joasakura:

3. what’s their favorite food?

I mean, I’m tempted to say “Food,: because come on, this is Vanya. But the top three would have to be ice cream, fried chicken. (especially if said chicken is homemade karaage), and shchi (cabbage soup)

4. what’s their least favorite food?

Every variant of Vanya ever: ?!!? does not compute. 

34. which season do they prefer? why? 

He would say winter because he’s got this dumb “I can survive anything” mantra. But the truth is Vanya is a straight up  Pinterest-level, pumpkin-spice swilling fan of autumn. He loves when leaves change, when nights are cold but the days aren’t. 

Vanya calls the university’s Fall Break, “Lazy Break,” because Ianto makes a large effort to do as little as possible unless absolutely necessary. His laptop gathers dust in his office, his email goes ignored, and his phone runs out of battery unless Vanya happens to find it to whatever corner of the house it’s wandered off to and plug it in. The only time he moves from a reclining or semi-reclining position is when Vanya asks him to use his formidable height to counteract the Russian’s belligerent shortness. Thankfully it’s usually brief. Changing a light bulb or grabbing something from off of the high shelf in the garage.

Other than that, the professor becomes one with the couch, and Vanya tends to let him because 6′4″ of gym-toned nerd still isn’t enough space to contain all of the school year’s stress and mathematical mania without eventually causing a heart attack. They’re not getting any younger.

“You’re hairs are more gray,” Vanya sees fit to murmur to the back of Ianto’s head, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of Thanos trying to destroy the universe for the third time that weekend.

Ianto jerks his head to the side with a light, “tsk,” though he doesn’t lose pace with his knitting. “I know you think I can’t see yours, but I can,” he answers mildly. “You’re getting blonder.”

Vanya leans over the back of the couch, resting his chin on Ianto’s shoulder, eyes idly flicking between Ianto’s project and the TV. “All this knitting and loud TV. You remind me of a grandmother.”

With a snort, Ianto says, “okay, so your tone suggests you’re making fun of me. However, I think a comparison to anyone in your bloodline, real or imagined, is probably a compliment.”

Vanya plants a sloppy kiss on Ianto’s temple and slides around the couch to sit beside him, helping him untangle some of the brick red yarn. “Maybe this is true,” he smiles.

“Your grandma knitted as a way to keep her weapon close and inconspicuous.”

Vanya laughs. “She’s very smart, my imagined grandmother.”

“She is,” Ianto answers with a benign smile. 

Vanya plucks at the ball of yarn tucked between them on the couch. “You are making something for me, yes?” he asks hopefully.

Ianto glances over with a grin. “Of course I am. A sweater to clash with your hair.”

Vanya scowls in pleasure down at the bundle in Ianto’s lap; a simple cabled design. It will look terrible on him. “I love you,” he says.

Ianto shrugs awkwardly, turning back to the TV, and never quite used to hearing those endearments in English. Neck hot, he answers, “same.”