#victor and yuuri outside of figure skating circles

[kindaorangey]

i really am a sucker for thinking about the way victor and yuuri's relationship is received by the in-universe media/general fans of figure skating. like if i saw that shit play out in front of my eyes just on regular televised figure skating programs and press conferences i'd lose my goddamn mind.

[bxllafanficc]

¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(part one)

part two part three part four part five. Find the rest on; Masterlist

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Yuri's POV*

"Remind me once again why we're going to Japan? It's clear you'd never take us there just because you miss Victor and I know by experience that it's not because of his apprentice."

First class flight like usual. The view out the airplane window of the sparkling city at nighttime below them would stun anybody but at this point, Yuri has traveled so many times it's only become regular sights and the lights of the streets are only plain colored spots in a dark void to him these days. One thing he will never feel comfortable with though is staying in the same seat for hours on end until the airplane arrives at its destination. His legs are itching from wanting to move around. He'll just have to jog it off back on the ground like every other trip in the past.

"You'll be spending some time with Yuuri Katsuki and Victor the following weeks to gain your fighting spirit back. You need to get back in touch with your emotions, remember?" Yakov slightly turned his posture towards the Russian skater beside him, folding his newspaper in half and putting it in his lap.

He only nodded with a slight hum. He could see Yakov's reasoning, some parts of it at least. He HAD been lacking in emotional performance ever since the new year began and it was time to get back into the mindset of winning yet another Grand Prix gold medal like last year. No, not last year. Last year's competition was cancelled after a minor pandemic spread through Russia and the nearby regions. In fear of the virus spreading, all competitions cancelled and larger crowded areas were forbidden to take place. Therefore Yuri's only been able to practice by himself and keeping himself fit for a possible competition next year. But a year of doing nothing can really change your spirit and afraid to admitting it to his coach, he's been missing several opportunities to hit the rink and stayed home watching anime or scrolled through social media instead.

But one thing he doesn't get is how Victor and Yuuri are gonna make him get his mindset in the right track again. He already won his first gold medal at his senior debut and he doubt that the Japanese skater will be in any better condition than Yuri's currently in right now. Pig-man must've been in a much worse state considering his boo Victor had to stay in Russia during the pandemic, unable to keep an eye on Yuuri's routines.

"Besides, there's a little surprise waiting for you where you'll be staying with the two of them. It better work out fine or else I'm out of ideas."

That caught his attention to say the least.

"Well if it's supposed to save me from the deep end then why be so secretive and hushy with it? Spill the news, Yakov."

The old man only grunted and picked up his newspaper once again and hid his face behind it. Well now he really wanted to know what it was. Clearly he would have to make some effort. Soon the article about a Russian charity event taking place this weekend got replaced with a clenched fist going straight through the back of the paper. Yuri expected some kind of reaction but Yakov only sighed and leaned back in his seat without even a flinch.

"It's no surprise if I tell you. I promised Victor to keep it a secret."

"Tell me."

"No."

Yuri groaned and folded his arms with a sour glare. The display in the ceiling told the traveler's that it was 10 minutes until landing so he gave up his attempts and let his eyes rest for a while. At least he would find out tomorrow, he assumed. It was 2am and he would be staying at a hotel close to the airport since it was too late to make rest of the trip in one day.

Yuri was out with the speed of a lightning bolt the second the plane doors opened. He sped past everyone before him and he didn't stop when he finally got outside. His feet carried him to run circles around the plane meanwhile he was waiting for Yakov to get out the normal way. It's a silly habit of his and he knows he looks stupid doing it but his coach has given him strict orders to not run away at one random direction like used to do at first. It would take like half an hour for him to be found once he took off, but only if he got lost.

"Yuri! Get over here!"

Well, there's his cue to get ready and head to the hotel. Finally he's able to get some sleep before he's forced to wake up early at dawn to head to Hot Springs and meet the two most annoying people in Japan.

...

He didn't even have time to eat breakfast. He overslept and got rushed to the cab with an angry Yakov behind him, newspaper folded tightly in his fist. The trip through the beautiful Japan would've been pleasant if Yuri hadn't dozed off every 10 seconds. He didn't get much sleep after all. He spent at least three hours thinking about the special surprise and raiding the free mini bar before he finally got to rest. At 8am he was woken up with banging on the door and now, at 10am, he was standing at the entrance of Hot Springs waiting for Yuuri's mom to announce their arrival. She hurried away somewhere with her usual bubbly happy self that Yuri had no idea how a person could be so... not moody all day long.

The place was as crowded with customers as last time and the two Russians were told to step inside to the more private parts of the building where the family lived along with Victor at the moment.

"Victor! How come my brand new lotion is used? You smelled a suspicious amount of peaches and wild berries at breakfast and there's no point denying it!" A fairly soft and modulated voice was heard from somewhere to the left where the private shower stalls were located. A couple seconds later a giggly Victor and Yuuri came through the direction of the living room and greeted Yuri with happy cheers. The slender white haired Russian caught Yakov in a bear hug, much to the old man's surprise. Yuuri extended his hand towards Yuri but Yuri didn't give any effort in taking it.

"Food. I'm starving."

Yuuri dropped his hand with a light blush but Victor pouted and let go of his former coach. Strong and clingy arms were suddenly wrapped around his chest and he couldn't breathe.

"So unpolite... Yuriooo we've missed you! Haven't you missed us?"

Yuri thrashed like a fish caught in a net and tried to hit the arms of the bastard trapping him. Yuuri joined in, only to get a kick in the hip. His stomach growled angrily and the endless void in his body didn't lighten up the experience a bit.

"Let go you old man! You too piglet!"

"I hoped you'd say it out loud but I know that deep down you've been missing us, Yuriii." Victor went to whisper in his ear with pouty lips but was swatted away by a backhand in his face. That finally caused him to let go and Yuri jumped out of reach for the two males.

"Hm... Or not." The expression he got from Victor was sad and pouty and the man earned a hand on his shoulder, put there by Yuuri. Yuri could only sigh and shake his head.

"Victor! Did you steal my shampoo too?! I will- Oh? What now?" Yuri turned around abruptly by the unfamiliar yet familiar voice behind him. His eyes widened.

The girl was standing to the left of the hall, seemingly coming from the shower. A curious hand rested against the wall beside her and her face was covered in a grey clay face mask, a toothbrush lazily hanging from the corner of her lips. Her (h/c) eyes glistened with mild shock along with her mouth hanging slightly open.

"You are early... Victor, you told me they would arrive at 1pm1!" She pointed a strict finger at the tall man who scratched the back of his head with a hesitant laugh. Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed her toothbrush. Because even if she was standing unprepared in front of two strangers, she would at least not forget to brush her teeth in the process, as you do.

Yuri might've considered it normal if it wasn't for that she was almost naked. Two towels were the only fabric hiding her, one wrapped around her dripping figure and the other tied up in her hair.

"Yeah, about that! I kind of mixed up the time of their arrival and your meeting with the press, that's, by the way now when I think of it, not actually cancelled but later today. Silly of me to forget, right?"

She eyed him as though her bullshit meter was ticking in the red zone and let out a huff. Yuri had to advert his gaze when it suddenly felt intruding to eye her the way he did. He also turned away because a light tint of pink was creeping up his cheeks.

"Right. Thanks for the early update. I appreciate it, really. I'll be with you again in 30 minutes. Don't wait up for me." And with that, she was gone. The silence of the men maintained for a few moments until Yuuri coughed with an awkward smile, his red cheeks still visible even after the girl had disappeared. 'It's a little weird to blush at your almost naked sister' he thought.

"So food, right? Mom is preparing pork cutlet bowls for you, Yurio, since she remembered how much you liked them last time-" He didn't have to say it twice. Yuri was off to the dining area before the man even finished saying 'pork cutlet bowl'.

[katsudonwins]

5 Victuuri Fics I Loved This Week

I’m fairly new to the fandom, but I love recommending fics so here I am! All of these fics are relatively old, but they’re all so so good! If you write Victuuri fanfiction and want someone (me) to review it DM me the link and I’ll leave you a FAT comment on Ao3! 

All Things Beautiful by @stammiviktor

Words: 69.7k

Summary: The voice is like bells, sharp and clear yet somehow infinitely soft. Warmth caresses Yuuri’s face and a shudder wracks his frozen frame.

“You’re okay now. You’re safe.”

(In the glacial waters near the North Pole, two worlds collide.)

Review: This is an amazing ATLA universe fic with an original storyline! The character development was so well done and I never felt bored reading it. I definitely recommend it for anyone who love ATLA, or just wants a nice AU with fluff, angst, and getting together. 

Icebreaker by Cesare

Words: 6.1k

Summary: Yuuri's husband is possibly not as oblivious as he seems, because he grins and asks, "Have you never looked up Yuuri?"

"There's a porn actress with the same name who went into politics," says Nate, "so she's most of the results, and some stuff about figure skating."

"Some stuff about figure skating," Victor says ruefully to Yuuri.

(((A post-skating-retirement college scenario based on skygemspeaks' idea about Yuuri's college classmates learning about his figure skating career. I wrote a variation mostly because I just really wanted to include Victor in the mix. This also heavily draws on kevystel's ideas about Yuuri unknowingly breaking hearts everywhere he goes.)))

Review: Okay this one is my absolute favorites of all of the skygemspeaks fics where Yuuri goes back to school and no one recognizes him. It’s so sweet to see outsider POV for Victuuri written so sweetly. This one gave me all the feels.

Young and Beautiful by WinglessCrows

Words: 3.0k

Summary: Yuuri and Viktor go on a date, but people keep mistaking Yuuri for a teenager, which then makes Viktor look like a… not so good person.

Review: The stereotype of Japanese/Asian people always look young but on steroids. This is HILARIOUS! Absolutely made me giggle while reading, especially with how Victor reacts. It’s super short and a really fun read!

Never Met Anyone I Could Laugh With by thehobbem

Words: 20.4k 

Summary: "If you could read all that so ravenously, wouldn't you also have opinions, thoughts, ideas circling ‘round your head that wouldn't let you be until you talked them out of your system?

Victor did. Victor had for years, swallowing it all down because there was no one to listen to it. And there she was, waltzing into his library and dangling the temptation of a like-minded companion in front of him every Friday, before whisking it away along with the book of the week. A literature companion, at least. He'd love a companion companion, but that wouldn't be Miss Katsuki, with his being very, very gay; but that was even harder to come by, so a friend to talk to would be more than enough at this point. Someone with similar opinions about books, and people, and the world as a whole. Someone to laugh with."

Review: This was a strange mix of light angst and awkward but endearing fluff and I LOVED it!! This was the librarian Victor AU we always needed! Also I love Yuuri as a dancer, I really think that it’s such a good AU role for him and he plays it off well here. 

 Just Hold On (We’re Going Home) by kiaronna

Words: 23k

Summary: Where Yuuri remembers the banquet, Viktor forgets, and Yakov Feltsman has his own plans.

“I’ve been made aware of your recent break with Celestino Cialdini, and would like to offer you a trial period where you train under me, in St. Petersburg. There are only three conditions: you will board with another one of my students, you will take ballet with Madame Baranovskaya, and you will help me coach Yuri Plisetsky, who refuses to listen to my criticisms of his spins.” Yakov nods at this point, leans forwards and looks Yuuri in the eye. “I will charge no coaching fees.” With a deal like that, even if it means he has to face Viktor again, Yuuri has no choice but to agree.

 Review: SO MUCH ANGST! But also so much fluff! This feels like a very plausible scenario and characterizes Yuuri’s anxiety and Victor’s burnout really well. This one has scenes in it that still stay with me.

[yoiinchi33]

You've Got a Line On Me

This is intended as a moment between episodes four and five at the end of the “summer of pining”.

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"Good, Yuuri!" Minako called as the dancer took his last step and stilled in the middle of the studio. Yuuri panted, his brow wet with sweat. He turned and bowed to Minako. "I'm happy to see you've been keeping up with your dancing." Yuuri smiled. He found it a wonderful way to work through some of the emotional turmoil that simmered in him. He looked forward to his time with Minako today, as lately those emotions were past the point of simmering and verging on boiling.

"Thank you, Minako Sensei."

"I'm surprised Victor let you go on your own today..." Minako mused aloud, "you two have grown very close since he came here."

Yuuri nodded, but said nothing. He knew many in Hasetsu secretly assumed there was something deeper between him and the Russian. They trained together, ate together, even bathed together in the onsen after dinner. When they were out in the city, Victor never left his side. So maybe they were on to something.

"Victor's coming here when he's done with some other work. We're grabbing lunch. If you'd like to join us, you're welcome."

"Thanks, Yuuri. And as much as I want to find out just how big a Yuuri Katsuki fan he is..." she lifted an eyebrow playfully. Yuuri blushed, "I have to mind the store downstairs." The instructor's phone rang-an alarm marking the end of practice. "I have to go, but you can stay and wait for your Victor to come. Just lock up after, ok?" Yuuri blushed a deeper red at Minako calling Victor 'his'.

"Hai. Thank you, Minako," Yuuri bowed. As Minako left the studio, Yuuri paused to let that phrase roll around in his head.

'My Victor'

There was some truth to it. He had Victor's full attention, and almost all of Victor's time since he stepped foot in Yu-topia. Time that Yuuri still wasn't sure he deserved. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror, critical eyes gliding from the tousled hair pasted to his forehead, down across the rest of him. Ordinary. Plain. Victor was here for Yuuri, but Yuuri couldn't understand why. It was still possible Victor would find out there really was nothing extraordinary about the skater-no reason to stay-and would leave. He felt he had to consider the possibility, as unpleasant as it was-had to prepare for it. His shoulders fell. His gaze lowered. "I've been so lucky," Yuuri thought to himself, "to have the time I have with Victor now. I need to make the most of it. If I work hard enough, improve enough, maybe I can convince him to stay?"

Yuuri glanced at the clock. Victor would be there soon, but he had the studio to himself for a while longer, so he loaded up another song, hit play and moved to the center of the room.

His first moves were slow. Deliberate. The beginning of the song depicted a struggle. Possibly a loss or sorrow. Like 'Stammi' was to Victor, this music seemed to share a similar desperate plea and Yuuri moved with it. The sway of the music's tune swept the dancer up and carried him along. Soon he was so wrapped up in the song that he failed to notice Victor let himself in and was standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and still.

Yuuri reflected on the time he and Victor shared. Recently, he suspected the relationship they had was growing into something far more intimate then coach and student. Was it love? Yuuri wasn't sure. It felt like a rope was binding him to Victor now. The further away Victor was, the tighter and more painful the knot around Yuuri clenched. The closer, the more it eased. No matter how hard Victor pushed him on the ice or personally, being together was always better than being apart. On this realization, his brows scrunched together in a concerned frown. The song swung into a gentle crescendo, conveying hope and promise of brighter things. Yuuri drank it in. He hoped he and Victor still had more time, hoped that he would still be good enough at the end, hoped that Victor felt the same way back?

Fear started tainting that hope. His anxiety certainly knew when to strike. As the music ended its slow last phrase, Yuuri halted-facing away from Victor. He wrapped his arms around himself and clung tightly as if to crush the insecurity inside.

"How do you DO that, Yuuri?" Yuuri jumped in place and, eyes on the mirror, caught Victor's reflection. He spun around to face the older man. "Victor, I-" Yuuri began, but Victor was already across the room in long impatient strides and gathered Yuuri up in a big hug.

"That was magnificent."

"Victor, I'm all sweaty..." Yuuri mumbled against Victor's chest.

"Don't care."

The rope slackened. Yuuri snaked his hands around Victor.

"Thank you, Victor," A small smile tugged at Yuuri's lips, "how much did you see?"

"Not enough." Victor said, loosening his grip enough to gaze at his student. Yuuri blushed a bright red as he pulled away and went to turn the stereo off.

"Where are you going?" Victor asked.

"To get my stuff. We're getting lunch now, right?" Yuuri turned to face Victor again, his brows furrowed as he saw Victor shuck off his coat and toss it in a corner of the studio.

"Sure...but I want to try something first. Queue the music back up. The song you just had on." Yuuri tilted his head to the left. What did Victor want to 'try'? Victor chuckled in response and said, "Go on...restart the music. Then, come back to the center with me." Yuuri turned and restarted the music. The soft notes carrying their way across the studio again. Victor told him to start dancing the way he did before, and took a step back. Keeping his eyes on Victor, he began to move. Victor stayed still until the chelo came in, and he began to mirror Yuuri's choreography. When Yuuri moved to the center of the floor, Victor came in also to meet him, occasionally their hands would touch briefly before swinging away.

Now that he was paying more attention to the movements he was making, it seemed like his body took the rope metaphor literally. During the sadder parts of the song, they were on opposite ends of the studio, facing away. On the more hopeful strains, they moved together, in the center, facing each other.

A touch here, a glance there...

"You're telling a story Yuuri," Victor said quietly, "it's one of struggle, and hope that at the other end you will find peace. You feel a pull-like an invisible force-to another. The farther away you are, the more pain-the more heartache. The closer you get..." they once again moved to the center, but lingered as Yuuri waited for Victor to finish his thought. Instead, Victor cupped Yuuri's cheek in his hand and slowly drew his thumb across it in a caress. "...the more comfort and hope. You struggle to get ever closer...just a little bit closer..." Victor's face briefly betrayed a hidden longing as he gazed into Yuuri's eyes.

Yuuri froze. Eyes widening. He couldn't hear the music anymore over his heart thumping in his ears. Victor's hand was warm and dry and soft. Soothing. Instinctively Yuuri leaned in to the touch for a moment, before remembering himself and moving away, his eyes going from Victor's face to his chest. The music ended and cloaked the room in silence.

"Yuuri, do you know it's very easy to tell when there's something on your mind?" Yuuri again met Victor's eyes, "Care to share?"

An eternity of silence spread over three ticks of the clock on the wall. Victor cocked an eyebrow. The dancer took a deep breath as if inhaling courage from the outside air.

"I...uh..." Yuuri stammered, the words just on the edge of his tongue would fall right out if his mind gave them a nudge, "I think I..."

love you, Victor.

"It's just us here, Yuuri," so close. He wanted to tell Victor. Say it. Get it out of his head. Maybe he never would, but he desperately wanted to express how he felt to the man he'd thought about every day for the past ten years. The silver-haired Russian who was looking at him that way, with those penetrating eyes.

"I don't...don't..."

want to let you go. Ever.

His hands suddenly warm, Yuuri looked down at Victor's hands holding his, gently rubbing circles with his thumbs. It felt right, like the world clicked into place when they were together. Being alone with Victor. Holding hands. Dancing with him and skating with him every day. But he knew in the back of his mind it couldn't last. The grand prix final-that was the expiration date on this relationship. His eyes closed and brow furrowed tightly in a vain attempt to force those thoughts away.

For now, he wanted to enjoy their time together.

"Victor..." Yuuri said, forcing his eyes to meet the Russian's patient blues. Victor simpered. Yuuri pulled his hands away and wrapped them around Victor's body, pressing his face into Victor's chest.

"I'm really glad you're here...that you'd...that you came all this way. F-for me..." It wasn't what Yuuri really wanted to say, but he figured he'd find a way to tell Victor someday, maybe.

Victor gasped, taken by surprise by the sudden affection, but chuckled and squeezed Yuuri back. "Oh Yuuri...", it may have been Yuuri's imagination but it seemed Victor's voice became wobbly for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued, "...I only wish we could have met sooner." Yuuri melted into Victor's embrace, savoring the warmth he found there for a few moments until he pulled back. Victor reached a hand out to Yuuri's chin and guided it up to face his.

Victor's eyes had a playful glint to them as he said, "But hey, now we have the rest of our lives to get to know each other better, yes?"

The rest of our lives?! Did he really mean that? Yuuri nodded his head and laughed, "Yeah!" How did Victor know just what to say to ease Yuuri's mind?

"And no better time to start than now," Victor released Yuuri and moved to grab his coat, "so Yuuri, what I want to know now is...where do YOU want to go for lunch?"

[rosyredlipstick]

growing pains (1/3)

“Thirty and flirty and thriving.” Victor read off the cover, sighing happily at the bound paper in his hands. The glossy H.M. Magazine cover shined back at him. “I wish I wish was thirty.”

Be careful what you wish for, they say.

-

December, 2000

  This month's issue, almost as if by magic, came in the mail the day before Victor Nikiforov's thirteenth birthday.

It was actually due to a minor postal mishap that several people were in quite big trouble for, but Victor would still not hesitate to label it magic. Because this - the shiny, perfect, spotless December issue of his most beloved magazine was here.

“Thirty and flirty and thriving.” Victor read off the cover, sighing happily at the bound paper in his hands. The glossy H.M. Magazine cover shined back at him. “I want to be older.”

From the couch, Yakov frowned at him laid across the carpet. “Do not hurry to get older, Vitya. It will come. Enjoy being young.”

“Being young sucks,” he whined, hugging the thick paper to his chest. On the cover, Mariah Carey beamed back at him, looking impossibly joyful about her age. Thirty and flirty and thriving, Mariah has it all!

Victor had no idea what ‘all’ Mariah had, but dear Britney Spears did he want it.

Victor huffed, “I wish I was thirty.”

Yakov gave him a rare soft look, ruffling his hair to Victor’s visible dismay. “You’re a teenager now, yes? Teenagers complain all the time. Seems like you are already growing up.”

Victor wrinkled his nose, tossing his hair over his shoulder. “Yakov,” he complained loudly, grabbing up all his magazines, ignoring the amused look the older man was throwing him as he stomped away. Yakov, the traitor, could be heard laughing.

Ugh, he was the worst.

Victor sighed, dropping the magazines across his bed, and turned to his overflowing closet. Checking the clock on his bedside, he flipped his hair - it was almost time.

He surveyed his outfit options, laying them side by side before pulling on a few to examine in the mirror, and didn’t have to wait long before Yakov was yelling up the stairs.

“Katsuki is here,” Yakov was announcing from the kitchen, as if that was any surprise. Yuuri came over everyday after his dance rehearsal, four fifteen on the dot.

“Tell him I’m in my room!” Victor shoved another article of clothing on, frowning at the mirror. A distressed denim vest over his rainbow turtleneck, a favorite combination of his.

“Victor?” Yuuri was already calling out, his tell-tale numerous keychains clashing together as he bounced up the stairs.

Victor wasted no moment, pulling the other boy into his room. “Yuuri!” He gestured to himself only slightly frantic, “How do I look? Is this the one?”

Yuuri paused in the doorway, still in his clothes from practice, and gave Victor a fond look. “Victor,” he told him, a smile in his voice. “You look fine.”

“Yuuri,” he whined, flipping his hair back. “ I can't just look fine today. I have to look perfect. ”

“Well, you look perfect.”  There was a small, nearly unnoticeable blush on the apples of his cheeks. But under the low lighting of Victor's bedroom, neither boy paid it much attention.

Victor only sighed, snatching up the glossy magazine that had fallen to the floor. “Don't lie to me.” He gestured to one of the models posing somewhat uncomfortably next to an article  column. “I'll never look perfect like them .”

Yuuri frowned down at the blank faced model, his cheeks fading some. “They don't look like they're having much fun. Maybe that’s good.”  He scrambled to his feet like a thought was just occurring to him. “I’m going to grab my book bag from the living room. I’ll be right back!”

And he returned after only a few moments, a minute at most. But that didn’t stop Victor from doing a complete 180 on his emotions. Victor, having heard Yuuri coming back onto the room, cried out dramatically.

Yuuri stepped over Victor’s body thrown across the carpet, paying him no real attention as he shuffled through his bag.

Victor squinted his eyes at the other boy as Yuuri took a comfortable place leaning against his bed frame, fully unzipping his backpack at last. Victor let out another dramatic wail, cracking open an eyelid to look at the other boy. No response.

Finally, he just threw himself over Yuuri’s lap, his hand over his forehead, his hair falling with expert ease to waterfall across Yuuri’s knees.

Yuuri sighed, a slight, hidden smile in place, and tipped his head to the side. He looked down to the other boy. “Yes, Victor?”

“Yuuri,” There were real, glistening tears in Victor’s eyes. It was a talent, honest. “Yuuri, my life is horrible.”

“What’s wrong now?” Yuuri, the traitor, held a trace of amusement in his voice as he surveyed Victor’s forlorn figure still half-draped across the floor. “Do I need to make the fish face?”

Victor sobbed, throwing his hands in the air. Before him, H.M. Magazine 's newest edition laid out across the carpet. “Not even the fish face will fix this!”

“Must be serious,” Yuuri tucked his feet under him, jostling Victor slightly. “Want to tell me what’s so horribly wrong?”

At that, Victor’s eyes filled again with unshed tears. Yuuri vaguely wondered if he should be filming this - Victor could use this as an audition tape one day.

Victor only gestured with sorrow towards the shiny pages, more emotion building up in his chest. He sat up, mostly just to prove a point. “I’m never going to be as beautiful as Leonardo diCaprio. I’m never going to be as big and famous.” He sobbed into his hands. “I bet Leo never had braces.”

Yuuri’s cracking grin was soft, light, and just the tiniest bit amused as he rubbed circles into Victor’s back. “You’re gonna have the best teeth in the world,” Yuuri reassured him. He paused in his movement, his cheeks filling with color. “And...you know, if it came to it...I’d pick you over Leo any day.”

Victor looked up from where he had shoved his face into his knees, turning a bit to the other boy in amazement. “Wait, honest?”

The color went darker, “Of course, Victor.”

Victor seemed to be processing the compliment. “You saw Titanic , right?”

“My mom fast forwarded some parts, but yeah.” His smile turned a shade of coy. “I like you better.”

Victor blinked a few times. “Wow,” he breathed out before beaming. “I like you more than Leo diCaprio too!”

He and Yuuri shared matching, slightly shy smiles. They seemed to be sharing more and more of those these days. Yuuri, after a moment, broke the moment with a giggle, his hand coming up to his mouth. He was always calmer around Victor, especially when the other boy was in one of his dramatic moods. Yuuri, the worst best friend in the entire world, seemed to find them funny.  

Something seemed to occur to Yuuri then as he leaned back from the moment, blinking a few times. He turned to the book bag at his side, “Oh! What I went for my bag for -” he dug around for a second, pulling out a few books before making a noise of triumph as he revealed a small tissue paper wrapped bundle.

“Happy birthday, Vitya.” Yuuri’s smile was small and coy, a flickering thing. He pushed the small, tightly wrapped package into Victor’s hands, his cheeks coloring.

Victor perked up, the last of all his previous dramatic emotion fading nearly instantly. “You got me something for my birthday!”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, fond and soft. “Of course I did. Now open it!”

Victor, nearly bouncing in place, tore open the light blue paper with reckless abandon. After a moment, he gasped.

His hands fluttered around the tissue paper in excitement, “Yuuri!” He beamed, “It’s a glitter choker! I’ve been wanting one of these!”

“I couldn’t get the one from dELiA’s you wanted,” Yuuri’s voice was apologetic, “but I found this one from the flea market!” He smiled sweetly, “The lady said it was magic.”

Victor’s light laugh was like a ringing bell, “It looks magical. I love it.” He beamed, “Can you help me put it on?”

The same slight color from earlier was back, “Right now?”

Victor shoved the necklace at him, turning and picking up his hair so Yuuri would link it. “Of course, if there’s any occasion to wear my new magic choker, it’s on my thirteenth birthday, Yuuri!”

“It is,” Yuuri gave him a small, shy smile. “So what do you want to do?” Yuuri leaned into his side, enjoying the warmth coming off the other other boy. “Mom said I could stay out till eight tonight to celebrate.”

Victor gasped, “That’s almost two hours later than usual!”

Yuuri shared in his excitement, “I know! We can do almost anything!”

“Oh!” A thought occurred to him then, and he grabbed onto the other boy’s hand, grinning brightly. “Let’s get to the rink before it gets too crowded! We can take turns practicing our jumps!”

“I want to come!”

Victor groaned nearly instantly at the high voice interrupting their conversation. Of course.

“Get out of my room, Yura.” Victor complained, returning to sprawling out, now across his bed. Yura had taken to sitting outside Victor’s bedroom while Yuuri visited and listening in on their conversations for opportunities to blackmail Victor for candy. More often than not, it worked out in Yura’s favor. “It’s my birthday and Yakov said I didn’t have to babysit.”

Yuuri tsked , “Be nice, Vitya.” He gave Yura a soft, welcoming smile. “You can come if you want, Yura, we’re leaving soon.”

The smaller boy beamed in all his four year old glory, “I’ll get my skates!” He smiled, his smile all window gaps from lost teeth. “I put tiger stickers on them!”

Yura ran and fetched them obediently, and puffed out his chest in pride as Yuuri cooed and admonished the tiger stickers in all the right spots. Victor dropped his crossed arms and sighed, smiling slightly. He didn’t really mind taking him along - he probably would have brought him anyways. Yura was cute when he was trying to impress Yuuri’s easily provoked amazement.

“If you’re going to come -” Yura beamed at him, “- you might as well be able to see.” Victor  gestured to the space in front of his knees, “If you hurry up, I’ll braid it out of your face.”

He was nearly vibrating in excitement, tripping over his feet in his haste to grab his skate bag. He plopped the bag in front of Yuuri, giving him a shy smile, and pulled his knees to his chest. He tipped his head back onto Victor’s knees, chubby cheeks spread out into a wide smile. “The pretty braid?”

Victor was already separating his fine silk hair. “I suppose.”

Yuuri gave them both a fond look, moving to collect the ripped wrapping paper from the carpet.

Victor continued the simple braid, much less complicated than Yura thought, and tied it off with the band on his wrist. Smoothing the stubborn fly-aways back from Yura’s face, he stood.

“Go make sure Yakov’s ready,” Victor told Yura, patting his head as the younger boy scrambled to his feet and raced out the door. He’d probably want to examine the braid to make sure it was perfect.

“Look who I found!” Yuuri heaved himself through the doorway, a dog much too big to be cradled in Yuuri’s arms doing exactly that. Victor brightened.

Yuuri let the dog to the ground, “Say bye to Makkachin!” Yuuri smiled sweetly, leaning forward to press his face into the dog’s fur.

Victor nearly melted, bending over to better see her. “Makkachin, ” he sang out, grinning widely. She jumped up, leaning her front paws on his hip, and panted happily up at him. “Makka, Makka, Makka ~” Victor lifted her up, hugging her to his chest despite her large size, and pushed his face into her fur.

She was the best dog.

“She’s the best dog,” Yuuri sighed, scratching her behind her ears in the way she loved. He was still trying to convince his parents to get one and must have been somewhat successful - he heard Mr. Katsuki asking after where Yakov had gotten Makkachin.

God. Two poodles. What a future.

Yura was already goraning out in frustration at the foot of the stairs, stomping his foot. “Vitya! Hurry up, Yakov is almost ready!”

Victor sighed, pushing one more kiss onto Makkachin’s nose, before grabbing Yuuri’s hand and pulling him down the stairs.

Yakov, only groaning a bit about his old bones, drove them to the rink, and left them with admission money and a promise to be back in a few hours.

He and Yuuri rushed to the rink, barely any people there but a few teens louding in the corner of the rink, and moved to shove their shaktes on, excitement clear in both of their grins. They dropped Yura, pouting, off at the smaller rink, a few younger kids lingering on the ice, and took off towards the ice.

Being on the ice with Yuuri was the best. Showing off fake routines, talking about their practices, ignoring Yakov’s advice - it was some of Victor’s favorite things to do.

“Minako wants me to double up on my dance practice but that would mean less skating,” Yuuri shrugged, smiling softly. He was skating backwards to face Victor, ease in every motion of his body. “And I like skating.”

“It’s like, our only hang out time for just the two of us,” Victor pointed out, playing with his footwork a bit.

“And Yura,” There was laughter in his voice, “don’t forget Yura.”

Victor puffed out a sigh, not actually annoyed but never willing to admit it. Little brothers were supposed to be annoying.

Yuuri smiled, grabbing onto his hand, and pulled him along the ice. They were good like that - hand in hand, gliding across like they were meant to. Victor peeked a look over at the other boy, suddenly shy with what he had to say.

“Yakov is talking about having me try out for a local competition,” There was a slight rare blush filling Victor’s cheeks, “I’m gonna have to make a routine and everything.”

“Victor!” Yuuri grabbed onto his arm in excitement, “Victor, that would be so cool. ”

Victor beamed, “I thought so! He wants me to start practicing next week.” He lit up after a moment, “Yuuri! Yuuri, you should try out too!” He gestured towards Yuuri’s smooth skating, “You’re as good as me, we could totally do it together! We’re already here all the time, we can practice together!”

A nervous expression passed over Yuuri’s face, “I don’t know…”

Victor grabbed onto the other boy’s hand, a serious look coming over his face. Rare, on his usually grinning face. “Yuuri,” he said, “you’re like, my favorite skater ever. I’ll be there with you. You already like making routines out of your dance programs, we can totally do this!”

Yuuri’s cheeks were flushed - from the cold air of the rink, probably. Slowly, he dipped his chin, and gave Victor a hesitant nod. “I’ll talk to Minako about it.”

Victor’s rare expression broke with a grin, beaming, and pulling the other boy into a quick hug. “This is the best birthday ever!”

“Oh!” At that, Yuuri pulled away, his head turning back towards the edge of the rink. “We should get some pictures, let me go get my camera!” Yuuri grinned, excited. After slipping on his skate guards, he hobbled off to the lockers. Victor watched him go with a smile, warming up on his own to go around once more.

But before he could, one of the teens lingering in the corner of the rink slid up, her hands on her hips.

“Hey, kid.” The teen jammed her thumb over her shoulder, frowning down at him. “Get off the ice, your time is up.”

Victor frowned, glancing over to the sign handing on the wall. He cocked his head to the side, unsure. “It’s….still open for another hour.”

The older teen gave him a dull look, “Only teens get to stay in the big rink after regular hours.” She gestured towards the smaller practice one in the distance. Victor could just barely see Yura racing across the surface. “Shouldn’t you be in the kid section?”

“It’s my birthday. I’m thirteen.” Victor angled up his chin like he’d seen Lillia do. “And you should be nice to me, I’m going to be famous one day.”

“Really?” There was laughter in her voice. “Sweetheart, you’ve got braces, baby fat, and just enough acne to be in a Proactiv commercial. You might wanna stick to something else, hun.”

Victor blinked at her. There was no cruelty in her tone, just bumping laughter, This - he - was just a joke to her. She was being starkly honest.

That...made it worst. A lot worse.

He was skating off the rink before he had another thought about it, swallowing against the tightening in his throat. The girl’s laughter trailed after him, a horrible soundtrack to his retreat.

“I got the camera -” Yuuri cut himself off, his smile dropping at Victor’s red, watery eyes. “I - Victor - what -”

Victor rushed straight past him, sliding on his skate guards, and rushing off the rink. In one hand, his bag swung widely as he wobbled away.

He threw himself into the nearest doorway - a closet, one he and Yuuri once hid out in when Yakov came looking for them - and locked the door behind himself, already sobbing.

She was right. This nameless teen, so cool and suave at only a few years older than he was - she was right. She had taken a single look at him and known everything Victor had sealed away under layers of dramatics and silly faces.

He slid down the door, shaking, tears soaking themselves into his shirt collar. She was so right. He was just a stupid thirteen year old, with a generic daydream of being famous, just like every other thirteen year old out there.

Where his bag had fallen, the contents spilled out open onto the concrete. Mariah Carey grinned at him like a secret, confident and cool and poised. The magazine cover almost shined under the dim light of the closet, just enough for Victor to read clearly the words splashed across.

Thirty and flirty, and thriving.

“I hate being thirteen. I just want to be be thirty,” he sobbed, burying his head into his knees. “ I just want to be be thirty. Thirty, flirty, and thriving. ”

He continued to hit his head against the back of the supplies closet door, sobbing, and his mantra only grew more desperate. Outside the door, Yuuri was banging on the door in panic and worry, his voice calling out pleas to open the door and Victor’s name in equal.

And the glitter choker, tight around the pale column of his throat, sparkled even under the dim, dim lighting of the room.

He must have pinned his hair back last night.

It was a rare morning in which he didn’t wake up with his silver locks tangled around his neck, frizzy around his cheeks. He was honestly a bit proud of himself to remember to tie it back - it was a habit he was trying to train himself into.

He squinted around the dark room in confusion. His room usually never got this dark in the mornings due to his window facing the sun. Must be bad weather today.

Sharp ringing - what must have woken him up, he barely registered it until now - started up again. It was off in the distance, in another room, but loud enough to clearly hear from his own room. One of Yakov’s alarms, probably.

He stretched out in his bed, his bones popping. Makkachin wasn’t in bed with him - she had probably curled up in Yura’s bed for the night. Traitor.

Well, he might as well start the day. Start breakfast, at the very least.

He stumbled out of bed, his mind still in the process of booting up, and nearly tripped over his dark sheets. Had he been fully awake, maybe he would have noticed the out of place furniture, or how silky his usually scratchy sheets were, or - at the very least - the silken pajamas that hung from his frame, as he usually slept in Yakov’s old shirts. But, as he blinked against a wave of fatigue, he didn’t notice any of this at first.  

He almost called out to Yakov, instead mumbling around a yawn. He pushed open the bedroom door, squinting against the hallway light, and froze.

He...he wasn’t at home.

He jumped back into the dark room, suddenly wide awake. He wasn’t anywhere he knew, not the Katsuki inn, or Lilia’s apartment, or any of his uncle’s houses. Nowhere he remembered.

The last thing he remembered was at the rink. Running into the closet, crying, Yuuri banging at the door. He must have fallen asleep there, and maybe Yuuri called someone. That would...make sense. Maybe.

He patted around the wall, sighing in relief when he managed to flip up the light switch. Okay. Okay, progress.

He was alone, it seemed, in a wide expansive room, all gray steel and white sheets. A bed, a small couch, and an empty bookshelf. Nearly bare. From here, he could see a the darkened tile of a bathroom and light carpet of a closet. More to investigate later, after he found Yakov.

He sighed, turning back to the doorway, and came face-to-face with the mirror hanging on the fall.

He stared into the mirror. A older man - with his features, with his wide blue eyes, with his mouth parted open - stared back at him.

Victor screamed.

The man screamed back.

Was that…? It had to be, that was him but, how? How was this even possible?

Oh god. Victor’s face in the mirror gasped. His hair.

He ran a shaking hand through the short - oh god, it was so short - cropped hair. It barely reached his ears.

His hand smacked over his mouth - his braces were gone. He peered at his reflection a bit closer - no braces, just perfect straight teeth that were definitely not his own.

“Oh my god,” he gasped out, right before choking. His voice - god, it was so deep. His eyes were crazed as he met them through his own reflection, “Oh my god.”

He had to find Yakov. He would - he would know what to do, the older man always did and this was surely something better handled by an adult.

A real adult, that is.

He wrenched the door open, calling out for Yakov and Yuri to no response, half expecting Makkachin to come bursting through the door as he cracked it open. There was no one else there but Victor.

And that annoying constant ringing.

He followed the sound, frowning and looking more than a little crazed and desperate, before stumbling into the living room. More unfamiliar surroundings - this time a coffee table paired with a pale couch, a dark coat thrown over the arm. He beelined for that first.

The ringing was coming from a sleek black block in the coat pocket. Christophe, it read. He inspected the loud device, the ring continuing. Maybe it was a music player, of some sort?

After a few moments, the ringing stopped. Victor let out a small sigh of relief, putting the block to the side. Along with the block in his pocket, a dark leather wallet. Something familiar, at least.

Victor flipped it open, his own tiny image staring back at him. He had a license, apparently. A few sleek cards - with his name on them, unbelievable considering that Yakov didn’t even let him run into the store with the older man’s card. His gaze flickered to the coffee table in front of the couch, stark white envelopes thrown about. He examined them, breathing low. Bills - bills with his full name and impossible dates on them, both such unlikely occurrences he stumbled back. He fell onto the couch, a breath rushing out of him.

Okay. He needed to think.

He picked up another one of the envelopes only to drop it back immediately. His eyes went wide.

That was...him.

Under the small pile of bills and papers, was his face. On...a magazine. Oh god. And not just any magazine. He picked it up slowly, his hands gentle and careful as if holding holy text, and stared at the bound paper.

His face was on the cover of H.M. Magazine . His face - unblemished with smooth, perfect skin - was on the cover, with text on either side bracketing his face in. No braces, no acne, no baby fat.

That was...good.

“Okay,” he said out loud, staring at the cover. The picture stared him down, looking impassive and bored. Victor didn’t even know he could look like that. “This is good.” He set down the magazine, falling back on the couch. “This could never happen in real life. So that means I’m dreaming. I can...I can deal with that.” He took a breath, “I’m dreaming.”

The ringing started back up. Apparently, even in dreams everyday annoyances were still commonplace.

He ignored it, instead looking around the apartment his dream had come up with. A bit plain, if anything, with too much gray and white. Where was all the color? His bedroom back home was a mess of neon color and peeling teen celebrity posters. Where was his Romeo + Juliet poster? It was limited edition and cost all of his allowance for two months. The least his unconscious could do was treasure it in his weird hallucination.

Rough pounding on the door pulled him out of his desperate, frantic thoughts, and Victor jumped up and looked to the door in only slight fear. Someone...was here.

Maybe if he ignored it…

Victor waited a few more moment but the knocking only persisted. The loud ringing started up again. Hesitantly, he took a step forward. Still no stopping.

“Victor,” a voice, slightly annoyed, was calling through the door. “Victor, we’re behind schedule.”

Victor leaned forward, narrowing his eye towards the small glass circle in the wood. Behind the door, someone huffed in annoyance.

“Um,” Victor attempted to place any familiarity to the person he stared through at the peephole. “Who is it?”

Victor watched the man roll his eyes before calling out, “Christophe.” The man, even through the peephole, was obviously in a hurry, “Open the door, Victor. We need to go.”

Victor took a breath. Okay. Yakov had drilled into he and Yura at very young ages the dangers of strangers. You don’t let strangers in, and you certainly don’t go with them.

But he knew Victor’s name, and Christophe - was that the name from the ringing block?

This was all a dream anyways. Everything would be fine.

Victor opened the door, his eyes crazed, his hair still sticking up in all directions.

Christophe barely spared him a glance past the initial. “Silk pajama pants?” Christophe’s voice was carefully neutral. “Attempting to start a new fashion trend, Mr. Nikiforov?”

“Uh,” Victor blinked, tightening his arms around himself. “Yeah. Um. That’s what I do.”

Christophe didn’t offer any other words, only holding out a cardboard cup. Victor took it numbly, without much thought.

“I’ve been calling you for an hour and a half.” Christophe’s voice held no emotion as he whipped out his own sleek black block - nearly identical to Victor’s own - and began tapping on it. Curiously, he peeked at the other man’s screen, a bit mystified.

Christophe didn’t seem to find anything out of the usual with this, “I’ve pushed back the meeting with JJ’s people - he’s still very insistent on being the first cover model to show off his tattoo - and the committee meeting is still set for this afternoon.” Christophe, without paying him much attention, began passing over Victor the heavy coat and scarf, gesturing towards the shoes haphazard in the doorway. Victor fumbled to lace them up, tying them up neatly, before Christophe disappeared around a corner.

If it was a dream then Victor should...go along with it?

He grabbed his few things, slammed the door behind him, and rushed after Christophe, impatiently holding the elevator.

In the elevator, Christophe had already turned his attention back to his hands, cradling his own black block. Victor bit his lip and began to put on his - he supposed it was his, after Christophe had shoved it towards him - coat. It was heavy and dark, nothing like the fluorescent puffer jacket at home. Victor took a deep breath.

“What’s…” Christophe glanced up at his voice, “What’s the date today?”

The other man gave him an unimpressed look, “March 14th.”

“And, uh.” Victor tried to keep his voice was wobbling. “What year?”

Christophe gave him a severe side-eye. “2017. Do I need to call someone? Your doctor?”

“No, no,” Victor shook his head furiously, “Just checking.”

Okay. Weird dream, where it wasn’t his birthday but three months, seventeen years later. That was...fine.

Christophe lead him to a parked limo at the curb, nearly dragging his elbow the entire way. Victor only clenched at his coffeecup, only hesitating briefly before following the other man into the car.

“Um,” Victor very gently the door behind him. There was a driver in the front, who peeled away the curb almost immediately. “Where are we going?”

Christophe’s voice was a sigh even if he didn’t do so. “How late were you out last night?”

“I -” Victor thought. The last memory he had was in the closet of the skating rink. It would have been well past his usual eight o’clock curfew at that point. “Late.”  

Christophe sighed, “I can tell. I’ll try and see what appointments I can move around.”

Victor didn’t respond despite Christophe clearly waiting for him to. He shot a look at the other man, swallowing. Everything suddenly felt very real.

“Am I…” He was almost scared to ask, “Am I not dreaming?”

Christophe gave him a slightly dull look, going back to tapping away at his phone. “If you’re dreaming, then we’re both living out this nightmare.”

There was a beat of silence. Victor bit his lip to shreds, “So, no?”

“No, Victor. You’re not dreaming. I don’t know what you did last night -” he gestured to the entirety of Victor, “But we have a lot on the agenda for today. Try your drink.”

Slowly, he sipped at the steaming drink and almost immediately had to resist the urge to spit it across the leather cushions.

Christophe gave him a weary look, “Something wrong, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Somehow, Victor forced down the sip. He winced, pulling the cup in cup holder, and made no plans to ever touch it again. “Is that coffee?”

“Yes, sir.” Christophe answered promptly. “The same order you drink every morning. Would you like me to get something else more to your liking?”

“No, no I just -” What was Victor suppose to say, I’m not allowed to drink coffee and that might be good because that’s disgusting? “Not thirsty.”

Christophe didn’t comment any further, only staring down at his glowing block. Maybe...a small TV? Was that possible in the future?

“We’re here,” Christophe shoved the black block into his pocket, sliding out. Victor, with not much other choice, followed.

And in front of them was the H.M. Magazine headquarters.

That was obvious even without the classy cursive font and logo - slightly different than the one Victor remembered - adorning the building. It was the same building that appeared in a rare edition of the magazine, usually to advertise some contest for a fan to win a visit. Victor had been loyally entering for years.

Christophe took no moment to stare as Victor did, instead sweeping into the building without a second glance. Victor stumbled across the sidewalk to follow.

The other man already had a badge at the ready, flashing it towards the towering security guards, barely breaking stride as he dipped through a metal detector. Victor, casting a worried look towards the tall, uniformed woman closest to him, slowly followed.

“I’m with him,” Victor pointed unnecessarily at Christophe to the security guard, a spike of worry hitting him.

The guard only nodded politely, making no move for a card like Christophe had provided. “Of course, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Oh. They knew his name. That was... really cool.  

Christophe gave them a tight smile, grabbing onto Victor’s arm and pulling him away. The elevator was already there, waiting, the few people inside vacating almost instantly the moment Victor and Christophe were in sight. Christophe - with his perfect suit, neutral voice, careful language - he must be a big deal here.

The elevator went up to nearly the top floor - remarkable for such a towering skyscraper - and Christophe was out of the door before the doors even opened fully.

Christophe went directly to the side desk in front of a large doorway, beginning to set up his things, pressing a few buttons on a large screen. Victor stayed in place, glancing around the office with wide eyes.

Christophe noticed his lingering, giving him a pleasant look. “Is there something you still require, sir?”

“Oh, um.” Victor blinked at the sir. “Uh, where can I sit?”

The other man stared at him for a long moment, “...your office, I presume?”

“My...office.” Victor stated slowly, “I have an office here? In H.M. Magazine headquarters?”

“Yes,” Christophe was now visibly impatient, gesturing towards the nearby doorway with his free hand. “It’s right there, sir.”

Again with the sir.

Victor reached up, only catching himself at the last second as he went to wind a long piece of hair around his finger. Instead, he only rested his hand on his neck. “Um, what do I do? What do you do?”

“I’m your assistant,” he stated slowly. There was a low bitter tone in his voice that Victor didn’t quite fully catch, “and you’re Editor-in-Chief of History Maker Magazine.”

Victor’s mind went white noise.

“I...what?” Victor choked, his hands coming up to his face. “I...am?”

“Yes,” he agreed simply, sighing, before reaching into Victor’s own pocket to pull out the sleek block that had been making noise all morning. Victor carefully packaged his ‘oh my god future me is the editor in chief for H.M. Magazine, oh my god’ freak out away for another time. Later, when he was alone and far from anyone who could hear him scream in pure excitement. “Have you answered any of your texts this morning?”

Victor perked up at that - he had a phone, here? He had glanced around a bit when in the apartment for his blocky Nokia but hadn’t had any success.

Although...if this was the future - the present, kinda? - he did suppose he would have probably gotten a new phone along the way.

Like the sleek black block.

“Let me see that,” he frowned down at the box. “This is my...phone?” he pushed on the sides, holding it up to his eyes. “How does the keyboard come out?”

Christophe only sighed, “What did you end up taking last night?” he tsked , taking the phone out of his hands. “It can’t have been that good if it’s still messing you up.”

“Taking?” Victor gave him a blank look, cocking his head.

Christophe’s annoyed look was turning slightly concerned. “You took something while you were at the club last night, right?

“What are you talking about?” Victor blinked a few times, trying to catch up with the conversation. Taking something, like stealing? Victor would never steal, Yakov would surely and swiftly have his skin for even considering the thought. But at a club? Victor had only read a few articles about clubs in magazines, that wrote of drinks and dancing, hundreds of people pressed together for music. But Victor had been studying H. M. magazine since Yakov started letting him buy them with his allowance, and there was the rare cautionary article on clubs, about bad drinks, worse men, and even some on...

Victor’s look of confusion was instantly overtaken by a look of horror, “Are you talking about drugs?” He hissed, his hand coming up to his chest. “Christophe, I pledged DARE in middle school. I would never take drugs. They’re illegal. ” That didn’t seem to satisfy the other man at all, despite the rare note of ernest emotion in Victor’s voice.

Christophe shoved the screen back into his hands, a frown still on his face. “You’re gonna be out of it all day. The committee can’t see you like this - you can hide in your office all day if you want but they won’t like it.” Christophe blew some air up into his bangs, “Not again.”

An opportunity to sit down and evaluate what the heck was going on. “Okay!” Victor beamed, a heart-shaped smile gracing his delicate features. Christophe nearly started in surprise. “Could you…”

Victor glanced around the office, smiling at the few eyes he caught. Those employees immediately snapped their gazes back to their desks, shaking slightly, but Victor paid them no attention. “Could you show me...um...I mean, my office?”

Christophe stared at him for another long moment before walking ahead through the open doorway. Victor, with not much other choice, followed him, and had to stifle down his gasp almost immediately.

His office was beautiful, a glossy picture of sophistication, like something straight out of a Frasier episode. He almost expected Niles to be lounging around the corner.

“Oh my god, my office is amazing.” Victor beamed, his hands coming up to his face even as Christophe shut the door tightly behind them both.  

Frosted glass wrapped around the walls facing the office, the beautiful skyline of the city on view out the parallel glass. A dark colored desk, neat and spotless, with crystal and glass paperweights lining up the front, that complimented the dark couch that ran across the wall. Not many pictures, aside from a large black and white painting was a bit boring for Victor’s taste, and the few framed editions of the magazine that lined up on the walls.

Victor let out a breath, his hands fluttering at his sides. “I can’t believe this is mine.”

“This is worse than the Fashion Week acid trip of 2014,” Christophe muttered, setting a bottle of water on the table, guiding Victor to his seat. “If you weren’t paying me a truly absurd amount of money I’d quit right now.” He straightened up, giving Victor a dull look. “I think I’ll give myself a raise after this.”

Victor only nodded happily, “You probably deserve it.” He was still in awe of the wide expanse room, the sophisticated feel that even the air held. He felt too underdressed to be breathing it. “Hey Christophe, we’re...friends, right?” Victor’s eyes were wide and blue, an openness that hadn’t been there in years.

Christophe gave him a strange look, his hands on his hips. There was a dismissiveness in his voice even as he said, “Sure, Victor.”

Victor didn’t notice the tone, only beaming. That was good!

Christophe gave him a few more instructions - not to step out his office unless absolutely necessary, not to answer any emails or texts if he could help it, a few other orders that Victor mostly drowned out - before finally closing the door behind him, leaving Victor alone.

He settled down in his plush office chair, spinning a few times for effect. He giggled uncontrollably, kicking his feet out. He had managed it after all. Unless this was all a very vivid lucid dream - and than if so, props to Victor himself for his own creativity - then he’d actually reached his dreams. Yuuri was right.

Yuuri.

He gasped, his hands going to tap blindly at his phone, the screen flashing different colors with every touch. Victor had absolutely no idea what any of them meant.

In his avid tapping, he accidently hit the small button at the bottom of the screen, and the screen went dark.

Oh god, he broke it.

After a second, the screen spelled out a few words.

How can I help you?

A small microphone icon was at the bottom. Hesitantly, Victor pressed it. He leaned in closer to the phone, first trying a simple, “...hello?”

There was a slight vibration from the phone. “Hello there,” A neutral feminine voice floated from the speakers, making Victor’s jaw fall open in surprise. He gasped, holding the phone away from him.

Oh god, they had done it. They had made robots. Victor owned a tiny robot.

This was the best day of his life.

The screen was black, a multi-colored line at the bottom bumping up at every slight sound. It seemed to be waiting.

Victor fumbled the sleek phone in surprise, pressing the button once again. “Um, what’s your name?”

There was no hesitation or lag. The future was amazing. “My name is Siri,” the voice answered,

“How can I help you?”

“Oh, uh, hi! I’m Victor. But you know that. Um. What...are you?” There was a moment of silence. Even robots thought, it seemed.

The robot ignored the question. “Hi there,” it only responded. Victor bit his lip. Many too many questions?

“Are you...a person?” Was Victor talking to a real person, like a phone call? If so, who? Was this Siri another one of his friends or coworkers?

“I’m not sure that matters,” the voice answered simply, the words spelling out on the screen.

Well. Victor supposed it didn’t. Maybe not a person, then. He liked his robot theory.

He shook his head. He had more important things to focus on. “Siri,” he started, watching the words spell out on the screen. This was so cool. “Can you make a phone call for me?” Victor was nearly certain there would be no way he could figure it out on his own, and Siri seemed to want to help.

“Sure,” the voice answered, relief hitting Victor like a wave. “Who do you want me to call?”

“Call Yuuri,” his voice nearly fell into a beg, his fingers turning to clench at the metal. Yuuri would know what to do - he always did. Yuuri, other then Yakov, was the smartest person he knew. Yuuri - Yuuri could help him, fix whatever was going on here.

There was a pause, as Siri must have thought over the request. Finally, after only a few seconds, the device lit back up with words and voice. “Sorry, you don’t have anyone named ‘Yuuri’ in your contacts.”

Victor bit his lip. Maybe he had the boy saved in as some other contact. He tapped his way over to the number pad, a bad feeling bubbling in his chest.  

He had long since memorized Yuuri’s cell phone number but was careful as he typed it in, mouthing the numbers as he did so. He waited a few seconds, staring at the still screen, and tapped the green phone icon. A good start, it would seem, as the screen changed and a dial tone started up.

He pressed the screen to his face, his knees coming up to his chest, and clenched his hands when almost immediately, the call went straight to a prerecorded message declared the number out of service.

Okay. Okay, this was fine. Everything was fine - Yuuri probably got a new phone too, and maybe Victor hadn’t managed to program it in yet.

“Siri,” his throat bobbed, “Call Yakov.”

Another few seconds, another dead end. A voicemail this time, instead excusing his absence on a vacation in St. Petersburg with - and Victor let out a low sigh of relief - Yura, saying they would be back in a week, and demanding the caller not to clog up the machine with a message. Same old Yakov, it seemed.

Victor would be lying if he said he didn’t process that with a bit of relief. But also -

“I can’t believe they went to Russia without me,” His voice was scandalized in the silence of the room. After another moment - mentally preparing his dramatic monologue he was sure to go off on once he was with them again - he returned to his phone.

He had a truly absurd number of contacts but in comparison a nearly vacant amount of text conversations. One with Christophe - which seemed to be mostly tasks sent from Victor’s own phone, a few more professional sounding conversations that nearly had Victor bored to tears, a single other conversation from what sounded like a lost food delivery driver. Where were all Victor’s friends?

He bit his lip, holding his phone to his chest.

Yakov, Yura, and Yuuri weren’t even listed there.

Maybe he just preferred to talk to them in a different way, emailing or IM-ing online. That would make sense - that was how he and Yuuri would talk at night when their parents were taking up the landline.

Yeah. That made sense.

He spent the majority of the morning talking to Siri - she wasn’t much for conversation but seemed alright with answering any of the questions he could come up with - about celebrities and pop culture, mostly.

Dawson’s Creek had ended, apparently. Yuuri was going to be heartbroken. That was their show.

Well, he would have been. Past tense.

He shook the thoughts out of his head. He’d probably just forgotten everything for a bit, perhaps he hit his head or something, but give it a few days and he’d remember where he kept Yuuri’s phone number, and Yakov and Yura would be home from Russia, and they’d all laugh about it. Victor was sure.

But he couldn’t sit around and think about that all day.

Outside his office door, there was a flurry of movement obvious though the shadow and reflection that played across the frosted glass. Victor couldn’t see a single thing outside into the room - that must be horrible. How did people know he was in here so to come talk to him?

But that did inspire something - mostly the thought of his empty stomach.

“Christophe?” Victor gave him a heart shaped grin as he peeked around the doorway to his desk, “Wanna get lunch?”

Christophe gave him a nod, as if expecting this, and typed for a few more moments before standing. “What do you want?”

Victor shrugged happily, reaching for his own coat from where Christophe had hung it that morning. “Whatever you want! I’m not picky.”

Christophe paused where he was gathering his things. “You’re...coming?”

Victor cocked his head, still unfamiliar with the lack of hair tracing over his shoulders. “Uh, yeah? We’re gonna go get food, right?”

“I usually bring it to your office for you,” he explained slowly, “you’re...really out of it, aren’t you?”

Victor gave him a bright, if slightly strained, smile. “Nope!” He popped the word, “I’m feeling great, actually! Just want some air. What are you feeling?”

“Uh,” for the first time all morning, the other man looked thrown. “What do I want?”

Victor nodded, smiling. His short hair flopped around his ears, falling over one of his eyes. It wasn’t a bad hairstyle, now that he was considering it.

Christophe looked unsure, “We could go by that bistro on Fifth Avenue, the one with the   prawn-and-avocado roulade dish you like.”

“Okay!” Victor had no idea what that dish was, “Sounds good!”

Christophe lead them the same way they came - confident and quick-stepped - and Victor lagged behind him. He waved at the other workers hidden behind cubicles and desk walls, faltering when none of them returned his grin. Most of them ducked out of sight, wincing, after catching his eye.

He frowned, looking much more like this regular self, or so several of the workers thought, and followed Christophe out of the building. The other man, thankfully, knew exactly where he was going.

The same driver from before was in the front seat - did Victor have his own driver? - and barely blinked as Christophe relayed an address. After a moment, Christophe closed the small window between them and leaned back.

“Do I have my own driver?” Victor blinked at the closed privacy divider, gaping.

“Yes,” Christophe’s voice was just beginning to hit the edge of his patience. “Raoul.“

“Raoul,” Victor smiled, “I really do have everything - wow!”

Christophe’s low huff of annoyance was not audible enough through the noise pollution of the New York traffic around them. “Yes, sir.”  

The car ride was short - too short, as Victor gazed around the skyscrapers and city in unabashed amazement.

Victor let Christophe lead the short way down the street, confident and cool as he maneuvered his way through the New York crowd, Victor following breathlessly.

New York City. Wow.

The other man made a sharp turn into a small darkened doorway, Victor scrambling to follow.

“Mr. Nikiforov, Mr. Giacometti,” The front of house nodded to them as they entered. Victor had to stifle an excited giggle. “Pleased to have your acquaintance.”

Christophe held up two fingers, barely sparing a look towards the other man. “Two tables, please.”

Victor shot him a wounded look. “You don’t want to sit with me?”

“You...want us to share a table?” Christophe gave him a quizzical look, “You usually insist on eating alone.”

Victor’s mouth smoothed out in a line, “Well, today I want company. Let’s sit?”

Christophe, after shooting a weird look to Victor’s back, followed after a moment of hesitation.

Victor threw himself into the booth, bouncing lightly on the plush leather cushion. Christophe slid gracefully across from him, still eyeing the other man.

The waiter, a nervous looking young man, came up to them, nearly trembling. Victor gave him a reassuring smile. Must be his first day on the job, so exciting!

The smile only seemed to trip him up more. “What - what can I get for you, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Victor lit up - he knew his name, that was so cool! Victor must come here a lot. Victor always wanted one of those kind of places, where he could stroll in and suavely order the regular

The waiter was waiting for an answer. Victor glanced at the table top for a second - there were no menus. “What do you have to drink?”

“Well, uh -” The waiter’s voice cracked, “we have the Chateau Margaux 2009 you got last time you were here, as well as your choice of -”

Victor bit his lip. Sure, he was excited to try everything his new thirty style life had to offer but after everything that had happened today, he was craving something more familiar.

“Do you have orange soda?” Victor gave him a reassuring smile. “In the can?”

The waiter gave him a wide-eyed look. “Orange… soda? Like, Fanta?”

“Sure,” Victor agreed happily, turning back to Christophe. His jaw was slack in surprise. “Christophe, anything to drink?”

The other man took a breath, seemingly coming back to himself, and ordered his own drink - something French and utterly impossible for Victor to repeat.

The waiter was stiff and tense now, his arms folded behind his back. “Anything...else?”

“Oh,” Victor dragged out the word in excitement. “Can we get some mozzarella sticks? Yakov never lets me get them!” He paused, “Um, when I was little, I mean.”

Christophe gave him a weird look as the waiter took down the order.

“Mozzarella sticks?” He considered aloud. “Munchies, maybe?”

“I always have the munchies for mozzarella sticks!” Victor agreed happily. “Have you ever had them here?”

“They definitely don’t serve mozzarella sticks here,” Christophe thumbed a bit of the condensation off his water glass off, flicking it onto the pale tablecloth.

“Oh,” Victor cocked his head to the side, “why did they let me order them?” He gave the other man a small pout, “I was really craving them.”

Christophe gave him a doubtful look, “Don’t worry. You’re Victor Nikiforov. They’ll make them.”

He brightened at that. This was all so cool.

“So, why are you my assistant?” Victor leaned forward, his head rested on his folded hands. “You don’t want to do this forever, right?”

Christophe blinked a few times, staring at him strangely. “You’ve...never asked me that before.”

Victor paused at that. It seemed he and Chris were together nearly constantly, and Victor hadn’t asked? That was...strange. “I’m asking now,” he smiled, the answer a bit lame.

“I…” Christophe trailed off, “I want to be an on staff photographer for National Geographic. But they said I needed more experience and a stellar recommendation letter and…” Christophe’s smile grew slightly strained. “Who better than Victor Nikiforov to write it?”

Victor nearly squealed in delight, his hands clapping together. “Oh, Chris! That’s so exciting! How much longer do you have with the magazine?”

“I was thinking six more months,” Chris’s voice was very soft, “That’ll have been four years of experience. I’ve been in contact with one of their hiring people and - and they think I have a pretty good chance.”

Victor grinned at him. Sure - working at H.M. Magazine was his dream job, but Christophe wanted more than an assistant job forever, so it was perfectly understandable. “That’s great, Chris! What kind of photos do you take?” Hopefully the formatting of photography hadn't changed too much. Photos were kind of forever, right?

Christophe instead completely ignored his question, counter with his own statement after a moment.

“You’re not upset,” Christophe observed leaning back in his chair. “When Sara quit for TIME you refused to even let her use you as a reference.”

“I did?” Victor blinked a few times in surprise, “But...why? Did we leave on bad terms?”

“She was one of your favorite editors, actually. And she did everything to the letter - even let you know a month and a half in advance.” Christophe sighed, sympathy in his voice. “You were livid.”

Victor’s voice was a breath, “What did I do?”

Chris gave him a hard look, his voice serious. “You made her pack up her desk the day she told you. She was in tears.”

“That’s awful,” Victor looked down at his clenched hands.

There was a beat of silence. “Yeah,” Chris agreed, taking a sip of his drink. “It was.”

Victor swallowed against the tense feeling in the air, his eyes flickering away from Christophe's questioning, intense gaze. With the action, his eye caught on a flash of gold. He gasped.  

“You’re married?” Victor beamed, pulling the other man’s hand closer to inspect the gold band. “Chris, that’s so exciting!”

“Engaged,” Christophe corrected him, shaking his head and pushing his hand through his hair. It was like he was winding up for something. “Yeah. I am. I’ve told you this.”

“Oh,” Victor bit his lip, “well, I’m really happy for you, Chris. You’re a really nice person.”

Christophe clenched his jaw at that, glancing away. There was a fire in his eyes. It suddenly felt much too tense.

“Are you...okay?” Victor tried, fiddling with the paper napkin, ripping it into bits.

Christophe took a breath, “Actually, I’m not sure.” He swept his hand through the air, “Because I have no idea what’s going on and it’s freaking me out.”

Victor’s eyes were wide. Was he actually so bad at being himself that he couldn’t last a few hours? “What...what do you mean?”

“You just keep -” Christophe gestured vaguely to the air, “pretending we’re like, best friends or something. Before today you’ve never called me Chris, or gotten lunch with me, or any of this. And, like, I don’t think you’ve ever even laughed in my presence and especially never asked me questions about my life? And this just doesn’t seem like a bad hangover or spoiled leftovers from last night.” Christophe was rambling, “So I’m not sure if this a new article idea - befriending your help or something - but I don’t want any part in it, Victor. I’m your assistant, not your trend guinea pig. I’m relieved you agreed to write my recommendation letter but - but I’m not sacrificing my dignity for some cover quote.”

“I’m not -” Victor held up his hands in plea, his eyes wide. “I’m don’t - I’m not -” Victor took a breath, swallowing. “This isn’t for the magazine. Or anything.”

“Then why?” Christophe’s voice was a near demand that even he still startled with after a moment.

“I don’t -” Victor took a steadying breath, his hand still clenched around Christophe’s sleeve. “You said we were friends earlier,” Victor glanced away, “it’s okay if you were lying. But I would like to be.”

Christopher seemed to be suspicious of the entire situation. “And why is that?”

Victor let his shoulders drop. “Christophe,” he started, rubbing at his collarbone. He thought to his nearly empty phone log, the text conversations that only related to work, the blank and neutral tone Christophe carried with him. “It seems I don’t have many friends here. But…” he trailed off, tracing invisible patterns on the table. “I’d like to change that.”  

Christophe still held a suspicious look in his gaze. Victor tried again, wishing he still had his long silver hair to flip over a shoulder before leaning in.

“So…” Victor flashed him a blinding grin, “Friends?”

Christophe, still in a state of surprise and completely unsure what to say, only nodded very slowly, very unsure. A wave of relief hit him. He nearly wilted in relief against the expensive leather booth, grinning widely. Only half a day in and he was already improving his life - he was great at this!

Christophe, though, was still quiet, his gaze narrowed. Victor needed to engage him somehow.

How had he managed to pull Yuuri into such an amazing friendship? If Christophe and him were going to be great friends, he needed to pull out the big guns.

He thought of the first time Victor had met Yuuri. Both boys had been wearing matching Spice Girls shirts, and Victor had proclaimed that a sign from the gods before attaching himself to the other boy for the next several years.

Vaguely, Victor wondered if older Yuuri remembered that, but returned his focus to the man in front of him. He bit his lip.

Victor was wearing silk pajama pants; Christophe was dressed in sleek dark lines. Not that, then.

But...

“Celebrity crush,” Victor grinned, leaning across the dark wood table, his hands fanned out. “Which of the ‘N Sync guys would you date?”

Christophe wrinkled his nose, finally more relaxed. “Oh god, ‘N Sync? I haven’t listened to them in years.” He thought for a moment, his head resting on his cupped hand. “I love Justin, but probably Lance. Being the only gay member, you know, actually puts him on the playing field and everything.”

There was a moment of silence.

Victor gasped.

“Lance Bass is gay,” Victor’s voice was of complete awe and astonishment, “I - oh my god. This changes everything.”

Christophe gave him a curious look. “Yes. You know that - I’ve watched you spend the entirely of a red carpet exclusive flirting with him. It’s on Youtube.”

“I -” Victor forced himself back under control. “I just, uh, forgot. You know how it is.”

It was a lame excuse, so thin Victor could practically snap the lie in half, but Christophe didn’t question him on it past a curious look.

They finished up their lunch - the mozzarella sticks brought out were wonderful even if the main dish did make him wrinkle his nose a bit - and Chris even made some conversation with him, once he stopped looking so strained.

They made their way back to the office, Christophe still frowning slightly as Victor babbled on most of the drive back, but was at least nowhere near the strain of tense he had shown at lunch.

Chris gestured towards his desk, “I’ve got to get some work done but I had one of the interns grab your laptop from your apartment, it should be on your desk.”

“Oh,” What in Britney’s name is a laptop , Victor thought frantically, keeping his smile in place. “I’ll get to that, then!”

Christipe waved him off, watching the other man with a narrowed, still slightly suspicious eye, as Victor disappeared into his office. Here, at least, Victor could collect himself.

He sat at his desk, bouncing on the plush leather seat, before facing the desk itself. There wasn't much there, not even a rouge Post-It note for Victor to look over, only neat stacked papers, none of them interesting at first glance, a single locked drawer, and, what Chris must have been talking about, a clean sleek piece of tech awaiting him.

He stared at it for a long moment. The logo, a small white apple, looked strangely familiar. After a few moments, it clicked.

An iBook! Victor had seen a few of his classmates with them, but Yakov had always claimed them to be too expensive. Did Victor manage to get one, a much fancier looking one admittedly, in the future?

He really did have everything. Victor was almost in awe.

He poked at the iBook - laptop , he reminded himself - opening it up, frowning slightly.

...Maybe this was best figured out later.

He surveyed the rest of his office, taking a closer eye to it then before. Not any photos, unlike Victor’s old locker back at the middle school which was nearly bursting with color and printouts of Makkachin in various outfits. No color, not really, other than from the lineup of past issues. Bored, a seemingly not going to figure out his laptop anytime soon, he ran his fingers up and down the issue spines, pulling one out at random. It would do him good to catch up with that was fashion now, after all.

After only a few pages in, he frowned. Was the magazine like this when he was young? Blank faced models staring out, the only occasional splash of color being across a woman’s lips, the accent in an advertisement. This was hardly any fun to read.

It was a few more hours of this - flipping through the magazines, poking at his phone mostly -  before Christophe was back, lingering in the doorway. Victor gave him a friendly smile.

“Are you going to be in by nine tomorrow?” Christophe asked, “Or should I come by your apartment again?”

“I’ll be ready,” Victor promised. Christophe nodded.

“Your car is here for whenever you’re done,” Christophe paused in the doorway. “Should I let Raoul know you’ll be down?”

Victor jumped up, his office chair going spinning behind him. “Yes!”

He could finally get back to his apartment, maybe find out what exactly was going on. Find out more about himself, at the very least. He grabbed his things, humming under his breath, and swept out of the doorway.

He paused, his coat in his arms, and lingering in front of Christophe’s desk. The other man glanced up, expectant. Maybe…?

Victor hesitated before finally speaking. “Do I have a Yuuri in my contacts?”

Christophe raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “Yuri, your little brother? Yes, Victor, you have -”

“No,” Victor cut him off with an apologetic look, “Um. Yuuri Katsuki? Do I have his number?”

Christophe gave him a curious look, turning to tap away at his tablet. “Not that I have listed,” He answered after a moment, “but if you have his information, I can look him up.”

“Oh, um.” Victor blinked a few times. “We actually grew up as next door neighbors. I know his parents used to own the spa and hotel in town but, um, the number I had was disconnected.”

Christophe wrote down the limited info Victor had - info that was probably years outdated for all that Victor knew - and promised results. Victor gave him a wobbly smile that Christophe, after a moment, returned himself.

Good. Progress.

He made his way down the elevator and lobby to the street where, surprisingly, the familiar long stretched limousine was already waiting.

Victor...could get used to this lifestyle. Once after he got in contact with his friends and family, obviously.

He slid into the backseat, beaming as he bounced on the expensive leather, and grinned at his driver through the mirror. Raoul, however, gave him no response. Victor tried a bit harder, unclicking his seatbelt to lean forward.

“How long have you been driving me?” Victor asked curiously, edging closer to the privacy divider.

“Eleven years, Mr. Nikiforov.” He answered.

Victor hummed, “That’s cool!”

“Yes, sir.” He only agreed, going quiet. Older Victor didn’t seem to have a lot of conversation with the people he saw everyday. That was...weird. Yakov usually had to yell at him for making conversation with the grocery ladies and neighbor dog walkers. Maybe it finally stuck when he got older.

Raoul said nothing for the rest trip, not even announcing when they pulled up, simply flipping off the radio and waiting for Victor to leave.

“Thank you,” Victor have him a wide smile, hoping it didn’t come off too awkward. “Have a nice day!”

He carefully shut the door behind him, Yakov hated when he was careless, especially in regards to Yakov’s ancient box car, and approached the skyscraping building. He vaguely remembered the location of his apartment from that morning, and hoped to all that was Britney Spears he wasn’t wrong.

“Oh,” he blinked as a tall, thin boy ran forward to open the door for him. Dark, rich red uniform, nicely pressed, an elegant logo on his breast. He was nearly out of breath as he jerked the door open, propping it open with his foot.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the teenage bellhop looked close to bowing as he kept the heavy door open, his voice high. “Did you have a nice day?”

Victor could only dramatically sigh, dropping his shoulders, as he swept through the doorway. “It’s been such a long day -” he narrowed his eyes as he read off the nametag, “Drew. How was yours?”

The question only seemed to push the boy off balanced, confused as Victor’s grinned in thanks. “It was wonderful!” His voice cracked, his face matching the dark rogue of his uniform. “Absolutely perfect!”

Victor matched his tone, beaming. “That’s great!”

“Yes, sir!” The boy’s voice only rose another nervous pitch. Dogs nearby beware.

They faced off with matching ecstatic beams, Victor honestly, truly joyful he had found someone so willing to smile, Drew nearly fearing for his life. Or worse, his job.

“Well, have a nice night!” Victor’s smile, impossibly, grew wider as he waved and went off. In the background, unnoticed to Victor, the teen slumped over the nearly surface and let out a breath.

He made it up to his apartment - thank you Britney! - and only took a bit of shuffling with his keyring before he was back inside. Somewhat disheveled from this morning, but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

He checked out the rooms properly this time, slightly bored with the decor but eh, he could work with it. He paused, his eye catching on the pile of shoes he had left in the doorway, and bit at his lip, unsure.

Yakov must have Makkachin, wherever she was. Current Victor seemed so busy, it was probably best for her, having all of Yakov’s and Yura’s attention. Victor was probably working such long hours and never home and...it was probably best for her.

Still. He’d do anything right now for a quick hug and kiss from his favorite pup.

He let out a breath, more a little choked up over the thought of his dog, and returned back into the living room. It was such a large space to have all to himself. It was the kind of place that looked better with people in it, he could already tell. When Yakov and Yura were back in town, he’d have to have them over immediately. Maybe they’d know what was going on.

He turned back to the task at hand. He had to get more familiar with what was going on, Christophe wouldn’t let him blame this all on bad leftovers or whatever forever.

Well, if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. And that meant knowing all there was to know about current fashion.

“Siri,” Victor threw himself on the couch, his feet in the air. “What are the Kardashians?”

If there was one thing Victor was the absolutely the most disappointed with in his future-present it was his closet.

How foolish and naive Victor had been that morning, bouncing in place as he ran to flip on the lights and get ready for the day. He had been ecstatic, saving the exciting task for the morning. He had gotten up two hours early, Victor wasn’t sure he had ever gotten up two hours early for anything.

He was the Editor-in-Chief at one of the biggest fashion magazines in the world.

But Spears, it didn’t show.

He had gapped in horror that morning as he surveyed his limited options. He didn’t think he had ever seen such a collection of dark colors outside of a funeral.

And they were all in his closet.  

He needed a fainting couch solely for this ordeal. He’d have to ask Christophe how to get one, if this was the reality he was living in.

He worked with what he had, although it seemed like a shopping trip was in desperate need.

He, somehow, made his way back to the office without much assistance - other than asking a nervous looking receptionist quick directions - and soon he was back on the top floor, in front of Christophe’s desk. The other man was already there, scratching away at some paperwork, but stood once Victor approached, almost on instinct.

“Christophe,” Victor’s voice was a near lament, cutting Christophe off before he could begin his morning announcements. “Do you see what I’m wearing?”

The other man glanced up, giving Victor a questioning look before answering.

“Something...better than silk pajamas?” Christophe tried after a moment of hesitation, a bit unsure with the teasing, as he let his tablet fall to his side. But Victor only groaned.

“I own way too many boring colors,” Victor frowned down at his outfit, a nearly all black ensemble. “This was one of the only instances of color I had that wasn’t white, black, gray, or tan!”

“You usually stick to base and neutral colors,” Christopher affirmed, eyeing his top. It was cropped, which Victor secretly delighted in. Yakov hated the cropped tops worn by the models in Victor’s magazines. “I think that was a gift from Lacerda after we did that feature on them.”

“Yeah, well, everything else in my closet is super boring. What was I even thinking?” Christophe shrugged, not really willing to answer that question, and turned back to his tablet, his fingertip sliding across the surface. A few notifications blinked back at him. Victor nearly fainted from boredom.

See? Fainting couch. So incredibly useful.

Victor’s eyes lit up in idea, “Hey, can I take a day off? Go shopping?”

Christophe had his schedule up in a second, “You don’t have anything important today, just minor stuff I can push back.” He bit his lip, “JJ’s people are still unhappy about your cancellation yesterday but they should be fine as long as you make the meeting tomorrow.”

“So…” Victor trailed off with the word, leaning forward onto Christophe’s desk eagerly.

“You haven’t taken a real vacation in -” Christophe flipped through a stack of papers. “Six years. One day off shouldn’t hurt.”

Victor nearly fist bumped. Hell yeah, day’s off were the best.

He paused, thinking it over. A thought occurred to him. “If I’m off, what do you do?”

Christophe paused, considering. “I...don’t really know. You’ve never taken a day off before.”

Victor grinned suddenly, slapping his hands on Christophe’s desk in excitement. “Let’s go shopping! I need more color and you can help me!”

“ Me helping you with your fashion choices?” Christophe gave him a doubtful look. Victor’s hands were clasped together, wide eyes persistent.

Finally, Christophe relented. “Alright,” he was already calling up Raoul, updating him.

Victor beamed, “We’re gonna get the coolest clothes ever!”

“Are those...platform sneakers?”

Victor held them to his chest in excitement, nearly vibrating with the emotion. “The only pair left!”

Christophe gave him a doubtful look, “From 2001, maybe.” He gave him a curious look, “Are you trying to bring the 90s vintage look back or something?”

“Or something,” he smiled, kicking off his plain loafers without thought. From his side, Christophe made a wounded noise at the expensive leather scuffing together.

“They’re perfect,” he sighed, angling his foot to be a better look at them.

Christophe gave him a raised eyebrow but said nothing.

Victor stood, taking a few steps and already stumbling into the nearest shelf. Giggling, he pushed his hair back and struggled to regain his balance.

“This is the weirdest thing ever,” Christophe mused, “shopping with Victor Nikiforov as he stumbles around in old 90s trends.”

“I'm totally getting these,” Victor grinned, shoving them back into the box and hugging it to his chest. He froze after a moment, staring over at the register. “Wait…”

Christophe was already on top of it, his hand extended towards the other man.

“Here,” Christophe held out his wallet. He must have grabbed it for Victor off his desk. “Your credit card.”

“I…” Victor held up the sleek black card close to his face. “I have a credit card?”

“Yes,” Christophe answered absentmindedly, scrolling away on his phone. “You left it at the office.”

“Is there a limit on here?” Victor examined the thin piece of plastic, in awe.

Christophe thought for a moment, “I actually don’t know. But you once spent almost 30k at Herm é s after a bad sales week, so probably not.”

“Thirty...thousand?” Victor was breathless.

Christophe nodded, pulling up his call screen. “I can call and ask if you want to know -”

“No,” Victor breathed out, cradling the plastic. “No, that’s…fine.”

This changed….everything.  

“Christophe…” His voice was a low tone that immediately made the other man’s shoulders go tense. That was Victor’s editorial meeting voice, when nothing was right and veering left. But instead of his traditional cold, hard eyes - he was nearly shaking in awe. “Christophe, this changes everything.”

“...Turtlenecks? Really?”

“I can totally pull them off now,” Victor gushed, waving the fabric around. From the side, the sales associate nearly threw herself forward to keep the pale cashmere from hitting the floor. “Oh, they even have them striped!”

Christophe shared a look of bewilderment with the associate, both slightly desperate. Neither of them had any idea what to do.

“And Mr. Nikiforov, you would like…”

“All of these,” Victor smiled sweetly, “seven pairs of overalls.” He thought for a moment. “Do they come in any other colors?”

Christophe had taken a call outside the store, still shooting Victor confused looks. Victor perked up after a moment, “Do they come in pink?”

The sales manager almost bowed over the clothing in protectiveness. What was he going to do with them? Burn them?

Everyone knew about Nikiforov’s hatred for denim.

Everyone.

“Or yellow?”

The sales manager lifted up her chin slowly, only barely trembling. “We...have some in the back.”

Victor clasped his hands together, obvious to the worker’s distress. “Great!”

“Oh, wasn’t that so much fun, Christophe?”

The other man looked shell-shocked, as if shocked from the amount of shopping Victor had managed to accomplish. He swallowed, “It was...an experience.”

“I got the cutest pair of strappy sandals,” Victor sighed, hugging the bags to his chest. “We should totally do -”  

Christophe cut him off, grabbing his sleeve and pulling roughly before Victor could turn onto the next street. Startled, he looked to the other man, a surprising dark look on his face.

“Paparazzi,” Christophe muttered darkly, hooking his hand around Victor’s elbow to pull him away. In his other hand, he tapped away quickly at his phone screen before cursing. “Someone caught a picture of you shopping, they’re probably lined up from here to the office.”

Victor could barely hide his look of surprise, “Me?”

Christophe was texting with one hand, dragging Victor with other. He ignored Victor’s question. “Raoul is waiting on the next street over, by the Starbucks.” He let go of Victor’s arm, passing over the few bags he had been carrying in his elbow. “He can get you back to your apartment without much hassle.”

“Oh,” Victor paused, giving the other man a stranger look. “Aren’t you coming?”

Christophe waved him off, “I’m heading back to throw them off.” He checked his phone one last time, “You’ll be in the office tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” He said, beaming. The other man turned to walk away but, at last second, turned to give his boss a hesitant grin of his own.

Christophe, at least, was getting a bit more used to the smiling.

“Morning Christophe!” Victor threw his heavy coat over the coat rack, turning to accept his the cardboard cup Christophe held out automatically each morning. After his first two days of quietly dumping his usual order down the bathroom sink, he finally asked the other man to switch his order to hot chocolate. Much better, in Victor’s opinion.

But Christophe wasn’t already holding out the cup as usual, instead staring down at Victor’s legs with raised eyebrows.

“You’re wearing jeans,” Christophe frowned. “Very...colorful jeans.”

Victor kicked out his legs in excitement, “I saw them in the window and I just had to have them.”

Christophe was still struggling with processing what he was seeing. His eyes were wide, even as Victor playfully posed for the other man.

“You banned jeans in the office over seven years ago,” Christophe gave him a confused look, “is that rule just, off for today? Is this a new style?”

“I banned jeans?” Victor could barely control his gasp. “But I love denim!”

Christophe only gave him a shrug, still staring down at Victor’s legs in question. He seemed almost perplexed by them.

It was Victor’s turn to frown. “Do you not like them?”

“They’re...not bad. Despite my initial thought,” Christophe examined the jeans for a few more seconds. “It’s very grunge. You’re still on your 90s kick, then?” Victor nodded happily, Christophe continued. “People will be expecting a feature, then. I’ll let the other editors know.”  He paused, narrowing his eyes at Victor’s face. “What’s on your face?”

Victor nearly squealed in excitement at the question. He had checked three different stores before finding them last night.

“I got them from Claire’s,” Victor explained, pulling out the clear sheet of plastic, already grinning. “Want some? The green ones would look great on you.”

Christophe took the sheet, frowning in confusion. “...Claire’s? I haven’t heard of it.”

Victor gave him a wide eyed look, “Claire’s is the best. I got my ears pierced there when I was eleven!” Victor had been annoyed when he saw current him had long since let them close up. Victor had bled for those.  

“Wait,�� Christophe was lowering the sheet, realising. “That Claire’s? The violently pink, cheap junk store aims at, like, seven to thirteen year olds?”

Victor pouted, crossing his arms. “Well, I like Claire’s.” He had gotten a new case and handful of charms for this phone while he was in there. He loved it in there.

“You stepped inside of a Claire’s?” Christophe seemed to be struggling with this. “Did anyone recognize you?”

The checkout girl had choked on her smoothie when he swept through the doors.

“Nope!” Victor popped out, smiling. He took the sheet from Christophe's lax hands, examining. The green ones matched the other man’s eyes nearly perfectly.

Victor leaned in, pressing the small gem to the corner of Christophe’s eye. “There!” He beamed, “We match!”

Christophe’s hand came up to brush his own face, the action numb as he stared at the few freckles of color adorning Victor’s skin. Victor hadn’t been able to choose for himself, instead picking an array of pink, blue, and purple.

“New trend?” He tried, his voice weak.

“New trend.” Victor agreed happily, his hands clapping together.

Christophe blinked, pulling away. “I’ll...have Mila write up an article on them, then.”

Victor beamed, “Good idea!”

Later that day, it was Victor’s first major meeting inside his older body, and he was determined to do it right. Or...at least not get himself fired. Right.

Christophe seemed used to debriefing him on his meetings, at least. He read off his tablet with easy grace, repeating names and jobs and important reminders and pointers such as JJ loves to talk about himself, it’ll help loosen him up and loves his family, his sister just got accepted into University, a good talking point and many more, scrawled down in Christophe’s notebook. The other man, thankfully, would be by his side to take notes the entire time, which helped Victor’s nerves in the least.

They arrived last to the meeting, held in their building, a point that Christophe had insisted on, despite them simply waiting in his office space until they all arrived. But Chris seemed to know what he was talking about, so Victor only smiled and went along with it.

They swept in five minutes past the time written on Victor’s calendar, both their faces smooth and neutral - as Christophe reminded him to do in an odd voice - and everyone waiting stood as they entered. Victor still wasn’t used to it.

The women nearest to them, young with chopped dark hair, stepped forward first to greet them, her hands clasped before her.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” The woman smiled politely, Isabella , Christophe had reminded lowly just as they entered, JJ’s manager and rumored girlfriend . Her eyes flickered quick over him, almost a spark of surprise there. “You’re looking good, I see. I love the jeans.”

Victor shot a smug look over to Chris, who didn’t even bother hiding his quick, amused eye roll. “Thank you, Isabella.” He liked her, she seemed genuine. A man, tall with dark hair cut similar to Chris’s - was that the style now? - stood up behind her, confidence radiating off him.

The man flashed double J’s as he stood, grinning widely. “JJ is very excited to grace H.M.’s cover with his image.” The man shot a large grin towards his manager, “Has the H.M. Man of the Year been announced yet?”

“It’s only March,” she was somehow smiling fondly at the other man. “We’ll have to wait until November, at least.”

He only waved her words off, a quick smile in her direction, before turning towards Victor with a cocky look on his face. He must be a big fan of his client then. Victor, already, was not nearly as fond of him.

“Well...okay.” Victor gave him a natural smile. “Sorry, what’s your name again? I’m Victor.”  

Christophe had insisted that he didn’t need to introduce himself so much but honestly, that just felt rude. Lillia would kill him if he started slacking off on his manners.

But the man, his hands falling from the double J’s, only froze, staring at him a bit blankly. The room had frozen and Christophe, at his side, had a death grip on his sleeve.

“That’s JJ ,” Christophe hissed into his ear, “the man we’re here to see.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Victor matched his low tone, “He keeps referring to himself in third person!”

“That’s his thing.”

“I’m sure it just slipped Mr. Nikiforov’s mind,” his manager- Isabella, Christophe had mentioned - was stepping forward, her hand on the superstar’s arm. She gave Victor a smile almost as neutral as his own, “He’s a very busy man after all.”   

“It’s nice to meet you,” Victor tried again.  

“We’ve met before,” JJ finally spoke up from his frozen position, crossing his arms, “ several times.”

“Oh,” Victor tried to grin, and the meeting only went downhill from there.

Christophe’s grip was tight on his elbow as he pulled him to the side, a brief recess. JJ kept looking over at them with a terse frown, ignoring his team completely.

“Was that some kind of power move?” Christophe hissed, somehow keeping his face neutral. “Which, I mean, fine, okay just warn me next time.”

“Power move?” Victor’s eyes were wide, “I...did I?”

Christophe stared at him.

“Did you…” He trailed off in disbelief, “Did you...forget the face one of the most major superstars in Hollywood right now?”

There was a guilty beat of silence.

Victor shrugged. Christophe looked stricken.

“I’ll do better,” Victor swore, trying mostly to reassure, crossing his heart. “It just totally slipped my mind.” Which wasn’t really a lie? Good, Victor, keep on that. “Now…” his eyes flickered back to the group behind the glass, “Should we get back? I think they’re waiting for us.”

“Another moment,” Christophe pulled out his phone, fully aware of the attention on them. “It’s better to make them wait, it’ll make them uneasy.”

Victor blinked. He hadn’t thought about it that way.

Christophe, at least, knew what he was talking about.

The next morning, Christophe rushed up to Victor’s office doorway like a hell storm.

He locked eyes with Victor’s lounged around figure, the other man straightening up instantly. In his hand, his phone shined multi-color.

He swept into the room, striding over to Victor’s couch, and was nearly burning with disbelief and frustration. Chris had been on the phone nearly all morning, speaking to press and being hounded by paparazzi. He had fielded no less than three phone calls from the committee.

And when the committee calls, you answer.

Christophe had been failing that particular, very incredibly important, rule all morning.

Victor sat up in alarm, staring at the other man with wide eyes. The other man was heaving for breath. In a quick movement, Christophe rushed towards the other man.

“What the hell are you doing to your Instagram,” Christophe snatched Victor’s phone away from him in a second, glaring at both the thin piece of technology and the other man in equal. “No less than eleven news sites are reporting on it, four of them actual major ones. There’s a twitter hashtag.”

“...Hashtag?” At Victor’s blank look, Christophe only groaned out in frustration.

Christophe couldn’t pull out his own hair over this. It was pretty and expensive and Fabeo would never forgive him if Christophe ruined his careful work. He took a very needed, a very careful breath.

“Your Instagram, Victor.” Christophe prompted, his voice holding the severity of death-row. “What are you doing to your Instagram.”

“Instagram…” Victor thought for a moment, his shoulders dropping from where they had risen in alarm. “Oh! The photo app. Yeah, I like that one!”

Christophe gave him a frustrated look, tapping away at Victor phone. “So? What are you doing?”

Victor...didn’t really have an answer for that. What was the big deal? He was just doing what everyone else was doing.

“I saw people posting photos they liked,” He shrugged, “So I posted some I liked. They’re nice, right?”

“This is a photo of a pigeon,” Christophe stated slowly, holding out the photo screen as evidence. “A pigeon attacking half a doughnut.”

Victor beamed, “But look at how happy it looks!”

Christophe slowly began shaking his head, “People are going crazy, Victor. Everyone thinks your weird photos like, mean some secret message or something. Everyone’s decoding them like crazy.”

“They are?” Victor looked down at his phone in question. “They’re just photos I like. They don’t mean anything.”

“You’re the face of a multi-million dollar company and head of one of the largest fashion magazines in the world,” Christophe was pinching his nose, “You can’t just post photos of street pretzels and blurry shots of the trashy street.”

“It was a mouse!” Victor gushed, “It was eating a hot dog on the ground!”

“You do understand that’s worse, right? Like, that’s something you understand?”

“It was a cute mouse,” Victor frowned. “If I can’t post photos I like, what am I even supposed to do?”

“Just,” Christophe gestured to the air, “go back to posting the annual city skyline or outfit of the day. I don’t know, your usual stuff.”  

“But that’s so boring,” there was an obvious whine in his voice that Christophe, Victor’s assistant of four years, coach and bystander through hundreds of hangovers, morning afters, and bad trips, had never heard. “Can’t you do it? You like photos.”

Christophe paused, turning slightly to examine Victor’s bored expression, almost as if seeing if the other man was being serious. If Victor was closer to the other man, Chris was almost sure he’d hear his heart pounding in his chest.

“Fine,” Christophe finally agreed despite his stomach flipping at the thought of having his photos on Victor Nikiforov’s instagram. His photos, on display for millions of people to see.

The likes alone.

Victor still seemed sadden by the loss of his Instagram, frowning and biting at his lip.

Christophe observed Victor’s downtrodden face for another moment before sighing. “I’ll set you up a spam account and you can post all the ugly New York and bird photos you want.”

Victor perked up, “Really?”

Christophe sighed despite the corner of his lips twitching up. “Sure. I can set it up tonight and have it ready by tomorrow.”

Victor wrinkled his nose. Tomorrow was so far away. A thought occurred to him.

“Christophe,” Victor gasped, grabbing the other man’s hand. “We should have a sleepover.”

There was an intense shot of joy in the question, the thrill of having a sleepover without prior warning - without having to beg Yakov for several days for the rare opportunity. He could have people over whenever he wanted.

But a look of uncertainty flashed over Chris’s face. He pulled his hand away from Victor’s like it was burning. “Victor, no I - I can’t. I won’t .” He threw his shoulders back like he was going off to war, putting some space between them. “I love Matthieu, I’m not going to -”

Victor flinched back, his mouth falling open. “I wasn’t -” his voice was soft, low. “That’s not what I meant. I meant like -” he gestured uselessly to the air, “face masks. And painting our nails. You can show me how you want my Instagram.”

Was… was future him really so bad that Christophe would be quick to assume that?

“Just a normal sleepover,” he clarified once more. “Just regular fun. Movies and bad food.”

Christophe, at least, lost that nervous look on his face. He relaxed just the tiniest of bits, his shoulders dropping. “Just a regular sleepover?” He bit his lip, thinking, a stranger look coming over his face. After a long moment, he let out a small chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve to one of those since high school, at least.”

“It’ll be fun!” Victor’s excitement was back, relief at the other boy’s dropped emotion. “I totally promise!”

Christophe watched him for another moment - his eye catching on the worn knees of Victor’s jeans, his heart shaped smile, his fluttering, excited hands - and after another moment of consideration, slowly nodded.

Victor squealed, jumping up. “Oh, this is so exciting!”

“I’ll be over around eight?” Christophe paused in question, clearly still slightly hesitant.

Victor nodded excitedly, “Yeah! Okay, I’ll be ready!”

Victor was not ready.

He had left the office only an hour after Christophe had agreed to the sleepover, suddenly remembering the entirely incredibly important fact that he had nothing at all for a sleepover.

He surveyed the usual supplies lined up on his counter - chocolate bars, popcorn in bowls, soda in nearly every color, a few other sleepover staples - and bit his lip. Were sleepovers different in the future? Maybe this wasn’t how they went at all.

He almost wanted to return back to the corner store he had made a desperate run into. What if Christophe didn’t like anything he bought? Everything he gotten was more of his and Yuuri’s taste after all.

It didn’t matter - it seemed, from the light knock on his door, a quick peek through the glass hole, that he was out of time. A flush of energy hit him.

“You’re here!” Victor was nearly jumping in excitement as he threw the door open, beaming at the other man.

Christophe held up a paper bag, a duffel draped over his shoulders. “I am,” he tilted the paper bag towards Victor to take. “And I brought wine.”

“Oooo,” Victor really did jump in place, “wine!”

Victor had never had wine past the few gross sips at church or the single glass at family events.

Victor pulled the bottle from the bag, squealing. “It’s pink!”

Christophe let himself in, toeing off his shoes and hanging his coat. “It’s a nice rosé, one of my favorites. Where do you keep your glasses?”

“Oh, um…” Victor trailed off, glancing towards his kitchen. He had mostly managed to avoid the intimating room so far. Yakov had never let him cook at home, and this was one of the only rules Victor was content to keep as an adult. “I’ll get them. You can throw your stuff in my room.”

Christophe was already nodding in agreement, pausing for a moment to survey the apartment, before going off in the direction of the hallway. He seemed...unfamiliar with the space.

Victor turned back to the silver chrome expanse of space, biting his lip. He had mostly gotten away with lunches with Christophe and ordering in since he had, well, shown up. He had attempted to fry a few eggs one morning, a brave but foolish thought, and had broken two plates and mug before he had even gotten the frying pan on the stovetop. He was in no rush to repeat that experience, especially with company.

“All the cups are dirty,” Victor only happily claimed, setting down two plastic cups he had found in the back of a cabinet. These, at least, wouldn’t be a casualty of shattering across the hardwood.

Christophe didn’t seem to mind, only taking the cups so he could pour out a small amount into each. Victor had put on a playlist as he got everything ready - mostly popcorn into bowls, candy and pop lined up on the counters as he and Yuuri always liked to do - and sang along under his breath as a sugar pop song played. Britney, of course. He wasn’t one for blasphemy.

“Have you heard the latest office gossip?” Christophe pressed the plastic cup into his hand, leaning back against the bed frame. Christophe had an impossible gift of always looking incredibly at ease with his surroundings, even as leaned across Victor’s bed with a cheap cup of expensive wine.

Victor perked up, falling forward in the bed to kick up his feet, keeping his cup from spilling over. “Gossip?” He gasped, “with who?”

Christophe set off into a story that made Victor blush and gasp in equal points, causing him to lean forward in excitement and groan out in embarrassment.

Poor, poor Georgi.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Victor jumped up from his seat, rushing off into the other room before returning with a wide, silver bowl. He beamed, setting it in the middle of the bed, and grabbed more supplies out of the bathroom.

Victor pinned hair bangs out of his hair, a truly unnecessary amount of glittery butterfly clips standing out in stark color against his silver locks. “I read that oatmeal makes your skin softer,” he explained, gesturing to the metal bowl in front of them.

Christophe let out a small laugh, “That’s so outdated.” Nonetheless, he leaned forward to inspect the bowl. After a moment, his nose wrinkled. “Is there...fruit in this?”

Victor shrugged, already leaning forward to the mirror to begin smearing the goop on his face. “It’s what I had in my cabinet.”

Christophe let out a real laugh this time, “It’s supposed to be plain oats, Victor.”

Victor paused, mid-rub of the oatmeal onto his cheeks, “Oh.” After a moment, he shrugged. “Well, at least we’ll smell like strawberries.”

Christophe observed him for a moment, “I thought you were like, deadly serious about what you put on your skin?” He gave him a dull look, “Don’t you remember the time I bought the wrong face cream? I thought you were going to fire me.”

He tried to hide his gasp of surprise. “Over lotion?”

“I mean,” Christophe gave him a shrug, “There’s a reason the media calls you ‘The Ice King’ of fashion.”

“Because I love snow?” Victor guessed half-heartedly. “Wait, is that why people always comment snowflakes on my Instagram?”

Chris gave him a sympathetic nod.

Victor sighed, his hands dropping. “I thought they were just wishing me a happy winter.”

“It’s March.”

He shrugged, “It’s still cold.”  

He sighed again, staring down at his hands. They were so much older than he remembered. He didn’t even know hands got older.

The silence was getting slightly uncomfortable, with Christophe pursing his lips. Victor forced a smile.

“You can wash your face before you put the mask on!” Victor gestured towards the cracked open bathroom door. “There’s soap on the counter.”

Chris nodded, standing and stretching, before padding off to the bathroom. Victor leaned in closer to the mirror to rub more oats onto his forehead - and what in the world had happened in the past seventeen years to his forehead, oh god - but after only a few moments, Christophe was stepping back into the bedroom.

“Victor…” Christophe trailed off, holding up the small box to show the other man. Victor perked up, a real smile already forming. He had specially ordered it online - which you could do! Press a button and it showed up a day later! The future was truly magical.

Oh. Christophe had asked a question.

Victor blinked, “Excuse me, what?”

Christophe huffed, shaking the box for attention. “I asked, what is this?”

“Oh, I was going to try and give myself frosted tips,” He sighed, bubbles in his voice. “Yakov never let me get them growing up.” There was a stretch of silence. Victor glanced over his shoulder.

Christophe was staring at him in no short manner of horror. He grabbed onto Victor hand, clenching at it for dear life. “Victor,” his voice was as grave as death itself, “Victor, I know you’re going through something weird and it consists of a phase with 90s trends which, okay, a few of them aren’t that bad. But -  but Victor , frosted tips?” Christophe shook his head slowly, blinking, “You can’t. As your friend, I can't - I won’t - let you do that to your beautiful hair. For gods sake, your hair is insured. You can’t.”

Victor paused mid-protest, staring at Christophe’s wide, begging eyes, and slowly started to beam. His hands clapped together, held close to his chest.

Christophe seemed entirely confused by the emotion. “What - why are you so happy?”

Victor grinned, slightly watery. “You called me your friend.”  

The other man stared at him for another long moment, now in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous,” he seemed to be realizing. “Like, an actually ridiculous man. When did this even happen?”

He shrugged happily, “Just different, I guess.” He risked a quick look towards the other man. “Is it a...good different?”

The other man was quiet for a long moment before leaning in next to the other man, going to apply the oatmeal goo to his own face. “Yeah. It is.”

Even as the oatmeal hardened and pulled on his skin, Victor could only beam.

The next Monday, after a long Friday night of gossip and old rom-coms that Victor had to pretend he’s seen and definitely wasn’t crying over for the first time, he was back at the office.

Christophe was going through his usual morning check-list of meetings and tasks, most of which Victor would have to find some way to bluff through.

Silence, he had learned, truly worked wonders. In a meeting, when committee members were staring him down, editors waiting for his approval, and Victor had absolutely no idea what was going on, he could go quiet and neutral and passive, and after a few minutes, the silence would be answer enough. Someone would eventually speak up, or nervously suggest something, and Victor could only usually get away with a nod or hum and that would be that. This must have not been too out of character for him, as not yet no one had questioned him on it, not even Chris, who was becoming increasingly comfortable in his presence.

Oh, Christophe was still talking. Not listening wasn’t...the best when it came to Chris’s checklists. It usually led to the other man pinching his nose and speaking in a low, tense voice which, like, wasn’t the best. He forced himself back to the conversation.

Victor nodded like he knew exactly what Christophe had been talking about. “And the editorial meeting?” He asked, glancing towards the post-it note in the corner of his screen. Those, at least, weren’t nearly as stressful as the committee ones.

“Tomorrow, at noon.” Christophe’s eyes were glued to his tablet as he looked over the schedule one last time. Victor nodded, making a note of it as the other man read over some text.

“Oh also, Yakov and Yuri are back in town,” Christophe flipped his tablet to show Victor the screen. “Yuri won gold for his competition - should I send the usual bouquet and note?”

Victor jumped up, “They’re back?!” He was already shoving his arms though his jacket, “And gold? For what?”

“It says here the World Championships? Sounds prestigious.” Christophe flipped the tablet back and started tapping at it again. “How about a vase and ribbon upgrade?”

“For the -” Victor cut himself off, the thought hitting him. “Yuri ice skates.” He snatched Christophe’s tablet back, going back to the last window to stare in awe at Yuri - oh god, Yuri , so tall and grown - mid-jump across the ice. “He’s so good! ”

He shoved the tablet back, grabbing his phone and wallet. “Cancel my afternoon!” He called over his shoulder, “And send Yakov’s address to Raoul!”

“Victor - “ Christophe was cut off by the slam of his office door as he ran off.

In his dash off, he bumped into a young woman, her folders falling from her arms. At the sight of him, she froze.

“Debbie!” He fell to the ground, gathering up all the papers, his voice apologetic. “Sorry about that! Oh, I love your flats!” He beamed, handing the folders back into her still arms. “Have a nice day!”

He was shaking in his seat nearly the entire ride there - longer than Victor had expected but short enough that he was still grinning in excitement as they pulled up. Somewhat longer then an hour he estimated, they were pulling up to a small, modest house, the grass overgrown, the wood paneling peeling. Not Victor’s home, then.

His heart skipped a beat at the unfamiliar house. That was fine. As long as Yakov and Yura were there, that was enough for him. Enough familiarity for him.

And Yuuri - they would know. They had to.

He pulled out his sparse silver key ring, the metal pieces clinking together with the action. He only had three keys - one for his apartment, his office, and a bronze one he hadn’t figured out yet. He tried the bronze key, biting his lip, and frowned. Nope.

Instead, he settled for knocking against the wood roughly, his excited grin returning. Behind the door, he could very faintly see a shadow warped through the textured glass. Dark fabric, a scowl, gray hair.

The door cracked open, just a bit, and Victor pushed through it, grinning.

“Yakov!” He beamed, throwing his arms around the larger, much more stiff man. He was taller than Yakov. Oh, wow. This was amazing.

Oh god . He stifled down a wild giggle, what happened

“Victor,” Yakov was frowning, “what...what are you doing here? What are you wearing?”

Victor glanced down to his outfit, “It’s fashion , Yakov.” He laughed, hugging the other man again. It was just like he was actually thirteen again, hugging and teasing Yakov. Victor had missed it so much.

But Yakov was pushing him away, a confused look on his face. He took a few steps back in which Victor immediately followed - they were in the kitchen, it seemed.

Yakov seemed pained about something. Had he been taking his medicine? Victor worried his lip between his teeth as the other man began speaking once again. “Your assistants came and picked up all your things, Victor. We gave them all your boxes.”

“What?” Victor shook off his comments, “No, Yakov, I’m here to see you guys! Christophe said you were finally back in town!”

“Victor -” And why was Yakov calling him that? He hadn’t heard the other man call him his formal name in years, always some fond substitution in place. “I do not know why you’re here. We have made no attempt to use your name or connection in Yura’s skating -”

“Yakov…” Victor struggled for words, interrupting. What was he talking about, no connection to Victor? Had Victor… forbid that? “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I mean, I -”

“I must go lay down, it was a long flight.” Yakov’s gaze was trained on the window outside the kitchen, “Please see yourself out once you’ve collected what you’ve come for.”

Yakov shook his head, giving him an oddly wounded look before stalking away into the other room. Where, Victor had no idea. He didn’t have much idea about any of this house.

“Victor?” An oddly aggressive voice barked out, the word whipping out and hitting him with nearly physical force. Victor turned, already knowing - he would always know when it came to his little brother - and paused at the sight.   

“Yura?” His voice was soft, fleeting.

“It’s just Yuri,” the younger man scowled, letting his hair fall over his face. He was in the same warm up jacket from the photo Christophe had shown him. He was much taller than Victor would have guessed, all his rosy baby fat gone. Victor was nearly breathless with the sight - his baby brother was gone, now a grown man of, what, twenty two?

Victor let out a breath, a grin already warming up, but was interrupted by his brother’s scowling words.  “You know that, old man. What the hell are you doing here?”

Victor blinked at his rough tone, “I just wanted to congratulate you -”

“Consider me congratulated,” Yuri sneered at him, tough and ugly. His angry gaze flickering over him. “Feel free to leave now.”

“What?” A wounded look crossed his face. He blinked in face of the hard emotion, “I - Yuri? What’s wrong?”

“What, no ugly flowers and single sentence card?” Yuri instead questioned, still scowling, “Yakov and I are so disappointed.”

Victor opened his mouth to respond, most likely another question of confusion, but in the distance, there was barking. A few moments later, a furry head peeked around the doorway. Almost instantly, Victor broke out into a watery beam.

“Oh, Makkachin!” Victor nearly sobbed in relief, falling to his knees and opening his arms. He didn’t want to assume the worst when he woke up in this odd time, but it had been a long time. Victor had almost been afraid to question Makkachin’s whereabouts, and Chris had no idea who Victor was asking about. Relief was incredibly evident in every aspect of his body. “My sweetheart!”

But instead of the instant tackle Victor had been expecting - the one he used to come home from school to nearly everyday - Makkachin stayed in place, even scooting a bit behind Yuri’s slouching figure.

Victor’s face fell, a picture of confusion. He dropped his arms, “What’s - what’s wrong with her? Why won’t she come?”

Yura rolled his eyes, “You trained her not to jump all over you, you idiot. Said the slobber and dog hair was ruining your outfits.” He spat the words out, screwing up his face in distaste.

Victor blinked a few times, his hands screwing up into fists, as he processed that. He clenched at the fabric of his jacket.

His voice was soft, his eyes glued to the dog as she slowly walked out of the room, her tail barely wagging. She was a lot more gray than he remembered. “She doesn’t live with me?”

Yuri sighed, throwing his hands in the air. “What, is your mind going with your old age?” He ignored the hurt look on Victor’s face, “You had Yakov take her when you got your Manhattan townhouse, you said you didn’t want to worry about her messing up your furniture.”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” his voice was soft, more of a thought to himself. Yuri scoffed anyways, rolling his eyes. They had nearly a permanent role doing so.

“Yeah, well.” Yuri shrugged, tipping his head so more of his messy hair fell into his face. God, Victor had hated that growing up.

He cast a miserable look at the doorway Makkachin had disappeared through, swallowing. His heart hurt so much he resisted the urge to check for a physical injury.

Instead, he shook off the emotion, shaking his head at the other boy.

“Your hair is all in your face,” Victor’s voice was the picture of exasperation, “here, take a seat, let me braid it out -”

Yuri flinched away, anger wrinkling up his fine adult features. “What the hell are you doing? Why - why are you even here?”

Victor took a breath, his hands dropping. There was so much here, so much that Victor didn’t even know how to start to deal with, but this - this he could do.

Yuri narrowed his eyes at Victor, so tense he was nearly shaking. “You want something, don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I -” I don’t want anything, almost slipped out. But that wasn’t true.

“I was looking for Yuuri,” Victor explained, his gaze catching on everything so familiar and unfamiliar about the kitchen. The same chipped mug Yakov took his coffee in every morning, the same old metal pots and pans, the same fine painted china tucked away in the cabinet. Nearly everything else was different. “I haven’t been able to get into contact with him.”

“Yuuri?” A look of confusion somewhat replaced the anger on Yuri’s face. “Yuuri....Katsuki?”

Victor gave him a weak laugh, a bad feeling coming over him. “Do I know any other Yuri’s then you two?”

His scowl only deepened, “I have no idea who you know,” he spat, crossing his arms. “Victor, what’s going the fuck on? Yakov and I haven’t seen you in seven months and suddenly you’re showing up, making the old man’s blood pressure rise, asking stupid questions, and now you’re looking for Katsuki? What the hell is going on?”

“I -” Victor cut himself off. There was no way he would be able to explain this to Yuri, especially with his current glaring daggers and clenched jaw. Victor could only give him a helpless shrug.

They stared at each other for long moment. Victor shifted his weight, uncertain, and ran a hand through his hair. Yuri seemed to be tracking each of these movements. Finally, he huffed.

“You know what? Fine. Fuck it.” Yuri stomped over to the kitchen, opening and slamming drawers without much thought. “Despite your assholeness, the Katsuki’s kept up with Yakov and I after we moved. Here.” He shoved a blue flyer over, scowling. “They gave us a flyer for their new restaurant. Now will you get the fuck out of my house?”  

Victor took the paper automatically, holding it to his chest, and cast the other boy a wounded look. “Yura -”

“It’s Yuri, ” he snapped, shoving him towards the door. Victor was stumbling off the doorstep when he turned, catching his little brother glaring at him through the doorway. “And next time, when you need something, don’t bother coming here.” Yuri slammed the door after, cutting off all words, leaving Victor staring at the pale wood of the door.

That was his little brother.

Little Yura, with chubby red cheeks - always sticky - and sparkling green eyes and silk hair, always following him and Yuuri around like a little duckling. Always demanding attention and affection in turn, plopping down in Victor’s lap more than not.

That angry young man - cursing and tense and tightly wound - that was him.

God, what did Victor do.

He held the crumpled flyer to his chest, blinking back wetness in his eyes.

A flyer for the Katsuki restaurant. But...after seventeen years, there was no guarantee that Yuuri still lived with his parents. Was he really willing to show up at their family place, especially after whatever horrible things Victor did? He took a deep breath, the breath frosting in front of him. Ice King indeed.

The flyer laid out on the wood wrinkled and ripped from his grip.

His eyes kept going back to it, his hands folded and still in his lap. He had gotten Raoul to drop him off at the nearest busy coffee shop, where he could hide his silver hair under a hat, go unnoticed, gather his thoughts and nearly broken heart.

He had sent Christophe a photo of it a few minutes ago, wondering if there was any way Chris could check if Yuuri was still there. The other man seemed strangely adept at gathering information. He wondered if his future self - present self? - older self had realized that. He wondered if he knew how fortunate, and unfortunate, he was.

Turns out there wasn’t a different way he spoke to Yakov and Yura. He just...didn’t.

He checked his phone, mostly interested in the time, and paused.

A notification from Chris - an address. The coffee cup in his hand - his old usual order, from what Chris had told him - went completely untouched other than his immediate squeeze of surprise at the text.

Got into contact with Katsuki’s family. A few white lies later, here’s his current address. Let me know if I’m cancelling your tomorrow.

It...was local.

Victor immediately forwarded the text to Raoul, and threw his cup to the bin.

thank you so much to tumblr users @cunning-and-cool & @ginriku for looking this through at its first draft, as well as @rinarraven for being the best beta ever and watching 13 going on 30 with me at 5 am because i was burning out on inspiration. thanks y'all! &

before the change, christophe's life was the real life version of the devil wears prada except he was by himself and "there was no fabulous emily blunt in the corner providing snarky commentary or guidance"

also i primarily based this idea off the two versions of vitya i often see in this fandom? the ditzy, giggly selfish kid vs the cold, mean dismissive man. im hoping to write both of them well, as well as later showing what I see as the 'real' victor? also i love chick flicks so.

im aware that victor's birthday is on dec 25th and the ice rink would probably be closed, and they would be celebrating christmas. i know. but at the time same time, i wanted to write this fic and it takes place on vityas birthday. so.

pls give me validation i need it to live

[daily-yoificrec]

7/10/17 recs

Hi!!! Sorry!!! Still busy writing!

1. The Muse on the Bus by elliemoran || Rated G, 13.5k

Yuuri is under pressure to draw - something, anything - and the only place he seems to be able to break through his artist's block is on the bus.

And then one day, the most beautiful man he's ever seen steps onto that bus, and nothing will ever be the same again.

A short and sweet cute fic. Really well-executed, and I find that it’s sorta like a perfect circle in how everything comes together smoothly. A very fulfilling read — although the whole “stranger on a bus” idea is cliche, the author writes it really well and in a way that I’m reminded of my own long bus rides. Definite recommend. 

2. Load Paper Tray 1 by esutonia || Rated G, 8.5k

Perhaps, Victor realized, they were all gifted in their own ways. The way that Victor could charm the ancient, malfunctioning Xerox into producing perfect packets was perhaps the same way that Yuuri could print carts of brochures but not once refill the paper trays.

Soulmates/Office AU: Everyone has a little magic in them, but soulmates' powers complete each other. Soulmates don't know they're meant for each other, until they figure out how their powers fit together. Victor and Yuuri work for the same company, and end up together with the help of a particularly old, obnoxious Xerox.

Unconventional AU inspired by some truly great internet ideas, I found it amusing as heck and a nice take on soulmate au. Victor and Yuuri fit together in this very nicely, and their conversations are wonderful to read even before they express mutual interest in each other. This is a fulfilling read as well.

3. black box by SKnight || Rated T, 7.1k (WIP)

Victor Nikiforov ✓ @v-nikiforov • August 2016 [Picture of Yuuri looking extremely unimpressed with melting cubes of ice placed on top of his head] yuri on ice more like ice on yuuri 207K likes 2K replies 勝生勇利 ✓ @katsukiyuuri oh my god viktor no Christophe Giacometti ✓ @christophe-gc ...is this temperature play? how,,, how kinky Yuri P ✓ @yuri-plisetsky chris no

The entire world is thrown into madness when all the best actors team up for a new TV show about... skating? Doesn't matter, all the fans know is that this means roughly 273.15% more ice cube jokes, the potential resurrection of some dead memes, and 9999% more Victuuri to scream about and die from.

The fans have been thirsty for more Katsuki-Nikiforov co-starred content since 2011, and this oncoming show about ice could just be the thing to quench that thirst.

...Oh god, the bad jokes are already starting.

Acting AU told entirely from the outside perspective of internet netizens. The different formats and websites that the author emulates make the story really fun to read, as it calls out to the reader’s own experiences on the internet and various websites. I really enjoy outsider perspective fics, and this one looks to be very promising, despite us not being in any of the main casts’ headspace for once. 

[yuurisolympicgold]

Yuuri Week 2017, Day 6: (The Power of) Love  Title: Heart on His Sleeve Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov, Nishigori Takeshi, Nishigori Yuuko. Pairings: Yuuri/Victor, Takeshi/Yuuko. Genres/Tags: Friendship, Romance, Fluff, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon. Rating/Warnings: G/None. Summary: It was when Yuuri took his rightful place on a GPF podium that a dam broke; and Takeshi cried. Meanwhile, Yuuri is already planning to reach the next level and move above and beyond even more expectations.

It wasn’t the first time Takeshi was moved to tears over Yuuri’s skating. In his defense, that quad flip had been gorgeous, who could blame him?

Yu-topia had been bustling with activity since the end of the medal ceremony. Hiroko-san had slipped out of the room a few minutes ago with Makkachin to pray at Vicchan's shrine in Yuuri's stead. Minami was currently talking just as loudly and exuberantly as his daughters. He clearly thought he was Yuuri’s #1 Fan. Takeshi almost felt bad for the kid. No one would ever overthrow Victor for that title.

When Yuuri had left with his childhood idol and coach, he and Yuuko knew this could be his last run. Yuuri was given a second chance and he ran with it, ready to show the world what he was truly capable of. His route to a Grand Prix Final redemption had its highs and lows; a second place finish at Cup of China, a narrow qualification into the final following the Rostelecom Cup. After everything that happened, Takeshi thought he'd be ready for any outcome in Barcelona.

He was wrong. None of that could have prepared him for this moment. Not for the overwhelming pressure building in his chest as he watched Yuuri stand, expression neutral and hands folded behind his back while the bronze medal was awarded. It was when Yuuri took his rightful place on a Grand Prix Final podium that a dam broke; and Takeshi cried. Then he kept crying, unabashedly and without abandon.

He cried for his childhood friend who had given up so much to chase his dreams. Who had to uproot his life and move to another continent by himself because he didn't have a coach who could train him locally; a privilege other skaters took for granted. Who had unknowingly missed the last years of his beloved dog's life only to feel like it was all for nothing because of one bad performance in Sochi. How it had caused him to downspiral so much he was contemplating retirement.

He cried for his childhood friend who never seemed to recognize his own worth and accomplishments and instead hyper focused on his failures. Who wasn’t considered a prodigy, but made up for it in other ways. Who let life and happiness pass him by for so long then finally—finally allowed himself to hold onto someone he loved only to be rewarded when that same love was not only returned, but held back just as tightly.

He cried for Yuuri's heartbreaks, his triumphs. He cried for everything that had shaped his friend into the man he was today and the man he would become in the next years following his return as Japan's Ace.

“Oh, Takeshi...”

Yuuko's voice was fond as she she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her hand rubbed soothing circles into his arm as she turned her proud gaze back to the screen. Yuuri was holding up his medal now, looking both so demure yet happy and—Takeshi's nose snorted loudly as he inhaled, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. He gave a particularly unflattering wet blow into the napkin his wife handed him.

“This is just the beginning, you know,” She remarked. “Hiroko-san’s going to need a much bigger case to store all his future medals in.”

It wasn’t like Yuuri didn’t already have a nice collection of awards. Since he was a Junior, Yuuri had been the Japan Skating Federation’s golden child. They’d had high hopes for him since he was thirteen. Yet until now he never realized how much impact he had on Japan’s skating. He was their future and dozens of kids watching from home who were now just taking to the ice would grow up idolizing him. Kids who would cite him as their reason and their influence to skate in the first place. It was both a surreal and uplifting thought.

When Yuuri and Victor returned home Yuuri wasn’t surprised by the gathering waiting outside Yu-topia. His parents and Mari were there of course along with Takeshi, Yuuko, Minako and Minami. The triplets were holding up a banner they had to peak over the edge to see. There were also at least a dozen guests his parents had invited to the screening.

Yuuri embraced the warm and light feeling as more guests from the small town came bringing food and drink, then the party celebrating both his homecoming and success was in full-swing. Before long the festivities began spilling outside, the air full of conversation and laughter. It was into the second hour when Takeshi cornered him.

“So where is it?” He started by way of greeting. “Remember we promised years ago that whoever won a medal at a Senior level Grand Prix Final first has to let the other hold it.”

Yuuri shook his head with a smile. Of course when Takeshi had made him promise they were both Juniors and the idea seemed more like a dream. He undid the first few buttons of his jacket and tugged the ribbon free.

Takeshi whistled. “Nice. The final scores were so close too. It's mind-boggling.” He released Yuuri’s medal and stepped back. “So tell me, Yuuri. You landed a quad flip in competition. You embodied Eros for an entire season—I was very turned on by the way—now you’re on the road to Worlds against Victor. Is there anything else I should know about Japan’s Ace?”

He watched as Yuuri idly rubbed the medal’s ribbon between his fingers. He looked like he was in thought so Takeshi waited patiently.

Yuuri met his gaze contemplatively and finally answered. “Well, I’ve been working on landing a quad axel consistently in practice.”

A beat passed where the two friends simply looked at each other. Yuuri shifted awkwardly, eyebrow lifting in askance. Another beat passed, then Takeshi's jaw dropped.

“Wait a minute,” Takeshi sighed and pinched the bridge between his eyes. The way Yuuri had worded it was so nonchalant too... “Did you say you’ve been trying to land it ‘consistently?’ Does...does that mean you actually have?”

Yuuri worried his bottom lip and sighed in frustration. “My success rate is basically non-existent. I roughly landed it a few times, but my leg was wobbly and I still often lose my footing. I'm working on getting enough height for the extra ½ rotation. I can consistently reach 4, but anymore and I usually end up eating ice or the boards—”

“Yuuri,” Takeshi cut in incredulously. “You can’t have been practicing it for very long and you’re already almost sticking the landing! On a quadruple axel.” He paused. “What does Victor think?” There was no need to ask if Victor knew. Of course he knew.

Yuuri smiled thoughtfully. “He said I don’t need it to win, but if anyone can do it, he-he said it should be me...” He trailed off.

Takeshi hummed in thought. Axels were notoriously difficult with the extra half rotation, yet Yuuri somehow managed to make them look easy. The triple axel was his favorite jump and also one of his most reliable. Logically it did make sense that Yuuri should be the one to take that next step and oh, what a history making step that would be. As a lifelong skating fan, the idea of witnessing a successfully landed quadruple axel at all was exhilarating.

“You know, I think he’s right,” Takeshi said. He paused in consideration. “Maybe that’s why my little Axel favors you so much. She’s named after your favorite jump after all,” He quipped.

“Not that joke again,” Yuuri couldn’t help the bubble of laughter. He felt loose and comfortable. There was a lot of work ahead of him, but these days no dream felt as untouchable as they once did.

Takeshi felt anticipation build in the way only something new and exciting can inspire. The next five or so years were sure to be interesting in the figure skating world. Yuuri would be the first skater to land a quad axel in competition. He would make it his signature move. Not to mention with Yuuri’s stamina he would probably have it in the back half of his programs for added points. Takeshi felt his fingers itch to find a pen and paper to readjust what Yuuri’s score could look like. As exciting as that prospect was it also wasn’t the only opportunity Yuuri had to make history.   

“And now you’re going to be facing your coach as a fellow competitor.” Takeshi still had no idea how that was supposed to work but nevertheless. “Think you’re ready to take him on?”

Yuuri considered his answer.

“It really all comes down to one thing; I’ve spent most of my life chasing Victor. Now I want him to chase me.”

It’s around three hours after the party is in full swing when Yuuri takes a breather from the festivities. As the guest of honor he felt guilty about slipping away, but he needed a few minutes to himself. He felt he could as the guests were steadily becoming more intoxicated. Minako and his dad were especially keen on pulling anyone dubiously willing into dance competitions.

He wanted to spend as much time with his family and friends as possible before his move to Russia. He was already making preparations to leave home for another extended absence. He wasn’t nervous about moving to Victor’s apartment in St. Petersburg. It wasn’t like his move to Detroit. Back then he felt like he was leaving everything he considered home behind. He couldn’t pinpoint when he’d started associating ‘home’ with Victor, but he felt that was why he was in a state of calm despite having to go through another impending culture shock. He wouldn’t have to adjust without help this time.

The screen slid open behind him, the din from the party temporarily filling the quiet space before being shut out again. A rustle of clothing and he knew it was Victor seated next to him. 

After a few moments of comfortable silence Yuuri broke it with a chuckle. Victor looked over at him in confusion.

“I guess it’s a delayed reaction,” Yuuri explained with a shrug. “That we’re really doing the whole coach/competitor thing. I don’t think it’s sunk in until now how crazy it sounds. Nationals are less than two weeks away as well...”

He paused.

“I hope you’re ready for the first installment on your coach’s fee,” Yuuri said with a wink. He didn’t know what specifically brought on his need for light banter. He was just feeling good right now.

Victor looked momentarily surprised. Then he grinned. “I don’t know, Yuuri. Are you sure you can keep up with me?”

“Are you implying I can’t?”

“Oh Yuuri, what’s a little competitive bite between us, hmm?”

Yuuri giggled and bumped their shoulders together. “I know I’m ready to prove more people wrong. To anyone who hasn’t taken us seriously.” Then he added playfully. “If you think you can extend your reign though you’re going to have your work cut out for you. I’m backloading everything, remember. It won’t be easy for you,” He teased.

He was met with one of Victor’s most brilliant smiles yet.

“I would never expect it any other way.”

[transguykeith]

if ur still looking for prompts: yuuri telling nb viktor that seeing viktor play around with gender presentation helped them realize/accept they were genderfluid when yuuri was little

I took a little bit of liberty with this so it doesn’t fit the prompt 100% but it’s pretty close

Title: Perfect

Word count: 2,717

under a read more because this got long:

The first time Yuuri saw Victor Nikiforov he was twelve years old. Victor Nikiforov was sixteen and had won junior Worlds.

Victor was on top of the world. Victor was phenomenal. Victor was an inspiration. Victor was….more things than Yuuri could wrap his mind around.

There was something about Victor that none of the other skaters had. Maybe it was something to do with the long hair or the costumes. Maybe it was the way it looked as it Victor’s soul was poured out onto the ice. Either way, Yuuri was enthralled.

Victor quickly became his idol. Yuuri searched high and low for video footage of Victor’s programs and he would spend hours copying them, he hunted down as many posters as he could find and his wall was soon covered. He even choose the breed of his dog based on what Victor had, the dog of course was named Victor. Was Yuuri obsessed with Victor Nikiforov? Well, a little bit.

Yuuri couldn’t count all of the magazines he had containing interviews with Victor, many of them were in languages he couldn’t understand so he just cut out the pictures. But there was one that he held onto throughout the years. His dance teacher had gotten it for him while on a visit to the United States. The magazine came with quite a few posters, many of which became Yuuri’s favorites. He didn’t know English well enough to understand most of the articles but there was a line that stood out to him, highlighted in bold. “I’m not a boy or a girl.”

Instead of cutting out all the pictures and getting rid of the rest of the magazine, Yuuri kept it. He couldn’t read it very well, but he placed it in a drawer in his desk and there it stayed.

When he was thirteen he asked Minako if he could learn to dance en pointe she told him that it was something boys just didn’t do. He went home and pulled out the article and tried to read it, his eyes naturally skipped over the words he couldn’t understand yet but he struggled through it. Even though he couldn’t understand it, it gave him the courage to bring it up again and again until Minako finally agreed.

Yuuri didn’t know why that article in particular was so comforting. There were plenty he had that he could actually read. Ones about skating, ones about Victor’s dog, ones about training regimens. But Yuuri always defaulted to that article when he needed a pick-me-up.

When Mari caught him in her room trying on clothes of hers he burst into tears and profusely apologized, he didn’t understand what he was feeling but sometimes he felt as if her clothes would be better. Yuuri avoided her for a week after that, taking to trying to read the article every time he thought about the strange expression on her face.

She did eventually force him to talk to her about it, but she did so in a kind way and offered to paint his nails afterwards. He still didn’t understand what he was feeling, but he was glad that Mari wasn’t treating him like a freak.

The kids at school didn’t know what to think of him so he didn’t have many friends outside of Yuuko and Takeshi. They understood his love of the ice and didn’t care how he acted.

Sometimes Yuuri would go months without pulling out the article, but it was always there when he needed it and each time he understood a little bit more of it.

When it came time for him to pack to head off to Detroit, he made certain that the by then somewhat tattered magazine came with him. It ended up in the bottom drawer of his desk, tucked away with other trinkets of his where it sat forgotten for quite some time.

Yuuri was nineteen when he read the article and understood every word for the first time. It had been after a particularly difficult day at practice and every part of his program felt wrong. He was tired, he was homesick, and the odd feeling that was always kicking around in the back of his mind was in full force. So he took a shower and ate dinner and then dug out the magazine and curled up on his bed on a pile of blankets and he read.

Victor Nikiforov opens up about Nonbinary Identity

Recently I had the opportunity to spend a week in St. Petersburg, Russia. During this time I was able to obtain an exclusive interview with the one and only Victor Nikiforov.

After sweeping the Grand Prix series, Russian nationals, Europeans, and Worlds, Nikiforov is certainly making waves in the figure skating. Perhaps better known as the darling of Russia, this skater is quite stunning to watch in action.

My first glimpse of Nikiforov was during a morning practice session as Nikiforov and coach Yakov Feltsman are gearing up in earnest for Nikiforov’s senior debut, which is set to occur later this year.

Nikiforov skated up to the barrier to grab a drink of water and briefly explained what I had just seen on the ice. Nikiforov spoke in lightly accented English, “I need a strong program for my debut, so I come early and skate hard. The choreography is all my own.”

Nikiforov stands at about 5'7" and has long silver hair that flows down to a bit above the waist. Nikiforov’s eyes are of a blue-green character that I feel cannot be explained with justice.

I spent the next few hours watching from the sidelines as Nikiforov worked out on the ice. Feltsman would occasionally shout out a command in Russian as Nikiforov wife through the few other skaters out on the ice. It is clearly visible that this is a skater of immense talent.

Nikiforov offered to meet me at a cafe after cleaning up. We ended up in a small place a few blocks away from the rink where all of the workers knew Nikiforov by name and started on an order without having to ask it.

It was here that Nikiforov opened up to me and answered the many questions I had.

“I’m sure you get this a lot, but are you a boy or a girl?” Was the first question I asked.

Nikiforov leaned forward as if about to reveal a secret. “No,” a shake of the head. “I’m not a boy or a girl. There are many words for what I am, but I use nonbinary.” Nikiforov then disclosed that they use they/them pronouns rather than the typical he/she.

“Could you explain what that means?” I furthered questioned, intrigued by their response.

Nikiforov nodded. “Well people usually see the world as a strict binary system. Either youre a girl or a boy with no in between,” they held their hands apart. “But in reality it’s more like this,” they waves their hands in a blob like circle. “Gender identity is a strange thing.”

“So your identity lies somewhere outside the male-female dichotomy,” it was making more sense now.

“Yes,” Nikiforov smiled, a grin rather resemblant of a heart. “Identity isn’t as simple as male and female. You can identify as one or the other, as something that is neither, as multiple combinations of such, or even have a variable identity that changes with time. For me, my identity is pretty solid, I am nonbinary and that’s that.”

“When it comes to competition, you skate in the men’s division,” I pointed out. “Does that every make you uncomfortable?”

Nikiforov paused to think and took a sip of the drink set before them. “There isn’t much I can do about that,” they shrugged. “There isn’t a category for people like me, so I skate where I feel my accomplishments would be most deserved. My costumes are often designed to suggest ambiguity and my long hair adds to that effect as well. So it may not be right for me, but I make it so.”

“Do you feel as if there is any sort of unfair disadvantage or advantage you have while skating?” I asked.

“Every athlete has their advantages and disadvantages,” they stated, slowly stirring their drink. “Like I said, I skate where I feel I can achieve my best. It’s through practice that I work to minimize any disadvantages I have.”

“One final question,” I told them. “What would you like to say to any other athletes out there who may be questioning their gender?”

Nikiforov smiled again and this time it reached their eyes. “You have to be true to yourself,” they said immediately. “It won’t always be easy and oftentimes it will be very difficult, but find the people who believe in you. I believe you. Your gender doesn’t define what you are capable of. Whether you are male, female, neither, or some combination thereof, you got this. There is no reason for you to not pursue your dreams. It will take a lot of hard work and patience, but you can succeed in whichever field you choose. Trust me on this.”

I thanked Nikiforov for opening up about their identity and then we parted ways. Hopefully I was able to provide just a little more insight into this phenomenal sixteen year old.

A splash of tear on the paper brought Yuuri back to his senses after he finished reading. Suddenly everything seemed to make so much more sense, it was something he had never put too much thought into, preferring to ignore the feelings in the back of his head. But if his idol, if the unparalleled Victor Nikiforov, could feel similar in regards to gender, then maybe Yuuri could too.

It became his goal to catch up to Victor, to meet them on the same playing field and show them just have much of an impact they had on him. He read those words over and over, Victor believed in him, Victor didn’t think he was strange.

Yuuri worked hard and then he worked harder. He had more to prove than ever. One day he would be Victor’s equal and only then could he tell them how much one offhanded interview of theirs had inspired him to do his best.

But then Sochi happened and he had never failed as badly as he did that day. And he didn’t speak to Victor. And he lost at Nationals. And he almost quit altogether.

And then Victor Nikiforov was in the onsen, naked, and offering to be his coach. Yuuri couldn’t look them, Yuuri couldn’t look away.

Yuuri had fallen in love with Victor Nikiforov’s skating when he was twelve. Yuuri fell in love with Victor Nikiforov when he was twenty-four. Both came naturally to him.

They skated on the same ice, they fell in love. They won medal after medal. They got married.

Somehow in all of this Yuuri had forgotten to tell Victor the one thing he had always been intending to, the thing he had meant to say since day one. Yuuri had forgotten, until the day he finally remembered. –

Yuuri woke up in Victor’s arms as always. Despite waking up first, Victor would stay in bed until Yuuri woke up so that the first thing both of them saw every morning was each other. “Good morning my love,” Victor pressed a soft kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “Pronouns?”

Yuuri hummed sleepily and nuzzled into Victor’s chest. “Too tired. Love you Vitya.”

Victor simply pulled Yuuri closer and held the position while the love of their life slowly came into the realm of the awake. “I love you,” they whispered. “Every part of you. Every day I love you more,” they continued. “I love that you’re the most beautiful woman and the handsomest man.”

Yuuri leaned into Victor even more so to hide the blush caused from everything being said. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” it came out in a constant soft stream until Yuuri finally pulled back to look Victor in the eye. “I think she for today,” she answered the earlier question.

“Okay darling,” Victor kissed her again. “We have to get up my dear.”

“I know,” Yuuri nuzzled into their chest again. “We have go to the rink in a few hours and we should unpack another box before then. And we need to get food ready,” her voice was muffled.

“Which is why we need to get up now,” Victor pressed a kiss to her hair before slowly peeling away and fending off her attempts to cling to them. “I will go find the smallest box left and you can wait here and finish waking up.”

Yuuri rolled into the spot Victor had been occupying and breathed deeply enjoying the scent of their pillow. She begrudgingly crawled out of bed and got partially dressed before Victor came back carrying the box they were to unpack. “I’m up, I’m up,” Yuuri smiled upon seeing them.

“That you are my dear,” Victor set the box down and tore open the tape. “Don’t worry I did make sure it said bedroom this time,” they grinned and opened the top of the box.

Most of it was stuff of Yuuri’s including some scarfs and some pictures from her childhood. It was fairly easy to sort through it quickly and they to the bottom faster than with most of the boxes they had unpacked before. Yuuri grabbed the framed picture of her and Vicchan and set it on her nightstand, when she turned around Victor was holding the last item in their hands, a worn out magazine.

“I forgot I still had that,” Yuuri said.

Victor looked slightly perplexed as they thumbed through it carefully. “I remember giving this interview,” they said. “She was a very kind reporter. But that was over ten years ago, why do you have this?”

It was then that Yuuri realized what she had never told Victor. “Minako bought it for me on a trip,” she said. “You know I had practically every poster there was to find of you. She thought I’d appreciate this. Normally I got rid of the articles if I couldn’t read them and just kept the pictures, but the one line I could read stood out to me. So I kept it.”

“You kept this that long because of one line?” Victor asked, taking her hand in theirs and kissing her ring.

“I would try reading it when I was confused,” she said. “Gender wasn’t really a thing we talked about so I didn’t understand what I was feeling and when I felt particularly bad, I would turn to this,” she ran a hand over the slightly crinkled pages. “When Minako wasn’t sure about letting me dance en pointe, when Mari caught me trying on her clothes, pretty much any time something felt off about my gender.”

Victor looked as if they’re eyes would tear up at any minute. “Really?”

“Yes,” Yuuri nodded. “It wasn’t until I was in college that I could understand what it said and that’s when everything started to click for me. I did some research and talked to some people and when I found the word genderfluid everything made sense,” she leaned her head against their shoulder. “I was scared about presenting myself as such and I needed to prove that I was good enough. So I worked harder than ever and it became a ‘Victor Nikiforov can do this, so can I. Victor believes in me, I should too.’ I had to get to the same stage as you, and then I was going to tell you how much you impacted my life.”

Victor wrapped their arms around Yuuri and pulled her tightly to their chest. “I have never been told something like that before. I never knew how much of an effect I had on you.”

“You know now,” Yuuri laughed softly. “I don’t think I ever would have accepted myself if it weren’t for you being so open and proud about your own identity. I love you for that.”

“You’re perfect Yuuri, absolutely perfect,” Victor hugged her even tighter. “I love you too.”

It was a long while before either of them let go.

[a-moon-child-28]

Just A Headache (Yuri x Otabek)

Type: One shot

Genre: Fluff and Romance

Word count: 3,215

Pairing: Yurabek / Otayuri (Yuri/Otabek)

Summary: Yuri gets sick at training and Otabek takes care of him.

Warnings: None.

A/N:  Prompt me if you have any, I hope you enjoy this one shot and thanks to the person who sent me this prompt :3 Also I’m thinking Yuri is 16 almost 17 in this fic so he’s very much legal not that anything sexual goes down ALSO! this was only edited ones so sorry if its complete trash !!

_

It all started with a headache when he woke up that morning, as he reached out and turned on his lap he looked at his phone time which lit up 6:30 a.m., he needed get up to start his normal day of training, his head though had other plans as it started to pound at the sight of the light 

‘I must have not drank enough water yesterday’ Yuri thought to himself throwing his blankets off his warm pajama clad body, he stood up stretching his slightly aching body then left his room to shower and get ready for the long day ahead.

Yuri thought a glass of water and a shower would help his headache but as he sat at the breakfast table looking down at the breakfast his Grandpa made him, his headache was getting worse

“What’s wrong Yurachka?” His grandpa asked in a concerned voice from across the table they were both seated at

Yuri looked up from his plate to his grandpa’s face which was full of concern for his grandson 

“Nothing” Yuri sighed 

“It doesn’t seem like nothing” His grandpa pushed 

His grandpa was the only one Yuri couldn’t lie to “I just have a small headache” he admitted putting his throbbing head in his hands 

“Should you be training today?” 

Yuri stood up from his spot at the table “Of course, it’s just a small headache, I will take some pain pills and I will be fine” he says defensively as he walks to the cabinet that holds all the medication and first aid supplies, he pops two pain killers into his hand and swallows them dry “I’ll see you when I get home tonight ok” 

After saying goodbye and giving his grandpa a quick hug he grabs his bag and leaves the house to begin his walk to the ice rink.

On his walk to the rink his headache is slowly leaving but as it goes he starts to feel a scratchy feeling in the back of his throat, he tried coughing to clear his throat but that didn’t work and just made his throat feel worse so he decided to ignore it for now and deal with it later.

-

Finally, he arrived at the ice rink and headed straight for the change rooms, upon opening the door that lead into the changing area he saw Yuuri and Victor in the corner talking in hushed voices 

‘Great the two people I didn’t want to have to speak to today’ Yuri thought to himself as he moved to the bench furthest away from the chatting couple hoping they wouldn’t see him and try start a conversation with him

He began to change into his black leggings and shirt when the door swung open revealing JJ and Otabek, JJ was talking to Otabek about his fiancé and Otabek was listening with a blank look on his face, both had decided to stay in Russia to train for the next figure skating competition that was being held in Russia

“Looking paler thank usual princess” JJ said to Yuri hitting him on the back as he continued to walk towards the showers 

“Asshole” Yuri muttered 

Otabek chuckled next to him “You are looking a little ghostly Yura” 

Yuri blushed at the nickname “I am fine” was all he said as he grabbed his skates and walked towards the rink, he sat down on the floor to put on his skates when he heard footsteps coming towards him, as he turned his head to see who was coming he saw Otabek 

“Shouldn’t you be showering and heading back to your hotel room?” Yuri asked as he tied his laces up 

Otabek offered his hand to help Yuri up off the floor “I thought we could go for lunch when you’re finished”

Yuri took his offered hand to pull himself up, once he was standing Otabek continued to hold his small cold hand in his larger warmer one 

‘His hand is so warm and soft’ Yuri’s thought made his cheeks feel hot

“So, Lunch?” 

Yuri snapped out of his thought and looked up into Otabek’s chocolate brown eyes as his stomach churned slightly which he figured was just nerves��

“I usually practice until after 6 p.m.” 

Otabek rubbed his thumb against the top of Yuri’s hand “You still need to have a break for lunch, so let me take you, I’ll stick around and watch you practice then we can shower and head out for lunch, what do you say?” 

Yuri didn’t take his eyes off of their hands “Ok” was all he managed to say before rushing off to the ice to start practicing but out of the corner of his eye he saw Otabek sit down on the side of the rink to watch Yuri, which gave him butterflies.

-

It started off fine, he did a few jumps and spins and then his stomach started to rebel against him and his throat went from a scratchy feeling to a burning, he was also starting to get hot flushes, He glanced over at Otabek to see him half paying attention to Yuri practicing and half on his phone, he took a deep breath and continued his routine practice, about 15 minutes later he was struggling to not grab his stomach in pain, he constantly felt like he could be sick at any minute, looking over and seeing Otabek preoccupied with his phone Yuri quickly skated towards the rinks exit

“I’m going to the toilet” he shouted quickly over his shoulder at Otabek as he practically ran to the bathrooms kicking off his skates in the process

He rushed over to the sink looking at his pale almost grey face in the mirror, bending over he splashed some water on his face taking deep breaths as one hand clutched the sinks rim and the other hand clutched at his heaving tummy ‘I’m going to be sick! I’m going to be sick!’  Yuri repeated in his head 

Giving in he ran to the nearest toilet stall not bothering to waste time in shutting the stall door as he fell to his knees in front of the porcelain white bowl as he began to heave into it, nothing was coming up from his empty stomach, he clutched at his cramping stomach with trembling hands, it felt like he was dry heaving for hours when he finally heard someone enter the men’s bathroom 

“Yuri?” He heard Otabek’s voice call out “Are you ok?” 

Otabek walked into the bathroom when he heard someone throwing up “Yuri?!” he walked towards the stall seeing the small blond hunched over the toilet, he rushed over to him bending down behind him and pushing his locks out of his sweaty face “Are you alright?”

Yuri chocked on a sob as tears dripped down his red fever ridden cheeks “I don’t feel good, my throat and belly hurt a lot and I feel really dizzy” he said with glazed over eyes 

“Ok let’s get you up and home” Otabek lifted the younger boy and helped him to the sink to wash his face “Do you feel like you’re going to vomit again?”

Yuri clumsily washed his face and hands “It doesn’t matter nothing comes up”

Otabek sighed sadly “Ok Yura, let’s go” he grabbed ahold of Yuri’s shaking arm and lead him towards the exit of the ice rink 

“Wait my things” Yuri dizzily announced stopping Otabek weakly 

“Don’t worry ill text someone to pick it up for you” Otabek said as he was about to start walking again he stopped looking out the widow to the street outside seeing the slightly frosty rain fall and then looked at Yuri who wasn’t wearing any shoes with just his thin leggings and short sleeve shirt “Ok let’s get your stuff”

- 

They entered the changing rooms where Yuri had left his change of clothes and bag, Otabek sat Yuri on the bench in front of his things and started to put on his shoes 

“I can do that myself you weirdo!” Yuri raised his voice wincing as his throat burned as he did so 

“Yeah well I’d like this to be done fast” Otabek said as he continued to dress Yuri as he sat there complaining and beginning to shiver from his fever, he slipped Yuri into his thin jacket 

“Is this the only jacket you wore?” Otabek asked zipping the jacket up

“Yeah, so?” 

Shaking his head Otabek took off the scarf he was wearing and wrapped it around Yuri’s exposed neck, then he shrugged off his winter coat and put it around Yuri’s shivering shoulders 

“What about you?” Yuri asked snuggling into the warm clothes 

chuckling he said “I’m not the one who’s sick”

Yuri frowned “Don’t laugh at me!” he croaked and bent over groaning and whispered put a weak “My belly”

Worried Otabek bent down rubbing Yuri’s back “Come on Yura lets go” 

Yuri groans out a reply and attempts to stand up by himself but failing as the room shifts to the side 

“Woah there” Otabek grabs ahold of Yuri’s waist quickly and securely “When did you start feeling this sick Yura?”

Looking up between his fever soaked blond hair Yuri held back angry tears that threatened to leak out of his eyes

Upon seeing the tear-filled eyes Otabek pulled Yuri’s face to his broad chest, he felt Yuri’s shoulders begin to shake with uncontrollable sobs 

“You feel that sick huh?” Otabek rhetorically asked as he rubbed soothing circles on Yuri’s back, he felt Yuri nod his head against his chest 

Otabek acted then and grabbed Yuri’s bag in one hand and Yuri’s arm in the other and then guided them both towards the exit to hail a taxi, people tried asking what was wrong on their way out to the street but Otabek shut them down with a simple look that said ‘Don’t fuck with me’ Otabek was in full protective mode like a mother bear is with her cubs

-

Once they finally got a taxi to stop for them and take them to Yuri’s house only then did Otabek stop being a mother bear 

“Is your grandpa home?” 

Yuri looked at the time on his phone that read 11:49 a.m.

“No he’ll still be at work until 3:30 p.m.” 

Nodding Otabek searched through Yuri’s bag for a set of house keys as Yuri leaned his weight onto Otabek’s side, he unlocked the door pushing it open and helping Yuri inside, and shutting the door behind them he helping Yuri into his bedroom then he sat Yuri on his bed, Otabek took off the scarf he had wrapped around Yuri as well and his jacket and dumped them on the floor next to the bed

“Why do I feel so terrible?” Yuri groaned curling in on himself

“Don’t worry Yura you’ll feel much better by tomorrow” 

Yuri nodded slowly and felt his stomach start to churn again “I…I think I’m…Going to be sick” He stammered 

Otabek went into over drive then he grabbed Yuri and pulled him into the bathroom that was connected to his room he shoved Yuri onto his knees in front of the toilet just in time for Yuri to lose his stomach, as Yuri was coughing and heaving into the toilet Otabek grabbed a hair tie from the cabinet above the bathroom sink and pulled Yuri’s hair into a loose ponytail 

Once Yuri had finished being sick he sat back breathing heavily, Otabek handed him a glass of water “Sip it” was all he said

Yuri brought the glass up to his chapped lips and took a small sip of the water, it trickled down his sore throat and settled into his cramping stomach “Thanks”

“I think you should get some sleep now” Otabek said as he helped Yuri up and brought him over to the sink “Brush your teeth and I’ll get you a change of clothes”

Yuri did as he was told as Otabek ventured off into Yuri’s room to rummage around his draws trying to find something for him to wear, he decided on a pair of grey sweat pants and a white t shirt that would probably fit Otabek perfectly but would be oversized on Yuri’s thin frame 

Grabbing the clothes, he headed back into the bathroom where Yuri was finishing up with brushing his teeth “Here change into these and get into bed I’m going to make you some tea” and with that he left Yuri to get dressed privately as he found the kitchen, turning on the kettle and rummaged around in the pantry for teabags, upon finding them he heard a meow, down by his feet he saw Yuri’s cat rubbing its cheek against his pant leg, he smiled and gave the cat a pat.

-

Taking the steaming mug filled with peppermint tea he heads back to Yuri’s room, the cat not far behind him, upon entering the room he spots Yuri tucked up in bed curled in a small ball under thick blankets, the cat gracefully leaps onto the bed snuggling close to its owner which puts a small smile on Yuri’s lips “I’ve brought you some peppermint tea, it should help settle your stomach, I don’t want you to take any pain killers until you’ve eaten something” he sets the tea on the bedside table and puts a hand to Yuri’s forehead, Yuri shuts his eyes as he feels the cool hand on his head

“So much for our lunch date” Otabek laughed lightly as he sat down on the side of Yuri’s bed 

“Date?” Yuri groggily asked half asleep

Leaning down Otabek placed a soft kiss to Yuri’s warm cheek “We will talk when you’re better Yura” he whispered standing up as he was about to leave the room he felt a hot sweaty hand grab his 

“Please don’t leave Otabek” 

“I won’t Yura, I’m just going to be in the living room while you sleep, If you need me just call for me and I’ll be here” Otabek said bringing Yuri’s hot hand to his lips for a gentle kiss

“You’ll still be here even when grandpa arrives?”

“Of course, now sleep котенок”

 Otabek shut the blinds in Yuri’s room and made sure it was as dark as possible before he shut the bedroom door behind him and went to sit on the couch in the living room, he looked at the time seeing he had 3 hours to kill before Yuri’s grandpa arrived back home so he decided to just sit on the couch and play with his phone

-

It was about an hour before he heard a faint ‘Otabek?’ he jumped up from his sitting position on the small couch and hurried towards Yuri’s bedroom swinging open the door, he found Yuri sitting up in bed looking a little dazed

“What’s wrong Yuri?” Otabek asked tone full of worry 

“I had a bad dream” Yuri said in an innocent voice 

Otabek walked over to the bed and helped Yuri into a more comfortable sitting position before he sat down on the edge “What was it about?” he asked as he grabbed the room temperature tea that was still on his bedside table and handed it to Yuri and waited as he took a tiny sip

“I was in a dark room and I kept calling for grandpa and you but I couldn’t see or find either of you” he said taking another sip of the tea

“Looks like you sweated most of your fever away” Otabek said with his hand on Yuri’s much cooler head “But that’s not to say that it won’t come back with vengeance”

Yuri just hummed in agreement, then his stomach rumbled causing him to blush 

Otabek looked at Yuri’s blanket covered tummy “Do you feel like you’ll vomit again?”

Yuri shook his head “No I’m actually a little hungry” 

Perking up “Ok what would you like to eat? I’ll make you something” Otabek said standing up 

“I’ll come to the kitchen too, my legs need stretching they’re feeling too stiff and I’m all sweating and gross in bed” Yuri said pushing the thick blankets off him and swinging his legs over the side of the bed

Otabek took Yuri’s hand and held it all the way to the kitchen where he sat a blushing Yuri at the table “So what are you hungry for?”

“Anything really”

“Ok maybe some buttered toast as to not unsettle your tummy”

Yuri just nodded and told Otabek where to find all the things he needed to make the toast 

“You’re going to eat, too right?”

“Yes Yura I’ll eat with you” he chucked adding “Maybe we will get our lunch date after all”

“What?” Yuri asked thinking he heard him wrong 

laughing Otabek said “Nothing” 

-

They ate in a comfortable silence “Are you feeling better?”

Yuri looked up from his empty plate “Yes, I don’t know how I got too sick within a few hours, all I had was a stupid headache in the morning and then I just felt terrible” 

“Why did you come to the rink if you had a headache?”

“I thought it was because I didn’t drink enough water yesterday”

Otabek stood up and went to fill a glass with fresh water “Here drink this you silly kitten” 

They heard keys unlocking the front door 

“Your grandpa?”

“Its only 2:30” 

But low and behold there his grandpa was, walking into the house and disposing of his things at the front door 

“Yurachka? what are you doing home?” His grandpa asked walking into the kitchen he then noticed Otabek “And who is this?”

“I’m Otabek sir, Yuri’s friend” Otabek said holding his hand out to shake the older man’s hand politely “I brought him home because he wasn’t feeling too good, feels like he has a fever”

Dropping Otabek’s hand Yuri’s grandpa reached over to put his large hand on Yuri’s small cheek “Hmm you do feel quite warm, I knew I should’ve made you stay home today but when you have your mind set it’s hard to change it, to bed with you know, say goodbye to your friend” He said giving Yuri’s cheek a loving tap 

“But…”

“No buts Yurachka, bed now” Yuri knew not to argue with his grandpa when he uses that tone of voice

“Ok” Yuri stood up slowly as to not make himself dizzy “Bye”

Otabek walked over to the sick boy pulling him into a tight hug “Text me when you’re feeling better so we can talk about rescheduling our date” he whispered into Yuri’s ear “I’ll pick up my scarf and jacket tomorrow if you’re feeling better”

Yuri left to go to his bed as Otabek and his grandpa waited until he was safely back in his room before turning their watchful eyes away, Otabek moved to leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder 

“Thank you for taking care of him” he heard 

He smiled at the older man “It was nothing, I’m just glad I could be there for him”

“Come to dinner tomorrow night as a thank you, I know Yurachka would like it” 

Otabek gave him a smile and a nod “I’ll see you tomorrow night then” 

TBC?? Maybe the dinner?? Let me know if you’d want to read that, I know this was a rambling mess.

[plotmaster]

Aria: Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare (5/9)

An update has happened!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Questa storia che senso non ha / This story that makes no sense 

The strains of a violin fill the air of the mansion.

Yuuri sits in rapt attention as Victor’s fingers, splayed on the bow, draw back and forth in measured strokes on the instrument, while a humming melody from his mouth at the same time. It’s short — only just over a minute long, but the song itself is...

Wistful. Yuuri’s heart aches as he watches Victor’s body mirror the draw of his bow, the calculated press of strings, cutting a lonesome figure in the Lavender Room. The sun pours in behind him, casting him in a deep silhouette of a violinist in the middle of his performance, the music resonating so deeply that Yuuri feels like it is a song that he has heard for the past six hundred years.

It’s only just a little over a minute long in this incomplete state that Victor has insisted on showing Yuuri. Victor mouths words as he plays the violin tucked under his chin, his eyes lost in refining the timing of his bow. Yuuri can’t make out the lyrics, but Victor’s expression is so vulnerable that he almost doesn’t want to know.

Between the creaks of wood in Victor’s fingers and his expression and the melody winding through the room, Yuuri feels strangely pleased, but also somewhat discomfited. The song is for him, composed about him. It’s beautiful and original and unique - yet the way Victor plays it is like he’s putting his whole being on display for Yuuri to see, explicitly for Yuuri to hear. It’s the equivalent of Victor baring his heart to Yuuri without a second thought, without Yuuri’s prompting, and that sort of closeness makes something in Yuuri’s own heart twist.

“So what do you think?” Victor asks, pausing his playing. He rests his violin on the table, puts his bow next to it, rubbing his knuckles. Part of Yuuri wants to reach out to him and ask him if he can help soothe the ache, but he grabs the thought and tamps it down behind a benign smile.

“I thought it was beautiful,” Yuuri says.

“It’s not complete, unfortunately, but perhaps over the duration of my stay I will be able to finish it.” Victor’s angle is obvious, his eyes pleading.

Yuuri hums in mock contemplation, though he’d already decided last night what his response to any gift Victor could offer would be. The song is beautiful, and Yuuri wants to hear it in full completion someday. “I don’t know...”

“Not even after what happened last night?” Victor smiles, mouth heart-shaped and eyes closed.

Unbidden, a blush rises on Yuuri’s cheeks. He averts his eyes. “I would have said yes to anything you had offered me,” he deflects. “And not because of what happened last night. I find your company...” he closed his eyes, searching for the right word, “I enjoy your company. I wish for you to stay until you wish to leave.”  

Victor taps his finger to his lips, a gesture that Yuuri knew as one of deep thought. “What if I never wish to leave?” he asks, cocking his hip.

At those words, any pleasant mood that Yuuri has because of the music (because of Victor ) twists into a thin knife and lodges itself right under his heart. He smiles a practiced smile, and turns away, gripping the arms of his chair slightly. “We’ll see about that,” Yuuri says. He stands up. “Thank you Victor, for the song. It is lovely, but it’s high time that I call Yurochka for a late lunch.”

He stalks out of the room with his muscles tight, mind still reeling at Victor’s careless words. Never want to leave? He scoffs to himself. Impossible.

Everyone leaves.

An immortal and a man who wants to stay with him forever? That kind of story makes no sense.

 “That could have gone better,” Victor says to Makkachin. He glances at the door that Yuuri had left through, remembering how quickly the man had shut down. He crouches down to tug Makkachin closer; the poodle whines and licks his nose. “I didn’t think he would react like that .”

Especially after last night; Victor remembers the softness of Yuuri’s lips under his own, the way his eyes had looked, darkened with pleasure, his voice gasping Victor’s name without any composure. They hadn’t done anything other than kiss and grind against each other. Yuuri had been the one to stop first, pressing feather-light kisses on Victor’s shoulder and soothing him with his voice until their arousals had calmed. “No more.” Yuuri’s whisper still haunts Victor’s mind. “This is wonderful, but please — no more.”

That had been that.

Victor gives Makkachin several more indulgent scratches before putting his violin away. Outside the sun shines, but snow falls gently, winter having finally arrived to the region with all her being.

He looks out the window. From here, he can see a fair portion of the estate, including the copse of graves and a frozen-over pond. He squints at the figure there, the bright yellow hair tipping him off that Yuuri’s son is the one out there, skating on the ice in idle circles, cutting patterns into the pond. Victor remembers the acid green of the youth’s eyes yesterday, Yuuri’s sudden reticence after allowing him to stay and makes a decision.

He rummages through his luggage for his own pair of skates, and heads out.

 “May I join you?” a voice breaks Yuri from his reverie, and he instinctively scowls at the person at the edge of the pond.

“We don’t have extra skates,” Yuri snaps, ignoring the silver-haired man and focusing on the ice.

“I have my own.”

“Hah?” Yuri looks up and can’t help but be surprised as the man steps onto the ice, skating shoes laced up. He’s balanced and moves with an assured grace. “What kind of traveler carries skating shoes around?” Yuri asks doubtfully.

The man does a complicated-looking turn. “The kind that’s been around everywhere!” he says. “They’re dreadfully useful for travelling around the North, you know?”

“You skate to places?” Yuri can’t believe his ears.

He shrugs. “Safer and faster than walking across frozen bodies of water. I really don’t see why not to.”

“You-” Yuri bites his tongue to silence himself, and skates to the other end of the pond. You’re crazy, he wants to say, but at the same time he doesn’t want to interact with the stranger at all. He’d woken up to violin music, and he knows that Papa would have accepted that as a gift — even though its intangible, worthless. What good is music that only exists in memories?

Even if the stranger is staying, that doesn’t mean Yuri has to like him. He carefully doesn’t look in that direction, focusing on the feeling of the ice under his blades, the singing of metal and frozen water. He’ll ignore the guest until he leaves if he has to.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like the odd man himself has gotten the memo that Yuri wants absolutely nothing to do with him. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asks, skating near Yuri.

"You can go away," Yuri snaps, unable to hold his tongue out of vitriol. To his credit, the guy doesn't balk.

"Is there anything I can do that would endear myself to you, Yuri?" he clarifies. "I'm definitely not leaving."

"Ha?" A spray of ice goes through the air as Yuri scrapes his blades and skids to a stop. "What are you talking about, weirdo?"

There's no change in expression. "I'm going to be staying here," he says, "I'd like to get along with you, Yuri."

Yuri can't help his sneer. "What's it to you?" he demands. "Just ignore me, and I'll ignore you, and we can go on with no problem, got that? No need to worry about endearing yourself to me or any of that shit." He makes to skate away, but-

"I want to get along with you," Victor says quietly, his eyes serious. "If at least because I am to be staying here a while, and this is your home."

"You only care about Papa," Yuri spits. "Don't worry, I don't want you to care about me."

Victor frowns. Yuri can't tell why. "True, I'm here because of your father, but he cares about you very much. I... I have strong feelings for him, but they pale in comparison to what he has for you, so I want to get along with you. Besides, I've done nothing wrong. Why do you hate me so much?"

Yuri bristles immediately. "Nothing wrong?" he snarls, digging his toe pick into the ice, "You being here is wrong."

"Why?" Vi- the weirdo is still calm. Then, an annoying smile crawls over his face. “Oh, are you scared that I’m stealing Yuuri away from you, Yuri?” There’s barely a pause before he continues, “Yuri, Yuuri, your names sound too similar. Should I call you something different? Yura? Yuriy? Oh, what about Yurio-”

Yuri lunges, for him, hands going for the throat - “ Shut up!”

— But Victor dodges, laughing merrily. “That’s not a happy face!”

“What is wrong with you?!” Yuri screeches, fury unbridled now, chasing the man around the pond, his blades shrieking with his anger. “Do you not know when to shut up, old man? I hate people like you!” He manages to snag Victor’s jacket and yank. The smack of Victor’s back against the ice is deeply satisfying.

Victor’s laugh falls off his face, and that is satisfying as well. “People like me, Yura?” he asks, “What do people like me do?”

Yuri senses the tension shift to something he can’t put his finger on. But Victor’s face is serious, strangely so, and if Yuri was in leopard form right now he’d have his hackles raised. Something about Victor feels wrong, all his instincts scream it. “People like you waltz in and make merry with Papa, but then you leave and Papa gets sad every time and I’m the one that sees it! He doesn’t tell me but I see it!” he crouches down to jab a finger in the weirdo’s face. “All of you are pieces of shit- don’t deserve to stay.”

He gets up and heads for the edge of the pond, intent on going back indoors now that he’s made his damn point. “I’m not like them,” the weirdo calls.

“Bullshit!” Yuri shoots back.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and he smacks it away, but weirdo isn’t offended. “Is there any way I can prove it?” weirdo says, and there’s... something earnest in his voice.

Yuri would love to chase him away from the house, make him regret ever starting Papa on the road to sadness again, but... weirdo is to first in a long time to approach him like this. Ever. Most guests don’t know how to interact with Yuri, avoid him or just see him as an extension of Papa, and that’s always chafed down any respect he has for those that visit. But here wei- Victor is, asking for his opinion. “No,” Yuri answers with finality. He turns to look at Victor. “Nothing you can do to prove it. Only time will tell.”

Victor remains serious. “Nothing at all?”

Yuri... hesitates, looks at his home where Papa is waiting for him. Them? “You can answer some questions,” Yuri decides to say. He glances at Victor. “I don’t trust you to not break Papa’s heart. But if you want me to tolerate you, answer me.” He narrows his eyes, cat-slit thin, “I’ll know if you lie or not.”

Unlike many before him, Victor doesn’t laugh. “Instincts from shifting with a leopardskin so long, right?” his head is tilted slightly to the side. “Okay. Ask away, Yura!”

Yuri bristles at the nickname, but doesn’t let it stall him. “How did you hear about Papa in the first place?”

“Metzrin town.” Victor smiles wryly, “They kept telling me not to come here, and I’ve always been terrible at following orders.”

Yuri scoffs. “They’re all fools,” he mutters, “So, why do you care so much?”

Victor blinks. “What?”

“You heard me,” Yuri snaps, regaining his vitriol. “I’ve seen how you are with Papa. You want to get close to him — you asked to see his inner library. You read his journals. No one reads Papa’s journals.”

“How did you know that?”

“Papa told me that you were in the inner library, and I checked for myself later. Journals weren’t dusty anymore.”

A pause. “I think Yuuri and I are quite alike,” Victor says. “I just want to get to know him better. Is that such a crime?”

There was something off about that line. “You’re hiding something,” Yuri growls, and his hand twitches to grab Victor’s collar to interrogate him. “I don’t like that.”

Victor shrugs. “Let me keep my secrets.” His voice is curt.

Yuri can’t help the way his mouth twists into a snarl, a growl coming out from deep in his chest. “You said ask away, don’t take your words back now!”

“Fine. You can have one more question,” Victor bites out the words, tight-lipped.

“How old are you, and where are you from?” Yuri had of heard neither from Papa. “Papa says you’ve traveled all around the continent, but you’re way too young for that.”

Victor stares at him, blue eyes as companionable as sharp icicles in freezing winter. He smiles. It’s not a kind smile. “That’s two questions.”

Yuri’s ears prick at footsteps approaching. Judging from Victor’s face though, he hasn’t noticed. “Two basic questions. Is there a reason why you can’t say?”

“I’m from...” Victor falls silent for a moment. “... Arus.”

“Yurochka? Victor?” a voice interrupts. Yuri doesn’t bother turning around. “What’s going on?”

“Yuuri!” Victor cries, seriousness turning to excitement in an instant and throws himself at Papa. Yuri draws back to watch, trying to keep the ball of resentment in his chest from lashing out. They land in the snow with an whumpf, Victor laughing and Papa’s expression of stunned shock turning into laughter as well.

“What on earth was that for?” Papa laughs as Victor gets up and pulls him to his feet.

Victor just grins, brushing snow off of himself. “I was just happy to see you!”

Something rises up in the back of Yuri’s mind, watching them like this. Victor is... lively around Papa. Inordinately joyous. And Papa... reciprocates the joy, and touches, in kind. It’s bizarre, unlike any other guest — for Papa to become this open with someone would take at least three months. “Papa, is it lunchtime?” Yuri cuts in on their laughter, snagging his father’s sleeve and looking up beseechingly.

“It is.” Papa’s laughter fades. “I... is everything alright, though?” he looks between him and Victor nervously, and Yuri lets his wariness abate further.

“Everything’s fine,” he says before Victor can say anything. “Let’s go in.”

Papa smiles at him. “I’m glad to hear that, Yurochka,” and his voice is so painfully happy that Yuri for a second, regrets attacking Victor the night before. Papa starts walking back first, saying something about how hopefully the food wouldn’t be cold yet, but Yuri lingers to walk in line with Victor.

“... When you make Papa sad, I’ll make you regret it,” Yuri says, not looking at the man.

“Shouldn’t that be an ‘if’, not a when?”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

In the many years that he’s lived with Papa, Yuri knows that no one stays forever. Leaving is an inevitability, even for himself. Yuri will leave Papa through death, though. Everyone else may walk away, from Yuuri Katsuki, but Yuri will never.

So for now, he’ll let Victor into their home. “You make Papa laugh,” Yuri mutters. “So I guess you’re not too bad.”

“Did you say something?”

“Nothing.”

(That lunch is the first meal that all three of them eat together. Somehow, it’s not as awkward as most first meals go, so Yuri counts it as a win.)

 The dynamic amongst the three of them is one that is hard to stabilize. But it does stabilize, over time.

Yuuri and Yuri are father and son. For several years, Yuuri has raised Yuri, watched him sprout through puberty, taken care of him when ill, fed and clothed and done all the things he remembers his own mother doing for himself over six hundred years ago. Usually, they are easy around each other; interactions laced with eight years of familiarity.

However, the occurrence of Victor’s presence throws them off, because now they must calculate for a third presence during the day. But Victor is gracious, doesn’t try to carve himself a space between them. He fits himself next to Yuuri instead, because Yuri would sooner scratch Victor’s eyes out than sit next to him on the couch. And that’s okay, because —

Yuri and Victor are... friends is too amicable of a word for them. But Victor is kind to Yuri, doesn’t brush him off whenever Yuri tells him that he’s a disaster in the kitchen, or that he reeks and needs to take a bath; “-it’s a miracle that Papa can stand your smell.” Smiles indulgently at Yuri’s hisses and spitfire tongue, jabs back at him in kind — never backs down from a verbal spar, and acquiesces that Yuri knows more about Yuuri than Victor does.

Victor knows that Yuri distrusts him, and doesn’t try to annoyingly ingratiate himself to Yuri. He’s straightforward through his secrets. In turn, Yuri keeps his hostility away; he watches, still, but he will let Victor have his secrets. His instincts tell him that Victor is strange, still, but as long as those secrets don’t harm Papa, then they can stay secret.

Victor and Yuuri are guest and host.

Guest and host, Yuuri tells himself, even when Victor is a comfortable weight on his side, Yuuri’s head in the crook of Victor’s neck, listening to Victor’s smooth voice detailing his time in the Nocturne Treesea while Yuri plays with cats as a leopard.

Guest and host, Yuuri insists in his mind every morning when Victor greets him with a welcoming hug. Victor’s hugs are lovely, the breadth of his shoulders wide enough that all of his hugs make Yuuri feel like he fits in his arms. They’re warm and freely given and Yuuri’s immortal heart beats just the slightest bit faster; Yuuri’s arms snake around Victor’s waist in kind. Letting go makes a part of Yuuri’s heart ache for some strange reason.

(He doesn’t think too much about it.) (He tries to, anyway.)

Guest and host. Yuuri hangs onto the words like a lifeline as Yurochka yells in response to one of Victor’s jabs, all of them eating dinner. Victor’s clothes are casual and uncoordinated unlike the first days of his stay, while Yuri isn’t caring that Victor is laughing at him or the mashed potatoes on his mouth. (Victor passes a napkin to Yurochka the same time Yuuri does, and when they look at each other oh, Yuuri’s heart stutters.)

Few guests care about Yurochka like that; they dismiss him because of his harsh voice and his coarse reception, or they attempt to coddle him. But Victor treats him like the young man he is growing into, follows Yuuri’s cues, and sometimes, it feels like they’re a family. Yuuri and Yuri together alone have been family, but the addition of Victor makes it feel... a little more whole.

A little less lonely.

 A month into Victor’s stay, Yuuko comes by with Axel, Lutz, and Loop while her husband stays back to take care of the inn. “Yuuri!” she greets him with a hug on the front steps of the estate, her daughters swarming Yuri with hugs as well. Victor watches curiously from the doorway.

“Hello, Yuuko,” Yuuri returns the greeting, and the hug, and his eyes are unmistakably fond. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, same as usual, you know.” She breaks away from the hug upon glimpsing Victor. “Is that your new guest?”

“Oh, yes!” He ushers everyone inside, as the evening air is bitingly chill. “This is Victor.”

Victor bows, “It’s-”

He’s on the ground in seconds, cheek smarting from Yuuko’s blow. “We know each other,” Yuuko says frostily over Yuuri’s shock. “I told you about Yuuri, but not so that you could come and pester him, traveller!”

“I suppose I had that coming,” Victor says, clutching his face. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Nishigori.”

“Why’d you punch him?” Yuri, Axel, Lutz, and Loop ask, voices chiming together.

Yuuri kneels down to help him. “Yuuko, please don’t assault Victor. What did he do?”

Yuuko crosses her arms and looks at Victor. Even though she is shorter, her irritation makes it feel like she’s looking down at him rather than up. “... You better not have been making any trouble for Yuuri,” she says finally. She marches towards the kitchen. “So, what will we have for dinner?”

Dinner is... a variety of dishes, cooked by Yuuko and Yuuri. Victor listens most of the time, to Yuuko updating Yuuri on life in Metzrin and the triplets regaling Yuri with funny things they’ve seen. “He’s like really fat, Yura!” Loop cries, spreading her arms out. “Really fat! He’s got a bunch of people with him too, a proper entourage.”

“What’s nobility like that doing all the way in Metzrin?” Yuri wonders. They have no clue.

Yuuko and her children leave later in the night, when the stars are already up, astride four of Yuuri’s horses and two dogs accompanying them for safety, so they can return faster.

“What is Yuuko to you?” Victor asks, later. They’re cleaning up the aftermath of the dinner, and he had insisted on helping.

(Yuri quietly appreciates that Victor lifts his weight, unlike many other guests.)

Yuuri hums a little. “... A niece?” he says the word, but it doesn’t sound quite right, so he frowns. “She’s like family, but not very close.”

“Not a friend?”

He laughs. “She’s too young for that, Victor. I’ve known her since she was a child.”

It’s a strange thought, that Yuuri views Yuuko and Yuri almost equally in terms of their age compared to his, and him knowing them for so long. “Are the triplets grandchildren, then?” Victor asks.

“Sounds about right.”

They work in silence, and have shifted to the kitchen to wash dishes by the time Victor opens his mouth again. “What do you want me to be you, Yuuri?” His sleeves are rolled up and he’s elbow-deep in soapsuds, but that’s not enough to stop him from asking it.

Yuuri stares at him like he’s spoken some foreign tongue. “What do you mean?”

“A father figure? A brother?”

He laughs a little at both. “You’re much too young to be either, even if your hair is grey.”

Victor takes a moment to pretend to be offended, putting a wet hand to his chest. “It’s silver, Yuuri!” Yuuri just giggles, and Victor can’t help but smile at the sound. “A friend? Or do you just want me to be your guest?”

Yuuri’s laughter tapers off, and he makes a discontented sound. “I...”

“A lover?” Victor keeps his voice even, suggests it as if he were offering a cup of tea. Yuuri pauses. “I’ll try my best then.”

“What? No!” Yuuri exclaims, and a flower of some kind of hope wilts in Victor’s chest. Water splashes a little as Yuuri jerks around to look at him. “You... you don’t have to be anything like that to me, Victor,” he cries. “Just... be yourself.”

“Be myself?” Victor echoes.

Yuuri nods furiously. (And oh, the flower of hope blooms again because there is no noble composure here, no Immortal Lord Yuuri Katsuki. It’s just Yuuri.) “I... if you were any of the other things, I-” his voice breaks off a little, and his face softens, voice quietens, “I just want you as you are. As long as you’ll stay here.”

“... I can do that,” Victor murmurs.

On a whim, he leans forward to brush his lips against Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri stills, staring at him wide-eyed, but says nothing.

When they part that night, it is with another forehead-kiss, and Yuuri’s very faint, “Good night, Victor.”

 read the rest on ao3 (some error occurred and I couldn’t add the second half to this post, sorry)

[yoi-secret-valentines2017]

Like A Doll

For @xchaoticclarityx!

The wind blew snow off of the rooftops down onto the street below. Even when the sky was bright blue, It seemed to never stop snowing in Russia. Yuuri practically ran from the taxi up the steps to his and Victor’s apartment. He had just come back from leaving Makkachin at the groomers.

“Yuuri, it’s here!”

“What?” Yuuri asked as he climbed the stairs. He stamped snow off of his feet with each step and tossed the dog leash onto the couch.

“Your costume arrived!” Victor was practically vibrating with excitement as he lead Yuuri into the kitchen where a brown box sat expectantly on the counter.

Following the last season, the two of them had taken a much-needed break to rest and stop thinking about skating for a few weeks at least. Yuuri packed his bags and moved to Russia to live with Victor.

The last few weeks had been amazing. Yuuri loved seeing Saint Petersburg through Victor’s eyes. It was hard for him to call this cold, gray city home, but Victor made it brighter somehow. Yuuri had lived far from Hatsetsu before, going to school in the US had been his first time living in another country, on his own. The US had never felt like this, though. It had never started to feel like home.

As they had begun training for the next season, it was time to decide on a program. Victor was going to choreograph his own programs and Yuuri’s short program. They had decided together that Yuuri would work on choreographing his own free skate.

Once the music and theme of the program had been decided on, it was time to send their measurements out to a designer so that their costumes could be ready as soon as possible.

The two of them had agreed that they would get to choose what the other wore for their short programs. They both knew the pieces each of them had selected, the routines the other had planned, and the theme chosen for their programs. It showed a tremendous amount of trust in one another.

Yuuri trusted Victor to choose something that would make a statement and be appropriate for his program. He just wasn’t sure if he trusted Victor enough to not put him in something scandalous.

“I was really tempted to peek,” said Victor with a smile, “but I’m so glad I don’t have to wait any longer.”

He gave Yuuri the package and offered a peck on the cheek as he headed for their bedroom.

“Mine’s still hidden in the closet, right?” he called from inside.

“You weren’t supposed to know about that,” said Yuuri half under his breath. “Yes.”

Victor came out, box in hand. “You can go first, model it for me, and then I’ll try mine on.”

“We’re really going to do this now?” asked Yuuri, eyeing the box he had yet to touch, nervous about what he was going to find.

“Of course! I’ve waited weeks to see how your costume looks. You wouldn’t make me wait longer, would you?”

Yuuri grabbed the package and headed to the bedroom. He tossed the box on the bed and began to take off his shirt. His fingers shook slightly at each button.

He couldn’t say why he was so nervous. Victor had decent fashion sense, didn’t he? The news reporters and fansites seemed to think so. Yuuri couldn’t really tell; Victor was absolutely stunning wearing nothing at all, he could probably make a burlap sack look good.

He wasn’t sure whether he was reassured by this thought or not, perhaps made more nervous by imagining Victor skating naked. Straddling the line between okay and anxious about what he was about to find, Yuuri recalled Yuri Plisetsky’s short program outfit, taken from one of Victor’s old programs. Maybe he did have a reason to fear whatever creation was in that box.

No. No. This was silly. Sure, the costume had arrived later than expected and now there was now time to find something else in time for the first competition, but was it honestly going to be that bad? Maybe, but probably not.

After negotiating the impossible tape and plastic wrapping on the box, he took a breath and opened the flaps. The fabric was white and black. He took it between his fingers and pulled it out all the way.

The top was seen to the bottom to create a leotard that didn’t look like one. The costume was fairly plain; made to look like a white buttoned down shirt and dress pants.

This seemed like a fairly conservative choice for Victor, until he checked the box again and found a tie and a blazing scarlet jacket.

The clothes fit perfectly. It was a relief to know that they wouldn’t have to fuss with getting the costume tailored on short notice. Still, upon seeing himself in the mirror, Yuuri thought something looked off.

Something about this outfit just didn’t seem right. He didn’t want to hurt Victor’s feelings by telling him this, but he also didn’t want his program to suffer.

The lines of the outfit were expertly tailored, and the fabric was unlike anything Yuuri had worn before. It should have been perfect and yet, the person in the mirror looked uncomfortable. He looked like a doll dressed up in new clothes that didn’t belong to his set.

With a breath, he went back outside.

Upon seeing Yuuri, Victor’s expression didn’t change. His eyes were steady and his face was light, but Yuuri couldn’t read what was going through Victor’s mind from his features.

“What do you think?” asked Yuuri.

Victor purses his lips and rose from the couch to inspect him. “It doesn’t matter what I think, this is really about you.” He circled Yuuri, scanning him predatorily from head to foot. “But I think you should be wearing it properly before you say anything.”

Coming around to face him again, Victor smiled. First, he reached for Yuuri’s glasses and gently pulled them from his face. Yuuri’s vision blurred, he was practically blind without them.

“Much as I love the way you look in these, you don’t skate in them. I’ll grab your contacts.”

Back in a moment, Yuuri was reunited with proper eyesight. With the glasses set aside, Victor moved his hands lower. They caressed his jawline down to the arch of his neck. Those fingers expertly untied Yuuri’s black bow tie but made no move to fix it or cast it aside. He left it hanging loose and moved to unfasten the top buttons of his shirt.

Victor stepped back with the discerning gaze turned on Yuuri’s figure once again.

“I would love to see you with some eyeliner…” he murmured mostly to himself, in a voice that teased Yuuri with its low and lovely timbre.

Victor’s eyes took in his whole form, but Yuuri had gotten used to not flinching away. As a coach, Victor had seen and known Yuuri’s flaws and weaknesses as well as his greatest strengths. As a friend and fiancé, Victor knew the same. Perhaps he didn’t know all there was to know about Yuuri Katsuki yet, but he saw the depths of his character and wanted to know it always.

With a second close inspection, Victor stepped forward and ran his hands through Yuuri’s hair. He focused on styling Yuuri’s hair but his concentration was constantly dragged away by the way Yuuri worried at his lip when faced with uncertainty and the way Yuuri batted his eyelashes as he stared back into Victor’s eyes.

For a final time, Victor stepped back to admire his work.

“Red is a really great color for you…” He couldn’t control the soft adoration coloring his voice. Again, he was unable to stop himself from speaking. He cleared his throat and said, “You should take another look.”

“Just a quick look. Don’t forget, you still have to try on yours.”

“I can’t wait.”

The new figure in the mirror wasn’t too different from the old. His shoulders were lower and more relaxed. The hair and the few undone buttons were probably meant to seem sexy. Yuuri couldn’t really see it, both figuratively and literally, since he wasn’t wearing his contacts. Somehow these small changes seemed enormous. He held himself differently. There was a kind of confidence and swagger to him that wasn’t hidden behind a pretense of feminine wiles.

He went back out to the couch where Victor was lounging. “Alright, get in there.”

Victor bit back his lip and his eyes followed Yuuri as he left, unable to look away. He was glad the blush in his cheeks had waited until Victor had left to color his face.

Now Yuuri was nervous once again. He had consulted a tailor to design this particular and very custom costume. It was unlike anything Yuuri had seen on the ice before, something he hoped Victor would appreciate. The outfit would shock and surprise the world, and Yuuri desperately wanted to see it on Victor.

After a few minutes, a voice came from the bedroom. “Y-Yuuri?” called Victor.

“Yes?”

“Where’s… Where is the rest of it?”

Yuuri realized he was holding his breath. “It’s all there, I checked.”

There was a moment of silence, Victor didn’t answer. “Put it on and let me see!”

The air in the apartment was completely still.

Yuuri sat on pins and needles waiting for Victor to come out. Did he hate it? It was a little too quiet it the bedroom. Was he even putting it on? What if this was a huge mistake? There was no way to fix it now.

Five minutes passed and Yuuri couldn’t take it anymore. He came to the bedroom door and gave it a sharp knock. “Victor?”

“Just a minute, Yuuri. I’ll be right out.” If it had been difficult to read Victor when they were face to face, this was impossible.

Yuuri could feel sweat under his arms by the time he heard the bedroom door open. The bedroom was down the hall from the kitchen, and far from the eye-line of the couch. All Yuuri could hear was a soft, slow click… click… marking the footsteps of Victor coming down the hall.

A year ago, Victor had told him and Yuri Plisetsky that it was impossible to choose one’s image, that the public has an idea of who you are before you ever set foot on the ice. You could try to change that image, but to do that, you need to do something they would never expect.

In Victor’s last competitive season, he had set his free skate to the song “Stammi Vicino” and some fans felt that the choice was too much of a departure from what they expected of him. It had been a beautiful program but would have been more compelling if it came from someone younger and more innocent. To them, Victor was a god, someone who screamed mature sex appeal, someone who was worldly, impressive, the best skater in the world.

He wasn’t delicate, shy, or unsure. He wasn’t soft or demure.

This costume changed that.

“Take it off.” said Yuuri, in what he hoped was the same impenetrable tone Victor had used earlier.

Victor cocked his head like Makkachin did when he was confused. The sudden insecurity on his face completed the look.

He felt honored by Victor’s surprise. Victor strove to shock the world and bring it to its knees. This felt like a victory beyond all others.

He wore black three-inch stiletto heels. Yuuri had ordered them for this moment, to give Victor the extra height he lacked without his skates. Then the eye was drawn up his mile long legs, scandalously bare aside from the tights, transparent and colored in Victor’s skin tone. Yuuri’s height stopped as the naked skin stretched farther than was appropriate, all the way up to the upper thigh.

There were female skaters who didn’t wear skirts this short. The actual ensemble didn’t allow the spectator to catch anything truly improper. A navy blue skirt hung mere inches from the hip bone. The fabric was dotted with crystals like stars on a dark night.

A deep vee sliced down the breast of the dress, going down almost to the navel. The shoulders too were left bare with only a design of gemstones gathered together to make icy fractures, a pattern mimicked by the bracelets Victor wore on each wrist.

Perhaps the ensemble should have been comical on a man usually so imposing as Victor, but the instability of his shoes and Victor’s sudden eagerness to please made him utterly beautiful.

Yuuri’s face flushed at the sudden hardness between his legs.

“Take it off.” he repeated, trying not to let his voice crack.

Victor teetered on the heels, his balance a mercurial thing. His hands didn’t seem to know what to do. They were at his side, then behind his back like a soldier, then trying to pull the skirt infinitesimally lower.

Yuuri stood and, keeping his gaze locked on Victor’s wide blue eyes, he stepped forward. He circled Victor, the way Victor had done to him minutes ago. The sight was hypnotizing, almost torturous. Every exposed curve taunted him, begged him to step closer.

Then he was in front again. Victor’s expression had turned defiant, daring Yuuri to find something wrong. It was a facade.

This was the design he had ordered, far more than he had ever envisioned. Victor was stunning in this dress, so much so that Yuuri didn’t think he could move. He was now fully hard, stretching the fabric of his own costume.

This wasn’t his plan. He needed to take control of the situation before Victor saw how much this affected him.

“Is this what you wanted, Yuuri? Is this design everything you asked for?” Normally, Victor was a few inches taller than Yuuri. In these heels, he was god-like in stature. “You make the cutest face when you’re trying to hide a…”

Victor’s voice faded to nothing when he stroked Victor’s bangs back out of his face and admired those sharp, charming features. It was a gentle gesture, one that stopped Victor from breathing at all. His hand paused on Victor’s ear and for a moment they were both still.

The height difference in those heels was a challenge to overcome, but Yuuri was up to the task. “If only your ears were pierced, we could get you matching earrings.” He leaned in even closer, breathing the words in his ear, and tugged his teeth at Victor’s earlobe.

Yuuri could feel the thrill run down Victor’s spine. “You’d look very pretty in those,” he added.

Victor cleared his throat, catching on to this game they were playing. Now he tried to take control. In one swift movement, he had Yuuri against the wall and rolled his hips against him. The palm of his hand found Yuuri’s hips, legs, and until he held it hard against Yuuri’s dick. On impulse, Yuuri grinding himself up against it. It wasn’t enough.

Yuuri moved back to catch his breath.

The whole ensemble was delicate and innocent and yet, powerful and imposing. He was something divine and untouchable, something like a flower, not to be touched or else it is ruined. And beneath that, he was ice or the night sky, dark and cold, far away and forbidding. It wanted you to call it wrong or unseemly, but it could never be ridiculous. The whole effect was obscene.

In essence, it was everything Yuuri had wanted.

He stepped forward to take the damn dress off himself.

Victor’s face lit with surprise and excitement at his advances.

Yuuri draped his arms over Victor’s shoulders, his fingers searched for the zipper. The devilish grin on Victor’s face flickered slightly as he fell backward into the wall, losing his balance at last on those heels.

The zipper wasn’t along the back of the dress. Yuuri was tempted to start tearing the thing off with his teeth when his mouth suddenly became preoccupied with something else.

Victor’s hand held Yuuri steady as he came in to kiss him. Finally able to seek some relief, Yuuri pressed in deeper, pinning Victor against the wall more completely. Victor’s mouth was pliant under his advances opening with a sharp intake of breath.

He broke away to gasp for air, blood rushing to his cheeks and to somewhere a bit lower. When he looked up again he met Victor staring back down at him.

“Yuuri,” began Victor, in that low, breathy tone he used to say his name in a way no one else could. “If you want something, all you have to do is ask for it.”

“Come to bed with me, Victor.” Yuuri did his best to sound commanding, or at the very least in control. The smile on Victor’s face did not help.

Somehow they made it to the bedroom, wrapped up in each other, tumbling their way to the mattress. The stilettos were cast aside as they entered; thrown against a wall as they descended on the bed. Victor landed first and looked up at Yuuri now, silver hair dashed across his eyes.

“What now, Mr. Katsuki? You have me in your bed-” Yuuri caught his lips and silenced him with a kiss. He was too playful, too lewd, and Yuuri was deadly serious.

“You talk too much,” said Yuuri, leaving a trail of kisses along his lover’s neck. There was so much skin, so much of Victor, and he wanted all of it. “I can think of something better for you to do with your mouth.”

At last, Victor seemed speechless. His eyes shown bright, and his mouth hung agape. Yuuri moved back to let Victor sit up. They were face to face, so close. Victor closed his eyes and kissed Yuuri softly, slowly. This was like breathing, their rhythm as natural as a heartbeat.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The costumes seemed to be impossible to take off. Victor’s hands, which could so readily extricate his partner from any normal pair of pants, had difficulty removing the one piece suit he’d selected for Yuuri. His attempts to remove the costume around Yuuri’s legs started to bring Yuuri a bit too close to the edge.

“I love it when you look at me like that,” said Victor as they tried to get Yuuri undressed.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the only man who could ever satisfy you.”

Soon, Yuuri sat freed from his clothing at the edge of the bed. His legs dangled over the edge and Victor kneeled obediently between them.

They hadn’t bothered to take off Victor’s dress. In the heat of the moment, it seemed like far too much work. Yuuri wasn’t ready to see it on the floor and Victor was too eager to begin. The blue skirt fanned out over the upper edge of his thighs. There was a coquettish tilt to his chin as he admired Yuuri’s dick.

Victor leaned in and breathed hot air along his inner thighs. His hands gripped Yuuri’s waist before they traveled lower, raking across Yuuri’s bare legs, nails digging in at points, applying pressure at others.

“Victor,” said Yuuri, trying to keep the whine out of his voice. He needed no preparation. Just seeing Victor on his knees, staring up at his with dark shining eyes was enough to get him hard.

Victor spread his legs and lifted up on his knees to get to the right height. With just his thumb, he swiped the first drops of precome from the tip and pressed it to his lips like a kiss.

He held the shaft in one hand, the other gripped Yuuri’s thigh. The whole process of Victor lowering his mouth to Yuuri’s cock was agonizingly slow. It seemed an eternity had passed before that elegant tongue ever found the length between his legs.

Once it did, Yuuri gasped. He grasped at Victor’s hair, massaging, encouraging, and entreating him to continue. He buried his face in that silver hair, and Victor below, complied.

His tongue teased at his cock. Victor, his grin a wild thing now, refused to take the whole length at once. Yuuri’s arousal was red and achingly apparent, each flick of the tongue brought him closer and closer. He whimpered when Victor brought several inches into his mouth at once.

Yuuri had only barely left his virginity behind, but it was clear that Victor was practiced. He made Yuuri slick and trembling as he stroked his cock at a gradually increasing pace. His grip tightened on Yuuri’s ass as he took it even deeper. Victor was drawing out Yuuri’s pleasure, with each loud, wet suck. It was all Yuuri could do not to take his own dick in hand and finish the job himself.

“Do you like getting on your knees for me?” asked Yuuri, his breath hitched as he spoke. “It suits you.”

As though he had needed time to prepare himself, Victor now moved to take the whole length. Yuuri moaned when Victor’s hot mouth met the base of his shaft.

Yuuri wasn’t small. He had a dick of admirable size and Victor impressively took it all in.

“Victor…” Yuuri began, trying to say something through the growing blind euphoria in his mind.

Victor tried to look up at him, some of the length slipping from between his lips. His eyes shone with tears as he deep-throated all of him. This was too much.

Yuuri came with Victor’s name on his lips. Try as he might, some of the slick dripped down Victors’ chin. The image of him shameless and sloppy, hair in complete disarray, filthy and flushed was unreal. Victor lapped at him until he was finished.

At last, he lay back, an incoherent languid mess. Victor took the bed beside him and stroked the soft skin of his stomach.

“You are gorgeous like this,” said Victor, his voice throaty and hoarse.

Yuuri rolled onto his side to face him and realized Victor was still in costume. He had been about to take Victor’s shaft in hand, to ply him with gratitude, but was met by the dark sheen of the dress’ under section, a piece of fabric like a bikini that barely contained him.

The dress was wet.

“Looks like you’ll have to ask Chris how he gets those stains out.” said Yuuri, his breath hitching in between words.

“You think I’ve never come in one of my costumes before?” asked Victor.

Yuuri made a clumsy move for Victor’s cock. “You’d better shut your mouth again before I make you come again. You’ll never be able to get it out.”

Their legs laced themselves together under the sheets. Yuuri rolled his hips against Victor and he felt Victor’s low laugh in his chest.

“Such stamina, Yuuri,” he murmured. “If I ever get you to ride me, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep up.”

Eventually, Yuuri’s fingers found the small zipper in the dress; it was one of those useless ones hidden on the side seam of the outfit. It took some doing, but soon all of Victor was freed and Yuuri took all of him in. The dress was scandalous, no one ever saw that much skin on the ice. No one ever saw that much skin on Victor. No one but Yuuri.

His hands worked at Victor’s cock, still hard though slightly spent already. His long strokes were a bit rougher than Victor’s tongue had been. It wasn’t as teasing, it was direct and persuasive. Yuuri coaxed him to erection as Victor started a hickey on Yuuri’s neck. As Victor started to come again, he let out a low choking gasp.

“Y-you are so good, Yuuri. So, so good.”

Yuuri could feel his frantic heartbeat. He paused to press his lips to Victor’s and swallow his short, hot breaths.

“Yuuri,’ said Victor with an irresistible hunger in his voice.

Yuuri moved on top of him, straddling his waist with his spread legs. He pressed another kiss to Victor’s lips and began to work on his cock again. The pace was now more vigorous. Yuuri hadn’t mastered the slow and measured build up that Victor had perfected. He used his own passion and energy to get Victor off, coupled with sweet caresses that left Victor arching underneath him.

Victor was loud when he came. He threw his head back, exposing the blushing skin of his neck. How could someone be beautiful in even this, their most primal state?

Victor reached up to Yuuri and stroked the black bangs from his face. It was soft and sweet and Yuuri leaned into his touch.

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, legs entangled gently, and heartbeats slowing.

“Do you like it then?” asked Victor. “Yes.”

“Yes to what?” Yuuri couldn’t see Victor’s smile but he could hear it.

“Everything,” he said with a sigh. “Why did you pick that costume? Above everything else?” Their thoughts were only of each other as they drifted into a drowsy haze.

“I wanted the world to see you as I do. Everyone who sees you thinks they know you. I thought I did, but every day I learn something new about you. The Yuuri I saw in that costume is one that the rest of the world hasn’t seen yet, and I love him too.”

They lay there in silence. One finger stroked circles along the bone of Victor’s hip, savoring the sensation of being in bed beside him.

“Why did you choose the dress?” Victor couldn’t help the curiosity in his tone.

Yuuri laughed. “Isn’t it obvious?” he motioned slightly to their bodies together in bed.

“You wanted to fuck me in a dress?”

“There was more to it than that.” Yuuri paused, not sure how to put all his feelings into words.

“It’s kind like what you said, about changing the way the world sees you. Part of me has known who you are my whole life. I’ve always looked up to you, five-time world champion, Victor Nikiforov. You’ve always been perfect and… intimidating. Since I’ve gotten to know you…” he was struggling for words again.

“I know that that isn’t true,” he continued. “You’re not perfect. You have flaws like everyone else. You’re human and you can even be kind of an asshole at times.” Victor feigned injury. “That’s a Victor only I get to see. You, right here beside me, are a Victor only I know. I think that’s a Victor that would surprise the world. Part of me thinks you’re afraid to show that side of you and that amazes me.”

They let that statement hang there for a while. It was impossible for Yuuri to read what Victor was thinking, but he let it sink in.

At last, Victor turned to him, pressed his face to Yuuri’s chest, and breathed him in. “And you thought I looked hot in that skirt.” They let themselves fall asleep, though it was the middle of the afternoon with the sun still hanging in the sky. Yuuri had a hard time closing his eyes. At times like this, it was hard to believe he wasn’t dreaming. He watched Victor’s chest rise and fall, and it all felt so absurdly real and surreal at the same time.

Yuuri was lying in bed next to his fiance. They were physically coiled in one another, the sensation acting like a pinch on the arm to ensure him that this was indeed real.

He looked at Victor’s serene face and took in every last detail, from the curve of his nose to every last eyelash to the redness still clinging to his slightly swollen lips. He wondered if Victor ever looked at him like this. Did Victor ever study his face and thank whoever had made it and whatever turn of fate had brought it to his side?

In his sleep, Victor mumbled something mostly incoherent to his breast. It helped remind him Yuuri had no reason to doubt that he did. Victor saw him in a way that no one else did and loved him for it. Perhaps that was the part that felt most surreal.

[calciseptinefic]

solo and pair

Yuuri!!! On Ice || Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki || Hasetsu, Part VII notes: also available on ao3. warnings: none

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part vi

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After Yuuri fails to qualify for the Grand Prix series, life returns to the same monotonous rhythm: morning runs, school, evening practice, school work, and sleep. Occasionally, a minor competition or exhibition will shake up the monotony. Yuuri wins a majority of them with the same routines he performed at tri-regionals, though at the gentle behest of his part-time coach, he minimizes the two quads in his free skate to triples.

"You don't have the right number of rotations," his instructor says. "We can continue to practice of course, but for now I think we should increase your number of combinations and focus on your presentation. That should buff up your points."

Yuuri acquiesces, and only the plethora of prizes—the ribbons and trophies, the monetary consolations and the small prestige—help soothe the sting of disappoint. He needs to start landing quads if he wants to further his career, but it seems that not matter how hard he tries, he cannot pass the point he has reached.

"You're plateauing," Nishigori says one day as they sit on the benches outside the rink, boots laced and hard guards on as they patiently wait for open skate to begin. Yuuko, already graduated from high school and working full time at Hasetsu Ice Castle, is helping a small semi-circle of children take their first tentative steps on the ice. "It happens."

Yuuri huffs, irritated. He knows that all athletes plateau, and he knows that they often do so multiple times over the course of their careers, but knowing it and experiencing it are two entirely different things.

"I've plateaued before," Yuuri bites out. He sounds whiny and petulant even to himself, but he cannot care. He is tired of his lack of progress.

"Then why are you letting it bother you?" Nishigori slaps his broad palm down on Yuuri's bouncing knee. It does not hurt but it does startle, and Yuuri jumps in his seat. "You have to let your body catch up to your ambition. Take a break." Nishigori grins. "You do know what a break is, right?"

Yuuri frowns at Nishigori's teasing. Though it is good-natured and friendly, it still strikes a nerve. Yuuri knows that his body—freshly seventeen and nearing the rough end of adolescence—is adjusting to the physical and mental rigors of semi-professional figure skating, but it has been months, and he hasn't completed a quad of any sort. Even the easiest jump—the pick assisted toe loop—evades him. He feels stuck. Stagnant. In his darker moments, Yuuri wonders if this new plateau is actually his summit.

"I know what a break is," Yuuri mutters as he pushes Nishigori's hand off his thigh. "Don't be a jerk."

"Hey now!" Nishigori's self-satisfied grin grows. "I'm just being honest!"

"Oh," Yuuri drawls. "And here I thought you were just being rude."

A year ago, Yuuri's smart comment would have prompted Nishigori to scowl and punch Yuuri just a little too forcefully in the arm. Now, Nishigori merely laughs and knocks his shoulder companionably against Yuuri's. He has become more agreeable in the past year; he is kinder and easier to talk to. Yuuko says it's because Nishigori has finally grown up, but Yuuri—who has seen the soft way Nishigori presses his fingers to the middle of Yuuko's stomach—is not sure age is the only contributing factor.

"Seriously though," Nishigori continues once the mood mellows. "Taking care of yourself isn't just about training and eating right. It's also about taking time for yourself. Focusing on what's important." Nishigori's eyes follow Yuuko as she glides slowly backwards over the ice, a train of inexperienced kids trailing after her. "Besides, the longer you practice, the more likely you are to make a mistake and hurt yourself. Can you imagine what a disaster that would be?"

"No," Yuuri replies instantly. Though bruises, cuts, and chapped lips are a fact of figure skating, Yuuri has never experienced anything worse than a grade II ankle sprain. The ten days he had to stay off the ice had been the longest ten days of his life. "No, I can't."

"Then take it easy," Nishigori says.

"I'll think about it," says Yuuri.

.

March in Hasetsu is a nebulous time. Snow clings stubbornly to the curbs while patches of grass brighten along walkways. Birds return to roost in blossoming trees, yet the sun remains a distant and heatless white disk. The thawing air being to smell of clean earth and sharp ocean salt. The chilly wind nips. The last of winter tangles with the first of spring and Yuuri—who spends half his life on artificial ice—puts on a coat but not his gloves before he leaves for school.

"Are you going to be home tonight?" Mari asks, taking a drag of her cigarette. They are sitting side by side in the private entryway as Yuuri ties his shoes and Vicchan's wagging tail thumps against the floor.

"Same as usual," Yuuri replies. "The rink closes at nine."

Mari exhales, smoke dissipating upwards. She taps the ashes from the end into a small ceramic dish she carries in the folds of her work robes and says, "You're not going to celebrate with friends?"

Yuuri is confused for a moment, thinking of Yuuko and Nishigori. He is about to say, "But I always meet them at the rink?" when he remembers that it is the last day of his second year of high school.

"Oh," Yuuri murmurs. He tightens the knots of his laces. "I don't—they're my classmates."

Mari scoffs, "What, so they can't be your friends?"

Yuuri frowns at his sister. There are classmates he talks to before the first bell, classmates he sits with during lunch, and classmates he exchanges good-byes with when the day ends, but he's never spent time with any of them outside of school. Few of his peers understand his dedication to his sport and those who do spend their time with their own passions. It's a little ironic; his parents had originally enrolled Yuuri in figure skating to help him make friends, but it ended up being one of the things that prevented him from deepening acquaintanceships.

"I didn't say that. It's just…" Yuuri shrugs. "No one's really interested in skating."

"Or," Mari drawls, "Victor Nikiforov."

Despite the faint flush that scores his cheeks, Yuuri is more annoyed than embarrassed at Mari's pointed remark. He turns away from her, pushes the heel of his palm against his sternum to ease the ache he always feels when Victor Nikiforov's name comes up, and huffs wordlessly.

"Okay, kiddo, okay. I'll stop teasing you about your crush." Mari laughs, a low rasp, and snubs her cigarette out in the dish by her knee. "Have fun at school."

Before he leaves, Yuuri scratches Vicchan behind the ears one final time and begrudgingly says goodbye to Mari. He is sure that the last day of school will be sedate and uneventful, and he is right; exams were completed the previous week, and the busy work his teachers assign is simple. Some teachers don't even bother with the pretense and announce a free period. Predictably, Yuuri's classmates break off into their usual cliques and talk about their plans for the three week long break ahead of them. Yuuri—who is not as anti-social as Mari accuses of being—joins such a group instead of staying at his desk and re-watching the previous Four Continents free skates on his phone.

"I'm going to my grandfather's in Hokkaido," one of the three other boys in Yuuri's circle says with a grimace. "There's still a ton of snow up there and he always puts me to work. I'm in the prime of my youth! I should be somewhere warm, playing video games and meeting cute girls at the café."

"You'd need a girl to actually agree to a date first," a second boy interjects. Yuuri and the other boys snort at the slight.

"Hey!"

"Maybe getting it will be easier in Hokkaido?" the second boy continues with a smirk. "At least those girls don't know what a meathead you are. Who knows? You might even meet your soulmate! I bet she's gonna be a country girl with a huuuuuge pair of—oof!"

The first boy punches the second in the arm, harder than is considered friendly, and they begin to slap and pinch one another over the desk separating them. It is not an uncommon thing; they push each other's buttons in the way close, lifelong friends often do, and no one in the room pays any attention to it.

"Man, I wish I got to leave town," the third member of their group bemoans to Yuuri. "I tried to get my parents to let me go to Osaka with my cousin, but they want me to attend cram school the whole time. They keep bringing up early entrance exams, too." He sighs and rests his cheek in the palm of his hand. "What about your parents? Have they been riding you too?"

"No." Yuuri shakes his head. "I mean, my older sister started working at the onsen right after she finished high school, and I don't think my parents ever said anything to her, either."

"Lu-uh-cky," says the other boy, drawing out and doubling up on the first syllable. "I wish I had a family business. I could just skip university altogether and get to it."

Yuuri says nothing. He does not mind the inevitability of working at Yu-topia—the onsen has been in his family for many years, and he likes the traditional, sedate atmosphere of the inn—but he knows that he cannot do so immediately after he graduates high school. First, he must find out how far his skating will take him; if he does not, he knows he will regret it for the rest of his life.

"What about you?" The question startles Yuuri from his thoughts. "What are you doing over break?"

"I'm—uhh—I'm going to practice my quad toe loop," replies Yuuri, truthfully if not a little cautiously. Mari's earlier sentiment rears its ugly head and makes Yuuri wonder if he's boring. He isn't interested in the same things as his peers—isn't interested in destination vacations, or studying for exams, or fooling around—and he is acutely aware of this fact. "I want to be able to land a quad by the time the season starts."

Yuuri will also be watching the ISU World Championships with Yuuko in a couple weeks, but he doesn't voice this plan. If he does, he knows he'll inevitably wax poetic about Victor Nikiforov and his stunningly bittersweet programs. After Mari's inaccurate assumption that morning, Yuuri knows he isn't ready to be teased a second time about his…. idolization.

"You know, I always forget that you figure skate," the other boy murmurs. "Aren't you nationally ranked?"

"Yeah," Yuuri says. He competed in the All-Japan Figure Skating Championships in late December and finished twentieth with an total score of 152.08. Yuuri is keenly aware that, if it weren't for his presentation scores, he wouldn't have ranked at all. "I didn't do very well."

Yet before Yuuri and the other boy's small side conversation can go into further, more difficult detail, the first half of their group stops rough-housing and pushes the topic back to their break. Yuuri is thankful for the change of subject. It has always been strangely hard for him to talk about his skating to people who aren't Yuuko, Minako, or his part-time coach; he puts too much of himself into the sport to express himself properly to people who aren't a part of the figure skating world.

The rest of the school day passes and ends uneventfully, and less than half an hour after break begins, Yuuri is in the locker room of Hasetsu Ice Castle. Nishigori is already there; he goes to a different high school than Yuuri, and he often beats Yuuri to the rink by several minutes.

"Hey," Nishigori greets as Yuuri sets his gym bag down on the concrete floor. Their assigned lockers are next to one another, as they have been for several years. "Not celebrating with friends tonight?"

"No," Yuuri says. "Are you?"

"No." Nishigori shrugs nonchalantly. "My graduation ceremony is next week, anyway. You're still coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it," says Yuuri. He knows that school has always been hard for Nishigori; Nishigori wasn't book smart, and he struggled through most of his classes. His diploma will have been hard earned. "I'll even wear a tie."

Nishigori snorts but does not say anything while Yuuri perfunctorily changes out of his school clothes and into the athletic gear he wears while on ice. Over the past year, Yuuri has grown several inches and lost the last of his baby-fat; his jawline is sharper, his stomach is flat, and his hips are narrow and trim. He knows he will never be as tall or as muscular as Nishigori, but those things matter less to him now than they once did, and Yuuri no longer hesitates when he unbuttons his navy slacks and strips out of his sweater.

Yuuri's lack of self-consciousness while undressing is also due to his customized soul mark cover. Minako had bought the first one online for his last birthday; in the four months since then, Yuuri has amassed a dozen of the same mark covers in various shades of black, blue, and gray. The cover is a sleeveless top that cuts beneath his ribcage, rises high on his neck, and hides every wild tendril of his mark. The fabric is tightly-woven, light-weight, and moisture-wicking, which is perfect considering that he wears one at all times: when he goes to school and when he works out, when he skates and when he dances, when he's at home and when he goes to bed. The only time Yuuri does not wear his cover is when he showers.

Once Yuuri is done changing, he sits down on the bench next to Nishigori and pulls on his skates. He hunches over to reach his laces, his sternum pressed to his knee.

"Yuuri," Nishigori says. "I… I want to ask you something."

"Yeah?" Yuuri—who is focused on properly lacing his boots over his high arches—does not quite catch Nishigori's subdued tone.

"I need a favor."

"Sure," Yuuri says as he moves onto his second skate. "What is it?"

Nishigori does not answer. Instead, there is a rustling noise as though Nishigori were shifting the clothes around inside his gym bag, then silence. It is not until Yuuri finishes his task that he looks up—

—and sees the small, unopened black ring box cradled in the broad palm of Nishigori's hand.

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part viii

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[toaster-boss-blog]

YOI Daemon AU: Settle

Summary: “In all the rush of emotions and adrenaline Yuri Plisetsky hadn’t noticed something was amiss until the banquet. Yuuri Katsuki was sat in a corner, glass of champagne in one hand while the other was rubbing small, lazy circles on Victor’s thigh. Both of them had that stupidly infatuated look on their faces. Meanwhile, Yekaterina and Yasu were perched on the table in front of them, the huge snowy owl preening the gull’s smooth feathers with her beak. It was such an intimate scene, all played out in such a public place” Or the daemon AU that no one except for me wanted.

Pairing: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Yuri Plisetsky (one sided), Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky (also one sided for now) Rating: Very PG Warnings: None Other: List of daemons: Viktor: Snowy Owl Name: Yekaterina Diminutive: Katya, Katenka Yuuri: Black-Tailed Gull Name: Yasu Yurio: Azure-winged magpie (Before settling favoured great grey owl, turtle dove, Eurasian magpie and white stork) Name: Yelena Diminutive: Lena Otabek: Golden Eagle Name: Inkar Phichit: Red-breasted parakeet Name: Samitaa JJ: Great Blue Heron Name: Estelle Chris: Black woodpecker Name: Bellona Isabella: Gibbon Name: Primo 

AO3 Link

In all the rush of emotions and adrenaline Yuri Plisetsky hadn’t noticed something was amiss until the banquet. Yuuri Katsuki was sat in a corner, glass of champagne in one hand while the other was rubbing small, lazy circles on Victor’s thigh. Both of them had that stupidly infatuated look on their faces. Meanwhile, Yekaterina and Yasu were perched on the table in front of them, the huge snowy owl preening the gull’s smooth feathers with her beak. It was such an intimate scene, all played out in such a public place.

Though it could be worse, they could have been touching each other daemons. Yuri had seen it happen after their engagement had been announced. On the way back to the hotel the pair had broken off from the rest of the group. As soon as Yuri had noticed he had ran off after them, determined to be a thorn in their side, but when he had caught up to them he had stopped before they had noticed him. They had stood there, under the single warm light of a street lamp, the world outside that small circle of light hidden by darkness, as if the world outside the pair didn’t exist.

Yeketerina and Yasu had both been in the arms of their respective humans, but Yuuri’s fingers had been hidden deep in Katya’s plush plumage while Victor had been stroking Yasu’s glossy back. It was a level of intimacy so deep that it could only ever be referenced with a layer of metaphor hiding it and Yuri hadn’t even known it had existed until recently. Yuri had turned tail and ran, like the coward he was, pretending that what he had seen had been a vivid hallucination.

Yuri wished he was old enough to drink. Even though he had won, he had lost.

“That is not a happy face,” said a familiar voice behind him.

“What do the English say? Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” retorted Yuri, no real venom in his voice.

Otabek’s face remained stoic, but something shined in his eyes. On his shoulder Inkar inclined her head in greeting to Yelena, who was perched similarly on Yuri’s shoulder.

Yuri’s heart beat that bit faster and against his shoulder he felt Yelena’s tiny heart do the same. It was strange she hadn’t changed out of the form of a small azure-winged magpie, she usually took the form of a great grey owl when in the presence of Otabek and Inkar, to better match the huge golden eagle.

“My face is permanently like this, for better or worse,” said Otabek as he drew in close to Yuri, so only the two of them were able to hear the conversation. “You’re far more expressive than me, you also just beat a world record and won gold in your senior debut. Are you okay?”

The look on Otabek’s face was filled with so much genuine concern that Yuri felt his lip start to tremble. It was only for a brief second, but he knew Otabek had seen it when the older boy put a large, callused but gentle hand, on his elbow.

“I’ll be fine,” Yuri said at last, after a deep breath. “I’ve just accepted something that’s a little hard to get over, but I’ll be fine.”

Yuri glanced towards where Yuuri and Victor were all over each other, so fucking in love it made Yuri sick.

“Unrequited emotions can be hard to deal with, you’re strong for being able to stand here,” replied Otabek as he followed Yuri’s line of sight.

“Wait, how did you-”

“I’m not blind, Yuri. Anyone can see it.”

“He never did,” replied Yuri in a tone as defeated as he felt.

“I don’t know Yuuri Katsuki very well, or at all, but I know for a fact that a lot of people find it hard to know when someone likes them. They find it hard to understand how someone could feel for them like that, or they brush off the affection as merely politeness or friendship,” said Otabek in a tone that said he knew the feeling all too well. “It takes something as significant as a kiss on international television to finally make it clear. Or even just the courage for a confession.”

Yuri glared in the direction of the love birds. “You have a point. Well, I’m a few months too late for any confession now, I was beat to the punch. I’ve accepted that, I just need to get over it now. I know I will, it’ll just take time.”

Otabek’s lip twitched up in the smallest of smiles. “You’ve grown up, Yura. No one can call you a child anymore.”

“Lena needs to settle for that to happen first.”

Instead of Otabek replying Inkar started to laugh, long and low. It was the first sound that Yuri had heard her make, the daemon even more stoic than her human.  

“What’s so funny?” demanded Yuri as he grit his fists.

“Why don’t you ask Lena?” inquired Inkar, her voice just as deep as Yuri had expected from Otabek’s daemon.

“What are you- Wait, Lena, what is she talking about?”

“You haven’t noticed yet?” replied Lena. “I haven’t changed shape since your free skate.”

“So, what? What has tha- Oh…”

It was like Yuri was seeing Yelena for the first time, well, in a way he was. The Yelena perched on his shoulder was the real Yelena, the real Yuri, who they truly were.  Of all the animals she could have chosen, of all the shapes they could have been, she had settled with an azure-winged magpie. He didn’t want to think of the implications of it, how a single moment now defined him for the rest of his life.

A napkin materialised before his face. It took him a second to figure out why, there were tears streaming down his face. He snatched it from Otabek’s hand without a word and buried his face in the material, trying to supress the sobs welling up in his throat. The scene inevitably drew others and soon he was surrounded by Phichit, Chris, JJ and Isabella.

“Sobbing again? Bit overwhelmed are we, kitty?” asked JJ, aiming for concerned but landing closer to mocking. Yuri finally knew him well enough to be able to see that.

“He can cry as much as he wants, he won after all,” replied Phichit as he fetched some fresh napkins from a nearby table. “I wouldn’t have stopped sobbing from the podium till now.”

“Something tells me he isn’t crying over his win,” said Chris, as perceptive as ever.

A strong arm wrapped around Yuri’s shoulder, careful to keep far away from Yelena. “His daemon settled.”

Yuri leant into Otabek, silently thanking him for sparing Yuri the embarrassment of having to explain himself. Otabek was so warm against him, so solid and unmoving. It served to ground Yuri, to keep him from floating away.  

“Congratulations! You’re finally an adult!” shouted Phichit far too loudly, drawing the attention of other guests.  

“Well, that’s one hell of a way to settle,” said JJ, his wide eyes betraying that he was genuinely impressed.

“Definitely,” agreed Isabella. “Also a magpie is a fitting shape. You got something very shiny and gold today. Yuri is a greedy boy, determined to steal from others.”

Yuri could have slapped that woman, no matter how much her tearful support of JJ had softened Yuri to her, she was still an arrogant asshole. She and JJ were truly a match made in the deepest levels of hell.

“But that’s a regular Eurasian magpie, this type of magpie tells something very different,” explained Chris. “Azure-winged magpies are known for their generosity, known to give to others without expecting anything in return.”

Yuri mentally added Chris to his list of people to destroy, but said nothing. He had no idea what his voice would sound like if he spoke, how much it would crumble and break.

“Come on, let’s get some air,” said Otabek in his soft, deep voice.

Otabek led the unresisting Yuri from the crowd, making sure to take the route furthest away from the loved up couple, so lost in each other that they hadn’t noticed the commotion going on. In the distance Yuri could hear JJ.

“I don’t get it. That doesn’t make sense at all.”

By some small mercy no one bothered explaining.