#giacomettiweek

[pllsetskyonice]

tick tock goes the clock

Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri Katsuki/Victor Nikiforov, Christophe Giacometti/Mystery Boyfriend

614 words

Victor Nikiforov is Chris’ soulmate.

This cannot be happening.

AO3 link

For @giacometti-week Day 2: Time

The timer on Chris’ wrist stops when Victor Nikiforov first acknowledges him at a skating competition, throws him a rose, and says that he’ll see him at the Worlds. Chris can’t quite believe it, because this is Victor Nikiforov, winner of multiple gold medals, internationally famous, world champion Victor Nikiforov, but now he’s also apparently Chris’ soulmate.

Victor Nikiforov is Chris’ soulmate.

This cannot be happening.

-

It totally is happening though, because the timer on Chris’ wrist stays at 00:000:00:00 and it doesn’t move. He stares at it for hours until his eyes go bleary and he’s not entirely sure 0 is a number anymore, then stalks Victor’s social media, looking for any hints that Victor’s timer has stopped too.

Nothing comes.

-

Chris does see Victor at the Worlds, and he happens to catch sight of his timer when all the skaters are in the locker rooms getting changed.

It’s still ticking.

Chris tries not to feel too disappointed.

-

Somehow, Victor ends up at Christophe’s eighteenth birthday celebrations. Chris isn’t really sure how or why Victor has turned up, but he’s not going to complain. He lets Victor in and introduces him to all of his friends, and then the drinking starts.

Chris has lost count of the number of drinks he’s had when Victor sits down next to him, brandishing a bottle of Sambuca. He pours out a couple of shots and pushes one in Chris’ direction with a smile. “So,” Victor says casually as he does his shot, “who’s your soulmate? I noticed your timer’s stopped.”

“You,” Chris blurts out, because he’s drunk and not thinking straight and the filter between his brain and his mouth is virtually non-existent at this point.

Victor is taken aback, his eyes wide. “No, I’m not,” Victor says. “My timer’s still going.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not yours,” Chris says miserably. He’s researched this a lot, and there are many account of people’s soulmate clocks stopping but their soulmate’s not. One article called it ‘the clock that stopped too soon’ and another, on a slightly less positive note, said that ‘their clocks shouldn’t have started ticking at all’.

Personally, Chris just thinks he’s cursed.

“Oh,” Victor says, looking confused, a frown set into his brow. “I see.”

He goes quiet, staring at the shot glasses on the table. In the background, the other guests carry on talking and the music carries on playing, but for Chris and Victor, the room seems completely silent.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” Victor says after the silence between has become more awkward than not. “I can’t… I’ve got to go.”

He presses a brief kiss to Chris’ cheek as he goes, leaving Chris feeling all kinds of confused.

Chris reaches for the Sambuca bottle and pours himself another shot because he’s got to try and forget it all somehow.

-

The next time Chris sees Victor, he’s cut his hair. Somehow, it’s the final nail in a coffin that’s already being lowered into the ground.

-

Chris sees Victor’s timer stop at the Grand Prix Banquet when Yuuri Katsuki gets drunk and ask Victor to be his coach. Despite himself, Chris can’t help but smile, because at least Victor will finally be happy. Also, there’s a guy who Chris thinks is a retired ice dancer standing at the bar who’s been very obviously checking Chris out all evening, especially when he was stripped down to his underwear and dancing on the pole.

Chris smirks and makes his way over to the guy. He has a feeling that everything is about to work out just fine, timers on wrists dictating who you’re supposed to be with for your entire life be damned.

[booklovertwilight]

Everything was bleak and desolate. The small one-way road leading into the north side of the city was entirely devoid of cars, and there was not a single other human in sight. As Christophe approached the nameless city—nameless not because it had not been given a name at one point but because its name had long since been forgotten—he noticed the small tree beds lining the sidewalk on one side of the street, most overgrown with weeds and vines. He noticed them primarily because the closest one to him had something small and bright red on it. At first he thought it was a crumpled napkin, blown onto the side of the bed by a strong gust of wind. But then he neared it, and its shape formed into that of a flower. No, a rose. Not one planted in the bed, one sitting, recently picked, on the edge of the bed. 

Christophe picked it up and sat on the edge of the concrete bed where the rose had been. There was a newly cut rose sitting on a tree bed in the city, a newly cut rose when almost all plants besides the particularly resilient weeds had been wiped out. He squinted at the rose in his grip, rotating it in nimble fingers, staring at its petals as if they might lend him answers. The fact that there was a rose at all seemed to imply that one person had painstakingly worked to keep at least this rose alive, and if this rose, likely others. And the fact that it was neatly and recently cut seemed to imply that there was a person nearby, who had left it here. And what of the rose’s placement? It was almost like someone had wanted him to find it.

Christophe looked up into the grey haze of the sky. He suddenly had a lot more questions to answer.

@giacometti-week​ Day 1: Roses

I was assigned to draw roses and I drew one (1) rose, in a post apocalyptic scenario, because I am Depressed™ (nah bro I just remembered that scene from Anna Blue’s “Silent Scream” where the teacher goes “the task was a flower painting” and Zoe says “there is a flower!”)

I really like how this came out tbh. I think I might have made it a little bleaker, but it looks to me like a lot of time has passed since the apocalypse, whatever it might have been, since Christophe’s hair is so long, so I suppose it’s ok.

I did something really nice with his appearance I think; he wouldn’t have access to normal grooming tools in this scenario but I think this is how he’d make it work, just let his hair grow out and tie the dyed bit into a cute bun. (I also think his facial hair would look super cute even without much grooming.) (I think Christophe is super cute regardless actually.)

[pllsetskyonice]

just one drink

Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov

1,614 words

Victor has had enough.

It’s a Sunday night, and for the fifth week in a row, the flat above him is throwing a massive party. The music is so loud the whole block can probably hear it and Victor wouldn’t mind that they’re partying on until God knows when in the morning, but he has a 9 am lecture in the morning and he needs to sleep.

Enough is enough. They've got to turn the music down.

AO3 link

For @giacometti-week Day 3: Relationships

Victor has had enough.

It’s a Sunday night, and for the fifth week in a row, the flat above him is throwing a massive party. The music is so loud the whole block can probably hear it and Victor wouldn’t mind that they’re partying on until God knows when in the morning, but he has a 9 am lecture in the morning and he needs to sleep.

He didn’t mind for the first couple of weeks of term when it was Freshers and everyone was throwing parties every single night of the week, but lectures have started now and Victor came to university to get a degree, not blow his entire student loan on nights out and alcohol and end up living off beans on toast for the rest of term.

Victor can hear people yelling “we like to drink with Chris, because Chris is our mate, because when we drink with Chris he gets it down in eight, seven, six…” upstairs and lets out a sigh. Enough is enough. They’ve got to at least turn the music down.

Victor picks up his phone and keys and heads out of his flat and up the stairs, not particularly caring that he’s wearing his pyjamas because it’s likely everyone in the flat is too drunk to notice anyway. He hammers on the door of flat number four with his fist, and after a good couple of minutes, someone comes to answer it.

“Yeah?” a bored looking girl with bright red hair says, drinking wine straight from the bottle. “Can I help you?”

“Is this your party?” he asks.

“No, it’s not,” the girl replies. “I’m only here because my girlfriend’s brother is on the same course as the guy who’s actually hosting this thing. You want to come in? I’m sure Chris won’t mind another guest.”

“Um, sure,” Victor says, stepping inside the flat. This wasn’t exactly his plan but he’s going to have to deal. The girl leads him into the kitchen, which is packed with people split into various groups, some dancing in the space near the TV, some hanging around the breakfast bar chatting, and the rest sat on the sofas or on the floor around the coffee table, obviously playing a drinking game of some kind.

“Chris!” the girl yells. “You’ve got another guest.”

One of the guys sitting on the sofa looks up and smirks when he sees Victor standing there in his pyjamas. “Not exactly dressed for a party, are you?” he asks.

“Well, no –”

“And you’ve come empty handed. How rude.”

Victor sighs. “Actually, I came up to ask if you could turn the music down. You see, I’ve got a 9 am lecture in the morning and I don’t want to miss it –”

Chris cuts him off again. “Oh come on, live a little! You’re only a first year student once, enjoy it whilst you can. Mila!” The red haired girl turns around from where she’s standing with another girl at the breakfast bar and gives Chris a questioning look. “Get this guy a drink, would you? Wait, what did you say your name was again?” Chris asks him.

“I – I didn’t. It’s Victor.”

“Alright then Victor, what do you want to drink?” Mila asks, already reaching for one of the bottles of vodka. “You want ice?”

“No, really, I can’t –”

“Nonsense,” Chris says. “If you really think we’re that boring, you can leave after one drink. And we’ll even turn the music down for you. But until then -” Mila brandishes a cup of vodka coke in Victor’s direction – “you’re staying.”

“Alright, fine, just one drink,” Victor agrees, taking the cup from Mila and having a sip. “Just the one.”

-

Except somewhere along the line and between the games of Ring of Fire and Twenty One and On The Bus, the one drink Victor was meant to be staying for has turned into a whole lot more. He’s sitting next to Chris, who not only throws really good parties, but is also really hot. Victor’s at least eighty percent certain Chris has been flirting with him for a good chunk of the evening as well but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up because Chris seems like the kind of guy who flirts with anyone.

Mila’s wine bottle is now long empty, and she brings it over to the coffee table with an evil glint in her eye. “I think it’s about time we make some people do things they’re probably going to regret in the morning.”

“Spin the bottle, are you fucking kidding me?” one of the guys on the other sofa snaps. “What is this, some shitty sixth form party?”

“As I recall, you’re the only one out of us that’s actually still in sixth form, Yuri,” Mila says sweetly. Yuri glowers at her. “And we’re not just playing spin the bottle, we’re playing seven minutes in heaven.”

“As though that’s any fucking better?” Yuri says, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “We all know you’re doing this as an excuse to fuck your girlfriend in some poor unsuspecting sod’s bedroom and make her scream so loudly we can all hear.”

“I am here, you know!” Mila’s girlfriend Sara snaps. “And it’s not Mila’s fault she’s so good.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Yuri mutters. “Can we just get on with the game already?”

“Oh, so you’re playing, then?” Mila asks as she moves everything off the coffee table and puts the bottle down in the middle of it.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Mila just grins. “Okay, I’ll start. Whoever the bottle lands on has to spend seven in minutes in heaven with me, and then we’ll move around the circle until everyone’s had a turn. If you’re iffy about you or your significant possibly kissing someone else then I suggest you sit this game out because it’s really not for you. Right, let’s go!”

Mila spins the bottle, it rotating on the table a few times until it comes to stop pointing directly at Sara. Yuri tuts and mutters something along the lines of “fucking typical” as Mila takes Sara’s hand and leads her out of the kitchen, a timer left on the table ticking down from seven minutes.

Emil and Michele are next, then Phichit and Seung-gil, then Leo and Guang Hong, followed by Yuri and Otabek. It’s now Chris’ turn, and Victor tries to will away the butterflies in his stomach as the bottle starts spinning, but all it does is make them worse.

The bottle spins and spins, Mila watching in anticipation as it starts slowing down and eventually comes to stop.

Victor.

The bottle stops on Victor.

“Looks like tonight is your lucky night,” Mila smirks. “Have fun, boys.”

Chris stands up and holds out his hand. Victor takes it and lets Chris lead him out of the kitchen and down the hall to what Victor presumes is his bedroom. It’s slightly quieter once they’re inside and Victor feels so nervous because he’s never been in any situation like this before.

Chris must have registered this, because he lets go of Victor’s hand and looks at him with a concerned look on his face. “You okay?” he asks. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, good,” Victor says, gingerly sitting down on the edge of the bed. He contemplates getting his phone out but that would just be rude so he decides against it. Chris has somehow managed to wangle himself one of the few rooms with a double bed, and it’s something that Victor’s trying not to think about and can think of nothing but at the same time.

“You got a boyfriend or girlfriend at all?” Chris asks, sitting down on the other side of the bed. Victor shakes his head. He hasn’t got a boyfriend, or girlfriend, and nor has he ever had either of them. In fact, he’s never really done much of anything in that department. Like, at all.

“You ever kissed anyone before?”

It’s a question that throws Victor off guard, and because he’s drunk and not thinking straight, he answers “No” before he’s even had chance to think about it. Chris looks kind of shocked at first, but quickly regains his composure.

“So you’re a virgin,” he says casually. “Cool. Nothing wrong with that.” He goes quiet for a moment, frowning to himself. “Would you like to? Kiss someone, I mean?”

“Yes,” Victor replies. “The opportunity has just never arisen before, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s arising now,” Chris says, shifting closer towards Victor. “If you’re up for that, of course.”

“Yes,” Victor says, and then Chris is kissing him. It’s gentle at first, soft and delicate and closed mouthed, but upon realising that he’s getting no resistance from Victor, he deepens the kiss, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue in. It’s a completely new experience, but Victor finds himself enjoying it, kissing Chris back and moving closer. If he was sober, he’d be nervous as fuck right now, but he’s not, so he kisses Chris back like it’s something he was born to do and enjoys the moment.

Time slips by and before they know where they are Mila is banging on the door, telling them their seven minutes are up. “Do we have to stop?” Victor find himself asking as Chris pulls away to answer the door.

Chris looks surprised. “You want to stay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Victor replies. “I do.”

“Alright then,” Chris says. “Mila! We’re just going to stay in here!”

“Oh, I bet you are!”

-

So Victor stays. Needless to say, he doesn’t make it to his 9 am.

He really doesn’t mind.

[pllsetskyonice]

Rosa ‘Victor Nikiforov’

Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov

2,783 words

Chris grows roses, but none of them are as beautiful as the guy who's just moved in next door.

AO3 link

For @giacometti-week Day 1: Roses

Chris’ grandparents have a garden that’s full of roses. As soon as summer starts, the garden turns into a sea of pinks and reds and oranges and whites, beautiful blooms that fill the air with the delicate scent of rose. Chris likes to sit on the bench at the end of the garden and spend hours simply looking at them all, the dozens of varieties of a single flower, no two of which are completely the same.

“I grow them for your grandmother,” his grandfather says one afternoon when Chris has spent most of the day going around the garden sniffing each individual rose to see if he can pick out the subtle differences in each scent. “She loves them. Such beautiful flowers, but at the same time, dangerous. You must be careful with them, Christophe. The petals are pretty but the thorns are not.”

-

When he isn’t at school, Chris makes the effort to go over and visit his grandparents as much as he can. As the years go by and his grandparents get older, the garden isn’t quite as beautiful as it used to be. Weeds begin to grow in between the roses as his grandfather complains about a stiff back and not being able to move like he used to.

Chris gets there one day to find a number of rose plants potted up by the back door. He looks down the garden and sees gaps where the plants used to be, and it’s like the rose that is his grandparents’ life is wilting and beginning to lose its petals.

“They’re for you,” his grandfather explains when he’s hobbled to answer the door, pointing at the plants with his stick. “It’s time for you to start a garden of your own.”

-

His grandparents die within two months of each other. His grandmother, his father says, died of old age. His grandfather, however, died of a broken heart and knowing that he had no one to grow roses for anymore.

Chris is left the roses and his grandfather’s gardening tools. Slowly, he starts transferring the plants to his own garden, which is big enough to home all of his grandparents’ roses and then some. His collection grows and grows and grows some more, Chris even experimenting with breeding roses of his own. He’s fascinated by the pollination process and how he never truly knows how a new rose is going to look until it starts blooming.

He starts a florist shop and quickly becomes known for his work, people flocking from all over the county for bouquets for loved ones and to ask him to do the flowers for their weddings. Although the florists is his work, his roses are his passion, and despite being incredibly similar, the two never really mix.

Victor Nikiforov moves in next door one summer with a dog that Chris thinks just looks like a ball of fluff with legs when he first sees it and a cabinet full of trophies from dance competitions. Chris often sees him when he’s out in his front garden tending to his plants and Victor is taking the dog out for a walk, and they’ll both stop and make small talk for a while before going back to their lives.

“Do you ever think about selling them?” Victor asks one evening when Chris is setting the sprinkler up in the front garden because it’s been a really dry day. “Your roses, I mean. Everyone talks about how beautiful they are. Emil who runs the corner shop said you even breed your own.”

“Sometimes,” Chris says. “And I’ve thought about selling them before, but I’ve always been too busy with the florists to do anything about it.”

“It’s such a shame,” Victor says. “Maybe you could incorporate the two somehow? Those roses deserve to see more than your back garden, Chris.”

“I’ll think about it,” Chris replies, walking over to the wall to turn the tap on. The sprinkler starts, and the dog, which has spent the past few minutes sitting patiently at Victor’s feet, takes the opportunity to run into the water, jumping up and down.

“Makkachin, no!” Victor yells as the dog continues to run through the streams of water. “I’m so sorry –”

“It’s okay,” Chris says, laughing. “It’s okay, Victor.”

-

Chris starts by taking a few buckets of roses to his shop, putting some of them in bunches and some of them into bouquets. Everyone loves them, people commenting on how well they last, on the scents, on how much they loved the flowers in general. They’re the talk of the town, his friends even coming into the shop to ask if he really did actually start selling his own roses.

“I’ve been telling you to do this for years,” Emil says one afternoon when he pops in for a few minutes before his shift at the corner shop starts. He joins Chris in the back room where he’s putting together bridal bouquets and button holes for a wedding on Saturday, buckets upon buckets of white flowers and greenery surrounding them. “Yet it takes the arrival of the ex-ballet dancer with a poodle to move in next door and tell you to do it for it to actually happen?”

“It seemed like the right time,” Chris mumbles as he reaches for another carnation.

“Yeah, right,” Emil scoffs. “Right time to try and get into his pants, more like. Whatever, I’m going to be late. See you later!”

As Emil leaves, Chris’ gaze falls onto a bunch of dark pink roses sitting in the corner, which he’s planning to give to Victor as a sign of thanks. This isn’t about trying to get into his pants: it’s so much more than that.

-

Thanks for the roses! They’re beautiful!

Chris wake up to the text from an unknown number, sent just minutes before his alarm went off.

It’s Victor by the way another text follows. Emil gave me your number. I hope that’s okay

It’s more than okay Chris texts back, saving the number into his phone as “Victor” followed by a rose emoji. I’m glad you liked them!

-

Victor soon becomes a regular customer at Chris’ shop. Well, customer is perhaps the wrong word, because he never buys anything, just sits there and chats to Chris for hours on end. They talk about everything and nothing, from the weather to how the shop is doing, from stories about Chris’ grandparents and their garden full of roses to stories about Victor’s career as a ballet dancer – they talk and talk and talk some more, quickly forming a friendship that Chris feels will last a lifetime.

“You know, you’re in here so often I might as well start paying you,” Chris says one afternoon when Victor has managed to help an old lady select a bouquet out for her granddaughter’s birthday and figured out how to work the till. “Have you worked in retail before?”

Victor nods. “I worked in department stores before I started dancing full time,” he says. “Why, you need someone?”

“Yeah, actually,” Chris replies. “My last part time staff member was a moody teenager who snapped at all the customers and spent most of his time snapchatting and texting his boyfriend when I thought I wasn’t looking. I’ve got people that help with the big events and Georgi runs the shop on Mondays and whenever I’m out doing a wedding or whatever, but apart from that, it’s just me. So I could definitely do with someone to help out.”

“Great!” Victor grins. “When do I start?”

-

Chris gets to work on Tuesday to find Victor already there, standing outside the shop and tying his hair up, using the glass window at the front as a mirror.

“Morning,” Victor mumbles through a mouthful of bobby pins. “I'm not late, am I?”

“You got here before me,” Chris replies, taking the keys out of his jacket pocket and opening the front door to the shop. The bell tinkles as they walk inside and make their way through to the back, where Chris puts the lights on, the strip light in the back room flickering as it slowly comes to life.

“So, boss, what are we doing today?” Victor asks, jumping up to sit on the big table in the middle of the room, swinging his legs off the edge. “Anything fun?”

“Got an arrangement to do for the top of a coffin that's got to be at the undertaker's by this afternoon,” Chris replies as he checks the calendar that's hung up above the desk in the corner. “Apart from that, there's just the usual bouquets to do for the shop and dealing with customers that come in or ring up.”

“Sounds good,” Victor says. “What can I help with first?”

-

Victor soon settles into working at the shop, Chris finding himself having to give Victor less and less instructions by the day. Before Chris knows where he is, three months have gone by, and Victor fits into his life he was always there.

Every so often, Chris gives Victor roses. Cream, green, peach, yellow, pink, white, novelty roses that fade from one colour at the start of the petals to another at the tip. This week, the roses are a salmon colour that Chris leaves on the workbench for Victor to find when he next to goes into the back room for something.

Chris is sitting at the till, flicking through a floristry magazine whilst the shop is empty when he hears a screech coming from the back room, and Victor rushes out, clutching the bouquet of roses, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “I did some Googling the other day,” Victor says, placing the roses down on the counter. “They’re supposed to mean something, right? All the different colours?”

Chris closes his magazine and tucks it in the gap between the till and the wall. “Yes, so they say.”

“And the salmon roses, they’re supposed to mean desire, right?”

Chris looks Victor straight in the eye. “Yes,” he says. “Desire.”

Victor swallows and looks down at the floor, wringing his hands behind his back. After a moment, he regains his composure and looks up at Chris, again looking him straight in the eye. “What would you say if I said I wanted to give you salmon coloured roses too?”

“I would say we’re closing early,” Chris replies with a smirk, leaning forward over the counter towards Victor with his chin in one hand. “Does that sound okay to you?”

“That sounds perfect,” Victor says, crossing the shop to lock the door and flick the sign to ‘closed’. On the way back over to the counter, he reaches up and pulls his hair out of its usual ponytail, running his fingers through it to fluff it out a little. He’s so beautiful, Chris thinks as Victor hops up onto the counter, pulling Chris towards him and pressing their lips together. So beautiful, as Chris deepens the kiss and wraps his arms around Victor’s waist.

So beautiful.

-

“Took you long enough,” Emil mutters later that evening when they’re in the corner shop picking up a few things for dinner. They’re holding hands as Chris places the basket down on the counter, and it’s something that Emil spots straight away as he starts scanning their items. “Twenty-two thirty-seven.”

-

The shed at the bottom of Chris’ garden is where he breeds new varieties of roses. His and Victor’s three year anniversary is coming up, and he’s been working on something special for a while now. It’s taken a while, but he’s finally got the rose to a place where he’s happy with it.

It’s Victor’s rose.

It’s by the far his favourite rose he’s ever produced. It’s a really pale lilac colour, so pale that if you get it in the right light it looks silver. It took a lot of trial and error to get the rose how he wanted to look, but it’s done now, and it goes beautifully with the engagement ring that’s sitting in its box on the workbench, the lid open and the diamonds glittering in the late afternoon sun streaming in through the window.

Victor is out, closing up the shop and making sure all the arrangements are ready for collection by the undertakers tomorrow. He’ll be back in about an hour or so, and Chris has every minute from now until then planned.

He selects the best twelve roses, removes the thorns, and wraps them up in some of the wrappings he’d snuck home from the florists last week. He’s going to take the rest of the roses apart so he’s got just their petals left and spread them across the carpet in a trail leading up to their bedroom, where Chris is going to be waiting with the engagement ring.

Once he’s finished in the shed, he takes what he needs back over the house and starts setting up everything there, putting some romantic music on the sound system and preparing a few bits for their dinner. At quarter to six, Chris gets a text from Victor that reads Be home in fifteen minutes! Xx and he starts scattering the rose petals from the front door to the bedroom and lighting a few candles along the way. He leaves the bouquet of roses at the top of stairs and then goes through to the bedroom with the ring box held tightly in his hand, and waits.

He faintly hears the clicking of the lock in the front door and a gasp. “Chris?” Victor calls. “Chris?”

He hears Victor starting to walk along the hall and up the stairs, his steps quickening once he’s at the top of the stairs and has picked up the bouquet of roses. “Chris?” Victor calls out again as he nears the bedroom door. Chris keeps quiet and lowers himself onto one knee so he’s ready for when Victor opens the door. He sees the door handle move down and he takes a deep breath as the door starts to open.

“Oh my god, Chris,” Victor says once the door is fully open and he can see Chris there at the foot of the bed down on one knee with the ring box held out in front of him. Tears start to well in Victor’s eyes, and he brushes them away with the hand that’s not holding onto the bunch of roses. “Chris –”

“Victor, will you marry me?” Chris asks, trying to keep his voice even, but it doesn’t really work because he’s feeling so many different emotions right now and even though Victor’s crying it seems like they’re happy tears. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Victor says, running forward towards Chris, jumping into his arms. “Oh my god, yes, I’ll marry you!”

They’re both crying as Chris slips the ring onto Victor’s finger. Although he doubts Victor has noticed, the ring has roses engraved on the inside of it, a small touch that means a whole lot more to Chris. He’s been saving for the ring for ages, from the coppers that accumulate in loose change to clients from weddings handing him a wad of cash and telling him to ‘keep the change’. It’s perfect, and it looks even more perfect now that it’s on Victor’s finger.

“The roses,” Victor says after the ring is on his finger, “what variety are they? I’ve never seen them before. They’re so beautiful.”

“They’re yours,” Chris replies. At the confused look on Victor’s face, he adds, “They’re a new variety. I’ve been perfecting it for years now, and I finally got there. I bred them for you, Victor.”

“Me?” Victor asks, tears welling in his eyes again. “Really? What are they called?”

“Rosa ‘Victor Nikiforov’.”

Victor is crying again, tears splashing onto the bunch of roses he’s holding, the petals looking like they’re covered in early morning dew. “Oh my god, Chris,” he says. “I love them so much. I love you, Chris, I love you I love you I love you –”

“I love you too, Victor,” Chris says, pulling Victor into a hug, being careful not to damage the roses. “I love you too.”

-

At their wedding, Victor’s roses are in the flower arrangements, the bouquets, the button holes and the centre pieces for the tables. Everyone comments on them, how beautiful they are, and several people ask if they’re ever going to be available to buy.

“Sorry,” Chris tells them. “This one is just for us.”

Rosa ‘Victor Nikiforov’ lives on in its own special way. The rose from Chris’ button hole is pressed and put in their wedding album, where it stays, preserved for many years to come.