#vityaweek

[painterleey]

Day 4 of @vityaweek : hairstyle

(I think shoulder-length hair looks good on him)

[spelviin]

Vitya Week Day 3: Loved

Happy Birthday to the best boy!

Victor is 16 years old when he first becomes aware of Victor Nikiforov, in his bedroom at Yakov and Lilia’s house, reading an article in a sports magazine entitled “5 Up-And-Comers to Watch Out For This Season”. Next to the number 3 in the article, his own face stares back at him from the page. Victor Nikiforov, Men’s Singles Figure Skating, Age16, Russia. It’s your standard magazine fare, a little two-paragraph blurb about his background, his past accomplishments, his hobbies, his interests.

Victor Nikiforov loves dogs, it says. His favourite thing to do outside the rink is to curl up with a good book, it says. His favourite flowers are blue roses, it says, and Victor grins bemusedly at the page. He isn’t sure where the author of this particular column had gotten that idea. His favourite flowers have always been lilacs. His grandmother had had a few lilac trees in her garden back home when he was young, and the scent has always made him think of her.

It doesn’t bother him, at the time. It’s an insignificant tidbit of misinformation, nothing to worry about. And two out of three correct factoids isn’t bad, he supposes. And then, at his next competition, when he finishes his skate, the crowd showers the ice in blue roses.

Victor doesn’t dislike the roses, and it would be both rude and pointless to try and correct people about his preferred type of flower. So he accepts the bouquets with a gracious smile and a wave to the crowd.

That’s how it starts, in his mind, that disparity between the real Victor and Victor Nikiforov.

Victor Nikiforov loves roses, where Victor loves lilacs.

Simple enough.

And then it starts to grow.

As Victor’s accomplishments pile up, so does attention from sponsors, from fans, from sports media outlets. And with each interview, each publication, each sponsorship deal, Victor Nikiforov grows, a perception, an idea of him and the kind of person he is that exists completely in the public’s collective imaginations, completely out of his control.

Victor Nikiforov is effortlessly graceful on the ice, while Victor has to put in hours of gruelling, sweaty work at the rink each and every day.

Victor Nikiforov lands his quads smoothly, surprising and delighting his audience, while Victor is sent sprawling to the cold, hard unforgiving surface of the rink over and over and over again.

Victor Nikiforov’s skin is flawless, and his hair flows elegantly over his shoulders, pristine and shimmering. Victor breaks out on the regular and it takes ages for him to brush out his tangles each morning.

Victor Nikiforov is delightfully bright and charming, always ready with a winning smile and cheeky wink that send young men and women alike swooning.  Victor has days where he feels so empty and hollow and drained inside that he can barely bring himself to get out of bed to take Makkachin for a walk.

Victor Nikiforov is a playboy, hopping from relationship to relationship, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. And Victor? Well, Victor isn’t quite so lucky in love.

It’s not that he doesn't want love; quite the opposite. He craves it so much it hurts, this ever-present ache in his chest in the shape of someone, anyone, who could ease the terrible loneliness that eats away at him. He seeks out love in all its forms, falls briefly in love with nearly anyone who shows him positive attention.

But none of them want him. They all want Victor Nikiforov. They want beauty and glamour and talent and charm, and he can do that. He does that, for them, for a time. He learns to perform Victor Nikiforov flawlessly, to live in that mask for days, weeks, months on end. Long enough, he hopes, to make them stay.

But they never do. No matter how well he performs Victor Nikiforov, he can’t keep up the charade forever. Eventually, inevitably, Victor shows through. Workaholic Victor, forgetful Victor, Victor with bedhead and no makeup on, Victor who occasionally gets annoyed and snappy and sarcastic. Victor who sweats and bleeds and works and works and works and works. Victor who can’t “just cheer up.” Victor who is too clingy, too needy, too much.

They hadn’t signed on for that, none of them had.

So they leave, all of them, over and over again, and honestly? Victor can’t blame them. He prefers Victor Nikiforov, too. He knows if he ever wants a hope of finding love, of deserving love, he has to do better.

So he leans into Victor Nikiforov, tries to become him. He puts in more hours at the rink, working from the crack of dawn until he can barely move from exhaustion, pushing himself to his absolute limits and beyond. He practices that winning smile in the mirror, practices and practices and practices until you can barely even tell that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He destroys himself over and over and over again, breaks himself down and rebuilds as many times as it takes to live up to people’s expectations.

Victor Nikiforov is an image, you see, a concept rather than a human being, so it’s easy enough to change and mold him as the need arises. One season he is Victor Nikiforov the Rebel, the next he is Victor Nikiforov the Sensitive Artist, the next, Victor Nikiforov the Playboy. He becomes a new person each year, becomes whatever is necessary to continue to surprise his audience, to exceed their expectations, to be worthy of their admiration and love the way he knows Victor could never be. And it is exhausting work.

He lives in the ever-changing mask of Victor Nikiforov for so long that he might have forgotten it was even there, if not for that cold, lonely, desperately sad part of him curled up deep inside, begging for a love that was real and whole and unconditional, a love that he knows Victor could never be worthy of. But even that becomes easy enough to ignore after a time. His career is flourishing, the sponsor offers are pouring in, the world is at his feet. There are more than enough distractions to keep that ugly, broken part of himself quiet.

But try as he might, he can never silence it completely. It’s always there, and more pronounced than ever in the quiet moments when he returns home from the rink to his empty apartment, when he stands on the beach looking out onto the ocean, when he wakes up every morning in a cold and empty bed.

Victor Nikiforov has everything in the world, and yet Victor has never felt emptier.

Those closest to him might notice, he thinks. Yakov notices, but he never says much. As long as Victor continues to medal and pay his coaching fees, it isn’t really his place to pry into his personal life. Makkachin notices too, when Victor comes home exhausted, slumps down against the door and buries his face in her fur. But of course, she never says anything either.

His career slowly loses its allure. The constant pressure to continue to exceed expectations starts to weigh on him. He is 25, and he knows his body can only do so much for so long. Even Victor Nikiforov has limits, after all, and for the first time, he is struck with the prospect of eventually having to face them. He can no longer shock and amaze the audience like he once could. They still love him - still love Victor Nikiforov, that is - but it’s only a matter of time until he can no longer handle the physical toll of this sport. He has reached the apex of his career, reached as high as he can… it’s only downhill from here.

So, these are his options. He can stay in competition until his body gives out entirely, getting knocked lower and lower on the podium until he never even makes it on at all, and shrink into obscurity as the sad story of a once-talented skater who had fallen from grace.

Or he can walk away from the career that is slowly killing him, retire while he is still on top… and then what? He has given everything for his career, everything, always. He has nothing else. Nothing but an empty apartment and a beloved dog who is pushing 14. That’s it. His whole life.

And either of those options would kill Victor Nikiforov.

If he stays in competition until he burns out, his carefully constructed persona wil crack, and the world will see him as he really was. Clumsy, imperfect, unworthy.

If he walks away from the world of figure skating, Victor Nikiforov will fade into obscurity just the same. And with his limited interests outside the sport, few friends and no family, he’d just end up stuck in his apartment with a stranger be barely even knows.

It’s an impossible choice. So, like every other difficult and painful thought, he pushes it deep down inside himself, plasters a dazzling smile on his face, and pretends nothing is wrong. Lets the concern fester inside him along with everything else, and, for the time being, keeps going with his career like he always has.

And then Sochi.

Another medal like a noose around his neck. Another empty smile. Another boring banquet, sipping champagne and waiting for it to be over so he can go back to his room, take off his mask, and shut out the world again.

And then Yuuri Katsuki.

Confident, alluring, inebriated Yuuri Katsuki, dancing like a fool in a room full of the creme de la creme of the figure skating world.

Victor Nikiforov would never do something so tasteless. Victor Nikiforov is polished and perfect, sociable but reserved enough to keep himself out of too much trouble. Victor Nikiforov really shouldn’t even be watching this, should just smile fetchingly and then politely direct his attention somewhere else.

But Victor can’t take his eyes off the man.

Yuuri Katsuki is breathtaking. He moves like pure sin, drawing Victor almost unconsciously into his orbit. His dark eyes bore into him, hazy from the drink but sparkling with want. He asks him to dance, and before Victor has time to think it though, he’s in Yuuri Katsuki’s arms, the world is spinning around them, and he feels lighter than he has in years.

Victor Nikiforov shouldn't be doing this, he knows. Victor Nikiforov has an image to uphold.

But Victor is weak. He wants to stay in Yuuri Katsuki’s arms forever.

“Be my coach, Victor!”

…And maybe, just maybe, he can.

But Yuuri Katsuki never calls him back.

He passes the time working on new programs. Eros, because his dreams are filled with dark eyes and champagne and strong arms around him. Agape, because he wonders what it would be like to experience a love that was truly unconditional.

What it would be like if that dark-eyed man could love him, unconditionally. It’s a pipe dream, he knows, but it’s also the only thing that keeps him going.

And then, a link to a YouTube video. And then, a plane. And then, a hot spring in Japan.

Victor Nikiforov would never do something this impulsive and irrational. Victor doesn’t care.

While putting his things in his room, he catches a glimpse of Yuuri’s own bedroom down the hall. Specifically, of the posters lining his walls. Victor Nikiforov, in all his carefully posed and airbrushed glory, stares down at him from every angle.

The posters go back through nearly his entire career. Victor Nikiforov with long hair, with short hair, the rebel, the artist, the heartthrob. They all look down at him, this confusing hodgepodge of masks he’s worn throughout the years. Looking back at these perfect, idealized versions of himself, an uncomfortable feeling forms in the pit of his stomach.

Which version do you want, Yuuri?

He makes sure to greet Yuuri Katsuki in a manner befitting of Victor Nikiforov, rising from the water and posing himself like a statue in the middle of the hot spring. Beautiful, confident, beckoning. Victor is terrified. By the looks of it, Yuuri Katsuki is, too. This is surprising.

The first of many surprises, all of which boil down to one simple fact:

Yuuri is not like Yuuri Katsuki.

He is timid, polite, and turns beet red every time Victor goes near him. He stammers and flinches away when Victor tries to touch him. He starts to actively try to avoid him.

Af first, Victor worries that maybe he was wrong, after all. Maybe Yuuri doesn’t like him. But then his mind flits back to that poster-adorned wall, all those versions of himself - of Victor Nikiforov - staring down at him.

Which one do you want?

He doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be. He doesn’t know what mask to wear that will convince Yuuri that he’s worth his love, his attention, his time, that he’s worth anything at all. So finally, in desperation, he asks. Sitting on a sandbank, sandwiching Makkachin between them, his question hanging in the air with the smell of saltwater and the sound of seagulls’ cries.

And Yuuri thinks.

And Yuuri answers.

And of all the things he could have said, he chooses the one reply that sends a bolt of terror straight through Victor’s heart.

He doesn’t want him to be anything. He just wants him to be Victor.

Just Victor.

Victor doesn’t even know who Just Victor is. He doesn’t even like Just Victor. And why should he? No one else ever has.

But if it’s what Yuuri wants, he’ll do it. He’ll do anything for the chance to stay by Yuuri’s side, even if it means being Just Victor.

So he tries to let his walls down. It’s a long and painful process, and he still slips into old habits. He hides behind his smile when he’s angry or sad, tucks himself away behind the mask of Victor Nikiforov in the public eye, but… he tries.

And somehow, somehow… Yuuri manages to love Victor.

He manages to love the Victor he sees first thing every day, with bedhead and morning breath. He loves the Victor he sees in the hot spring, makeup washed off and hair sticking to his too-large forehead (when Victor mentions he’s insecure about it, Yuuri tells him it’s the perfect size for covering in kisses, and proceeds to do just that). He loves the Victor who is clumsy with his words, who doesn’t quite know how to handle Yuuri’s anxiety yet, who makes mistakes. The Victor who is flawed. The Victor who is human.

And Victor loves the Yuuri who shies away from him. Who can be cold and aloof, who assumes the worst of people. Who gets so lost in his own thoughts that he forgets to communicate. Who has his selfish moments and jumps to conclusions too easily.

And Victor loves him. He loves him. Loves him more than he ever thought it was possible to love another human being. Loves him so much he feels his heart might break out of his chest every time Yuuri smiles that gentle, cautious smile in his direction.

He feels light, free in a way that he hasn’t felt in years. There is still a disconnect between himself and the public’s perception of him but he doesn’t mind so much anymore. They can have their Victor Nikiforov if they want. Yuuri thinks that Just Victor is enough, and that is more than enough for Victor.

__________

Still, he has his moments of weakness. Moments where he doubts himself and his worth. Moments where he feels small, weak, inadequate.

He asks Yuuri how he feels about Victor Nikiforov one night, curled up in bed together as Yuuri runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t exactly mean to, it just comes tumbling out. When he finishes speaking, Yuuri looks desperately sad.

“Don’t you, you know... prefer him?” Victor asks, his voice just a shade above a whisper, so afraid of the answer that he can barely manage to ask the question.

“I used to,” Yuuri admits after a while, and Victor’s heart sinks. Yuuri must see it in his eyes, because he cups Victor’s face gently and turns it to look at him. “And then I met you, and you were so much better.”

Yuuri’s eyes are so unbearably soft and earnest that Victor has to look away, his eyes stinging and vision blurring, but he’s stopped again by Yuuri’s gentle hand on his cheek.

“Listen, Victor. Whoever it was in your past that made you feel like you weren’t enough, they were wrong. So, so wrong.  And honestly, I feel sorry for them, because they’ll never get to see you the way I see you. They way you always know what to say to cheer someone up on a bad day. The silly little songs you make up when you brush Makkachin.” He smiles cheekily. “The way you snort when you laugh too hard.”

Victor gasps, offended. “I do not!”

“You do!” Yuuri grins. “You absolutely do, and I love it. I love you, Victor Nikiforov.”

And there it is again, that gentle smile that knocks him off his feet every time. He blinks back his tears and cuddles into Yuuri’s chest. “Call me Vitya?”

Yuuri hums, tender and full of love, and leans in to press a soft kiss to Victor’s forehead. “I love you, my Vitya.”

“I love you too, Yuuri.”

_______

“Victor Nikiforov is dead,” Yurio spits at him on a beach in Barcelona, several weeks later.

It’s true, Victor thinks as his ring sparkles in the early-morning sunlight,  but not in the way that Yurio intends it.

Victor Nikiforov is dead, and good riddance to him.

He likes the sound of Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov better, anyways.

[spelviin]

Happy Vicmas Eve, everyone!

Here’s my piece for Day 2 of @vityaweek for the prompt Favourite AU. 

I’ve read a few Potterverse AUs, so I figured I’d try my hand at writing one. I really hope it turned out ok! 

The cold comes first.

It comes first, and it comes slowly, slow enough that neither of them notice the subtle drop in temperature until it’s too late. Perhaps it’s because the time of year - the nights are getting longer and cooler, especially this deep in the forest. Perhaps it’s the fatigue of the past few weeks wearing on them, making them less aware of their surroundings. Whatever the reason, neither notice the chill creeping in until a sudden breeze sets them both shivering.

It’s not the kind of cold Victor is used to from the winters back home. Not the crisp, bracing winds that turn cheeks rosy and breath into soft, swirling clouds. No, this is a damp cold, a cloying cold, a cold that seeps through the robes, through the skin, through the bones, into the very heart.

The cold comes first - and then the dread. Overpowering dread, hopelessness the likes of which he has only felt a few times in his life. He stops in his tracks, and Yuuri stops beside him. Their eyes meet, wide and horrified as the air fills with the sound of hollow, rattling breaths, and they realize exactly how dire their situation is.

Around them, dark shapes begin to move through the trees. There are so many, more than Victor has ever seen together in one place. He pushes Yuuri behind him, tries to tell him to run - but it’s too late. They’re surrounded.  

The Dementors close in from all sides, moving wraithlike through the trees, their awful rattling breaths filling the air, drowning out all other sound.

Almost all other sound, that is. As the creatures continue to draw closer and the chill of apathy and despair grows stronger, familiar voices begin to echo in his head.

“Papa isn’t coming home, Vitya.”

“Stupid, boy, stupid! Can’t you do anything right?”

Before he knows it he’s fallen, the moss and dead leaves on the forest floor damp beneath his palms and seeping into the knees of his trousers. The voices in his head continue, everyone leaving him, everyone, over and over again…

“Lilia and I are separating. She’ll be back to pick up her things tomorrow.”

“Victor, after the Auror exam…Let’s end this.”

The rattling is louder now. When he opens his eyes, all he can see is darkness, a clammy, rotted hand pulling back a tattered black hood. The emptiness inside him is so powerful that he barely even has the capacity to feel afraid. He simply closes his eyes and waits for the Kiss, waits for the end, suffocating on his overwhelming hopelessness….

“Tell us where Katsuki is, Nikforov. Tell us! Crucio!”

“Vitya… let’s end this… Vitya…. Vitya….”

“Vitya! Vitya, hold on… expecto patronum… expecto… expecto…”

He registers a faint light through his closed eyelids, and the hollow rattle recedes slightly. Victor’s eyes flutter open and he can see Yuuri standing over him, face pale and twisted in despair, brandishing his wand at the oncoming swarm of Dementors.

As Victor watches, Yuuri falls to his knees as well, a faint, formless silver light emitting from the tip of his wand. It’s not a full Patronus, not nearly enough to save them, but still… but still.

He’s fighting. Even now, he’s fighting.

Despite the heavy dread filling him, Victor feels the corners of his mouth twist up in a weak smile. Of course his Yuuri is still fighting. Of course his brave and beautiful Yuuri wouldn’t give up without a struggle. It’s one of the things Victor loves most about him.

Victor loves him so much.

The thought stokes the waning fire in his soul, and he somehow manages to rise to his knees, to grip his wand tight in one hand and find Yuuri’s hand with the other. It’s cold - so cold, everything is so, so cold - as he interlaces their fingers together.

Yuuri looks up at him, and the utter hopelessness on his face softens as the mist emitting from his wandtip glows momentarily brighter. He grips Victor’s hand back and Victor can feel the familiar coolness of Yuuri’s engagement ring against his skin.

He thinks of the night Yuuri gave him that ring. The Christmas market, fairy lights in the air, a choir singing, snowflakes falling gently down, the taste of Butterbeer on his tongue. He remembers the soft, almost reverent expression on Yuuri’s face as he’d slipped the ring onto Victor’s finger, transforming to utter joy when Victor slipped his own on in return. He remembers Yuuri’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him in for a tender kiss.

He thinks of Yuuri. Of the first day they met, their first kiss, the first time they made love. He thinks of flour on Yuuri’s cheek as they cook breakfast together. He thinks of the morning sun casting a warm glow on him during those soft, comfortable moments between sleep and wakefulness. He thinks of life. He thinks of love.

He holds on to those memories like a lifeline as he raises his wand in sync with Yuuri,  and cries out with all the meagre hope he has left-

“Expecto Patronum!”

“Expecto Patronum!”

Almost in unison, two silvery-white poodles burst from their wandtips, one large, one small, bounding around the clearing and cutting a path through the swarm of Dementors. The feeling of dread abates somewhat as they retreat, and Victor manages to stand with effort, pulling Yuuri up with him.

They lean against each other, back to back, wands outstretched as the silvery poodles separate and run in opposing arcs around the edges of the clearing, driving the gathered Dementors further and further back. Yuuri’s weight at Victor’s back warms his soul, and he grips Yuuri’s hand, receiving a small squeeze in return.

“I love you,” Yuuri says, and the larger poodle grows even brighter as the hooded figures cower and retreat.

“I love you too, Yuuri.” The small poodle glows as well.

Their Patronuses drive the Dementors further and further back until the air grows warmer around them and the overwhelming sense of hopelessness eases. By the time Victor lets his wand arm drop, it feels once more like a typical early-autumn evening.

They stand like that a while, back to back, holding hands, waiting for the telltale chill of the Dementors to return, but it never does. After several moments, Victor’s legs give out and he slumps, exhausted, to the forest floor, still wracked with chills and that phantom sense of despair and emptiness. Yuuri follows him down, wraps his arms around him, and they sit like that a while, listening to the crickets chirping around them.

“Are you okay?” Victor asks when he gets his breath back.

“I’m okay.” Yuuri sighs softly, his breath tickling Victor’s ear.  “Really, I should be the one asking you that. That Dementor… it was on you so fast, it could have…”

Victor suppresses a shiver as he remembers the creature’s face as it leaned over him, its rotted, eyeless face and gaping mouth, how close he came to losing all of himself in that moment.

“I’m fine,” he says, closing his eyes and focusing on Yuuri’s arms around him to banish the image from his mind. “Thanks to you. You were incredible, Yuuri. Producing a Patronus with so many of them around….”

Yuuri flushes the way he always does when Victor compliments him, and the sight warms Victor’s soul more than chocolate ever could.

“You never told me yours was a poodle, too.” He says, changing the subject abruptly, although the shy smile and light dusting of pink around his cheeks and ears remains.

“I… I didn’t know,” Victor admits. “I’ve never been able to conjure a fully-formed one, before… before I met you.”

I could never come up with a happy enough thought to produce one, he doesn’t say. Yuuri seems to understand anyway, pulling him into another hug and kissing the top of his head protectively.

They rest like that for a few moments more, holding each other close as they work through the aftereffects of the Dementor attack. Eventually, the exhaustion and despair are almost entirely gone, replaced by the sense of warmth and security and overwhelming love that only his Yuuri’s arms can provide.

He wishes he could stay here forever, but they have work to do.

“Come on,” He says with a sigh, standing and helping Yuuri up in turn. “The fact that there were so many gathered means we must be getting close. If we keep moving we might be able to reach the Brotherhood’s base by morning.”

Yuuri rises to his feet and looks up at him, searching his face, concern barely masked in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay to keep going? You still look a bit pale. We can rest for the night if you need to, and keep moving before dawn…”

“I’ll be okay, Yuuri,” Victor assures, managing to muster a weak but genuine smile, which Yuuri returns.

They’re both a little worse for wear, having spent these past few months travelling across the continent on the trail of a powerful organization of Dark wizards. Tonight’s attack, although especially harrowing due to the nature of their foes, is not the first hardship they have had to face, nor will it be the last.

Still, through it all, Victor knows he will never give up hope. As long as he and Yuuri are together, as long as they keep fighting, there is nothing they can’t face.

[devwrites22]

You Already Know

VITYAWEEK DAY 1 (SURPRISES)

You can also read it here on Ao3!

Part One: Yuuri

Yuuri peered through the glass casing that held an array of delectable treats, kneeling to get as close a look as possible. At the front of the display were truffles and toffees, tiny cakes and something that looked like marshmallows coated in shiny chocolate. So many to choose from, yet Yuuri’s mind had been made up long before he walked into the store. He just wanted to get one more look to be sure he wouldn’t have a last-second change of heart.

“A small box of the salted chocolate-covered caramels, please,” Yuuri said to the young woman behind the counter as he straightened back up.

Victor, who had agreed to tag along with Yuuri on a few errands today, looked like his mouth was watering. “Whose birthday did you say this was for, again?”

The woman finished boxing up the confections and gave Yuuri his total. “My cousin’s,” Yuuri answered as he paid. “He’s turning twenty soon, so I wanted to get him a few special things.”  Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Yuuri did have a cousin who had a birthday in a few days, but that’s not why Yuuri was purchasing the candy. “I just hope they don’t melt in transit.”

Victor kissed the top of his head, causing a blush to spread across Yuuri’s cheeks despite how often his fiancé demonstrated little acts of affection. “I’m sure your cousin will love them, melted or not.”

Yuuri smiled up at him, then thanked the chocolatier before heading out the door. He took Victor’s hand with his free one, intertwining their fingers.

“Where to next?” Victor wondered with a light squeeze of Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri hid a smirk. Victor had no idea what was going on, and it was happening right in front of him.

“The florist. We could use some flowers to brighten up the apartment.” With a glance at the sky, Yuuri noted the sun would be setting soon. He had to hurry if he wanted the timing of this to be perfect.

At the florist, Yuuri picked up a bouquet made up of roses and chamomiles and peonies. He had originally planned to also stop at the liquor store for Victor’s favorite champagne, but when he’d told Phichit his plan over the phone, Phichit warned that Victor might start to catch on at that point. Excuses could only get him so far, and Yuuri didn’t want to risk the surprise being ruined.

“Let’s take the scenic way home,” Yuuri suggested as they left the shop. He could feel nervousness creeping up on him now. He tried to keep it at bay. He had no real reason to be anxious, after all. “We haven’t taken a walk through the park in a while.”

Luckily, Victor seemed oblivious to Yuuri’s slight shift in mood. “That sounds lovely.”

Yuuri kept up casual conversation as they took their usual route through the park near their apartment, but his mind was whirring. His heart did a little jump as they approached the right turn in the path that would eventually lead them to the main road. But before the street came into sight, the park opened up into an area where a gazebo sat between two large trees. Yuuri had seen people studying in it, or enjoying some quality time with a friend, or simply people-watching. And tonight, it would transform into something entirely new.

When they rounded the corner, the sight in front of them stunned even Yuuri. The gazebo was sparkling with pale yellow and pink fairy lights, which also wound around the trees. The roof was adorned in banners of white cloth that fluttered in the light breeze. In the back, a bottle champagne sat in a bucket of ice next to a lit candle on a glass table. Yuuri silently thanked Yakov, Yuri, Mila, and Georgi for their help in setting all of this up.

Victor let out a faint gasp. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “Yuuri? What is this?”

Yuuri merely answered with a crooked smile. He held Victor’s hand again and led him to the center of the gazebo. As he set the flowers and chocolates on the table, the music of Etta James’s At Last began playing from behind them. Right on time. Victor turned as the first notes of the song filled the air to see a string quartet emerging from their nearby hiding place. Yuuri heard him whisper his name again.

When Victor turned back around, Yuuri was on one knee. Yuuri grinned at the look of pure love and happiness on Victor’s face. Tears had already welled in the taller man’s eyes, and Yuuri had to fight from crying, himself. He’d let his own tears flow freely, but not until he said everything he wanted to say to the man before him.

“Vitya, you already know you’re the love of my life. You already know that I’ve been head-over-heels for you since the moment I laid eyes on you. That I’m captivated by your kind heart, your contagious smile, your carefree spirit. You already know I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life by your side, wherever that takes us. But even though we exchanged rings, I never officially asked you the question I already know the answer to. So, I want to ask that question now.” Victor lifted a hand to cover his mouth, as if he was trying to keep himself from openly weeping.

Yuuri paused a moment to take everything in. He wanted this moment etched into his memory. Every bit of expression on Victor’s face, the beauty surrounding them, the sweet summer breeze. Finally he took a steady breath, gazed into his fiancé’s gorgeous eyes, and said softly yet clearly, “Victor Nikiforov, will you marry me?”

He barely got the words out before Victor responded with an exuberant, “Yes, of course!”

Yuuri kissed Victor’s ring and beamed up at him. “Good,” he whispered. Victor knelt to Yuuri’s level, and Yuuri blushed as his fiancé gently caressed his face in the palms of his hands. Then their lips met, and a jolt of electricity sparked through Yuuri’s body.

He lost track of how long they sat kissing on the floor of the gazebo. But it must have been at least the length of At Last, because another song was playing when they finally pulled apart. Yuuri wiped the tears from Victor’s face with his thumbs. “Would you care for some chocolates and champagne?”

“Always,” Victor murmured. They moved to the table, where Yuuri poured each of them a glass of the Laurent-Perrier. The candle flame flickered and stretched. Yuuri held his glass up, and Victor did the same.

“To you, my Victor. For being the best fiancé I could ever ask for.”

“And to you, my Yuuri,” Victor said with a smirk, “for never failing to surprise me.”

Part Two: Victor

Each time Victor thought he knew true happiness, Yuuri seemed to prove him wrong. When Victor dared to think, ‘I am the happiest I have ever been,’ Yuuri managed to bring an even brighter smile to his face, even more warmth to his heart.

Now, looking down and seeing the love of his life on one knee before him... This. This is what true happiness must feel like. 

It took everything in him not to break down in tears. He dropped to his knees, almost threw his arms around Yuuri in a tight embrace. But instead, he gingerly cupped his face, gazed at him in adoration. Kissed him ever so sweetly.

As they toasted to each other, an amused and impressed smile played at his lips. Yuuri had managed to pull all of this off right under his nose, and he hadn’t once caught on. 

One of these days, Victor was going to have to surprise him back. 

[k-yuri]

Something I did really quick for Vitya week day 7: Life HAPPY BIRTHDAY VICTOR~

[k-yuri]

This is for Vitya Week 2017 day 6: Love It’s late, but here it is! Now I need to get day 7 done before the day ends!!!

[k-yuri]

Vitya week 2017 Day 5 Hashtag Ninja

[chat-noir-chocolat]

Work in progress for Tumblr Vityaweek2017, Day 2 - “Youth”. A young Victor and his parents. #yurionice #victornikiforov #yoi #vityaweek #vityaweek2017 #elinoorjacob