Victor is finishing the last of his dinner when he looks up at Yuuri, whose gaze is fixed on the table where he's playing with his own fingers, his cheeks glowing soft pink. It's cute.

"Yes, dearest?"

"Remember when you said... uhm... that if there was anything I wanted to try..." he trailed off, nervous.

Victor's ears perk at that. He'd made that offer two days ago, when he'd boldly asked if Yuuri would be okay to hold hands in public. It would probably seem strange to outsiders, that these little things would require so much premeditation, when there seemed to be so little of it behind closed doors, in the tangles of bedsheets and passion, but Victor knows that Yuuri is a private person, and however much he wishes he could proclaim their love to the four winds, he has decided to respect that.

"Of course, what might you have in mind?"

Yuuri squirms a little. He's almost unrecognizable from how he was on the ice, with the eyes of the world on him, and so dashing, so daring, commanding Victor's attention without skipping a beat. Victor finds the contrast immensely fascinating.

"The NHK Trophy's on in a bit and... I was wondering if you'd want to go downstairs to watch it together."

Victor cocks his head in confusion. Watching TV together is far from new, they in fact do it quite often. Victor has Yuuri watching ridiculous Japanese talk-shows and helping him learn slang words and pop culture terms almost every day. But if Yuuri's asking like this, it must mean something different this time, so he nods right away.

He's surprised when Yuuri gets up immediately and extends his hand at him in offering. Victor doesn't hesitate one beat to take it though, and with his heart aflutter and fingers tingling, lets Yuuri pull him downstairs to the inn's diner, where Minako is already changing the channel to where the NHK Trophy is about to begin, to the complaints of patrons who were wanting to watch soccer.

Yuuri kneels diagonally from the screen, and Victor follows him, crossing his legs. How can Yuuri sit in that position without getting his legs numb is still a mystery.

Yuuri lets go of Victor's hand (much to his disappointment) and curls his fists over his folded knees, eyes fixed on the screen, where the announcer is already giving a summary of the previous Grand Prix events' results. Victor feels a certain satisfaction seeing footage of Yuuri waving from the Cup of China podium, holding his silver medal, and the satisfaction turns into bliss when he glances to his side and sees the spark of pride in Yuuri's eyes.

He's come so far.

Victor is about to ask if it's okay to scoot a little closer, just so he can feel a bit of Yuuri's warmth, when Yuuri tugs at the sleeve of his jinbei softly.

"What is it, Yuuri?" he asks barely above a whisper, knowing Yuuri wouldn't want to draw attention to himself.

Yuuri doesn't look away from the screen, but he shoots a quick sideways glance at Victor, briefly nibbling on his lower lip.

"Could you…?" he begins, pauses when red roses bloom on his cheeks, then looks down, and if Victor hadn't followed his gaze he would have missed the way he pat his lap lightly but surely, and the picture is starting to come together in Victor's mind. "With your… head, I mean."


Victor feels his face burst in flames as understanding dawns on him. Oh this is definitely different. And beautiful. And perfect. And an absolute dream. Victor almost has to struggle to not appear too eager.

"Are you sure?" he asks, to be safe, but he hasn't even finished intoning the question when Yuuri gives a sharp nod, and that's all Victor needs to flop down to his side, letting his head fall on Yuuri's lap. It's soft and cushiony and warm, and he can faintly feel Yuuri's breathe against his cheek. He's starting to understand why those pillows in the shape of a woman's lap are so popular (but would this feel so wonderful if it were just a pillow and not his beautiful Yuuri? Victor doesn't think so). He doesn't have a very good view of the TV with other guests sitting around and the low table in front of it, but he honestly doesn't care because this is the most pleasantly domestic feeling he's ever had.

From the corner of his eye, he catches Minako discreetly looking at them, and when their eyes meet she sends him a cheeky wink, Victor grins back at her briefly and sinks further against Yuuri's warmth, letting their surroundings disappear from his sight. After a few minutes of silently lying like this, half-heartedly listening to the announcers describe the skaters' programs, but mostly trying not to doze off because he wants to be fully conscious to enjoy this moment, Yuuri calls to him again.


"Yes, love?" Victor momentarily regrets losing control of his tongue because he knows Yuuri's already making an effort at showing their affections so publicly, and it's likely that calling him in ways that are often reserved for their private times could push the boundaries a bit too far. But Yuuri doesn't seem to be affected by it, much to Victor's awe.

"I want…" he's not asking any longer, and that makes Victor's skin tingle with excitement.

He is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Yuuri's hand, that had been splayed on the floor when Victor first lied down, had somehow found its way to his shoulder, where it rested leisurely.

"I want to touch your hair."

Victor's breathe hitches; he's starting to think this might actually be too much for his fragile heart. In spite of that, he nuzzles Yuuri's lap and hears himself exhale a soft "Please" that makes Yuuri's hand stutter.

It doesn't take long for Yuuri's fingers to thread through his hair, tentatively at first, as if this was the first time, but quickly grew more bold and confident, letting silver locks run through them like water (and Victor decides all these years anguishing over making his hair absolutely perfect were absolutely worth it for this moment alone), fingertips pressing softly on his scalp, drawing his fringe away from his eye and letting it cascade back down, trailing over the top of his head (Victor doesn't miss the playful tap on the whorl at his crown and chuckles), then going back down to fiddle with the loose hairs at his nape. Then he digs his fingers against his scalp again and drags them upwards, letting as much hair as he can hold slip through his fingers once more, all over his head.

Victor is in heaven. He's probably dead and ascended to heaven; reality can't possibly be so wonderful, and Victor could never picture himself living without this feeling ever again. He bites back a whimper, and shudders.

"Is this okay?" Yuuri asks, maybe in response to that, his fingers stopping in their exploration.

Victor turns slightly, struggles to keep his eyes open, but does it just so he can meet Yuuri's gaze, and purrs "Oh, Yuuri, this is perfect." You are perfect, he thinks too, but decides to keep that for a time when there are fewer ears around. Yuuri's cheeks are pink and he smiles at him, the brightest ray of sunshine Victor has ever seen, then goes back to play with his hair, lacing his fingers in it. Victor can no longer hear the TV, just Yuuri's occasional comments that often come in whispers, to which he only replies with an absent-minded hum. He lets his eyes flutter close so he can focus on the sensations, and hopes he can stretch this moment and stay like this forever.

"Yuuri, it's late, you two will catch a cold if you stay down here." His mother admonishes.

The NHK Trophy ended over an hour ago and all the guests are long gone to their rooms, but Yuuri can't bring himself to get up, too enchanted by the weight of Victor's head on his lap. There's one of those awful talk-shows that Victor likes on TV, which makes him ponder on whether to wake him.

"It's okay, Mom, just a little while longer." He replies, still not entirely done marveling at just how soft Victor's hair is –so much more than he ever imagined-, how it flows through his hands like liquid silver. He fell asleep halfway through the Trophy, but Yuuri hasn't had the heart to wake him when he looks so angelically peaceful.

"Alright, don't take too long or Vicchan will wake up with cramps though." She insists. "Good night, Yuuri."

"Good night, Mom."

Once she's gone, he indulges himself and looks at Victor's sleeping face once more, lightly pulling his fringe away from his eye to see the soft curve of his eyelid and his long, silver eyelashes that flutter with every breathe he takes. He can't help marveling at how, no matter what he does, the fringe always falls back into place, perfectly spilling over the left side of his face.

He'd been hesitant about doing this in such a publicly private space: most of their customers were, after all, regulars, and many of them Yuuri's known since childhood, so letting them in to such a personal moment had made him nervous. No one had even bat an eye at them though, as if this was just something normal and expected, and Yuuri finds that thought oddly comforting.

He's wanted to share this kind of intimacy with Victor for some time already. Just something small and normal, something that can become part of a routine, that doesn't need to mean anything special. Something that feels like a future together, like family, like home.

Yuuri just hopes it feels the same for Victor.


I have a lot of feelings about Yuuri touching Victor's hair. Also about Victor and Yuuri speaking very softly to each other. And about Victuri and the word 'soft' in general. For some reason.