Victor murmurs the words, aiming them at the shell of Yuuri’s ear as they dance.
It’s poor timing, and he knows it. Yuuri is clearly drunk, his horrible bright blue tie wrapped around his forehead and fluttering out in has wake like a banner. But he’s warm and laughing, and his eyes are so deep that Victor can’t seem to find his way out. With each turn, he only falls further.
But Yuuri doesn’t seem to hear his question, enamored of the music and the blur of faces watching, the flash of lights on cameras and phone screens, and Victor lets it slip by. He’ll have other chances to ask, other nights like this.
He thinks it with a kind of quiet desperation as he stares down at the phone in his hands, watching as Yuuri calls out to Victor through his tribute.
Victor remembers a flushed boy with a wide smile and enthusiastic hands pressing fingertip bruises to Victor’s ribs as they waltzed. This Yuuri is different - quiet and sad - and somehow it only draws Victor in further. He’s not just an intriguing possibility now. Yuuri extends his hand to someone out of sight of the camera, and Victor feels the gesture resonate through his chest.
He wonders if Yuuri understands. Does he, too, feel the meaning in the song, beyond just the words in a tongue Victor only half-knows? Does he believe in the language of this music like Victor does?
He can’t wait to find out.
“I want to kiss him so badly.”
Victor moans into the smooth wooden surface of the bar holding up his head. The curve of the sake glass against his palm is the closest thing he has to comfort here - that, and the knowledge that Minako knows about five words in Russian, and three of them are dirty.
Nevertheless, she pats him on the head, understanding the tone of his complaint too well.
He wants to ask her what he’s doing wrong, but English is beyond him at the moment, much less the staccato progress of his limited Japanese. Besides, he’s learning now that Yuuri is the private type when it comes to his feelings. He’s not as forward as Victor had imagined at all. He’s subtle, a counter-melody instead of an anthem. It’s so easy to miss, but fundamental. Without it, the whole composition will fracture.
Absently, Victor traces the outline of a heart into the condensation on the bottle beside him.
The sun is sinking fast, rich gold light pouring over them as it reaches its last glorious hour.
Victor is sweaty and stiff, sand dusting from his skin with each movement and sea salt stiffening his hair. Still, he can’t stop smiling as Yuuri falls backward into the sand. As he hits the ground, Makkachin pounces, laving Yuuri’s face with her tongue and kicking up sand until Yuuri is beyond laughter, squirming beneath her weight, mouth open with delight.
Satisfied that she’s disabled this prey, Makka dashes off along the shore, straight through a cloud of seagulls, and Victor bends to offer Yuuri his hand.
Their palms meet, and Victor leans back, intending to heave Yuuri to his feet with some small joke - something about the sand coating Yuuri’s hair, streaking it with gold to match Victor’s silver.
Instead, Yuuri yanks him down.
Victor falls to his knees, grains embedding in his bare skin, and catches himself with his free hand before he collapses onto Yuuri completely.
Their hands are still intertwined, palms damp with sweat from the summer heat.
In a sea of temptation, this may be Victor’s most dire moment. Yuuri is right here, lips and cheeks both pink and alluring, eyes dark as the depths. Helpless, Victor falls in over and over again.
Yuuri’s thumb on his cheek shocks him out of it - the barest, skipping contact electric after months of want. Yuuri skims down, tracing the line of Victor’s jaw, and pauses at the apex of his chin.
Beneath the rush of waves and the sharp cry of the gulls, Yuuri plays the counter-melody pianissimo.
“Can I kiss you?” He breathes.
And, wordlessly, Victor responds.
pixelskylines
vaporwave
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
2087
blakekathryn
snowghoul
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
