The color of the sunlight feels different, Viktor thinks. Something about it seems richer, fuller, and warmer, compared to before. It streams through the window when he reaches and reaches and stretches a touch further, until his fingertips brush the curtain and he can pull it aside, and it spills into the bedroom like honeyed silk splashing over everything he sees.
“Mmngh,” Yuuri mumbles groggily, shifting. He’s lying with his head pillowed on Viktor’s arm, snuggled up against his side, but now he turns, burying his face in Viktor’s shoulder to avoid the light. Viktor chuckles to himself, stroking Yuuri’s cheek, and just pulls him closer, wrapping his other arm around him too. They don’t have to be up yet.
Here’s the thing. Before, before his Yuuri came into his life, he never enjoyed lying around on his days off, never watched the dust dance in the sunlight, never lay back and thought, I am happy. Before Yuuri, he doesn’t think he really knew what that was like.
But now, Yuuri is warm in his arms, and maybe his weight has cut off all circulation to one of them, but that doesn’t matter. The sunlight is warm and heavenly, golden and soft like the dawn, and Viktor is happy. It’s not a sudden realization. It’s slow, like the tendrils of light slowly getting brighter on the horizon until they creep into this room and illuminate the curves of Yuuri’s shoulders. But oh, god, he is so, so happy.
“Darling,” he murmurs, bowing his head to nuzzle his lips against Yuuri’s forehead. “Good morning.”
Yuuri lets out a slow, airy sigh. “Vitya,” he breathes, his fingers twitching and curling into the hair at the nape of Viktor’s neck. “Stay…”
Viktor chuckles. “I’m not getting up just yet,” he promises, and satisfied, Yuuri slips one of his legs between Viktor’s, trapping him close.
It’s funny, he thinks. He never used to care for his days off. Those would be days when he could spend time with Makkachin, but those were also days where he would sit, alone, in his empty apartment, and stare blankly at a wall that would stare blankly back. It was dreary, and the world seemed washed-out and lonesome and grey.
It’s not grey anymore. The sunshine that he holds cradled to his heart, right here, right now, has painted it all golden, and it’s the most beautiful color he’s ever seen.