#and fuck it cao cao probably does too let's be honest

[zhoudadudugongjin]

Zhao Zilong

Drawn with this picture as reference

[initiumseries]

CAOS Part 3 - review

Uh, okay, so I think by now, we all know this show is terrible. Netflix gives showrunners a lot of creative freedom, and I think, for better writers, you could get some really interesting content, but they just seem to keep giving these assholes who wrote the travesty called Riverdale, so many opportunities to make more shitty television, and I feel like they really deserve to be limited in their ability to create/write if not stopped completely and thrown into a well with Julie Plec.  Anyway, I’ll try to break this down as best as I can into different piles of shit and this will contain spoilers:

Characters

Prudence and Ambrose

So, to be really honest, I watch this show exclusively for Prudence and Ambrose. Because, well, look at them: 

I wish they had more chemistry because they are super hot together, and I still ship it. A young Black couple? On TV? In this sea of shitty interracial relationships? I’ll take it. Anyway, of course, the progression of their relationship is ridiculous and frustrating. Ambrose decides at the last minute, not to kill Father Blackwood because he has a weird time egg thing that they don’t really understand, also he has the twins under some weird mind control for no clear reason, so they stay their hands. It doesn’t make sense, but it becomes clear, Father Blackwood has an insane amount of plot armour and ultimately would have to serve as a vessel for Satan. Father Blackwood uses the manipulated mind of the other weird sister to sic her on the coven, and she ends up killing Dorkus, whom Prudence finds. She then blames Ambrose for not allowing her to kill FB, and they break up. Now...this would kinda make sense, if not for the fact that they trapped one of the pagan witches and forced her to change everyone back, but no one bothered to do anything about the mentally ill witch who you all strapped up for a reason? Lol ok. Seems like an oversight on your part Prudence, but...okay. Clearly manufactured breakups are exhausting, especially since [young] Black couples with no serious relationship dysfunction are now an endangered species. It’s also frustrating because we barely got to see them....*be* together, especially after they returned home. 

Nick & Sabrina

So, I know from the beginning, we were supposed to believe that Nick and Sabrina had that kind of, Bad Guy, seduces the girl Good Girl, luring her into the dark side, hot, intense, passionate relationship. But their lack of chemistry and really shitty acting just made them really dry (which I get into here). I don’t believe them, and I definitely don’t believe that Sabrina would, once again, break a shit ton of rules to get Nick back. I just don’t buy that they had that kind of an intense, desperately in love, kind relationship, because they do not look all that comfortable around each other, much less in love. 

I personally find Sabrina utterly unlikeable as a main character, largely because who IS she? She has no personality, she just does whatever the plot needs her to do in the moment, and the actress makes Sabrina appear smug and unremorseful while she fucks up everyone’s lives. There is a lot of exposition of everyone telling us she’s this power hungry, manipulative character, but we never see that. She just does stuff and everyone is all “Sabrina how could you?!” and there are never, ever any consequences. I would have liked to see her push so hard to get Nick back and the struggle being, sure she wants him back, but mostly she’s doing it because she can. But that’s not what happens. 

So Nick ends up in this weird drug addiction, alcohol, sex demon spiral because he has parts of Satan still in him and it all just falls so flat and lame, because this show is SO bad at pacing, and these actors suck, so nothing is believable. The idea of him scrubbing his club foot, having nightmares, suffering PTSD, is fine, the execution was trash. Nick sees Caliban and Sabrina have one interaction and he’s like WELL, GUESS I GOTTA CHEAT. And just ends up in some S&M situation with sex demons and heavily self medicating, but none of this has any weight, and we don’t really see him...spiralling. He just immediately resorts to these things and it has no real impact on anyone or even him really, and that’s it. 

Harvey and Roz

Uh, they’re probably the most confusing match here, because there is no lead up to their relationship, there’s not suggestion, there’s no pacing. Just BOOM, we’re into each other now. BOOM, Roz is the only sexually active person in her friend group (lol of course the Black girl is sexually active. Gotta maintain white innocence at all costs), so she’s just ready to jump Harvey’s bones any second now. So of course, the show punishes her by having the pagans turn her to stone. And as if that’s not bad enough...

Which I talk about here and here, because honestly I’m just sick of this show’s antiblackness.  Theo & that other guy

So I was watching this unfold like, yeeaahh, they’re gonna make the trans guy get with the enemy aren’t they? And yes, they did. Cool, they didn’t kill him off, but I’m still perplexed at how Theo isn’t even a little upset that this guy was basically sent to infiltrate his friend group and sat by while his people harmed Theo’s friends, and also...used him? Like...we just...are gonna...gloss over that because he changed his mind? Lol ok. Sure.

Mambo Marie and suddenly Zelda?

I...I mean her name is Mambo Marie. I love the idea of Black witches finding Black spirituality and magicks through Vodun and a Hatian Priestess. But they quickly undo that, by ensuring that Mambo Marie only teaches Prudence in the presence of these white witches. And we see her...doing...an African drum circle (eye roll), only to be interrupted by the High Priestess of White Feminism, Zelda Spellman. It quickly devolves into thinly veiled racism where Zelda doesn’t trust Marie because she’s Catholic (says the woman who worships Satan, has an anti Pope and prays to Lilith with the same prayer for Mary mother of Jesus? LOL. Not even unpacking the fact that Vodun is an African spirituality having 0 roots in catholicism WHITE WRITERS). Then suddenly, out of nowhere, Marie and Zelda are a thing for no reason? After the way Zelda treated her? Why did Marie even stay? This isn’t her problem. This is a white witch problem. Okay. That’s too much to unpack. 

Plot

So, my biggest problem with almost all Netflix English programming is that they are so obsessed with aesthetics, and don’t pay enough attention to actual character chemistry, plot, story flow, details, pacing etc. Like...things that actually make stories interesting to watch. So they slap all these people together and throw them into aesthetically pleasing backgrounds, shake it up with so much exposition that nothing actually happens, and are like BEHOLD A STORY. And CAOS is *especially* guilty for this.

First of all those musical breaks were annoying as fuck. Musicals serve 2 story functions: advancing the plot or telling a story. These musical numbers did neither and were honestly ridiculously gratuitous, highly annoying and totally pointless.

What time of year is this? Why are we having pep rallies and how the fuck and when did Sabrina and Roz join the cheeleading squad, and why?

for the aesthetics and not for any real plot reason. It just seems stupid because now I don’t know how much time has passed between Nick going to hell and this, because you’re all handling it like it’s been a few weeks and is still relatively fresh, but suddenly, Theo, Harvey and Roz are in a garage band? You’re a cheerleader? For what? Since when? Why? These choices introduce more questions than they answer and serve no narrative purpose. So much wasted time on shit that doesn’t matter. 

Sabrina is supposed to be fighting Caliban (who is literally the only person she has chemistry with on this show and they killed him bc ofc they did), for her seat on the throne, and yet the trials only seem to come up when it’s convenient, and also seem to be directly related to her dealings with her coven, which is also convenient.  I’m so confused about Satan. His powers come from being a celestial being, and so, because his coven mistreats him he’s like...lol okay, well fuck you guys and goes through all these convoluted small motions to greatly inconvenience them and withdraws his powers? This is so petty and pathetic. Also, what’s the point? He could just wipe them out and start over, instead of skulking around inside FB then suddenly decides to track down Lilith. Again, convoluted. This plot is all over the place. Why does Satan need Sabrina to be Queen of Hell in the first place? He seems perfectly healthy. Why can’t he just rule it? Like...that makes no sense. What is he gonna do? Retire? WHAT is going ON?

How did Sabrina come back in time to herself stuck in stone? Is that trip to Pontius Pilate (lol) supposed to have created a loophole for her to save herself and everyone? This is giving me hardcore Twilight Breaking Dawn vibes, where, the show finally, FINALLY gets interesting, there’s real stakes, shit is actually happening instead of everyone talking about things happening (Hilda ending up killing her fiance was literally the only time I felt something watching this show because it was genuinely sad, and well acted, and Hilda coming through with that doll at the end was pretty disturbing, I’ll give them that), and ofc, Sabrina goes back in time and undoes it all. Lol. Okay. God forbid there be real consequences to anything on this show.

Final thoughts

Once again, the white feminism runs high on this show. They treat this Black Vodun Priestess Marie, like garbage, allude to her “foreign” magic, but Marie is sitting here like “we’re not men, we’re women, let’s work together.” This is why I hate white writers writing for Black characters. Black characters should have Black motivations, and a Black Vodun Priestess, should know that white women and Black women do not have aligned motivations just because they share a gender. Once they started with the bullshit right from her arrival, she should have handed Prudence her card and peaced tf out. Instead she tolerates the isolation, ostracization and thinly veiled racism...and decides to stay, and help. WHY? Marie has gained nothing by sticking around helping these ungrateful ass witches. I honestly would have preferred Prudence asking her to stay to learn more about Vodun, and them building a mentor/mentee type of relationship, especially since Prudence was the one who invited her and stepped to Zelda to defend her. I want(ed) to see that relationship go somewhere. The deliberate denial of healthy Black female friendships on tv is frustrating.

 These witches finally finding their power in their ancestors and I donno, some female creator or whatever, reminds me of white women “finding” wicca and praying to “Gaia”, (reminds me of BTVS s4 when Willow joins the wicca group) which is basically what happened but lol okay whatever. I guess they aren’t satanic witches anymore. Lol, I love how Harvey and Roz and Theo are teenagers, human teenagers, who have lead largely normal teenage lives up until this point, but see their loved ones tortured, deformed or murdered in hell, with basically no residual issues, and are all like, YES, let’s roll up on these adults with shotguns and swords and kill the FUCK outta these people!! That absolutely sounds normal! Like...what? Lol. God this is just so bad.

Also, I’m so confused by this aesthetic choice for Sabrina as Queen of Hell. Like what the fuck. Why is she dressed like a Victorian era queen, with shoulder and a broken rib bodice? What?!

This show is truly awful, this season made no more sense than the last two and now that Prudence and Ambrose aren’t together, I might be done watching. 

-20/10

[delicioussshame]

Fuck it, have some wips I’ve been trying to get back to but alas, it’s not going well.

________________________________

“Shizun… It’s Shizun, isn’t it?”

Shen Qingqiu turns towards Luo Binghe, for who else could it be? “Yes.”

Luo Binghe, is, obviously, still as devastatingly handsome as he ever was. He didn’t lose anything by switching from the traditional style to more modern fashion. Maybe, Shen Qingqiu despairs, he even gained from it. Those jeans are literally stopping traffic.

He might miss his long locks though. Short hair suits him, but it wouldn’t feel the same under his fingers.

Shen Qingqiu shakes himself back to reality. The feeling of Luo Binghe’s hair under doesn’t have anything to do with him anymore.  “Binghe seems like he did well for himself.” He has no doubt on the matter. Managing their wealth through time was a challenge, but nothing an array of trusts, shell corporations, insider knowledge and skilled lawyers couldn’t arrange. Shen Qingqiu has been living lavishly for decades. He’s sure Binghe did the same.

“So does Shizun.”

The appellation brings a smile to his lips. It’s so ridiculous. Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe had spent centuries together. In comparison, the time Shen Qingqiu taught Luo Binghe was infinitesimal. The title is meaningless.

Luo Binghe used to say that Shen Qingqiu taught him something new every day. That they could spend eternity together and he’d never learn enough from him.

That was long ago now.

“This must be similar to the era Shizun came from, isn’t it?”

“Pretty much.” It’s not quite the same. Some events went differently, some didn’t, but daily life is almost indistinguishable

Investing in Tencent still proved profitable though.

Luo Binghe is wavering, obviously wondering if he’ll dare to say whatever he’s thinking of saying.  

It’s probably not a good idea. “Well, it was nice seeing you. I’m sure you have things to do.” Shen Yuan departs.

Or tries to. He’s hindered by Luo Binghe’s grasp on his arm. “Binghe. Let go.”

Shen Qingqiu almost stumbles from the shock of seeing Luo Binghe’s eyes swell with tears for the first time in forever. His heart squeezes like Binghe was still his young and eager husband, crumbling under the slightest disapproval. Without his consent, his hand reaches up and wipes those tears away gently, the gesture so familiar it hurt. “A-Yuan, please, don’t go! Give this disciple a day, no, an evening to catch up! I will take him to the best restaurant, pay for the grandest hotel, whatever he wants, as long as he spares me a fraction of his time.”

Shen Qingqiu knows better. He can’t falter here. He can’t let Luo Binghe charm him into a nice dinner where alcohol flows until, both of them tipsy, they fall into bed again and Shen Qingqiu finds himself spending another decade in Luo Binghe’s embrace.

________________________________

Shen Qingqiu pokes the collar half-heartedly.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with it. The leather is of the finest quality, soft and supple under his touch. Shen Qingqiu is pretty sure he could wear it all day without feeling sore or constricted. It’s white too, so between his skin and his robe, it wouldn’t even clash. It would almost be unnoticeable, really.

By all means, it should be black; Luo’s Binghe color. The point, after all, was to claim what was his. A subtle color was an allowance most weren’t afforded.

Then again, most submissives don’t spend their lives pretending they’re not.

He knows the original Shen Qingqiu didn’t manage to fool them all. Yue Qingyuan must know, and he’s pretty sure Mu Qingfang wasn’t fooled either.

Luo Binghe told him he always knew. That he could always feel something different from his shizun.

It’s not that surprising. Luo Binghe had been written as the ultimate dominant, bending every lady to his will with a word. Even if the version of him Shen Qingqiu had grown familiar with was a lot more masochistic than he had any right to be, he still had an intrinsic knowledge of what made everyone tick, the way the best dominants did.

Maybe that’s why he kept things simple. They both had to figure it out to begin with. More formal scenes could wait. Or, you know, just not happen. Shen Qingqiu is pretty sure that way would have been easier to handle.

________________________________

Mu Qingfang must really care for Liu Qingge’s wellbeing.

It’s the only reason Shen Yuan can think of for his presence every time Liu Qingge shows up for treatment, which is often. Shizun doesn’t shadow him when he’s with other patients. He can take care of most casual wounds and infections thrown his way with ease. The light cut on Liu Qingge’s arm barely merits treatment, to be honest. Not that Shen Yuan is going to tell Liu Qingge of all people that. He’s going to clean the wound, bandage it and send him on his merry way without a word about wasting the time of one of Mu Qingfang’s most senior disciples.

“Here, all done. Liu-shibo should be completely healed before tomorrow.” His cultivation would have taken care of it anyway.

Liu Qingge nods.

“Shen Yuan has other tasks to see to. If Liu-shixiong feels better, he should return to his peak. I’m sure his students missed him.”

Liu Qingge frowns at Mu Qingfang. “They don’t. They’re busy with their training.”

“Then Shixiong should go help them.”

Liu Qingge glares at Mu Qingfang, to Shen Yuan’s bafflement. Maybe they really don’t get along because Mu Qingfang doesn’t trust Liu Qingge not to create trouble everywhere he goes?

Liu Qingge stops glaring at Mu Qingfang and turns to Shen Yuan. “I’ll be back.”

Shen Yuan cringes interiorly. “Liu-shibo should take care of himself better instead of counting on this disciple’s meagre skills.” Please, Liu Qingge, what’s the point of having saved your life if you keep hurting yourself? You’ll be dead again before Luo Binghe turns evil!

Well, he won’t if Shen Yuan has a say about it, but let’s just admit he’s not very confident in his chances.

“Your skills are fine.”

Shen Yuan blinks. “…Thank you.” At least he’s being appreciated?

Mu Qingfang sighs as Liu Qingge departs. “Liu-shixiong isn’t a bad man, but he sometimes doesn’t know how to interact with people correctly.”

“Liu-shibo has never been improper with me.” He can be rude and demanding, but nothing Shen Yuan can’t handle. He’s dealt with disciples wounded in both body and pride that were much more of a handful.

Mu Qingfang stares at him. “Are you certain?”

Shen Yuan is confused. “Yes?”

Mu Qingfang… pats his head? What? Mu Qingfang isn’t known to be very physically demonstrative. “Good. You have a tendency to attract trouble, so I was worried.”

Excuse you, Shen Yuan does not “attract trouble”. Shen Yuan takes order from the System sometimes, that’s different. It’s not his fault he gets caught into weird plot lines all the time!

And why did he got retconned onto Qian Cao Peak anyway? What can he do on Qian Cao that he couldn’t on Qing Jing with the protagonist? Wouldn’t that make more sense?

At least Mu Qingfang is nice enough. “I’m sorry if I cause Shizun problems. I will strive to do better.” Not that he knows how to. He didn’t know anything about traditional medicine when he came here, and he still has to restrain himself when something particularly unscientific comes up. He’s been doing his best to fit in for years, since his very weird transmigration into an original character.

“I know you will. Go back to your duties now.”

Shen Yuan salutes his shizun and returns to work. Injuries in a sect of their magnitude are frequent. Shen Yuan is busy.

____________

“Shen-shidi!”

Shen Yuan smiles at his young shixiong, the protagonist himself, one Luo Binghe. He can’t help it. He’s cute! Shen Yuan can almost see his tail wagging! “Hello, Luo-shixiong.”

“Does Shidi have some time to teach me?”

Shen Yuan cannot say no to those puppy eyes. “Of course. Please come here.” He doesn’t. He’ll have to work late tonight to make up for the time he spends on teaching Luo Binghe.

It’s worth it. Everything he can do to help Luo Binghe is one more step of the “Save the sect from annihilation at the hands of the darkened protagonist” quest.

“Is Luo-shixiong doing well today?”

Luo Binghe shakes his head shyly.

Shen Yuan pushes the subject aside. They both know what Shen Yuan really asked: did Luo Binghe get bullied by his fellow disciples or his teacher today, and does he need Shen Yuan to look over it?

This is how they first met. Shen Yuan saw a young boy with a bruised face and favouring his right side, and instantly offered to help him. The boy tried to say no, but Shen Yuan is Mu Qingfang’s disciple. He has been taught that it is his duty to help those in need.

He had instantly recognised the wounds as the result of a fight, not training. As the healers of the sect, Qian Cao Peak disciples were expected to remain neutral in the context of peak rivalries. He couldn’t protect the young disciple himself, not without compromising his position. All he could do was offer his services.

“My name is Shen Yuan. If you ever need care again, please ask for me at Qian Cao Peak. Can I ask what your name is?”

“My name is Luo Binghe, of Qing Jing Peak.”

It had taken all of Shen Yuan’s strength of will not to gape at this admission. He knew Luo Binghe had arrived at the sect, but he had never thought they would meet like this, and that he would unwillingly create a link between them! Go him!

It had worked too! Two weeks later, Shen Yuan had been pulled from his normal studies by a worried shidi of his, who took him to a Luo Binghe with a sprained wrist, a broken finger and a black eye. Shen Yuan had instantly started to work on it, sending his qi through Luo Binghe as best he could while tending to his wounds.

Luo Binghe had thanked him from his help with a troubling wide-eyed awe that made Shen Yuan want to keep him in his room and feed him nice things. He restated his original offer to help Luo Binghe whenever he needed, which ended up being way more often than even Shen Yuan, who had never liked Shen Qingqiu to say the least, thought decent.

“Does Shidi think he could teach me? This way I wouldn’t be such a burden to him. If only my cultivation was better…”

Shen Yuan’s heart broke. Don’t worry, you’ll be the best cultivator some day! “I’d be happy to help.”

Luo Binghe had lighted up like the sun piercing through the clouds.

(Shen Yuan’s determination to save the sect from Luo Binghe might have switched to saving Luo Binghe from himself.)

Luo Binghe has been showing up regularly since then, soaking up all of Shen Yuan’s knowledge at frankly frightening speed. Hopefully it will be useful to him when he’s alone in the Abyss.

If he took the opportunity to correct a few of his cultivation bases, it’s not like Shen Qingqiu would ever find out.

________________________________ 

Luo Binghe still holds the favor the prince consort bestowed upon him close to his chest at all times.

Even if all the court knew the prince consort could defend his honor himself, it would have been improper. Of course it fell on his knights to defend Shen Qingqiu while the King Yue Qingyuan was away.

Luo Binghe had intended to return the token as soon as he had unseated the misbeliever from his horse, but blinded by Shen Qingqiu’s smile, his hand felt down still wrapped around the embroidered handkerchief.

He needs to return it before its disappearance is noticed. If someone doubted Shen Qingqiu’s loyalty because of his failings, he would seek penance until his death found him.

“The prince consort has allowed you entrance.”

(…)

Zheng Yang lies between them, the symbol of the vow Luo Binghe intends to respect.

Shen Qingqiu is completely still on the other side of the bed, white night clothes covering his whole body.

Luo Binghe prays for the salvation of his damned soul. He cannot betray the king’s trust by befouling his beloved.

[dadvans]

episode two :: Yuri realizes, suddenly and terribly, he might be a little bit in love.  

Victor doesn’t even try to go to sleep.  He just lays in bed with his laptop, watching the thirty-seven takes of Yuuri trying to get “hi, I’m Yuuri Katsuki, and I’m the Bachelor” out of his mouth.

“Don’t they know who I am?” Yuuri slurs on screen.  

“Yuuri, you have to put the champagne bottle down, you have to pretend to be sober,” Phichit says off camera, all authority gone from his voice.  He’s trying not to laugh.

“Phichit,” Yuuri says, and he takes a big swig from the bottle, bubbles pouring down both sides of his lips. “You can’t tell me what to do.  I’m Yuuri Katsuki, and I’m the motherfucking Bachelor.”

Victor pushes past the canvas tarp of the production tent only to be greeted with quiet.  A dozen or so of the production staff are mingling in hushed tones, all showing varying degrees of hangover.  Mila is wearing sunglasses, despite the only light in the tent coming from several dimmed monitors, and Cao Bin is holding two greasy brown bags that smell a lot like McDonald’s breakfast, and not at all like the untouched table of fresh fruit laid outside by craft services.  Everyone smells like stale alcohol and sweat, wearing layers on layers to mask two hours sleep with no shower despite the early morning summer heat of Los Angeles .  

“Where’s Sara?” he asks, looking around.

“Puking,” Mila says.  Her voice sounds like gravel, and she takes a long, long sip of iced water.  

“Well, at least she’s here,” Victor says.  He’s mildly impressed and a little proud that no one called in or was arrested after last night.  “Could someone go get her?  Emergency producers meeting.”

Mila salutes him and ambles off to go find Sara.  Victor goes over to the production grid on the far side of the tent and starts pulling down all the cards--cards that indicate villain plots, tearful confessions, potential rivalries, coordinated confrontations, a projected final two--only to rip them up and throw them on the floor.  

“Thanks to Mr. Chulanont’s carefully planned deceit of his best friend, we have been served a curveball for a Bachelor this season,” he says, letting the scraps of cardstock flutter down past his Prada wingtips.  

Phichit tries to call out, his tone both miserable and apologetic.  “Victor--”

“I’m not mad,” Victor says, cutting him off.  “I’m excited.  We need to take last night into account moving forward, because Yuuri Katsuki doesn’t fit into any standard formula.  We need new characters.  We need unpredictable stories and unpredictable villains.  We need fresh chemistry.  I’ve had today’s entire schedule pushed back three hours so Yuuri doesn’t come back to set still drunk and we have a solid plan moving forward.”

                                                                                                                      (Yuri Plisetsky, 21, Team USA Gymnast)

Phichit pins a card to the board’s Week One column that says “YURI P. - VILLAIN” in thick, purple marker, and Victor puts a pleased finger to his lips to hide his smile.  

“No way,” Mila says.  “No one is going to buy him as the villain.”

“If we’re thinking outside the box, then there doesn’t have to be just one villain,” Phichit replies.  His is the only card on the board.  “And also, I think it’ll be a lot easier than you think.  Yuri’s PR team approached us to help with his image.”

“What?” Half the room sits up a little straighter, leans forward, drop their pens.

“That’s not public information,” Victor says, staring at Phichit curiously; he always plays his cards closer to his chest more than Victor would normally like, but it’s only because he’s working three steps ahead of everyone else.  Phichit gets off on the element of surprise as much as Victor, and maybe that’s why Victor trusts him so much.  “How did you know?”

Phichit digs his phone out of his pocket, tap tap taps a few times at the screen, and turns it around to show the rest of the room the still of a grainy film.  “Anyone who knows where to look can figure it out.  Yuri Plisetsky may be America’s Golden Boy after the medals he earned us in the last Olympics, but only because his team was working overtime to keep content like this off of mainstream news outlets and social media websites.”

He presses play.                                                                                                   

The video is poor quality, probably taken on an older model of phone, and it features someone who looks and sounds exactly like Yuri Plisetsky screaming at a Burger King employee.

“How did he make it past the psych eval?” Cao Bin asks quietly after the video ends. “He tried to whip that kid in the face with a gold medal.  Does he usually wear that everywhere?”

“There are dozens of videos like this, and they aren’t impossible to find,” Phichit says.  “It’s not a matter of if they come to the public’s attention, but when.  But let’s say he gets onto a reality program that is watched by a few million in prime time that shows him as sensitive, caring, deeply passionate-- his team gets to say in the wake of those videos going viral, ‘oh, that was when he was young.  He’s grown up since then.’”

“So, you’re saying let’s exploit and manipulate his anger issues and possibly destroy his life?” Morooka asks, incredulous.

“Nobody here is a saint,” Phichit replies. “I’m certainly not.”

“God help us all if we get on your bad side, Phichit,” Mila says, and she writes something down in her notepad and takes another drink of what Victor is beginning to suspect is definitely not water.  “Anyway, if we’re talking about people who are doing this for their image--”

                          (Jean-Jacques Leroy, 23, Aspiring Model)

“He has a girlfriend,” Mila says, and another gasp blows through the room.  She looks up to Phichit, who is still standing coolly by the board.  “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Phichit goes back to his phone and within seconds has an Instagram page pulled up.  “If he adds you to his private Insta--which let’s be honest, he adds just about anyone who finds him, because he wants the endorsement money--he’s pretty honest about his relationship status.”

“How long were you planning on keeping this to yourself, Phichit?” Victor asks, looking at him curiously, then, “Mila?”

Phichit shrugs.  Mila rolls her eyes.  “You usually give out cash incentives for manufactured drama when you get bored during Week Three.”

“Shame,” Victor says.  He hates being predictable. “What do you propose we do with this information?”

“It would be a pity if rumors started to spread on set,” Mila says, faux innocent, intent well apparent even behind her sunglasses.

“Or,” Sara says suddenly, grabbing her by the arm, excited.  “Sorry, sorry, I just--I have an idea.  We should pit him and Yuri against each other as rivals.  Use their desperation for good publicity against them.”

“Holy shit,” Mila says gently.

“Beautiful,” Phichit agrees.  

“Tell me more,” Victor says.

“We know their type.  They want to make this about them, right?  Conflicting personalities, both trying to prove something, the wrong thing--that they’re a good person--no, the best person-- and that they’re here for love.  Let’s push them to their limits and see who is willing to take more risks for the sake of their image.  We pit them against each other and let that drive the narrative.”

“You’re so evil, babe,” Mila says, and they cheers their plastic Starbucks cups that are definitely not full of iced water, Victor determines.  “Love it.”

“Are we seeing them as endgame, then?  Final two?”  Cao Bin asks.  He looks skeptical.  

“Top four, at least,” Victor replies, writing his own “J.J. - VILLAIN - 4” card and pinning it to the board.  “It would be nice to have someone in the top two who at least is pretending to be here for the rights reasons.  Ideas, anyone?”

       (Georgi Popovich, 27, former-Bachelorette contestant, single father)

“Oh, God no, can we please put him out of his misery?” Mila says, slumping back in her chair. “If we had a drinking game for every time he said ‘Anya’ or cried about his fucking kid, we’d all be dead of alcohol poisoning.”

“To be fair, after last night, I’m surprised some of us already aren’t,” Victor says.  “But yes, agreed.  The only person involved in this franchise that hasn’t unlocked his tragic backstory is the Bachelor, I’m assuming, which means that if he stays, it’s just going to be him rehashing what everyone already knows.  Let’s try to get rid of him by Week Three, and go with someone else.”

                         (Michele Crispino, 22, Medieval Times Knight)

“Please, I’m begging you,” Sara says.  “All of our lives would be easier if Mickey was getting laid on a regular basis.”

“I feel like that would be cruel to poor Yuuri,” Victor says.  Everyone on set has had to deal with Sara’s Crazy Brother at least once.  “I mean if Yuuri genuinely likes him, good for him.  But your brother is a little… intense.  I don’t want to take the chance manipulating him to the top.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a serial killer,” Sara says.  

Everyone meaningfully does not look at her.  No one says anything.  

“Anyway,” Victor says.

                          (Minami Kenjirou, 21, Disney On Ice Performer)

“So, my brother’s a serial killer, but Minami ‘I Bought Your Old Outfit And Show Up Wearing It To Meet You’ Kenjirou isn’t a stalker,” Sara says flatly.

“I feel like it comes from a genuine place,” Phichit says.  Minami was one of his personal picks during casting.  “Like, having known Yuuri for years, I’ve met a number of his fans.  Minami’s a figure skater too, and he doesn’t have the ‘steal a lock of your hair when I’m hugging you’ vibe that a lot of Yuuri’s other fans do.”

“I’m worried he might be too innocent for Yuuri.  I think he was actually crying when Yuuri gave the rigger a lap dance last night,” Mila says.  

“Yuuri’s a lot different when he’s sober, though.  He needs someone fun and sweet like Minami,” Phichit replies.

“I realize that you’re trying to have your friend’s best interests at heart, but no one watches the Bachelor for sweet, innocent fun,” Victor says.  “Let’s table Minami and look at some other options.”

Moving on they also discuss Leo de la Iglesia (23, College Radio Director), Seung-gil Lee (24, Dance Instructor) and Guang Hong Ji (23, Preschool Teacher).  Nothing sticks.  The board still only has the two cards pinned to it.

“What about Otabek?” Cao Bin suggests.

“Otabek was good on paper, but I would rather watch paint dry,” Sara complains.  

“The guy is honestly like a Terminator,” Phichit agrees.  “What about Christophe?  He seems fun.”

“Christophe’s just here to have a good time,” Victor says.  “I don’t think he believes in monogamy.”

“For all we know, neither does Yuuri,” Mila says, leveling Phichit with a look, “since he didn’t even know this was a dating program. He looked pretty thrilled to be sandwiched between four different men all at once last night too.”

Victor sighs and puts his face in his hands, peeking at the empty board through his fingers.  Eventually he sighs, straightens himself up and says, “let’s scratch the board.  For now.  I like the Yuri-J.J. rivalry, but everything else--  I think we have to let Yuuri Katsuki happen to us instead of us happening to him.  Deeper into production we can see what narratives are naturally unfolding and pursue those.”

“You want us to do this blind?” Cao Bin asks, disbelieving.

“Yeah,” Victor says, and he realizes he’s smiling.  “Yeah.  It’ll be fun.”

The Bachelor contestants who survived the first rose ceremony arrive in a fleet of Escalades at the OC Fair, producers and crew pooling out behind them.  Even in the dry heat, there’s always something about walking into fairgrounds that makes Victor feel uncomfortably sticky all over.  As he meets up with the crew and cast who are gathering around Celestino at the fair gates, he can see the look of discomfort on nearly all of their faces save Celestino, who is ever the professional.  

“Now, I know that all of you are not here to see me,” Celestino is saying, his smile and laughter so fake and boisterous you can’t help but love him for trying so hard.  The rest of the men politely chuckle.  “We’ve got quite the event planned out today.  Your Bachelor is currently waiting for you in the giant ferris wheel, where each one of you will get to have a private one-on-one that lasts for a single rotation of the wheel; that’s ten minutes, so make your time count, because as soon as your turn is over, it’s going to be your fellow competitor’s turn to try and impress.  After every one of you has had an opportunity to sit down with the Bachelor, he will pick the five men who have made the best impression for a group date, while the rest of you will be escorted back to the mansion.  Understood?”

The men are prompted to cheer in an exaggerated way, fistpumping the air, letting whoop-whoops out with their hands cupped round their mouths, “like the Bachelor can hear you!”

There’s a production tent already set up next to the giant ferris wheel, and the crew sighs in relief stumbling inside to escape the sun and carnival smell.  Monitors are already set up with five steady cams showing Yuuri sitting with his hands in his lap in a carriage near the top of the ride.  He looks surprisingly put together, which Victor credits the emergency wardrobe and make up team he sent to Yuuri’s hotel this morning. Victor puts his headset on, mic to his mouth.

“Good afternoon, Yuuri!” he says, wincing slightly as Yuuri yelps with surprise into his own mic and jumps a foot into the air.  “Sorry, sorry, you okay?”

“Victor?” Yuuri asks, looking up at the corner cam.

“Yes!” Victor says.  He doesn’t know why it thrills him so much to have Yuuri remember his name after a night of drunken debauchery, where during the rose ceremony he had trouble remembering half of the men’s names (“Nipples,” Yuuri had called out to a shirtless Christophe, “c’mere, you get a rose”). “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’ve thrown up twice since I’ve been on this ride,” Yuuri admits.  “Don’t worry, it’s been cleaned up.  This is a new shirt.  I brushed my teeth.  Someone brought me a vodka tonic.”

“Good,” Victor laughs, “good.  Okay, we have the men coming down toward the ferris wheel on your right.  When you get to the top of the ride we’re going to need you to stand up and wave to them.  Think you can manage that?”

“Standing?” Yuuri says, like he can’t.  It takes Victor a second to realize he’s joking. “I’ll try.”

The producers inside groan as Victor forces them outside the sanctuary of the tent to greet the contestants and shoot on the fly interviews as they wait for their turn to go up into the ferris wheel with Yuuri.  

Victor mutes his mic so he can speak through his walkie without Yuuri hearing him.  “Remember, we have two goals: find me two decent candidates for the final four, and give extra attention to Plisetsky and Leroy.  We want them to feel the pressure.  Whoever gets them to crack first gets the five thousand dollars burning a hole in my pocket.”

Phichit’s voice instantly comes on through his headset.  “Define ‘crack.’”

“Something that we can use in a promo,” Victor replies. “I’ll know it when I see it.  Surprise me.”

Guang Hong is the first contestant to get into the carriage with Yuuri.  Victor’s first impression of Guang Hong was “too innocent, must be protected at all costs, who fucked up in casting to let this sweet, naive sunbeam onto the set of The Bachelor.”  Victor is, as always, thrilled to find out he is wrong.  

“How are you?” Yuuri says, standing up to greet him and help him in with one hand.  Guang Hong doesn’t let go as they sit down across from each other.

“Afraid of heights, actually,” Guang Hong says, biting his lip and pinching his eyes shut as the ride jerks to a start.

“Oh!” Yuuri says, and he leans forward and brings his free hand to Guang Hong’s face, tilting it up. “Oh, hey, it’s okay.  Just look at me and pretend, all right?”

Victor brings up Guang Hong’s casting application while camera five directly behind Yuuri’s shoulder gets a close up of Guang Hong’s big, dark eyes opening wide and staring sweetly at Yuuri like salvation.  Guang Hong’s file has listed skydiving as one of his favorite past times.

“You smooth motherfucker,” Victor says to himself, impressed.  

Georgi starts crying halfway through the ride.  “My son just loves carnivals so much,” he says, snotting into his own shirtsleeve and wiping at his eyes.  Yuuri looks uncomfortable with no escape.

“Take a drink everyone,” Victor says into his walkie.

Mila and Sara set up a corner for on the fly interviews next to a lemonade stand, which the men flock to in the midday heat.  They manage to have Jean-Jacques (“call me J.J.,” he says with a wink) cornered, when Sara notices Minami directly behind him buying a pink lemonade, and nudges Mila in the side.  

“So, J.J.,” Mila says, taking the hint, speaking a little bit louder for Minami to hear over the noise of carnival rides and the bustle of the surrounding crowd.  “You’ve never dated a man before, have you?”

“What?” J.J asks, caught off guard.  They had been talking about his modeling career.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sara says, sweetly.  She’s looking at Minami, who is staring at J.J.’s back with curious intent, mouth tight around the straw of his drink.  “All of your high profile relationships have been with women!  Is this a recent development in your sexuality?”

“Well, I,” J.J. sputters, fumbling for his sunglasses suddenly, even though they’re in the shade.  “Not really, uh.  No.”

“Are you concerned a lot of the men here might have more experience than you?”  Mila asks.  Her ability to feign genuine worry goes unparalleled among the production staff.  “You know, experience with other men.”

Minami’s eyes narrow behind J.J., as J.J. stops, considers the both of them for a second, and then laughs airily.  

“I don’t know what you ladies are implying,” J.J. says coolly.  “I’m here for the same reason as everyone else: to find love.  Gender has nothing to do with it.”

Minami stalks off, and Sara has to bite the corner of her mouth to contain her smile.

When Minami joins Yuuri in the carriage, he starts off apologetic.  “I think I came across too strong last night,” he says. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Yuuri says gently, almost amused.  “Maybe we both need a do-over.  I’m sure I didn’t leave the best impression last night either.  I honestly--I can’t really remember much.  You’re a figure skater too, right?”

“Yes!” Minami says, his knees knocking against Yuuri’s.  He’s chosen to sit on the same side of the carriage as Yuuri instead of opposite him.  “I skate with Disney on Ice!  I was just the understudy for Olaf in the Worlds of Enchantment tour.”

“How was that?” Yuuri asks.

“Lonely,” Minami admits.  “Touring, anyway.  I always wanted to be a competitive skater like you-- I auditioned for the show before I even knew you were going to be the next Bachelor, but I was excited to find out when they announced it was you.  It felt like fate, you know?”

“That’s sweet,” Yuuri says, carefully not agreeing.

“I just want you to know I’m here for the right reasons,” Minami says, and he takes Yuuri’s balled up fists into his own hands.  “I’m here to find love.  And I’m here for you.  And also… well, I think there might be some people here for the wrong reasons.”

“Oh?” Yuuri says, looking up at him surprised.

“I just, well, maybe I shouldn’t say this,” Minami says, and he sounds so earnest, almost saccharine.  “I overhead J.J. speaking to some of the producers.  I get the feeling he’s here for his career.  He was saying he’d never um.  He’s only ever had high profile relationships with women.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says again softly.  “Well, I appreciate you for letting me know.”

In the production tent, Victor says into his walkie, “it looks like we have a contender for that five k.  I have Minami throwing Jean-Jacques under the bus, saying he’s not here for the right reasons.  Anyone else going to play?”

“The money is as good as ours,” Mila replies, her and Sara’s laughter echoing in Victor’s earpiece.  

“We’re not even halfway through the day,” Phichit chimes in almost instantly.  He sounds cheerful, which is always promising.  “And I have dibs on Plisetsky.”

“So, are you originally from Japan?” Christophe asks, stretched out languid and inviting across from Yuuri.  

“Ah, yes,” Yuuri says.  “I grew up in the south.”

“I’ve spent quite some time there myself on vacation,” Christophe says.  “I love the food.”

“Oh?” Yuuri says, perking up.  “What’s your favorite?”

“Hard to say.  There’s ramen,” Christophe says, “which I love how you’re supposed to slurp up while the noodles are hot.  Or takoyaki, maybe.  There’s nothing quite like hot, salty-sweet balls in your mouth.  I just love savoring them, holding the heat in and letting them melt on my tongue one by one.”

“Well, uh,” Yuuri says, shifting slightly. “That is how you’re supposed to eat them, I guess.”

The time the men get with Yuuri is approximately ten minutes, but it takes about twenty minutes altogether with mic and equipment checks.  It’s been over three hours by the time Yuri is supposed to have his one-on-one with Yuuri.  He’s been leaning against queue gate for at least thirty minutes with his jacket over his face doing some weird deep breathing exercises probably suggested by an anger management coach.  Phichit makes it a point to walk past him with Morooka, commenting on how hungry Yuuri must be, having been cooped up the ride since noon, it would be so sweet if one of the remaining contestants brought him something sweet.

When he turns around, Yuri’s lifted up his jacket and is staring at the funnel cake stand across from the ferris wheel.  

The ferris wheel jerks to a start again as Yuri sits down across from Yuuri.  He’s got his jacket balled up in his arms, and unfolds it to reveal a steaming funnel cake with powdered sugar melting into the dough wrapped in checkered red and white paper.  

“I figured being cooped up on this ride since noon, you might be getting hungry,” he says.

Yuuri hits the funnel cake out of his hand.  It goes flying out of the carriage to the ground below.  

“Sorry, I--” Yuuri starts, eyes wide.  He looks surprised at himself.  He says again, “sorry.”

“Uh,” Yuri replies.  “Okay.”

“I don’t know what to say, I didn’t mean to, I just--” Yuuri is saying, until all of a sudden, Victor can’t hear him.  He sees Yuuri’s mouth moving on the camera, but is getting no sound.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, turning his mic back on, “Yuuri, can you hear me?  You cut out, Yuuri.”

Yuuri stops talking and looks back up to the corner camera.  Victor can see him mouth ‘Victor?’ but can’t actually hear him.

“Shit,” he says.  “Yuuri, you’re having mic trouble, we're going to have to bring you guys back around and start over.”

“Okay?” Yuuri mouths at the camera, and Victor sighs and stands up to leave the tent and see what the fuck is going on with the audio himself.

In the carriage, Yuuri turns back to Yuri.  “It sounds like they’re bringing us back around.  I don’t think my mic is working, so they’re going to start us over.”

“Oh,” Yuri says, looking away and cracking his knuckles in his lap uncomfortably.  “You-- you’re not very good at this, are you?”

“Excuse me?” Yuuri says.

“This,” Yuri says, looking back at him and gesturing broadly with both arms.  “You completely embarrass yourself on the first night getting wasted and shamelessly crawling over anyone on set who says two words to you.  Your first reaction to someone offering you food is to literally slap it out of their hands.  Sober You looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, or maybe you’re just constipated.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, and for a second Yuri thinks he’s about to cry.  

It’s a strange, shocking relief when he starts laughing instead.  

“You’re right,” Yuuri admits.  His smile is so sad, Yuri thinks.  “I’m a complete mess.  I didn’t even realize this was even a dating show when I signed up for it.”

“What?” Yuri doesn’t yell, but it’s an almost thing.  “How the fuck do you sign up for The Bachelor without knowing it’s a dating show?”

“I’m not from here!” Yuuri says defensively, pained laughter bubbling out his mouth like the champagne he was pounding last night.  “My friend’s a producer who suggested I do it to take a break from my career.  I just--I don’t know what you know about me.  My last competitive season just ended, and it was bad.  It was so bad, Yuri.  When my friend approached me about doing the show I was so in my own head trying to figure out if I just retire out of shame and become a hermit-- I was willing to do anything to escape that place.  I didn’t even look at the contract when I signed it.  I just wanted to get away.”

“Wow,” Yuri says.  “Your friend’s an asshole.”

“I think he means well,” Yuuri says, but he doesn’t sound offended.  Maybe he’s heard it before.  “I’m not really known for being a people person.  You were right just now, when you said I was bad at this.  I’ve never been in a relationship before.  And I really am sorry about the funnel cake-- I had gained so much weight by the time pre-production started, they’ve put me on this raw diet with the exception of clear alcohol, and--”

“Jesus Christ,” Yuri says.  They’re at the top of the wheel now, and the the sun hits Yuuri’s face just right, the deep brown of his eyes looking like something worth sinking into and under.  “And I thought I was bad.”

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asks, pushing his glasses up his nose, and Yuri is drowning, drowning, drowning.

“I, uh,” Yuri says, “I’m not really good at this either.  Being here wasn’t my idea.  My publicist thought it would be a good way to rehabilitate my image after I got in trouble earlier this year.  No offense.”

“None taken,” Yuuri says.  “It’s a relief, actually.  I feel like there’s all this pressure on me to be this outgoing, sexy, mysterious figure, and I’m just not.  Like you said, I probably look constipated half the time, I don’t even know what to say to half of these guys, or take what’s coming out of their mouth seriously.”

“Yeah?” Yuri says, curious.  “Like what?”

“I think Christophe was trying to hit on me by talking about how much he likes eating fried octopus balls,” Yuuri says.  “Another guy kept asking to see my feet.”

“Oh my God,” Yuri replies.  “For fucking real?”

“For fucking real,” Yuuri confirms, and he smiles.  It’s not his drunk smile, sloppy to one side and loose, but another kind of uninhibited that feels strangely private and wonderful for Yuri to witness.  “This has actually been the best go-around so far.”

Yuri doesn’t choke on his own tongue.  Weakly, he says, “yeah?  You’re welcome.”

They’re almost nearing the gates.  Yuri will probably have to get out, Yuuri too, and they’ll have their mic packs checked and get back in again and pretend it’s the first time.  Yuuri grabs Yuri’s hand suddenly.  “Hey,” he says.  “I know… I know you don’t want to be here.  For the reasons you’re supposed to be here anyway, but neither am I, and look-- I would like to keep you around.  Just as a friend.  It would be nice to have someone around that I didn’t have to try and pretend to impress all the time, you know?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says softly. “I know.”

They’re smiling at each other like they’re trying to hold their shared secret in their mouths as the carriage arrives at the gate.

The sky is starting to turn pink and orange by the time the one-on-one dates are ending, and the park is lighting up with spinning rainbows of colors becoming more and more defined as the sun continues to sink past the horizon.  Yuuri stands with Celestino in front of the ferris wheel, and after some stage direction, draws out his selection of five men to take on a group date: Guang Hong, Leo, Otabek, Yuri, and some guy named Chad.

“That’s the foot guy,” Yuuri whispers to Yuri as they fumble through a house of mirrors.  “I just invited him along to point him out to you.”

“What a creep,” Yuri says, absolutely not shivering when Yuuri puts two hands on his shoulder to slide past him to continue in the maze.  

They go on a half dozen rides, each time another contestant getting the opportunity to sit next to Yuuri and hold his hand too tight in the thrill of the moment.  Otabek displays terrifying proficiency at the ring toss game, and ends up winning Yuuri another stuffed bear.

“I’ll add it to my collection,” Yuuri says, vaguely remembering the one that Otabek thrust into his chest during the initial introductions.

The group is given front row access to the concert playing at the amphitheatre that night--it’s a band that none of them recognize, but they all pretend to be enthusiastic and thrilled to have the opportunity.  Yuuri has three beers and starts dancing again, but manages to keep his shirt on this time.    By the time they get back to the mansion, everyone’s shirt is cooling with sweat, stuck their skin.

“You smell rank,” Yuri tells Yuuri, helping him out of the Escalade.  “Like, really horrible.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says laughing.  “You too.”

Yuri realizes, suddenly and terribly, he might be a little bit in love.  

Chad gets eliminated that night.  So do four other men who were brought on as filler cast.  Georgi unfortunately remains, but Victor has faith the production crew will be able to fix that within the next few days.  The biggest surprise is Yuri Plisetsky getting the first rose, despite what Victor has witnessed to be a stilted, uncomfortable dynamic between him and Yuuri.  

He offers to drive Yuuri back to his hotel again, maybe going so far as to make it seem like this is something that always happens.  Yuuri agrees, letting Victor hold the door open to the passenger seat of his Bugatti, only on the condition that Victor lets him pick the music.

“Is there something wrong with my music?” Victor asks.  No one has ever commented on his music before.  

“No, no, I love Soviet folk disco,” Yuuri says dryly, taking Victor’s phone in his hands and opening Spotify.  

“You wound me, Yuuri,” Victor says, holding a hand over his heart.  “And here, I was going to take you out for hot dogs.”

“You were not,” Yuuri says. “That would violate my apple and vodka diet.”

“I was going to treat you,” Victor sniffs. “You did so good today.  But now, I don’t know.  No one has ever criticized my music taste so cruelly before.”

“Probably because you would fire them,” Yuuri says, and it sinks in like a hundred pin pricks all at once, how right he is.  The only people Victor has left in his life are the people he hasn’t let go.

“I feel like you’re saying such cruel, heartless things because you’re hangry, so I’m not going to hold it against you,” Victor says, but when he turns to get onto the Freeway, he maybe accelerates faster than usual and takes pleasure in the way Yuuri presses his hand firmly against the door as he merges four lanes over into the HOV lane at roughly eighty miles an hour.  

When they pull up to Pink’s, Yuuri says, “I thought you were joking.”

“Why would I be joking?” Victor asks, putting the car into park and turning off the ignition.

“I’m still ten pounds off my goal weight,” Yuuri says.  “I’m still not allowed to be around a pool or have my shirt off.”

“To be fair, you already broke both rules last night,” Victor says, getting out of the car.  

Yuuri begrudgingly follows him.  “Don’t remind me.”

They order hot dogs; Yuuri orders two, a bacon chili cheese dog, and a pastrami sauerkraut dog, and gives Victor a look as if to say try and stop me and I’ll eat yours too.  They sit down between the newspaper stalls out front with their feet in the street and eat quietly while the cars pass them by.  The summer air smells warm and sweet and dusty; it smells like city, and Victor closes his eyes and sinks into it like a hot bath.  

“Oh, real food,” Yuuri moans around his chili cheese dog, leaning back and splaying himself wide on the sidewalk, each hand stretched out with a hot dog as if he were placed on some salacious hot dog crucifix.  “Let me die like this, Victor.”

“Sorry,” Victor says, looking down on him fondly.  Under the neon lights, with nacho cheese smeared down his cheek, Yuuri looks like all of Victor’s filthiest dreams come true.  He tries not to choke, but lets himself reach down and swipe at the cheese with his thumb, before bringing it to his own mouth to lick it off.  “Can’t.”

“Can’t?” Yuuri repeats.  He’d been wearing a suit during the rose ceremony, but stripped off the button-down and jacket in the car, leaving just the white undershirt on.  It’s skin tight and has ridden up just a little to show off a hairy patch of stomach, and Victor can see the delicate rise and fall of his chest when he breathes.  

He looks away.  Takes a shaky sip of soda.  “Well,” Victor says, “you have nine more weeks of shooting to complete.  Then you’re free to do whatever you like.  But it’s my job to keep you alive until then.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, sitting back up.  He takes another big bite of hot dog, getting more cheese sauce on his face.  This time, Victor hands him a napkin.