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“Did you ever marry again, Uncle Viktor?” Yurio’s youngest one asks.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Viktor lifts his hand. It’s thin and ugly and it trembles, useless as it is, but the ring on his finger is gold as it always has been.

“I’ll tell you why, and listen carefully.”

The little girl shuffles closer. Her hair is just like her father’s, almost like Viktor’s, and nothing like someone else’s used to be.

The ring is cold when he presses his lips to it. “When someone gives you love, it’s not forever. It’s only as long as they have it, or as long as they live.”

Sure winter will pass someday. But in the meantime, I’d rather learn to bend the snow and its storms than sit and wait for summer.

And the season shall be yours to shape.

Are you day or night? they ask me sweetly
Are you silver or gold? they want to know
Storm or silence, they nudge none-gently
Earth or sea, where do you grow

Come on, you have to decide, it’s easy either
Or never nor
But never as
Well as – so, go ahead
We must know
Only one
Can be yours
Can be true and can be you

I ask back I ask why
We need to know
Because all life
Means one thing is not another
Either sister none or brother

So I say yes
And I say no
Since oh you see those wicked souls
Are sometimes
Neither
Both

“What are you looking at, boy?” Viktor laughs. “Did you see a bird in the sky?”

‘Take care of them,’ Vicchan whispers from above.

‘I will,’ Makkachin thinks back at him.

Yurio’s hands are trembling. He’s got them in fists by his side, the golden medal shining neatly in the middle of his chest. The audience screams, hollers, calls him by name and nickname and all the pretty titles that the media gave him.

But Yurio doesn’t listen.

“You were breathtaking,” Otabek says. His own medal is tucked into his shirt that’s slightly rumpled. When he reaches for Yurio’s wrist, it’s slow, careful. “I wanted to ask if you’d maybe, well, after all this chaos is over – “

“Yes.”

“I mean, on a date.”

“Still yes.”

“Yeah?” It’s gentle, how he echoes Yurio’s word, and not because he couldn’t hear it. “That’s good. I’m happy.”

Reporters start swarming down the stairs, to where the skaters have slid off the ice and to the sidelines. The noise is unbelievable, and its roar shivers through Yurio’s bones. He turns his wrist, and has Otabek’s hand in his fingertips with one easy motion. 

“Me too,” Yurio says softly. The smile is tiny, young, but it’s there still.

———-

“What do you think?”

“Hm?” Yuuri’s arm is a steady pressure around his waist, and Viktor only has to turn his head a few inches to hum a monosyllabic question into his hair. It’s still sweaty. It doesn’t matter. “Wha’?”

“Of them. Of Otabek asking him out.” Across the rink, Yurio is with Yakov again, but Otabek is just a few steps away. Yuuri watches as he takes a deep breath and gives Yurio’s thin back a last smile. Then he leaves, out through an exit. He doesn’t see Yurio turning over his shoulder, eyes alight, cheeks burning redder than his outfit. Then he’s gone, too.

“Well,” Viktor mumbles, sliding his fingers into Yuuri’s until their rings chink into a metallic touch. “It won’t be perfect. But it’ll be.”

Could you write something for drunk Yuuri please?

“That Japanese boy is drunk as hell.” Chris has put his clothes back on and is now holding a luxuriously full glass of champagne in every hand. He lifts one toward Viktor. “Want some?”

“I’m good.” Viktor stares. He’s been doing that for the past five minutes. “How is he so beautiful, Chris?”

“Wow. You have it bad.” Chris downs both glasses in a few gulps before lifting a brow at Viktor. The lecherous grin on his lips doesn’t promise anything good. “This is your chance then. He’s drunk. You know what that means.”

It takes Viktor embarrassingly long. “I. Oh.”

“Exactly,” Chris nods, his head bobbing like the gorgeous boy’s floppy hair. “If you ask him out now, he’s going to say y-”

“He’s drunk enough for anything.”

“Wh- hey hold up, that’s not what I said. Just because he’s drunk doesn’t mean-”

But Viktor is off within a second, vanishing in the crowd.

———-

Yuuri Katsuki never finds the note under his pillow.

In fact, he doesn’t find out anything at first. He doesn’t remember a soft touch to his shoulder after even more alcohol than he thought his body could bear with. He doesn’t remember fingers lacing up with his own, a warm grip around his waist as he’s guided into an elevator and up up up into the sky of the city.

Yuuri Katsuki doesn’t know about the voice with a heavy accent, thick and dark like the chocolate dessert he’d eaten that night, talking to him while someone goes through his pockets for keys.

And above all things, Yuuri Katsuki doesn’t remember how he got into bed, and why he woke up alone with nothing but a sour taste on his tongue and the same clothes as last night sticking to his skin.

———-

(”You were the one who…?”

“Yes,” Viktor simply says. He’s busy pressing his lips to Yuuri’s ring, even now as they’re walking home with the rest. Phichit is just behind them, babbling about marriage, engagement, and Yuuri honestly tunes out because this, this is far more important.

“But,” he says slowly. It’s hard to ignore Viktor’s mouth when it’s warm on his knuckles. “You fell for me that night. And you brought me to my room, you could have – you just tucked me in, who does that?”

Viktor grasps his hand. He stops walking, too. It makes Yuuri stumble a little, Phichit almost crashing into them, but Viktor waits patiently until everyone is ahead of them.

And he’s doing it again, Yuuri thinks, looking at me like I’m a bit of an idiot and a bit of starlight at the same time.

“You were drunk, zolotse. You would have done anything.”

“Yeah! I threw myself into your arms! You could have-”

Viktor’s lips brush his. It’s barely a kiss, and as shy as Yuuri has never had it before. His eyes are still wide in wonder when Viktor moves away a little to look at him.

“Yes. But I didn’t, because I hoped that you’d do it again while you had a clear mind and a night of sleep.”

“That’s… you’re quite the gentleman about this.”

Viktor shakes his head so harshly that Yuuri almost jumps. “No.” And before Yuuri can say anything else, Viktor’s taken his hand and gently tugs him along, back toward the others. “It’s nothing special, waiting for your sober decision, it’s the respect you deserve, that everyone deserves.”

“I love you,” Yuuri says quietly. “I love you so much.”

“And I you,” Viktor kisses his hair. “Let’s go.”)