun sets quickly in Russia during the winter. It would have been a nice sunset to admire if it wasn't for the clouds, but Yuuri still feels an anticipation inside despite having to carry their backpacks. It's more like a building curiosity to find out where they are going and what Victor wants to show him, that effectively trumps any possible annoyance.

"So," Victor calls over his shoulder, "we're going to go down this road until that tree there."

Yuuri squints in the fading light. To their left and right, there are nothing but fields smothered by masses of snow and further down, past that tree Victor must be talking about, are shadows of conifer trees. As a matter of fact, the trees create a impenetrable wall of thickening darkness the further down the road they travel. It's like the forest creeps up on them, to both their left and right.

"And then?"

"Into the woods," Victor says, his simple response sounding carefree and slightly anticipatory.

"The… woods?"

"Yes. There's nothing out here, Yuuri."

The way Victor states the obvious, it's a thing he does when he's trying to kill a conversation effectively, brings out something that can only be described as a tang in Yuuri's voice. He's got a lot of patience, but it's stretched thin by Victor's way of making sure that their trip continues without any noticeable goal, just vague promises.

"But there's something in the woods?" Yuuri retorts, somewhat tartly.

"Of course," Victor says, again being the water resistant goose, as he's slowing down slightly so that they reach the lonely tree together. "Shit," he adds, looking at his feet, "I should have worn other shoes."

Yuuri looks at Victor incredulously. It's unbelievable that Victor, who knew where they were going, hasn't dressed for the occasion. But here Victor is, dressed in a parka, a scarf and leather gloves with those Italian bespoke dress boots. For some reason, despite being Russian and having lived long enough to see thirty Russian winters and counting, knowing very well what they are like.

"You didn't bring any other shoes?" Yuuri breathes, the giddy expectation he previously felt evaporating with the remainder of his patience.

"Skates," Victor replies with a shrug, as he takes a stride out on the field to his right, immediately sinking down to his thighs in the snow.

"Victor!" Yuuri feels winded. Not by carrying two backpacks through a close to pitch black Russian country road, but by trying to rein himself in. "Are you telling me we're going out in the snow, into the woods with you not properly dressed andㅡ"

"Yes," comes Victor's frosty reply.

They look at each other, Victor thigh-deep in snow and Yuuri carrying two backpacks while standing on the road. Yuuri can't imagine what Victor could possibly be thinking about him, but he knows that if it's anything remotely similar to what he's thinking about Victor in that moment, he'd rather they keep quiet and not voice those thoughts. Even though it itches inside.

So, when Victor looks away with an exasperated sigh, Yuuri settles some in knowing that Victor used his head. For once.

In a much softer voice, one that actually has a little warmth to it, Victor adds, "Are you coming?"

"Yes," Yuuri replies, still infuriated.

The snow that finds its way inside his boots and trouser legs as he steps out onto the field makes him groan internally. Despite that, steels himself and tries to ignore the cold while following nothing but the dim light of Victor's mobile phone lighting up their way.

Of course, it's silence that follows them through the darkness after that. Victor's leading the way across the field and into the woods, with Yuuri following and getting scratched by whipping branches and needles from the trees. They walk in silence, because they both know better than to speak when ridden by something they in truth know is wrong to think, let alone say about the other.

They walk in silence, at least for a while, until Victor stops.

Yuuri can't fully let go of their argument earlier, of being carried away by all of the things that really is Victor, and is close to say something in the lines of 'don't tell me you're lost'. But he forgets all about it when Victor suddenly turns around and pulls him close with a force that makes Yuuri gasp.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love," Victor whispers and pulls him even closer, one hand on the back of Yuuri's head and the other trying to find some way around or underneath the backpacks.

"No, Victor, it's okaㅡ"

"No, it's not. It's not. I'm sorry. I just wanted you to experience this with me and… I guess you're thinking that this is stupid. Like me? For dragging you off like this when we should be doing other things? More important things?"

In truth, Yuuri thought that. He thought that Victor's whimsy had reached its peak, that they probably would have been better off staying at home, doing what was expected of them instead of running off to god-knows-where, ending up doing god-knows-what. He also thought that Victor needed to stop dictating things and expect people to just go along. Maybe Victor's the one who needs to be more pliant, instead of egocentric.

But right there and then, feeling Victor's breath in his ear, hearing Victor's honest excuse, hearing that his words have somehow reached Victor's innermost being, Yuuri melts into Victor's embrace. He melts and inevitably forgets about all the harsh things he wanted to say, all the unduly things he thought of him.

Instead of holding that grudge a second longer than he has to, Yuuri lets go of those cumbersome backpacks and reciprocates the embrace, for he knows that he's been a fool too.

When Victor's lips finally meets his, he can't help but mewl into Victor's mouth. For this is the life he wants to live with him, they days he wants to spend with him, the love he wants to feel when being close to him. No matter if being in St. Petersburg or out in some forest outside Moscow. He just wants Victor to know that, and that he's been thinking of that and nothing else since losing Victor to the world outside at Moscow's central station.

When Yuuri feels his lower lip being returned to him with the softest of sips, one he call tell that Victor is really savouring, he feels an indescribable warmth inside. One that doesn't cool off despite Victor telling him that they have to walk, just a little bit further.

Victor carries the backpacks after that, while asking Yuuri to light their way.

For some reason, being in the Russian wilderness in the dark of night doesn't become Yuuri now. It actually feels kind of pleasant, hearing Victor's directions, walking with him towards… yeah, whatever they're heading to. Despite being knee-deep in snow.

Yuuri decides to ask, while being told to go a little to his right. He decides to ask, because he wants to see if Victor is willing to finally let him in on his secret.

"Vitya," Yuuri says while looking over his shoulder, knowing that the diminutive will give him an advantage, "where are we going exactly? What's here?"

Victor is silent for a while, a small smile slowly spreading out on his face, before he answers. Like he knows he's been defeated with the use of the endearment. "We're going to a place I used to come to as a child."

Victor's words resounds within Yuuri. They become a giant thump, his heart gathering enough power before it lets go, making Yuuri stop and put his hand to his chest. Making him gasp for air.

It's the ultimate confidence, he understands, being taken to a place that shares a history with Victor. A history Victor rarely talks about, the unwritten chapters in the chronicles of him. Chapters that Yuuri have yearned after to dive into for so long, longed for to read and feel within himself.

Simply put, Victor's story.

"Oh…" is all he manages to say as the realisation hits, making his mind stagger. He doesn't know if it's newfound respect he feels for Victor now, or just a very large addition to the love that already courses through him, but nevertheless, he's suddenly filled with something he almost can't deal with. He feels warm and incredibly full, somehow.

"Oh?" Victor catches up to him, drops the backpacks in the snow, seeks out his eyes and smiles. "Is that all? Just an 'oh'?"

Yuuri nods, unable to do anything else for the time being. That sensation must leave him, spill over, or at least give some of himself back for him to do anything else. Or else, he knows that he's going toㅡ

"Oh, Yuuri…" Victor's voice is low and warm against his cheek, as he is gathering Yuuri's surprise with his now bare fingers, "Told you, you're going to love it. Come, it's right up ahead."

"I-I didn't know tha-that youㅡ"

"I know. I know, love. There's a first time for everything. Come."

They walk side by side, each now carrying a backpack of their own, ducking underneath a few branches that are buckling under the weight of the snow. Further in, Yuuri can sense the darkness thinning out, and not before long, they reach a small clearing. It's too dark now to see the surroundings but up ahead, Yuuri can just about make out the silhouette of a small building.

"I'll show you the outside tomorrow," Victor says with a low, soft voice, "but for now, let's go inside."

Victor takes the lead and walks up a few steps, the wood boards creak under his weight, up to a porch. He bends over, rummaging around in something that sounds ceramic, kind of like flower pots to Yuuri, before a muted jingle is heard.

"It's small," Victor says while using his mobile to see what key to choose. He finds the right one within a few seconds and puts the key in the lock. It takes a bit of convincing, that lock, but it finally gives in with a click, upon which Victor continues, "but it's been in the family for a while, soㅡ"

And with a push, Victor opens up the door, bidding Yuuri to enter before him.

"Welcome, love," Yuuri hears behind him as he steps over the threshold, "This is the Nikiforov family's winter dacha."

Yuuri can't see, only what his mobile phone manages to light up which, in all honesty, isn't much. There's a small room directly to his right which looks like a kitchen, and the larger room that spreads out immediately after coming through the front door is shrouded in darkness.

He tries to savor the moment despite not being able to see everything inside the cottage, and it comes to him that the smell he senses, just by standing there, is one he can't place. He's never smelt it in his life, and not one of the million memories that his mind tries to match together with the smell ends up right, it just doesn't click.

It's a smell of nothing from the outside, the way crisp and cold forest air smells. That smell of clean nothingness blends with the muted, damp sweetness of wood from inside the dacha and another smell, one that smells like earth and age. One that really holds the key to this place.

He feels Victor's hand on his shoulder, a 'wait a second' kind of touch that ends his reveries immediately, and hears Victor close the front door behind them. Their clothes touch a little, making Victor pass him by with a low rustling sound on his way further in.

"Can I help?" Yuuri asks, his eyes slowly getting used to the shapes around the room.

"No," Victor says and drops his backpack on the floor. "I'm just going to light this and we're all set. Two seconds."

It's history he smells here, Yuuri realises. Some would probably call it age, a smell that naturally comes with old houses made by nothing but love and bare hands. But to Yuuri, the smell isn't unpleasant at all. It's a smell that makes him inquisitive, one that makes him want to find out what Victor connects with that smell. What Victor possibly could have done to add to it and, more importantly, what it has added to Victor.

Victor makes some noises further in. Yuuri kan see him on his knees first, then he stands up again, turning something on the side of the chimney that creates a metallic sound.

"There," Victor says, as if to himself while rubbing his hands together. "We need some heat."

Yuuri recognises the sound of firewood as Victor stacks it in the fireplace, and a few seconds later, the telltale sound of matches being struck followed by a low glimmer that expands and chases away the darkness.

As the fire slowly eats away at the wood, crackling and popping in a ravenous way, Yuuri walks over to Victor, still standing in front of the fireplace. He unzips his parka and removes his gloves with his teeth before he sneaks an arm around Victor's waist.

Together, they stand silent with nothing but the fire making sounds in the room. The way it dances, it's easy to get lost in and Yuuri gets lost too, watching the flames lick and spiral around. Feeling some indescribable calm standing there, close to Victor, watching the flame.

After a while, Victor huffs a laugh and unzips his parka too, before he takes it off and asks for Yuuri's with nothing but an outstretched hand.

Yuuri turns around then, shrugs out of his parka and hands it over to Victor. Mouthing a 'can I' accompanied by a sweeping gesture with his other hand.

"Of course," Victor replies. "Take a look around. You can light some of the lamps, turn the knobs on them a little before you light them, okay?"

"Mhm," Yuuri hums, picking up the small box of matches from the mantle. Feeling a veil of contentment fall upon him as he looks around for lamps to light and knobs to turn. Excited to find more pieces to add to the puzzle that is Victor.

Knobs were thusly turned and lamps were thusly lit, allowing Yuuri to acquaint himself some with the dacha in the progress.

As far as he can tell, it has three rooms including the kitchen. The smaller of the three housing nothing much than a small table, a chair and a child-sized bed.

The largest room of the three, the main room, is bigger but not spacious. The room has an air to it, of being more cramped and smaller than it is somehow. Probably due to the bookcases and the other pieces of furniture that fight for the limited space. But it's the one that Yuuri keeps coming back to, there's a pull there that makes him want to explore its every nook and cranny.

But, he doesn't get very far in his expedition. He manages to light just a few lamps before Victor calls for him, asking him to join him by the fire.

Yuuri sighs a little, his eyes not really willing to leave the photos on the wall, in the bookcase, the ones on the mantle. He wants to study them more, ask about them, and it's with a slight sadness he leaves them to join Victor.

"How come," Yuuri asks when they sit together next to the fireplace on an extremely old, and extremely hard, wooden sofa whilst eating a soup Victor threw together, "there's food here?"

"An old friend of the family checks out the house every other week. I told him to stock up a little."

"Hm," Yuuri responds as he chews the softened potatoes and carrots. He has a lot of questions, but he still feels unsure when it's okay to ask them. If there ever is a good time to ask Victor about certain things. He would like to know why he never knew about this place, this dacha, before. What Victor did there as a young boy. Why Victor chose to show it to him now. Amongst other things.

And, almost like a magician, or a mentalist of sorts, Victor sighs and puts his plate on the floor.

"Love? There's a lot I want to talk to you about. About this place. But, I would like to do it tomorrow, if that's okay?"

"Yes," Yuuri answers, feeling his pulse pick up immediately, "but can I ask you one thing though, Victor? Just the one?"

Victor ends up smiling again, one that engages his whole face before he leans in and kisses Yuuri's forehead. "Just the one, then," he answers, listening intently with his head a little cocked to the side.

"Okay. What I would like to know is what you needed to be sure of? I mean, about showing me this place?"

Victor blinks a few times, possibly surprised by the question. He looks away, just his eyes finding something else to rest on for a few seconds before he seeks out Yuuri's eyes again.

"That's… something I'd rather talk about tomorrow."

Yuuri accepts the answer, albeit reluctantly, but feels like he still should ask something. Something else, at least. It's like Victor reads him then, nods encouragely to allow him to ask just one more question. Which, naturally, he does.

"So… the bed there," Yuuri makes a gesture over to his right, "is that the one we're going to sleep in? And why is it placed so close to the fireplace like that?"

"Yes, we're going to sleep in it. And why it's so close to the fireplace, you ask? Hmm… Good question. Maybe my parents liked to look into the fire while they wereㅡ"

"Stop! Honestly, Victor!"

"Just giving you a possible explanation," Victor says with a shrug. "You asked, after all."

"Yes, but surely they didn't… Of course it's not here just because of… well, you know?"

"Russia has very cold winters, love."

Yuuri can't help but feel a heat rise along his chest, his face, up over his ears. Of course, there's a truth to what Victor is saying, but then again, it's sometimes hard to know when he's joking or not. So Yuuri studies him instead, tries to ignore the prickling warmth across his skin that only increases when he imagines a faceless beautiful man and a faceless, just as beautiful, woman create a life in that bed, but it's difficult.

Seeing Victor's narrow and playful eyes, that teasing smile, how Victor suddenly seems to be drenched in gold instead of his natural silver hues, how the fire just becomes him, makes Yuuri wonder if this is what his parents pictured for Victor, when they made him. If they wanted Victor to continue the family legacy in the way they did, here, in this dacha. If they wanted Victor to be the man he is. If they wanted Victor to fall in love like he did, and more importantly, if they wanted Victor to bring his love here.

Yuuri swallows and thinks that he's found the reason to his previous question, but Victor quiets him, soothes his mind with hands cupping his face and eyes smiling just as much as his mouth.

"Yuuri?"

"Y-yes?"

"I was kidding. Or, I mean, maybe they did. No, they probably did, but that's ages ago now, soㅡ"

"Victor!"

Yuuri's not sure who starts to bubble of laughter first, but not before long, the two of them are keeling over, feeding on each other's energy. Infected by the contagiousness of true, honest laughter shared between people who are comfortable with each other.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Victor sighs, bubbles up, simmers down and bubbles up again. He has a hard time to get to his feet, pick the dishes with him and go to the small kitchen area, but he does. With some struggle.

Yuuri can still hear Victor giggle from within, and he loves seeing Victor like this. This relaxed, this playful. This free. For even if Victor is like a gust of wind, one that goes where it wants while touching the lives of many, he's not without obligations and musts. Here, though, it seems like he is. And that's new.

When they go to bed, maybe a couple of hours later if that, their trousers hang on the backs of a couple of chairs standing in front of the fireplace. Victor's shoes are there too, not just as close to prevent the leather from drying up. They are, despite that, fully clothed with thin long sleeved t-shirts, socks, and sweats. The dacha isn't fully heated up yet, Victor explains, which makes Yuuri think that there's a grain of truth to Victor's story. Maybe, his parents did keep warm by getting close, while waiting for the fire to heat up the rest.