adreamingsongbird:

“i love your smile,” yuuri says, dusting the photographs on the shelf by the couch, and it’s a bad day but viktor knows it shouldn’t be, because there’s no reason for it to be bad. yuuri loves his smile. he should smile more, because it makes yuuri happy, and yuuri deserves to be happy. yuuri deserves to be around someone who makes him happy.

so he smiles, smiles just like he always has, so that when yuuri turns around he’ll see it and he’ll smile back, and maybe the little whispers insidiously reminding him that he’s nothing special anymore and he’s in his thirties now and the world has moved on and doesn’t need him anymore will stop. because yuuri smiling at him always makes things better, always, always, doesn’t it?

(because if yuuri hears the voices, he might agree, and if yuuri realized he doesn’t need him anymore, that viktor needs him far more than he needs viktor, that would be it. viktor would–he would shatter, on the spot, like broken glass, like shards of ice, waiting to melt in the sun.)

yuuri turns around, and he… doesn’t smile.

“oh,” he sighs, brow furrowing, and then he walks over and straddles his lap and pokes his cheek. “now that’s not the smile i love. don’t force it, vitya.”

“but you like it when i smile,” viktor says, helpless, because he’s been caught, and the whispers are loud. “i just want you to be happy.”

“i am happy,” yuuri says, looping his arms around his neck and leaning in to press their foreheads together. his skin is warm and his eyes are full of love. “you’re here. that’s enough.”

the whispers freeze. viktor’s breath catches in his throat. “but i’m not smiling.”

“that’s okay.” yuuri kisses him, brief and gentle, a soft press of lips. “i love you when you’re making this face, too. you know what? i even love you when you steal all the blankets, and that’s saying something.”

it’s unexpected enough to make him let out a bark of surprised laughter, and then yuuri kisses him again, grinning.

“see? there,” he says. “that’s the smile i meant. you see, vitya? it’ll always come back.”

there’s something unsaid there (the darkness will pass, the bad days aren’t forever, the clouds will fade) that he can’t quite word, but the whispers fall silent completely, stunned into silence by yuuri’s casual brilliance. he stares at the man in his lap for a moment, at his best friend, the love of his life, his husband, and feels the weight start to lift from his chest. for the first time today, he can breathe.

“you’re right,” he agrees, very softly. yuuri caresses his cheek, and viktor leans his face into his palm, closes his eyes, and smiles.