where the heart is
@lyotsar
It's once the boxes are all tucked into a corner of the living room that Yuuri lets himself finally breathe and take in his surroundings.
It shouldn't feel that strange, being in this apartment. Yuuri's lived with Viktor all those days at Yu-topia, has shared hotel room after hotel room with his coach-turned-rival-and-still-coach. But there's something deeply intimate with the notion of being in a space that is uniquely Viktor's, well and truly living here. He's almost scared to touch anything lest he change anything out of its original configuration.
Deeper down, there's another urge: something more visceral, territorial. The idea of leaving traces of himself, of signs he's here too, the two of them alone in shared space. Yuuri casts a curious gaze at the kitchen, with its sleek and minimalistic décor. Like something out of an interior design magazine, maybe. He should have known Viktor does everything in style. In spite of this, it feels foreign; Yuuri’s mind struggles, still, to reconcile everything he's known with the reality that he's genuinely here to stay. So Yuuri turns to the one familiar thing in this space: the man himself. He sags a little against Viktor's side, resting his head a bit on Viktor's shoulder, fingers tentatively reaching out to curl at the edge of the man’s sleeve.
"I think that's the last of them," he says, surveying the stacks of boxes. It's manageable. He could easily unpack everything within the next few hours if he really puts his mind to it. But rather than be any more productive, he simply lingers at Viktor's side, soaking in his presence like a drained phone trying to replenish its battery. His fingers curl a little further into Viktor’s sleeve, idly wrinkling the fabric. "It feels kind of surreal. I know we were basically living together in Hasetsu, but it—feels different, now."
