Pagophobia [Viktor x Reader]

Together?

It took a while for your tears to dry up but even as they did, you were content to stay inside Viktor's arms, where it was safe and warm.

"Chris is probably wondering where we are," Viktor finally said, pulling back. He'd kept his arms around you as long as he dared, but realised he needed to break it off soon if he was going to let you go. After all, he was under the impression you'd chosen Christophe.

"I don't give a damn what he thinks," you mutter, leaning into Viktor more, unwilling to let go just yet.

"Why not? Aren't you two together?" A laugh escapes through your lips as you wipe the remnants of tears from your face, finally pulling back.

"Where did you get that idea? I told you over the phone, well I told Yuuri but you were there by default. Chris and I are just friends."

"I don't believe that," Viktor said angrily, looking at your attire – your lingerie mostly covered by Chris' hoodie that was over sized on you.

"Friends... with benefits," you admit. You hadn't wanted to tell the Russian for fear he would judge you and run away because of it.

"Now that, is more believable," he said, walking to the kitchen.

"Don't judge me. After the accident, I was an empty mess and Christophe... was just what I needed to feel something - anything again. He gave me the physical affection I craved with no strings attached. It's not like I had anyone important in my life then."

"Then?" Viktor said, raising an eyebrow at me as he looked back. I shrugged as I passed him as I got two mugs from a cupboard and turned on the kettle.

"I may have an object of desire now."

"Who?"

"He's different from anyone I've met. He's confident and only overbearing about things that are none of his business. He has a strange habit of infuriating me every time he opens his mouth, but that's only because I'm broken enough to recognise the truth in his words and it hurts so I push my anger at myself onto him. And despite it, I haven't the courage to properly apologise for my behaviour. So I ran away. But he didn't let me. He followed me, which annoyed me at first, but not many people would take a 12 hour flight to follow me. It made me question my feelings towards him and I realised that if he didn't fly after me, if he'd let me stew about it for weeks by myself, I'd have never forgiven him for not following, and myself for running away the moment things got serious," you admit.

"Are you talking about me?" he asked, his voice breathless.

"Do you see anyone else who followed me to Switzerland?" you asked rhetorically as you turned to face him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you looked up at him.

"You're not completely sober right now," he said as he smelt your breath.

"No, I don't think so," you respond, your lips inching closer to his. When your lips were close to his, he put a finger on your mouth.

"Not while your drunk. Not yet, at least," he cautioned.

"Ah, but if I have the hangover, I'm not drunk anymore, so I must not be drunk," you argue.

"Nice try, lyubov moya," he says, placing a kiss on your forehead before going to finish the tea you started.

"Say what now?" you blink, not understanding the Russian.

"Lyubov moya. Look it up."

"Hmmm?" you ponder, "I'll ask Chris later." You sit on the kitchen bench, watching Viktor make the tea. You wonder when exactly it was that your feelings for the Russian man in front of you turned from jealousy and anger to affection. You suppose he spoke one too many truths that hit home that caused you to feel like he understood you.