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” ₍ᐢ .ܸ .ܸ ᐢ₎ “

━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━

It was painfully obvious to anyone who looked: Victor loved his partner.

Not in a quiet, subtle way.

Not in the kind of way that kept feelings tucked neatly in a pocket.

No, Victor loved them loudly, proudly, with that careless, unstoppable devotion that made the world around him seem smaller, dimmer, as if it existed solely to frame the two of them.

He talked about them constantly, bragged about them like they were a rare treasure, like anyone who didn’t see it was simply blind.

He spoiled them—not because they needed it, never that—but because he couldn’t help it.

Victor adored every impossible detail: the tilt of their smile, the sound of their laugh, the way they moved through a room and made it feel alive.

And he loved touch—oh, he loved it more than he’d ever admit.

The press of their hands on him made the world fall away.

Victor’s arms wrapped around them like he was trying to memorize every curve, every warmth, pressing his snout into their stomach as his ears twitched with every gentle caress.

Soft chittering and trills slipped from him unconsciously, little melodies of contentment he couldn’t control.

His milky white eyes were closed, surrendering entirely to the comfort, the intimacy.

Their fingers circled his ears, rubbed the sensitive base, and he shivered violently, a low hum—half purr, half whimper—escaping him.

His body pressed closer, face burrowing further into their warmth, as if he could disappear entirely into the feeling. Each touch, each gentle scratch, was a tether to something unbearably good, something he never wanted to end.

Victor wasn’t subtle.

He didn’t need to be.

Because love like his—messy, loud, tender—wasn’t meant to hide.