Yuri!!! On Ice Oneshots (Mostly Victuuri and Otayuri)

The cold never bothered me anywa-damn wait it's actually kinda chilly.

I love this place....but damn—

The wind outside howled, howled like there was no tomorrow. Along with it twirled tiny fractals of ice, falling in harmony with the beat of nature. They danced in the spotlight of the moon like ballerinas, each gifted with their own style of grace and beauty, swirling with each other like partners dancing the tango of the night. In the stage that was the darkness, more and more showered down upon the chilled ground of St. Petersburg, joining the never ending pile of their brethren, coating everything in sight with their white splendor. Occasionally a larger clump of said fractals would slice through this patterned fall, riling the dancers up like a school of fish scrambling as a shark cut through through their group. Then the entire pattern would be broken, the tango dancers suddenly ballerinas and the ballerinas suddenly tango dancers. This change in atmosphere only brought a plummet of unfathomable chill  along with it, sending a city-wide shiver slicing though the buildings and skyscrapers. This wind slipped through the cracks of every door and window in sight, squeezing through every seal you could imagine, no matter how tight or well built it was. This evil wind coated the skin of every living being in its reach, raising hairs everywhere. Most people had built up a tolerance to this mini army, and were practically immune to its attacks. However, for the occasional foreigner who had the displeasure of witnessing this infamous cold in person, well, let's just all agree that the descriptions in books and shows did it no justice.

And if said foreigner was trying to sleep propped up on the arm of on a couch in nothing but a hoodie and sweatpants because he'd fallen asleep waiting for his fiancé to return from a late night meeting... well to say that he was going through hell was way an understatement. Yes the couch itself was soft...and sure this hoodie that smelled like said fiancé brought a comforting smell to him...but with the heater broken and this being the coldest night he had yet to experience in Russia, well, he was unprepared for this bone-chilling air. This icy atmosphere only caused his muscles to tense and shake more violently than what should have been normal for any human being. He pulled his knees closer to his chest in a feeble attempt to conserve any ounce of heat he had to spare, listening to the wind as it cried outside. His eyes screamed to close, as if they were being seduced by the bleak darkness of the room but he fought to keep open in a weak determination to get a chance to see his fiancé before he was whisked away into land of fantasies. He moved his eyes from the bleak gray of his hoodies to the neon numbers of the alarm clock on the shelf in the corner of the room.

1:24 am.

Or was that 12:24? His vision was so blurred he couldn't seem to make out the first numbers. They melted together into a mush, halos of green color filling his vision in an agonizing kaleidoscope of spiraling colors. Feeling slightly sickened at the sight, he removed his sight from the clock and turned his head to stare at the door instead. Though his thoughts had become a web of nonsensical letters in this numbing cold, one thought remained prevalent: I can't wait for Victor to get home.

The wind outside screamed once more, prompting the temperature to drop yet a few more degrees in the room. Teeth clenched, his sank further into the sea of fabric piled up against the corner of the back and seat cushion. The move was wasted energy, as he felt no difference what so ever but slight discomfort. The new fabric the small sliver of bare back came into contact with felt like ice to his skin, sending a plethora of chilled bolts throughout his blood. His eyes closed as he tried to adjust to this new cold, his breath speeding up painfully. Very suddenly, his head felt scarily heavily. It began to bob down, only to jerk back upwards as he became aware of his actions, only to lose that awareness once again and begin to lose consciousness as well. This cycle continued for quite some time, the only thing stringing the man to the line of consciousness being a small through he refused to let go.