“I hope you never retire,” Victor murmured, wrapping his arms even tighter around Yuuri.
He stood quietly, breathing in the scent of shampoo while Yuuri cried, head nestled in the crook of his neck. He’d really meant it, too. He had no idea what he was doing or how on earth he managed to find someone so perfect for him – and yet so much more than he ever deserved, but there was no way in hell he would ever let go.
“Let’s go find a taxi,” Victor said. Pressing a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head, he shepherded the still-sniffling skater towards the exit and away from prying eyes. Yuuri wiped his nose on his sleeve and followed, Makkachin in tow.
The taxi ride felt eternal.
There was so much to talk about, and there was no way they were going to have that conversation until they were safely nestled at home behind closed doors.
Yuuri fidgeted nervously, keeping his hands busy by fussing with Makkachin’s fur. Even after living together for the better part of a year, Victor knew that he struggled to give all of himself – at least in public. He was probably busy having a heart attack over ever little detail of their exchange at the airport. He scooted himself closer, resting shoulder-to-shoulder, in the hopes that it might provide some reassurance.
Looking over to make sure he was okay, Victor was surprised to see Yuuri staring intently at him. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, as if to say “Yes?”
Just softly enough to be out of earshot of the driver, Yuuri said, “Victor. Can I hold your hand?”
Stomach flip-flopping from the significance of the request, Victor could feel his face heating up. Yuuri had never initiated any sort of public display of affection outside of his skating routines.
He grinned and held out his hand, which Yuuri gently took in his. Victor rested his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and sighed.
“Yuuri, I would very much like for you to hold my hand every day for the rest of my life.”