Dolce, Affettuoso (слэш)

Watching him skate… Yuuri couldn’t remember ever feeling the way he did while Victor glided along the ice, eyes cast above to the heavens, long hair trailing behind him like a river of molten silver, hands reaching out for something nameless that seemed just beyond his reach. He remembered being 12, still in love with the ice, wanting nothing more than to spend his future on it, before his traitorous body pushed it forever out of reach. But even as those memories were tainted by the bitterness of life’s cruelty, he could still remember the indescribable feeling in his chest the moment he saw Victor Nikiforov step out onto the ice for the first time. The way what felt like every single fibre of his being lit up, enraptured by the figure clad in black that flew across the ice like he was born to be on it.
It was hardly surprising that his unchecked hero worship grew into something bordering on an obsession. Skating was his life, and with Victor and skating being almost one in the same, it was inevitable that Victor soon became his life. But years later, even after skating was ripped away from him, Victor remained, still as bright and distant as before.