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On a lot of days, it's easy to forget. Memories are but a fickle thing, especially when shrouded by a persona, a mere figurine, a shadow of your self, except, your silhouette shapes itself into a grotesqueness of figure so detached from your own, carved by the lights and the cameras and interviews and magazine covers; so terrifyingly easy it is to forget your identity beyond the physicality.
Who am I, you ask, and find your shell slipping into a negative space, a void that confines and overwhelms, because who are you beyond a two-dimensional god? Who are you, as a mere human?
On those days Victor lays beneath the covers, long after the pale sun has washed aglow its warmth upon the terrain of St. Petersburg, and the birds have ceased to chirp, drowned out by the vehicular and industrial urbanism of the busy city. On those days, Victor finds himself suffocated by the uncertainty of his self and the noise beyond the windows of his apartment. By the scream trapped in his throat. By the sun that intrudes. He is despised by the weight of his bones, finding himself hollow. And on those days, Yuuri pours his love into him. He kisses his forehead gently, hoping to quiten the storm inside his husband's head, and allows the curtain to fall upon the painful dawn, lest the soft serenity of night slip away.
On those days, Yuuri squiggles back into the warm blanket they share, and shares Victor's despair. Holds him close, and lets tears fall upon his bare chest down the flesh of his heart. Takes his hand and strokes each finger with the gentlest caresses knowing the fragility of his lover as his own. Places a kiss on each knuckle, lingering on the ring that binds their souls together and waits for him to grasp for breath above the wanton waters that promise to drown. Here I am, Yuuri whispers with his lips upon Victor's skin, Here I am, and here is my hand that will not harm you. Here is my hand you can hold, into eternity and then beyond.
When breaths become slower and the air loses its frailty, they make their way to the kitchen, in fluffy pajamas and an oversized poodle trailing their steps, nudging at her owner trying to bring to his weary face a ghost of a smile. They sit on the kitchen table, eating cereal, for Yuuri refuses to let go of his husband's hand to put his culinary skills to use. Not today, he thinks. Today these hands belong to someone else. Today these hands are to hold and to comfort. And Victor clings to Yuuri, needing every form of reassurance he can grasp at. Any floating timber or block to hang onto.
They sit at the table in a delicate quietude, no conversation except their lingering touches; touches that say I am here, and you are here, and it isn't enough, it isn't okay, but it will be.
On those days, Yuuri reminds him. Reshapes his words to the varied melodies of his love, playing upon their strings in cupid's notes, and he reminds Victor of who he is when the superficiality of his gold has melted into the horizon and the ice has been thawed by its rays.
"You bear an identity", he says today, running his hands through the soft tufts of Victor's not-balding-hair, "beyond what you have invented, because there is a core in you that has survived through the storms. You carry an identity because you have a witness of who you are when everything else has faded away. You are Victor. You are Victor who leaves love notes of poetry beside the table when you wake up before me. You are Victor with terrible handwriting."
"Yuuri", Victor softly protests only to be hushed by one of Yuuri's kisses and an 'oh shut up the pharmacist could probably give me a prescription if I was to show him one of your notes'
"You are Victor who hates cliche romantic movies but is a hopeless sap all the same." Victor giggles breathily at that, and Yuuri places another kiss upon his cheek and smiles back at his lover. "You are Victor who loves flowers and architecture, holding in you an abundance of knowledge about buildings and churches and palaces and gardens and the people who created and lived in them. You are Victor who is an exceptional artist, painting landscapes in vivid detail and a joyful vibrancy of colour. You are Victor who loves gothic movies and novels, and you are also Victor who loves reading fanfiction in your free time."
Yuuri pauses, letting Victor take in his words to quell the fiercest tides, a kiss on top of his head before he continues.
"You are Victor who is kind and considerate, but often flimsy with his words, never knowing what to say; you are Victor who can make any situation awkward but then charm your way through it." Victor laughs softly and tucks himself further into Yuuri's embrace as if it would allow him to absorb the words he says and conjure them into a boat that leads him to shore.
"You are Victor who is annoying sometimes, but also so overflowing with love. You are Victor who stops in street for each dog and an occasional cat, you are Victor whose instagram is more a dog account than a person account." Victor's body relaxes with each word, a soft smile adorning his lips.
When the morrow has passed its glow to the brighter afternoon, they take a nap in each others arms, tired out by the storm they waddled through together to reach a temporary shore. Evening finds them at Victor's favourite café, a ten-minute walk away from their apartment, and there again, Yuuri reminds Victor of his self that exists beyond what he finds himself to remember. There the waitress welcomes them with a familiar smile and brings Victor a creamy latte without him asking for anything. Victor asks about her daughter, the waitress in return telling him that Emelie misses Victor and he should pay a visit again soon. That Victor is the only one who plays lego with her, so Emelie says.
Yuuri is quiet, as he often is on these days, only voicing his order and nothing else, patting Makka on the head as he feeds her small bites of his sandwich. He allows Victor to rediscover himself in people who know him when he isn't carving art with his blades on ice, in the stray cat who has taken to standing outside their door because Victor took to the habit of feeding it, but won't enter the door, in the old lady of their local flower shop who smiles fondly at Victor as he passes by, in and among the roads Victor is familiar with, but sometimes forgets to look around him. Yuuri makes Victor look around him, allowing him to access again the paths that lead him to himself.
He may forget again, but that's okay. Yuuri is there to walk him through it, again and again; for that is the joy of rediscovery, there is always something new about the path you walk on, something you didn't realize was there.
When dinner has been eaten and the dishes washed in giggles and bubbles and frothy kisses, and night returns with a familiar chill, they find each other beneath the blanket where Yuuri presses his lips into the nape of Victor's neck and Victor intertwines his fingers with Yuuri's where they rest upon his stomach, holding him close from behind.
Before Victor drifts off floating onto a calmer sea, "If you forget everything else", Yuuri says into his skin, "remember that you are the Victor who loves me. When you can find in yourself to be nothing else, remind yourself that you are mine. When you are too tired to be anything, remember that you are Yuuri's Victor, and you'll always be."