(you son-of-a-bitch)

When he wakes up Victor is there, like a dream. Each morning has been like a dream but the dream didn’t end and it didn’t grow thin or lose its color as days became weeks became months. No, it grew–larger, warmer, brighter–

“You’re awake.”

–like dawn. Like the bright, warm sun cresting over a frozen lake. Brighter because the night was dark, warmer because the ice is cold.

“I’m awake.”

“And how do you feel?” They pushed the hotel beds together. They slept in a tangle. Their relationship is like a rainbow in the corner of Yuuri’s eye–squint at it, try to pin it down, and it becomes vapor, mist, and yet their love is as solid as the rings around their fingers. Victor brings Yuuri’s hand to his lips, and the dream is made stronger. It seems possible now that it could stretch on forever.

“How do I feel?” Maybe Yuuri can go on repeating Victor forever just to taste the same words, but he must remember to go beyond Victor, too, to surprise the surpriser, seduce the seducer, master the master. “Hungry,” he says.

Victor laughs, “For katsudon?”

“Yes, that,” Yuuri smiles. Daylight shines gold in Victor’s blue eyes. “And more.”

“An extra-large bowl?” Victor teases. His eyes are red-rimmed from yesterday’s tears. Yuuri’s eyes sting, too. And still the dream continues, the possibility of–

“More.”

“What an appetite you have.”

rude..