y-uuuri:

Victor used to considered a fashion icon. Yuuri knows this because when he was little he bought all of the magazines that Victor was in, stared at photos of his idol for what felt like hours and traced them with his fingers. He was thirteen and in love with the Victor who wore high waisted ripped jeans and tank tops, posed for pictures with fans in fur (“It’s fake,” he told reporters once, “I could never do my dear Makkachin so dirty.”) coats and ankle boots. Yuuri fell in love with the Victor who wore his long hair in pretty braids tucked into a bun at the back of his head and pink chapstick and blush on his cheeks. Thirteen year old Yuuri was in love, and so was fifteen year old Yuuri, eighteen year old Yuuri.

He’s twenty four now, and in just as much love as before, but differently. He is in love with Victor. The Victor who used to be a fashion icon but isn’t so much now. The Victor who wears sweatpants and worn knitted sweaters, converse that hug his feet gently and hats with pompoms that hide his ears from the cold. When Victor wears jeans, boyfriend styled ones that hug his legs loosely (and his bum tightly) and cuff at his ankles, Yuuri slips his fingers into the back pockets as they walk down streets side by side or dance together in the living room. He’s in love with the Victor who pushes his bangs back with little plastic clips and he’s in love with the Victor who lets his freckles show on his pale cheeks and across the bridge of his slender nose. He’s in love with the Victor who sleeps in fleece pyjama pants and soft tee shirts, eyelids fluttering with his dreams, short hair splayed out on his pillow and cushioning his head softly. Yuuri likes to watch him sometimes (a lot), every muscle in Victor’s body relaxed and comfortable, warmly cocooned in the blankets. (Sometimes he snores a little and Yuuri thinks it’s adorable.)

“Love you,” Yuuri whispers one evening against Victor’s lips, his thumbs slipping into the waistband of Victor’s leggings, “I love you so much.”

Victor smiles, the one that he saves just for Yuuri, his mouth a little lopsided and a dimple appearing in his left cheek, and he’s gorgeous. Yuuri thinks of the posters that he still keeps, cramped into a box at the bottom of their closet, and he knows that Victor is so much more beautiful like this. Happy.