And suddenly Viktor came to his senses, remembering what Yuuri told him. He didn’t need anyone overstepping his boundaries.
Viktor backed away from the door slowly, making sure his footsteps were audible. “I’m not weak,” he heard Yuuri whisper from his room, and he knew he wasn’t meant to hear that.
Viktor returned to his room, hugging Makkachin close to his chest. “He’ll come out,” Viktor told the large dog. Makkachin thumped his tail and stuck out his tongue. “Eventually,” Viktor mumbled.
Yuuri did, almost three hours later. Viktor noticed his shadow through the thin screen of the door. Yuuri hadn’t knocked, and Viktor didn’t think he was even going to. He opened the door for him anyway.
Yuuri’s eyes were turned down, but he lifted his hand from his side. Viktor took it with a smile.
“I made you feel weak.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“But I did. So I’m sorry,” Viktor said. “I should have known better.” He squeezed Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri squeezed back.
“I’m sorry too,” Yuuri said. And slowly, he let his arms wrap around Viktor’s body, allowing himself to sink into the solid warmth. Viktor welcomed him.
“You push pretty hard,” Viktor said.
Yuuri didn’t say anything, but Viktor swore his ears turned a bit red.
“I’m pretty sure you could lift me with that kind of strength,” Viktor continued.
Yuuri’s hand scrunched up the front of Viktor’s shirt.
“Just you wait, Nikiforov,” Yuuri chuckled into his shirt.
carey price, sitting with crossed legs on a sleek black leather armchair, engulfed in a single spotlight from above with the rest of the room bathed in darkness, his chin held in his hands: