it’s been seven years since yuuri moved into viktor’s apartment. makkachin’s getting old and grey around the muzzle, but still loves to snuggle and walks in the snow. viktor’s forgotten what life was like before yuuri, before he was happy. every time he turns his attention to the future, it’s not a cold mystery, an open door through which the wind is blowing, not anymore. it’s warm, it’s safe, it’s not lonely now. they’re a couple of retired champion skaters. yuri plisetsky is still chasing gold medals in the fever of youth and brilliance. they go to watch him at competitions now and then. but mostly they spend their days together. quiet, peaceful days. twice a year they fly out to visit hasetsu. viktor never gets sick of it, the food, the hot springs, the way yuuri fits into the scenery like it’s a painting, and he’s the foreground it was missing.