Yuuri loves Victor. Maybe not with the obvious devotion that Victor loves to love Yuuri, but Yuuri loves Victor.

In the candlelight, in the private of their bedroom, as Yuuri trails his fingers through his husband’s hair, Yuuri loves him.

At dinner, as Yuuri picks up the last mouthful of cake he can’t finish and feeds it off his fork to his pouting fiance, Yuuri loves him.

Yuuri loves him as he squeezes Victor’s hand right before Victor heads off for his skate, and Yuuri adores him when it’s over and he comes skating right back into Yuuri’s arms, smelling like sweat and ice and gold. Yuuri loves him.

When Makkachin is barking between their legs as they splash water at each other in the kitchen, when they giggle till they’re breathless, when they tickle and they tease each other silly, Yuuri loves him.

When the cameras are on them, when everyone wants to have a word, when the world is staring through the shutters and Victor stands up and gives him the strength to reply, Yuuri loves him.

In the dark, as his husband cries years of loneliness into his shoulder, as Yuuri cuddles and comforts his heart and holds onto him till nothing will make them let go, Yuuri loves him.

On the ice, in the dark, in dawn light and day light and the setting sun, in every country and city and time - always, forever: