#yoi a sirens call | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oatmealcrisp-freak · 1 month ago

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heres the wip for the chicago yoi fic i guess :) rated M. 50 pages, but im in a slump, so this might be the only writing i'll be getting out in a while. apologiessss

There was a mirror across the room. In it, Yuuri realized he could see himself. Himself, and the smoking snubnose revolver that he shouldn’t legally have which sat heavy and hot in his palm. He looked strange, Yuuri thought about his reflection, feeling and watching himself pant raggedly. Wild eyed. Feral. Enraged, and splattered all over in red with his shirt front torn open. He looked down. On the ground, sputtering his final breaths, Frederick Chambers stared at him too as he approached. He, also, looked strange, Yuuri thought. Blood hissing through his stained teeth. Big eyed. Frightened. Vanishing. It was only a matter of a couple more seconds before his eyes glazed over and his rasping, bubbling breaths ceased.

He was dead. Frederick Chambers, the talent manager who was actually a furniture salesman, was dead.

And Yuuri had killed him.

He swallowed then breathed out a thick sigh and ripped his hand through his hair. “SHIT.”

He was fucked. Oh fuck he was so fucking fuckity fuck-fuck-fucked.

Yuuri’s head rocked up, his breath stalling as he heard a rattle at the door. The cops? Already?

“Yuuri, I’m back! Are you still meeting with Mr. Chambers?”

“Phichit,” Yuuri breathed and jumped over the body to run to him, to-to-to explain, to-

He paused, looked at Fred. Snarled, kicked him.

“Asshole,” Yuuri spat then turned and ran. “PHICHIT!”

“Yuuri?” Phichit looked up, halfway out of his second shoe, a grocery bag braced in one arm. That bag promptly hit the ground right along with his jaw as he took Yuuri’s appearance in. “What the fu-are you okay?!”

His face and his back and his elbow and his wrist hurt, Yuuri realized abruptly. His head was ringing. Or maybe that was his ears.

“I’m-I-” Yuuri swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He looked back at his bedroom. Looked back at Phichit. “Phichit, I killed Mr. Chambers.”

Phichit stared at him for one second. Two seconds. Three. “WHAT?!”

“He’s dead,” Yuuri said again. It was starting to sink in. “Oh my God. He’s dead. He’s dead and I killed him. I killed him. Oh my God, Phichit. Oh my God.”

He swooned to his knees. Phichit was dropping in front of him in an instant, his hands palming Yuuri’s face. He swallowed visibly.

“Whatever happened I don’t doubt that prick deserved it but Yuuri, what DID happen?”

“He’s not a talent manager. He’s been scamming me. He’s a furniture salesman. He said he was lying so he could fuck me. He tried to get my clothes off. I yelled at him and pushed him. He grabbed me. He hit me. I fell. He called me sweetheart. Said I wasn’t worth it after all and that there were cheaper whores he could buy. I.”

Yuuri’s heart rate was starting to come down. His eyes, flicking back and forth on nothing through the harried recollection, looked up at Phichit again. “I got really, really pissed off.”

Phichit’s eyes flickered over his face again, suspiciously shiny, and Yuuri wondered what he was seeing.

“I-” Phichit shook his head and his fine face grew stern. “I’ll say I did it! I have-”

“Phichit, no!” Yuuri hissed.

“Phichit yes, you know I have family in the Thai government, they’ll help get me off-”

No. No. FUCK no, fuck that, they weren’t taking that risk on Yuuri’s fuck up. Phichit’s family being what they were might help but it was far likelier it’d make it even worse given Phichit’s familial connections were through Thailand’s army.

“Phichit, absolutely not, I won’t let you! I-” Yuuri shook his head. “Look, look, I’ll say it was self defense, they’ll-they’ll believe that, I’m already bruising up, I-”

“But Yuuri-”

“Phichit,” Yuuri bared his teeth and growled. “No!”

They looked at each other for a tense moment then as one their heads whipped toward the open window and the sirens they could hear in the distance.

“I’m getting Ciao Ciao,” Phichit said and booked it for the door, ripping it open and tearing out down the hall.

Yuuri looked back at the window, at that cracked open sliver. The sirens were so loud he couldn’t hear the rain.

“Yuuri.”

Ciao Ciao was in front of him and Yuuri felt himself begin to shiver. He watched the man look at him, eyes flicking up and down.

“Get yourself cleaned up. Now. Throw all this in the garbage.”

“Ciao Ciao,” Yuuri breathed but the man was already pulling his shirt over his head and hauling him up, shoving him to the bathroom.

“Go!”

Yuuri went, stumbling out of his pants as he did. He looked at himself in the mirror. There wasn’t actually too much blood splatter but there were little flecks of it up and down his face and neck, his hands.

There was a line of red trailing down from his torn lip, a bruise coming to life on his cheek. Yuuri washed his face off, came out to find Ciao Ciao giving him one look, one nod, then shoving a half sheer shift at him, his nicest set, with artful ivory panels covering the chest and groin. He clambered into it and found Ciao Ciao’s suit jacket shortly tossed over his shoulders too, enshrouding him in the soft, peppered scent of protective alpha. It made him shudder and all at once everything hit him. Yuuri found himself sobbing, weeping desolately while Ciao Ciao gathered him up. Phichit ran out of Yuuri’s room and thrust a pair of rings at them, cheap bronze ones pretending to be gold but with the number of times they’d lied about this, they were well worn. Ciao Ciao shoved his own on then peeled Yuuri’s hand out of the suit jacket and screwed Yuuri’s on, too.

The immigrants and migrants in this building? They stuck together.

“Yep, I did it,” Ciao Ciao said with a wide grin. “And I’ll sign to that happily.”

“I think this might be the quickest confession we’ve ever had,” One of the officers laughed. “Makes our life easier.”

Another came in with an already prepared fountain pen. “Sign right here, sir.”

“Of course! Why shouldn’t I, I’ve done nothing wrong here.”

“I��m always glad to hear when citizens know their rights.”

A new voice entered the fray. Yuuri looked up from where he was tucked into his ‘husband’s’ side, finding a man with a stern, aquiline profile and dark glinting eyes had entered the scene. Unlike the other uniformed officers, he was wearing a suit, coat, a hat, and a tie. He had the presence of an alpha but with the scent neutralizers that polite society dictated it was impossible to really know for certain.

There was something in his tone that Yuuri didn’t like. He didn’t like any of this. The atmosphere until now had been strangely casual and callous. Jolly. A man was dead but to these men and women it was just another Tuesday. Yuuri knew they were cops but he’d expected something a little more, he didn’t know, serious?

This man, though. Right away Yuuri could tell that he was taking it seriously and, more, he wasn’t buying a single damn thing they were selling.

“You’re here? I don’t see why, we’ve just about got this all wrapped up, Mr, ah, District Attorney Swanson.”

There were a couple of chuckles but Swanson silenced them with one hard eyed look. Finally he looked at Ciao Ciao and Yuuri.

Ciao Ciao was frowning now, holding Yuuri closer. “You’re damn right I do, sir. I’m an alpha. I have a legal right to protect my omega and that includes the use of lethal force. Just look at what that brute did to him!”

Yuuri winced as he was pulled away and displayed.

“Yuuri, show them your wrist.” Ciao Ciao said. Yuuri showed them his wrist.

“I see,” Swanson said then ambled slowly through the apartment, looking through Phichit’s room, Yuuri’s, the kitchen. He paid a significant glance to the garbage and Yuuri hoped dearly that wasn’t where his clothes had gone.

As he pulled open a cupboard Swanson said, “So. Run it over for me, tell me what happened.”

“But I already-”

“Not,” Swanson said, looked back at them. “To me.”

Ciao Ciao looked around but when nobody told him otherwise he sighed.

“I got home from work. I heard Yuuri scream in the bedroom. When I got there, a man was attacking him. I shot him.”

“Mhm,” Swanson said. He didn’t sound convinced. He turned to another officer. “What is the decedent’s name?”

“Frederick Chambers, sir.” An officer said, handing over a wallet.

“Chambers?”

Swanson’s eyes were on Ciao Ciao in an instant who winced. Just visible beneath the rim of his hat, he raised a single artful eyebrow and said, “You didn’t know?”

Ciao Ciao swallowed. “I only saw the back of him, sir, and when he was down I went to my omega-”

“He died,” Swanson said. “Face up.”

“Well. Yes. But I was behind him, you see, when I shot him.”

“May I see the statement, please?” Swanson said and it was handed over. Everything was getting rather more tense now and Yuuri found himself catching Phichit’s eyes. Phichit was looking worried.

“It says in your sworn and signed statement, Mr. Cialdini, that the gun in question was kept in the bureau. Which is next to the bed. Opposite the door. In what happens to be a room that doesn’t bear much signs of your presence, sir.”

“I-” Ciao Ciao looked at Yuuri. “Well I-”

“One moment,” Swanson said, holding up a finger then waving toward the door. “Would you come over here, please? Yes, thank you.”

An older woman who Yuuri had never seen before came forward with a pinched expression, her opinion of Yuuri very obvious as she paid him one look then walked by him. Swanson gestured and an officer obeyed, lifting the sheet.

“That him, ma’am?”

“That’s him.”

“Before I got here, Ms. Smith told me an interesting story about how often she’s seen Mr. Chambers and,” Swanson looked at Yuuri. “Mr. Cialdini come by. Together. She said they looked quite… intimate.”

“Well be that as it may, he still brutalized my-”

“Yes. I can see that. So you shot him, Mr. Cialdini, to end the assault, is that right?”

“That’s right!”

“He had your omega in hand, did he?”

“Y-Yes, on the bed even!”

“Whereupon he no doubt stumbled to the door to lay down and die on his back, obstructing it and your entry. You paid no notice to him as you went to attend to your husband, dropping the gun you telekinetically retrieved from the underwear drawer.”

Swanson looked unimpressed. “Is that so?”

Ciao Ciao’s hands were clenching down tight on Yuuri’s shoulders. “I. I. That is-”

“Funny. Were that all somehow the case,” Swanson’s eyes looked Yuuri up and down. “I’d have expected significantly more blood spatter. But I suppose you must have felt the need to wash it off, just as you felt the need to apparently dispose of a set of clothes.”

Ciao Ciao said nothing.

Nobody said nothing at all.

Yuuri’s mind was going faster than any car he’d ever seen. In fact, Yuuri could see it all as if it was playing out in front of him. Obstruction of an investigation was against the law. Telling cops lies was against the law. If Ciao Ciao and Phichit didn’t go down swinging with him they’d end up deported at the very least, their dreams up in flames, their friendships extinguished, all the lives they’d set out to make - done and over with. And for what? For Yuuri?

No.

No way.

“Please, sir,” Yuuri said. “It’s not what you think.”

“Yuuri! Don’t say a th-”

“No!” Yuuri looked at Ciao Ciao then took another couple steps forward, clutching the man’s jacket all the tighter to him. “No, he’s. He’s not buying it. Look, sir, please understand, I asked him to cover for me! I. I persuaded him. But Mr. Chambers, we weren’t like that, he was my manager! After meetings he’d always ask to come by for a drink and I. I couldn’t refuse him.”

Ms. Smith snorted. “Yes, every time he put a hand on your bottom you looked quite happy.”

“You don’t know anything! Shut up, you miserable old-” Phichit hissed.

“That’s enough of that.”

Swanson looked back at Yuuri. “Your manager. For what.”

“He was my talent manager or-” Yuuri shook his head. “That’s what he told me he was. He said he’d represent me for a reduced rate until I made it big and then I’d just shoot him 35% of my take. And. He was friendly, but we never did anything like that, I swear! He. He wanted to. Though. So. I. I shot him. But only in self defense, I mean just look at me!”

“I am looking at you. And you know what I’m seeing? A liar.” Swanson’s nose twitched as though he wanted to sneer. “Maybe even a mentally unstable one, to beat himself up like that. Mr. Cialdini, do you really expect me to believe that a furniture salesman with a happy marriage and five children would need to get rough to get what he wants?”

“Typical chorine,” Ms. Smith mumbled. Yuuri barely heard her. His head was reeling, replaying every instance of Chambers’s hand squeezing his backside, trying to dip down between his legs, his smile foolish and flirtatious, his empty ring finger. Yuuri had known he was putting up with a real toad, but this? THIS? Instead of going home to his family he was trying to seduce Yuuri of all people?

“What?” Yuuri heard himself say.

“Oh? You didn’t know?” Swanson shook open the wallet and flicked through the plastic card holders with his thumb, each one of them showing a happy, innocent child, often with a beautiful mother. Yuuri stared in shock. Holy shit, he hadn’t been lying. “These? All his.”

“I can’t believe it,” Yuuri muttered dumbly. “He’s married? He has five children? And he was still trying to sleep with me?! That-that son of a bitch! That no good, dirty lying-”

“Now the true colours come out. I’ve heard enough, take him away.”

Hands seized him by the scruff and his arms, hauling him off. Yuuri snarled and jerked, paying another furious glance at that scathing wallet.

“That piece of shit, that fucking asshole, I killed him once and I’d kill that creep again!”

“Once was more than enough, dearie.”

“Fuck you! You aider. Abetter! Alphas protecting alphas, all of you!” Yuuri spat then bared his teeth at the cops holding him, throwing his head to get that damn hand off his fucking neck. “Get off me, I can walk just-hey, that hurts!”

“Shoes secured? Jacket? Alright, let's go.”

“Get off me,” Yuuri twisted and kicked. “Get OFF! Omae ga uji mushi o taberu kuso yarō-domo o keri tobashite yaru. Īe. Īe! NO!” (I’ll kick the crap out of you, you maggot eating motherfuckers お前がウジ虫を食べるクソ野郎どもを蹴り飛ばしてやる。いいえ。いいえ！)

“That’s nice, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your FUCKING SWEETHEART you dick-lipped motherfucker! KonoYAROU! Listen to me!”

Behind the stair descending troupe, Phichit looked at Ciao Ciao, who looked back at him.

“Did you know he could swear like that?” Phichit asked, so shocked he could barely speak over a whisper.

Ciao Ciao shook his head and looked back over the railing. “Guess he picked up more at the club than we thought.”

“Way to completely blow it,” Phichit muttered, coming back to himself enough to scowl. “By the way.”

Ciao Ciao grimaced.

Outside, Ciao Ciao’s jacket falling off his shoulders and his glasses stuffed into a pocket, Yuuri was assailed by popping flashbulbs and a harangue of questions even as he was shoved up into the back of a parked paddywagon. The door slammed and locked behind him before he could force his way back out and Yuuri threaded his fingers through the bars, giving them a shake.

“I’ll see you hanged for this,” Swanson promised.

The remaining anger drained out of him, leaving him nothing but cold. “Hanged?”

Swanson’s voice was barely audible over the shouting reporters. “That’s right, kid. Not so tough now, are ya?”

Swanson slapped the wall next to Yuuri’s head. “Get going!”

Dumbstruck, Yuuri dropped his eyes away from the reporters chasing after him, away from Swanson, away from his familiar street and apartment as they turned around the corner.

Well. He’d thought it earlier, hadn’t he? Hanging.

Yuuri closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. He blew out a shuddering sigh.

‘I’ve been arrested,’ Yuuri thought, opening his eyes and peering at the blurry floor through his fingers. ‘I’ve been arrested because I killed a man tonight. A husband. A father of five children.’

His lips curled, the anger sputtering back to life. All he could think of was Mari and the tears she wouldn’t cry unless nobody else could see. He shook his head, winced as it made it pound harder.

“God, what a scumbag,” He whispered to himself in soft Japanese then sighed and sat back, looking down at himself with a grimace. He plucked at the front of his negligee. So much for Ciao Ciao’s plan, now Yuuri was being dragged about in nothing but his underwear, an oversized jacket, and a pair of house slippers. He pulled his glasses out of the pocket an officer had shoved them in and put them on.

‘Hopefully they’ll let me dress in warmer clothing, when I get to the noose,’ He thumped his head into the wall he was leaning on.

Fuck, his head hurt. For all that the bastard was a shit alpha, he could still pack the punch of one. He rotated his jaw, winced, counted his teeth with his tongue. Thankfully they were all still there.

Yuuri got to learn more things about America that night, more than he thought he’d ever know. He was searched, stripped, made to wash himself with scent neutralizing soap, measured, redressed in a turtleneck long-sleeve, knee length button down smock and then shuffled into a dark, cigarette smelling room to give his statement. Yuuri stuck to the truth. Most of the truth anyway. He continued to claim self defense even though it wasn’t the entire truth. Not the truth at all, really. But it may as well have been and Yuuri knew better than to say that he’d shot that scamming bastard after he’d started walking away to leave. Swanson might have thought Yuuri had managed to beat himself up somehow but the bruise on his back and the literal fingerprints on his swollen wrist should say otherwise. They were all made note of and he was given a brace for the sprain.

To protect his friends, Yuuri lied a little further. He’d conscripted Celestino Cialdini to play his husband and say he’d shot the guy, convincing him with an artful touch of pheromones. Yuuri had heard that was a thing, that some people could throw those around on command, and the cops didn’t look like they disbelieved him. Yuuri continued, unwinding it all slowly. Celestino was the only alpha Yuuri knew that he felt safe around, he said, and they were neighbours besides. He couldn’t legally marry his beta roommate to keep people off his back, not without an alpha to round out the dynamics and ensure a pregnancy at some point. Celestino wasn’t interested in that but he’d never minded a bit of pretend before in the name of protection, and after he’d shot Chambers Yuuri had panicked, he’d said. Celestino was the first person he ran to.

He barely mentioned Phichit. He'd only turned twenty a week ago, he was too young, he had his whole life ahead of him. As his elder, as his friend, it was Yuuri’s job to keep Phichit as safe as possible, and that meant keeping him away from this. Far, far away.

After that came questions about his medical history. Yuuri learned the names of a lot of drugs that night.

He also learned he’d been charged with murder in the first degree, and after he’d given his statement an additional charge of illegal possession of a firearm was added to that. An unmarried omega couldn’t own one of those after all, not without their parents’ permission. Since Yuuri’s parents were of course in Japan, Yuuri was effectively a ward of the state now that he’d graduated university, and Daddy Michigan said no. Daddy WSU had, too, so there was no fudging the lines or technicalities to be had there.

Still, it was a pretty minor charge in comparison to murder one. Reading between the lines, apparently Swanson thought he’d seduced Chambers to kill him for some reason, with malice and forethought. Bizarre. This whole night was just bizarre.

Finally, he was given a blanket even greyer than his smock, somehow, rolled around a very flat pillow and some toiletries. Yuuri was also given his glasses back, then walked into what he could only guess was some sort of receiving room. There was a handful of omegan men seated on uncomfortable looking wooden benches and Yuuri shuffled slowly through until he found a seat toward the back, clutching the blanket to his front as if it would protect him. It was just as uncomfortable as it looked.

Yuuri looked around briefly then lowered his eyes to his lap. It was cold.

‘The women must be in a different section of the prison,’ He thought to himself, grimacing a little. Omega/omega relationships were considered homosexual no matter the ‘downstairs arrangement’, but very, very, very rarely they still sometimes resulted in pregnancy. Not having a set of breasts around to feed any resultant children was probably considered a deterrent.

He sighed softly, closing his eyes. He missed Yuuko. It was part of why he’d moved to America, to be honest, in addition to the fact that everyone had been afraid of Mari being so far from home after her misscarriage. Yuuko was omega. Yuuri’s feelings for her were forbidden. For the sake of both of their safety it was better to just… stay away.

Falling in love with vaudeville, cabaret, burlesque, with jazz music made it much easier to stay and send as much money as he could back home. Yuuri had even managed to snag a position in a chorus line at one point. It wasn’t the Bolshoi but his background in ballet gave him the boost his meager appearance otherwise lacked and he’d been very pleased to be there. Sadly that company had folded months ago after some sort of scandal that Yuuri had figured it was better not to know. He’d gotten the news two days after the letter that let him know his beloved dog had died. It’d been one of the worst weeks of his life until now. Honestly, this year had just been one kick in the dick after the next.

He’d picked up a job at a diner to make ends meet but he’d been ready to get the hell out of there pronto.

And then at a party he’d gone to with Phichit to exercise his meager networking skills he’d met Frederick “Call me Fred” Chambers. ‘Talent manager’ slash furniture salesman slash daddy of five. Yuuri still couldn’t believe the balls on that guy, to not only take Yuuri’s money but try to get between his legs at the same time - all on a LIE. Had it just been the first, Yuuri could have forgiven that with seven mouths to feed but no. On top of that, Chambers’s interest had been so blatant and gropey even Yuuri had picked up on it. Yuuri had been oblivious, then played oblivious, then he’d tried some approximation of coy, and then despite his fears of being black listed from his industry entirely he’d said no.

‘No’ hadn’t gone so well.

‘I knew he was bad news,’ Yuuri grimaced into the scratchy wool of the blanket. ‘Should have listened to my instincts.’

But he’d been desperate. Desperate, Yuuri chided himself, and so, so stupid.

He looked around again. Most of the men in the room looked bored, unimpressed. A few had already formed small groups, they seemed to know each other. These were criminals, Yuuri thought to himself. And he was sitting among them. He was a criminal too.

God he hoped this didn’t get back to Hasetsu, or his family’s reputation was done for. Yu-topia would go under. Shit, he wouldn’t be able to send money back anymore, would he? They were barely making ends meet as it was, onsens in Hasetsu were shutting their doors left and right, one right after the other. They’d never heard back from the Madame Baranovskaya, who Minako knew, had danced with. She had sent a letter and DVD to her in the hope that she’d take Yuuri in, introduce him to the Bolshoi, somehow confident that he’d make it in with ease. Had that happened, the money he’d be able to send back would have been substantial. It had not, though. Yuuri had felt bitter about his expectations being proved correct. Of course his mediocre dancing and appearance wouldn’t catch the attention of Madame Baranovskaya, the Bolshoi Ballet’s world renowned prima. He honestly hadn’t understood why everyone had been so surprised. Devastated, even.

Sending one of their children to the States to bolster Yu-topia’s reputation became a last ditch effort. Between their fears of how Mari would react to being so far from what she saw as her territory, between his feelings for Yuuko, between finding out via the Ice Castle’s ancient computer that Wayne State had scholarships for omegas? It was a no-brainer. Yuuri would either bring back a prestigious American degree or send as much money as he could via Detroit’s thriving economy and plentiful job market. Either way, his parents would be able to boast that they were doing well enough to send their son abroad, which could only mean that Yu-topia must be doing well also, which would secure people’s confidence and keep them coming. In reality it’d been a combination of several people’s savings that had sent Yuuri to Detroit via ship and train in a desperate hail mary.

And now look at what he’d done. He’d thrown it all away. Yuuri held their hopes on his shoulders and instead of rising to the occasion and doing them proud, supporting them as they’d supported him, he’d fucked it all up.

He was nothing but a miserable failure.

So lost in his thoughts, Yuuri barely heard the order to stand up and only scrambled to do so when he noticed everyone else was. At the front of the room a guard had come in and behind her, so too did a beautiful and tall man with a flirtatious smile and a head of two-toned hair, short on the sides and curled on the top.

“Bonjour, my sweets,” He said, an accent rolling lusciously off his tongue. He paused to take them all in then swept inside with a grace that didn’t suit the grey of his attire, a rather plain suit. “I hope we’re all doing well tonight. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

Grey, grey, grey. Everything here was so grey.

“You may think I’m here to make your lives a living hell but I assure you,” He crooned. This must be the warden, then. “That’s just not true. In fact, I want to be your friend, if you’ll let me. So let us all play together nicely, ça joue? If there’s anything that upsets you, saddens you, so much as inconveniences you in any way?”

Yuuri watched the smile drop from the man’s face. “Keep it the fuck to yourselves or we’ll have a problem. Now get your fat asses moving, all of you.”

“Go, go,” The guard waved them through single file and Yuuri flashbacked to grade school again as he found himself the last in line, already apparently an odd man out.

Before he could exit the room, though, an arm slung across the doorway. Yuuri startled as he nearly bumped into it, eyes lurching up to find the beautiful man smiling and stepping closer.

“Well, well, look at you. You must be, what was it. Katsuki?”

Yuuri nodded, feeling his heart flutter nervously. What was going on? Was something wrong? He wasn’t in trouble already, was he?

The warden traced fingers across his chin and tilted his head to the side, tutting in sympathy. “Hard to imagine someone would put a bruise like that on such a pretty face.”

Yuuri winced. Sarcasm already, huh? His embarrassing reaction while he’d been arrested must have made it back to the jail, had probably made the rounds before he’d even gotten here. The horror stories he’d heard about solitary confinement wriggled to life in the back of his mind and he clutched his blanket tighter, suddenly buzzing with fear not for the first time that night.

Still, even if it was a backhanded insult, Yuuri didn’t want to step on any toes his first night here. Well. Not anymore toes at least.

“Thank you, sir,” He said. Mumbled. Still.

“Oh non, non, mon cher, you must call me Chris! Or Papa Chris, if you prefer,” Chris said with a wink and his hand went to Yuuri’s shoulders, carefully avoiding the back of his neck.

Yuuri blinked in surprise. Was the warden also an omega, to so diligently avoid that area? He’d been scruffed a couple times tonight and hadn’t come to expect any manners about strangers touching an area that, even in America, was meant for family or lovers.

“You come with me, let me take care of you, oui? We’ve already got your room all ready for you. Heard a lot about you, they said you were quite the little terror.”

Yuuri swallowed, feeling himself blush even as his eyes flicked around to take everything in. They’d been ushered out a different door. This one probably led to the cells.

“Uh. I don’t usually act that way, I promise, I-” Yuuri swallowed tightly. “Embarrassed myself. I apologize.”

Chris laughed. It was a charming sound. “Ah, don’t bother mon cher, there is nothing to apologize for. I’m sure our men and women in uniform didn’t mind a single bit, though that’s still good to know.”

There was a glint in the man’s seaglass green eyes when he looked at Yuuri next. “We don’t like it too much when our friends get rowdier than they should.”

Yuuri gulped and nodded. “I understand si-I mean. Uhm. Chris.”

Chris smiled broadly and slapped his back, making Yuuri wince as the bruise there flared. “Good man! Now, we’ve got your room squared away in a very special wing, we call it Murderess Row.”

“...Thank you?” Yuuri said through the queasy roll of his stomach, trying to smile back because holy shit, he was a murderer wasn’t he? He’d fucking killed that guy. “It…sounds nice?”

The brief eyeroll Yuuri caught Chris paying to the guard following behind them told Yuuri that his attempt at a joke had fallen flatter than Chambers’s body and he promptly decided to never say anything ever again. He sucked his lips in and pretended he’d seen nothing at all.

“Well, this isn’t the Ritz, but we’ll still do our best to house you comfortably while you’re here. Non, Cell Block E is merely where your ilk goes, mon cher. Plenty of killers in there so I suggest you stay on your best behaviour and don’t go mouthing off like you did before, your neighbours won’t be as charmed by it as the cops were.”

“I promise I’ll do my best,” Yuuri whispered, looking up as the guard stepped ahead of them when they approached a door.

The person seated behind a wired window pushed a button, granting them admittance. The door swung open automatically, and Yuuri was pressed through while the guard resumed her position behind them. Chris stayed right beside him, but at least he wasn’t touching him anymore. Yuuri had seriously had enough of people’s hands on him today.

“Your accommodations are toward the end and are outfitted with your own private bunk, sink, and toilet. No roomies for you, we don’t do that here, so you’ll be expected to entertain yourself.”

There wasn’t a single person here outside the guards and Chris who were wearing pants, Yuuri realized, and in fact despite what seemed like a permanent damp chill a good deal of the men were so unbothered they wore their smock partially unbuttoned or even fully open, leaving them in nothing but their underwear. Chris pulled ahead of him, his hand gesticulating in articulate, fluid patterns as he spoke, but Yuuri didn’t miss a casual exchange of cash for a carton of cigarettes, nor the way Chris didn’t hesitate to give that person’s thigh a friendly slap. Behind him, the guard’s footsteps didn’t skip a beat. This was a part of the culture here then, Yuuri understood. He’d gotten good at picking those things out, since he’d come to America.

“You’ll be spending your heats in a room near the infirmary. Everything the government feels you’ll need will be provided to you there. Food times are at seven, one, and six, and you’re expected to be there whether you like it or not. You’ve been rationed a toothbrush, toothpaste, pads, and one extra smock and set of underwear. Do not lose them, mon petit cher, or if you do,” Chris’s eye flashed to spear Yuuri over his shoulder. “You better be ready to pay up.”

Yuuri nodded quickly.

Chris’s eyes fluttered over him again and his smile became wry. “You should become real attached to those glasses, too.”

Yuuri’s heart thudded with abrupt fear, his hand snapping up to hold onto an earpiece. Chris looked very amused.

“PAPA!”

Yuuri jumped. Chris didn’t, merely swung his gaze to the side and ambled over, as casual as daylight. Yuuri followed, quite certain there was nothing else he could do.

What he saw next? Blew his mind.

Yuuri was looking at none other than Jean-Jacques Leroy, he realized with a gasp. JJ Leroy, of The Leroy Brothers, the beautiful omega twin act that’d taken the Detroit vaudeville scene by storm. He’d been there the night JJ was arrested for the brutal double murder of his brother and wife, he hadn’t seen it happen because that idiot Chambers had dragged him out so soon, but honestly? It felt like a privilege, a little claim to oh so gauche fame to be able to say he’d been there, had watched as JJ rose up from the ground alone. Yuuri hadn’t even been able to spot any holes in the choreo that might indicate a headliner was missing it’d been so poised, so beautiful, so flawless. It’d reminded Yuuri how much he wanted.

He wanted to be that lovely, he wanted to be that in control, he wanted to be that certain and brave and unflinching and skilled. Oh how he’d wanted. Even now, even here, JJ was dripping in beaded silk and good looks, and Yuuri could see masses of flowers and newspaper pages decorating his cell. There was a banner with his face painted onto it, proclaiming him king. He even had a duvet embroidered with roses and a mound of pillows festooned into a nest. He had a freaking wardrobe. Star power lingered even in places such as this apparently. There were even small diamonds glittering in the delicate points of JJ’s ears. All at once, Yuuri’s body sang with admiration and envy.

Yuuri’s so-called rising star hadn’t risen, it’d fallen to the ground and killed the dinosaurs.

He heard himself squeak out the man’s name in shock and then JJ was looking at him. Yuuri felt his knees grow weak. Shit. He was looking at him. He was looking at him! What did Yuuri say? Compliments, he thought desperately, surely he couldn’t go wrong with compliments? JJ and his troupe had more than earned them.

“H-Hi…” He managed a little wave. “I. Uhm. I was there that night, you know, your dancing was-”

JJ grunted. “I’m sure, half of Detroit was there. Papa look at this! A two page spread in Red Book Magazine. I am,” JJ braced a hand on his chest and winked. “The most sickening and monstrous of murderers in recent history. JJ Style will live on even when I’m six feet under, Papa, can you believe it?”

JJ bounced a little, clearly excited, but Yuuri felt dreadfully confused. Over two people? Pardon him for being insensitive, but that didn’t seem right. Yuuri looked at the magazine in question that JJ had thrust against the bars. The photograph they’d used of him was truly beautiful, as glamorous as the glossy paper it was printed on.

He couldn’t understand it. How was being known for something so terrible a good thing? To be called those words? Yuuri would be devastated if he was called anything like that. It must be good, though, because JJ’s delight was as obvious as his face was handsome. ‘Maybe,’ Yuuri thought, getting dizzy. ‘I’ve stepped into some sort of alternate dimension. Phichit always did say I read too much fantasy and sci-fi.’

“Ooouu, how terrible. You must be pleased!” Chris cooed, leaning in to look at the page. “You can’t even buy that kind of publicity, mon beau.”

Yuuri stared. No. No way. There was no way he’d heard what he’d just heard-

But JJ only grinned roguishly and sidled a bit closer to the bars, one eyebrow quirking as he produced a crumpled twenty dollar bill.

“I guess I can keep this, then, eh?” JJ asked. Purred, more like.

“Ha ha.” Chris’s hand flashed out, snatching the note and giving it a mocking waggle. “Nice try.”

JJ, Yuuri noticed numbly as they set back on their way, was wearing pants. Just as he had that night down at The Onyx, he watched JJ over his shoulder as he was led away.

‘He murdered two people,’ Yuuri couldn’t believe it. ‘And he’s being treated like royalty for it.’

That banner hadn’t been that off the mark. He really was King.

“Alright, here we are,” Chris said as the guard moved to unlock a cell door. “The oh so prestigious corner room. Lights off is in thirty, so try to get some sleep, non? In you go.”

Yuuri was shoved from the place he’d been rooted to, stumbling into the cell. Already it was darker. Damper. Somehow even colder. The sweet golden light glowing from JJ’s cell was barely a thing of memory, now. The corner room, Yuuri realized as he looked around, struck dumb. ‘That must mean this is the exterior wall.’

The sarcasm in Chris’s words rang even clearer. House him comfortably, huh, Yuuri thought as he took in the cigarette burns in the stained bedroll, the faint shine of moisture on the stone walls, the smell of mildew. This was probably the worst room in the joint outside of solitary confinement.

The bars rattled shut behind him, making Yuuri jump and spin around. He watched the guard lock him in. Behind her, Chris kept right on smiling.

“Dors bien, mon cher,” Chris said. He turned and walked away, the guard close behind him.

Yuuri swallowed, managed to whisper back, “Passez une bonne nuit.”

Then he turned, a stupid kind of horror making moving rather difficult as he surveyed where he’d be spending his final days.

All of a sudden he found himself crying again, fat tears globbing down his face and a whimper catching behind his teeth. He couldn’t let it out, Yuuri thought to himself and convinced his legs to walk over to his new bed. He was in prison. If they heard him cry, it’d probably just be blood in the water.

He stiffly sat. The bed roll smelled like detergent at least, but there sure as shit wasn’t enough room to even think of nesting - the bunk wasn’t even round, instead a straight up and down plank. A soft tap echoed through the cell, startling him and making him look up. In addition to the walls that were damp with the late Detroit winter, the faucet leaked. This made Yuuri realize the toilet had no kind of privacy when seen from the door. The bars, rather. Joy.

‘Plus side,’ Yuuri thought as he looked at said bars. He was able to see straight through to the other side into the cell of a man who was trying to turn his own bed into something comfortable. ‘I’m so boring I doubt people would even want to look at me.’

Yep. That was him alright. Yuuri Katsuki, a dime-a-dozen murderer.

He looked around his cell again - his punishment for killing Chambers - and his mouth twisted.

“Kusotare,” He muttered, snorted, and got to sorting through what he’d been given.

By lights out, he’d managed to secure his glasses to his head with several strings, pulled carefully off a frayed edge of the blanket and twined together then tied around the ear pieces, up and down to be as secure as possible. After what Chris said, he didn’t even want to take these fuckers off to go to sleep. He restrapped the wrist brace to tighten it and carefully settled down, curling into a small ball before he could help himself. The thin, itchy blanket didn’t do much against the cold and Yuuri found himself thinking back to JJ’s cell and the warm looking duvet inside it. It was probably filled with soft downy feathers, the fabric so rich their little edges wouldn’t even poke through. He bet JJ’s bunk was round. It was probably even concave.

He still couldn’t believe it, but he supposed that was just life for you, Yuuri thought. With how popular The Leroy Brothers had been, JJ had probably made bank.

‘Even in prison the rich stay rich,’ Yuuri thought, thumb soothing the split in his lip.

‘...I wonder if they let him do any dance practice in here? Like in a studio.’

Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t let Yuuri. He sighed and rubbed his eyes again, those damn leaky things, then shut them and curled up tighter. All there was left to do now was try to go to sleep.

Distantly he heard the soft sound of a radio. The person in the cell next to him cursed quietly.

“Fucking Leroy,” They said.

Yuuri, as people did, learned to adjust. Because of his wrist he was put on library cart duty for a week until it was healed, whereupon he was thrown at the laundry room. Yuuri’s background in hospitality was soon swimming to the fore and he became the go-to bitch for stains and folding. This meant Yuuri got the dubious honour of dealing with nocturnal emissions. Hooray. What more could a man ask for.

He was a failure. This was just what he deserved.

He got paid a nickel an hour. When Yuuri remembered the crisp folded bill that’d been exchanged for cigarettes on his first night, he got queasy. Fifty cents a day got you nowhere outside, it got you even less in here.

But food was provided, if you could call what they served here ‘food’, and Yuuri had a roof over his head. His toilet even worked, and when it didn’t work, he got the tepid pleasure of enlisting a guard to fix it and getting to watch them cuss and complain. Honestly, without all the background distractions and the temptation of sweets and fatty fried meats, Yuuri was getting into the best shape of his life. When he wasn’t in the laundry room or spooning slop into his face, he was working out, practicing, or reading. His cell obviously wasn’t the largest so any dancing he did in there was heavily constrained, but it was still enough to put Yuuri’s mind a little more at ease.

Mostly, he kept his head down. He spoke when he was spoken to. He was as polite as he knew how to be when he did. Yuuri rapidly became exactly what he wanted to be - a nonentity that nobody paid attention to.

He listened, though, and he learned.

The people here usually weren’t as brutal as their murder charges suggested. Usually. The ancestral wolf did still manage to come out sometimes. Mostly, though, people reeked with tired dissatisfaction that sometimes inflamed into anger, rarely into rage. That was probably the reason for the slop and the ten hour work days with one day off a week. They were to be made too exhausted to cause trouble.

Of course that didn’t stop people from talking, though.

JJ Leroy had murdered his brother and wife because he’d caught them sleeping together. Emil Nikola had blown off his roommate’s head in a rage over gum. Irving Stanley had nearly been conscripted into an omega-wife cult and had taken that…poorly. Jacob Laurant had been accused of cheating. Yuri Plisetsky had been accused of killing his grandfather for the insurance money.

Yuri Plisetsky? Was also innocent.

Plisetsky was the person whose cell Yuuri’s faced. Because of this, Yuuri soon learned that he, too, had been trained in ballet because he, too, practiced it when he could, using his sink as a barre. Yuuri’s heartstrings winced to think about him because Plisetsky’s English was somewhat limited, heavily accented in a way that made him hard to understand. Between that and his frankly piss poor attitude, nobody believed him when he claimed his innocence.

Yuuri knew some Russian, for much the same reasons he knew some French and English and mostly spoke standard Japanese instead of the Kyushu dialect - Minako had insisted. The countries that spoke those languages were the ones with the most prestigious ballet companies, was what she said. Yuuri had dreamed of it too, though he refused to be anything but realistic about his chances, so he’d sat at her knee and learned.

She’d invested so much into him, Yuuri grimaced, and he’d just thrown it in her face.

He’d therefore thought to maybe approach the poor kid, because Plisetsky couldn’t be any older than eighteen looking at him up close, but then Plisetsky had glared at him as though Yuuri was the cause of every problem in his life and he’d promptly run away with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

He was a coward. He tried to tell himself that Plisetsky’s innocence, if he actually was innocent, would be borne out eventually.

He wasn’t sure how much he believed that.

Twice a week, Yuuri was allowed one visitor. This at least meant that he still got to see Phichit and Ciao Ciao.

“Ms. Smith is still trying to figure out who did it,” Phichit smirked, glanced around. The guards remained annoyed looking about their lack of English. “I told her I didn’t know anything about it, of course, but that she was such a colossal bitch I’m sure there were plenty of people in the building who wouldn’t mind hearing about it. She didn’t appreciate that but she couldn’t even deny it.”

Yuuri was somewhere between laughter and tears. “Phichit, you can’t just say that to people!”

Nevermind pour bleach into their flowers and box up an ungodly amount of crickets only to leave the package on her doorstep for her to take inside and unwrap with the morning post. The mental image was sweet.

Phichit grinned widely and giggled a little bit himself. “That’s pretty rich coming from you, Mr. Dick-Lipped Motherfucker.”

Phichit’s smile soured a little. “...That probably didn’t appeal you very much to him, you know.”

Yuuri wiped his eyes beneath his glasses and grimaced at his folded arms. “He had it out for me from the beginning, Phichit, I don’t think anything I said would have helped. All he saw was a family’s dead alpha and an omegan seductress.”

The idea that Yuuri could seduce anyone or anything was still laughable. He really didn’t know how to feel that Swanson apparently thought otherwise. Maybe the negligee hadn’t been such a good idea after all?

“You’re not kidding,” Phichit grumbled, running a miserable hand down his face. “I still can’t believe he thought you did that to yourself.”

“Yeah, well…” Yuuri sighed then looked up, forcing a smile. “Tell me how the hamsters are doing.”

‘Hamster’ was one of the first Thai words Phichit had taught him, so it was happy, familiar territory. They didn’t want the guards to take note of anything incriminating, after all. Yuuri was going to die, and he was beginning to resign himself to that, but he refused to take Phichit down with him.

Phichit said he was trying to get the money from his family to hire a half decent lawyer, but Yuuri could tell just by the look in his eyes that it was unlikely to happen. Yuuri’s savings sure weren’t about to do it either. He’d be appointed one by the State, and they might even be a good one, but against a District Attorney who had it out for him? Yuuri knew he didn’t stand a chance. It’d be different if a certain somebody took on his case, Yuuri knew, but he didn’t even dare to think that man’s name lest the down hit him even harder from the up of hope.

As it was, his new reality had driven him to tears more than once in the dark of his cell, where he’d done his best to muffle his sniffles into the backside of his pillow. It wasn’t even his dreams that were over, but his family’s.

He really, really hated himself.

His only saving grace was that he hated Chambers more.

The nightmares made for good fuel. They pissed him off.

‘I hope somewhere around here does a half decent pork cutlet bowl,’ Yuuri thought one night, his eyes as scratchy as his blanket as he looked up at the dark ceiling. He didn’t deserve it but food had always been his chief source of comfort, so. ‘They won’t fly mom out here to make me my last meal, that’s for sure. Faster than a boat, but those trans-continental airships aren’t cheap. I doubt they’ll let me cook it myself either. Maybe I should think about something to ask for just in case they don’t. Steak and potatoes, maybe? No, no. Burger and fries. With a shake. Or maybe…’

It’d been very nearly four weeks, Yuuri knew from the papers, when something happened that gave him the smallest tinge of hope.

The guard who was escorting him unlocked the door to a staff bathroom that may as well have been Chris’s private commode. Yuuri unpacked the towels from that section of the laundry cart and dipped in, retrieving the dirty ones.

The door leading into Chris’s office was cracked open. Through it, Yuuri heard voices. Chris’s, of course. The other one was just as obvious and made a little thrill travel up his spine.

‘JJ,’ He thought.

He tiptoed a little closer to that eensy crack when he’d finished racking the fresh towels, holding the dirty ones tight to his front as he tilted his ear toward it. It took him a second to realize they were speaking in low French, apparently it was a language they had in common though Yuuri couldn’t quite make heads or tails of either of their accents - neither sounded quite like the Parisian one Minako had beaten him over the head with. He had to work harder to understand JJ’s French too, though Chris seemed to get him just fine, which probably meant it was a Yuuri-thing.

“-I’ve been talking to some lovelies I know down at the Redford,” Chris said. “They’ve fallen quite in love with you and all your mentions on the front page, my beauty, and are considering offering you a contract. They spitballed over two-grand. A week.”

“A week?” JJ gasped then muttered. “The most GiGi and I ever made was a few hundred. Two-grand a week, over two-grand a week, that’d be spectacular. With JJ Style on the marquee?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Shit, that’s sick. Oh Papa, you’re sick!”

What. Yuuri mouthed the words he thought he’d heard. “Gros écoeurant?” Regional slang, it had to be.

“That’s the kind of stuff I’ve been dreaming of since I was a kid.” Whatever that meant in this context it must have been a good thing because JJ sounded very excited. At least until his voice turned wry. “It’s almost too bad my poor Bella and Gigi had to die to get me there but, well, I’m sure they’d be glad for me. Happy, even, to know they’re still supporting me.”

“Yes,” Chris said. “Them and the right representation, of course. But my friends want to talk to you before they iron anything out. Of course they’re busy, you’ll have to be penciled in at their leisure.”

“I’m sure anytime during visitor hours would be-”

“No, my beauty. They’re asking for a phone call.”

There was a steely silence for a moment then JJ said, “A phone call, eh.”

“Mhm. A phone call.”

“How much is that gonna cost me?” JJ almost laughed.

Chris’s voice was equally light when he chirped, “Only fifty USD, my beauty.”

JJ shouted something like ‘tabernack’ and Yuuri had no damn clue what that even meant. Given the tone he could make a guess, though.

“Fifty dollars?! For a PHONE CALL?! Has the bleach gotten into your brain, Giacometti?!”

Chris’s voice was a smidge colder when he said, “No. But it might, and then I might forget to give you the friends and family discount, and then it’ll be quite a bit more than fifty dollars.”

“...Okay. Alright. Sorry. Fifty dollars is fine.”

“And I want twenty percent of your takings for the duration of your contract or contracts with the Redford.”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“Until your cell has been wired to allow telephone calls, my beauty, no. I’m really not. Of course you’re free to take it or leave it, but I don’t know if I can get you a better deal. My motivation, you see, it grows dimmer with each passing second.”

“FINE. Fine. But just know I’m not going to be seeing you in Heaven, my friend.”

“...You don’t actually think you’re going there, do you?”

“Sit and spin, Giacometti.”

“Aw. Love you too!”

He wondered if prisons in Japan were like this. Without extradition he’d never find out, after all. Yuuri shook his head though and pushed out through the bathroom door. This was good timing actually, it meant he wouldn’t have to go to JJ’s ‘cell’ and see the duvet, the bed he’d been daydreaming about in spite of himself since he’d gotten here.

JJ shoved his way through the warden’s door not a moment later, looking quite eager to storm off.

“JJ!”

JJ whipped around and Yuuri’s heart jumped right into his mouth. Those blue eyes could melt steel, he thought.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting you, but I have-I have your laundry,” Yuuri flustered, dropping the towels in with the dirty then pulling out the items in particular. “Here.”

JJ looked between the laundry then Yuuri’s face then snatched up his clothes and pivoted to head off again.

Yuuri didn’t know what got into him when his fingers reached out to snag the corner of one beautiful, billowing sleeve. He jumped back immediately, the offending hand braced against his chest, but it was too late.

“What?” JJ whipped around and snapped, clearly still in a very bad mood from the extortion. Whenever Yuuri saw him the man was most often given to smiles and laughter and braggarting. It made the glare even more unsettling. This was probably going to be his only chance to talk to him, though.

‘I wonder if this is what they saw,’ Yuuri swallowed. ‘Before they died.’

“I’m sorry. I. I was just-”

“You were just what, Katsuki?”

Yuuri jerked in shock. JJ knew his name? It startled him so much he actually managed to get the words out.

“I was hoping you might have some advice for me. Uh, you know… from one dancer to another.” He tried to smile. “The District Attorney wants me to hang, and I’ve been so scared about it but you-you’re so fearless, I-”

JJ’s expression cooled off into something a little more approachable. Yuuri tried to relax when he saw the man smile, but something in it was ringing at his alarm bells instead.

“You’re a dancer, too, eh? What do you dance?” JJ tilted his head. “The chicken?”

“...Ballet,” Yuuri said, and started to think this had been a bad idea. “And a. Few other styles. But mostly ballet.”

Shocker. He was full of those lately, apparently. Just look at where he was.

“Really?” JJ’s eyebrow lifted and Yuuri blushed in shame at the once over he got that was clearly left wanting. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Alright, Katsuki, since you asked, your king does have some advice.”

Yuuri lifted his head, hope springing to life. He knew he was nothing much to look at, maybe JJ had just been-

A hard finger shoved into his chest and JJ leaned in so close Yuuri could smell him through the cheap neutralizing soap. Something crisp, and sweet, and frayed at the edges with such anger that Yuuri recoiled two steps back in shock.

“One? To you, it’s ‘your majesty’, or Leroy. Two? Keep your filthy paws off my underwear,” JJ growled, a hint of his canines showing through the snarl of his lips. “Got it?”

Yuuri could only stare in shock as the man snapped around on his heel again and stalked off, the back of his velveteen robe sweeping out behind him to flutter at his ankles.

“Wow,” Yuuri muttered to himself once JJ had turned to the corner, craning his head a little to look. He was actually a little impressed, right next to the dashed leavings of his pride. “Money really doesn’t buy class, does it?”

He sighed and turned back to the laundry cart. “Thanks for nothing I guess.” Yuuri snorted and smiled a little. “Jean-Jacques, more like ‘jackass’, am I right?”

“Right you are, mon cher.”

Yuuri squeaked and spun around. The guard that had been escorting him stepped out from behind Chris who was leaning against the wall next to his office door and looking deeply amused. Oh no. Ooooohhhh no.

“Ididn’tsayanything!” Yuuri said.

If there was one thing working in hospitality and then working in a nightclub had taught him, it was an extensive list of swear words and the knowledge of whose company he absolutely should not say them in.

Chris just laughed though and sauntered over to him.

“I was wondering where the wolf your arresting officers had told me about went, but I see him now. You hide him beneath the exterior of a fluffy little puppy and hope that nobody notices. That way they never see you coming, do they?”

Yuuri was sure he was red right up to his hairline. “Uhm.”

What on Earth was going on right now?

“George, why don’t you go ahead and finish up for him. I think it’s time me and mon cher Yuuri Katsuki had a little talk.”

‘I’m gonna die sooner than I thought,’ Yuuri decided. ‘This is it. It’s all over. It was good knowing you, world. Throw my ashes into Lake Superior, I don’t want them to shame my family.’

If he was lucky he’d get to see Vicchan again on the other side, maybe even hold the nephew he’d lost.

Chris guided him into his office, then shut the door behind him.

~~~

The laundry room was hot, and that meant the inmates who worked in it also worked up a sweat. Katsuki, thankfully, didn’t carry an ungainly bacterious odor yet. There were some soft notes coming through the soap, though. Some sort of citrus, Chris thought, and maybe amber, which was fitting given his eyes.

“Don’t mind him. JJ’s just intimidated by you,” Chris said.

Katsuki’s face said very clearly that he didn’t believe that and it made him shake his head a little with a small chuckle. This one was a bit of an oddball, alright, but who in here wasn’t, honestly.

“What, it’s true! Please, sit,” Chris made his way to the drinks cabinet. “Could I interest you in a bit of sherry?”

“No thank you,” Katsuki said, voice soft enough to temper his confusion and make it barely audible.

Chris nodded. “Some water, then. Laundry is thirsty work.”

He returned, passing over the water glass then sitting with his own. He sipped the sherry and sighed with pleasure at the lovely taste, then reached over and with a swipe of his thumb, woke his computer.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, mon cher,” Chris said, fingers tapping over the soft lights of the keyboard display. He pulled up Katsuki’s profile.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I got curious and looked into you. You were a chorine, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

“I’d thought so. I managed to unearth your video submission, it was quite illuminating.”

Katsuki instantly turned red and looked mortified. Chris really didn’t know why, it’d been a thing of beauty. Along with ballet, Katsuki had demonstrated with a pair of partners, each a differing height to display his ability to lead and follow both, a lovely waltz, a tango, some alternative, a flamenco, breakdancing, and, Chris’s personal favourite, a quite reasonable set of pole-dancing skills. He wasn’t as advanced in the lattermost as Chris was himself, but it was far from a shabby showing.

Behind the dumpy glasses and overgrown bedhead, Katsuki was also quite the little beauty himself. Ever since Plisetsky had used his sparing English to throw Katsuki into Leroy’s face and mock him ruthlessly, he’d been on Leroy’s radar, and Chris knew from the cameras and gossip that he was not liking what he was seeing. Leroy wasn’t so reassured of his kingliness and ‘JJ Style’ that he was ignorant to competition and Katsuki had him spooked.

That had made Chris curious.

It seemed that sheer bad luck had kept Katsuki out of the spotlight thus far. That, and everyone else’s connections that he just didn’t have. His minor in dance from Wayne State hadn’t served him as well as it probably had some of his other classmates, but if this prison lost its accountant then Katsuki’s business major would certainly do him good here.

Chris honestly wasn’t a huge fan of Leroy but he knew talent and money-making potential when he saw it. Especially since one thing among the many that Chris was a fan of, was supplementing his shitty income to afford him all the rest of those many fine things. He’d come to enjoy computers and cell phones and furs and fine unadulterated wines, and his lovely Sweetie and Masumi certainly took pleasure in what he could now afford to offer them too. He had Leroy in the corner pocket already. He was thinking he wanted Katsuki in there, too. Those two could be cash cows in the making, Chris just knew it. All he needed to do? Was get these two murdering idiots the ever loving fuck out of here where they could start doing him some goddamn good.

Of the two, Katsuki’s hole was significantly deeper. He didn’t have the resources, he didn’t have the publicity, he had the even worse luck of killing a father of five children. Chris didn’t doubt the asshole had it coming, based on the state Katsuki had been in when he’d walked in here, but in the court of law that didn’t mean jack shit.

Chris knew a way to make sure it would, though. Or rather, he knew the person who could make it happen.

“What happened there? To that job?” Chris asked.

Katsuki’s shoulders rode through a very small sigh. “The company folded. I couldn’t tell you why.”

Chris eyed Katsuki for a moment, his smile growing. “Interesting choice of words, mon cher.”

Katsuki looked to the side and shifted uncomfortably, flushing. “I just mean I don’t know why. So I couldn’t say.”

“Mmn.” Chris looked back at the computer screen and reached out to tap through to the bodycam video of Katsuki’s arrest. The audio was muted but that didn’t take away from the snap of Katsuki’s bared teeth or the yellow in his eyes when the light hit them just right. He looked almost like another person completely without those glasses. A wolf indeed. “A good strategy in this town, to avoid knowing some things while taking note of others. Yuuri - may I call you Yuuri?”

Yuuri nodded and Chris took another sip then continued, holding up a finger. “Yuuri, I’ve been around these parts long enough to know that one, there hasn’t been a single alpha prick who’s been killed around here who didn’t deserve it.”

Yuuri’s head lifted out of his fearful slouch, attention grabbed. Good, he’d remembered right that Chambers had been an alpha then, given that was hardly the only dynamic who his inmates made victims out of. Chris lifted a second finger.

“And also? Who around here is most likely going to leave my care through the front gates, or in the back of a truck to a more permanent dwelling.”

Yuuri’s eyes lowered somewhat. “Swanson said he wants me hanged.”

Chris snorted and laughed, feeling only a tad guilty as he watched the poor man startle and stare at him in horror. Chris shook his head and waved a hand. “Are you kidding me? This state hasn’t hung an omega yet, Yuuri. Don’t worry about that, your chances there are sky high. But getting back to the point, mon cher, is that even if you don’t swing you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting out of prison alive. With things the way they are now, you’re looking at life.”

Yuuri still didn’t look as though he entirely believed Chris, though what about specifically was hard to say. Underneath those big cow eyes was actually a heaping serving of pessimism wasn’t there? Shame. Maybe the bad luck had gotten to him.

Chris set down his glass then turned to face Yuuri head on. “And that’s where Papa Chris can help you.”

“...How do you mean?” Yuuri asked, the water glass rolling back and forth between his palms. There was suspicion there now that Chris could read. However, tucked neatly behind it, almost impossible to see, there was the beginnings of hope. Chris was honestly more than a little relieved to see it, he really had been worried that the little spitfire from the bodycam footage had died under the weight of incarceration, it wouldn’t be the first time. But maybe he’d just been trying to be realistic about his odds. Now that a fighting chance was being dangled in front of his cute little face, Chris sensed he’d grab onto it and hold on with all his might.

“I have this friend,” Chris said slowly, leaning back in his chair as he watched the other man. “A very good and dear friend. But just because he’s that doesn’t mean I’m exaggerating when I say he’s the best goddamn criminal lawyer this side of the country, probably in the entire USA, so much so that our King JJ’s hired him for his own defense. You’ve noticed how confident he’s been, haven’t you?”

Yuuri nodded and Chris grinned widely.

“That’s why. You might have actually heard of my friend, mon cher. His name is Victor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri’s eyes about popped out of his head and he made a very strange noise somewhere between a wheeze and a quiet screech. Chris snickered. Good! He had then. Given the amount of times Victor’s gorgeous face had graced newspapers and magazines, Chris would have been more surprised if he hadn’t.

“You’re lucky. Victor’s a romantic at heart, and he’s got a weak spot for omegas. Hasn’t lost a case for one yet. Because we’re friends, we sometimes gossip. Just a little bit. I’d be very happy to give him a ring,” Chris said and gestured to his work phone, a sleek rotary that’d admittedly seen better days. He always kept his personal cell at home when he came to work, he didn’t trust a single bitch here even if they were on his side of the bars. “And drop your name into his ear.”

Yuuri’s bottom lip slowly folded in between his teeth, and he chewed it over while his eyes hooded onto the phone in question. He quickly took a sip of water and crossed his ankles. He’d be terrible at poker.

“I’ve seen people buy things from you,” Yuuri said in a low voice after a moment. “How much would I be paying for that phone call?”

Ah, perfect. He was so glad when he didn’t have to spell things out for people, his earlier chat with Leroy had seriously fouled his patience.

Chris waved a quick hand. “Une bonne-main! Only a gratuity, mon cher, a small one.”

He smiled. “A hundred dollars will do.”

“A hundred-?!” Yuuri’s voice became immediately shrill as he jerked in his seat, eyes widening with horror. He very nearly dropped his glass. “But you jus-”

He slapped a hand over his own mouth. Chris lifted a puzzled eyebrow and gestured for him to continue.

“I just…?”

Yuuri took a deep breath and gave a smile, his head bowing enough that the light made his glasses go opaque. His smile wobbled. Tremulous would be an understatement.

“I’m sorry,” He said breathlessly. “I had a mistaken meaning of the word gratuity. English isn’t my first language, please excuse my outburst.”

According to his file Yuuri had worked in a diner before he’d killed a man so that was a fat load of codswallop, he knew exactly what a gratuity was. It was, Chris had to cede, a somewhat graceful one though.

“You’re excused,” Chris said.

Yuuri looked back at him and Chris saw eyes were still round at the price tag. “A hundred dollars American?”

“A hundred dollars American,” Chris confirmed.

It was really more of a test than anything, though Chris would hardly turn away that amount of cash. He needed to be sure that Yuuri wanted this, that he wasn’t going to just lay down and submit to getting royally fucked by Swanson and his ideas of justice ‘like a good little omega’. Chris wasn’t going to waste Victor’s time on somebody who refused to fight.

To Chris’s pleasure, Yuuri nodded. He necked the rest of his water and let go of a shuddering sigh.

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Thank you very much, ah, Papa Chris.”

Chris was sure his smile showed many teeth as he spread his arms. “Service, mon cher. Now get the fuck out of my office.”

~~~

Phichit nearly flinched back when Yuuri’s fingers clutched through the wire separating them as he jerked forward and whispered in hurried, frantic Thai, “I need a hundred dollars.”

Phichit immediately squawked. “A hundred-?!”

That was a full month's rent on their apartment!

“Don’t worry. I have it. I saved up some money, it’s in my… the thing on the bottom of my bed. The two layers, the first one.”

“The box spring?” Phichit suggested then repeated the word in English. Yuuri nodded quickly, repeated the word to himself a couple times then got back to the point.

“I thought I’d use it for rent in case I lost my job again but-” Yuuri shook his head. “It’ll work for this too, I guess.”

Phichit furrowed his brows, bewildered. “I thought you were sending all your extra cash to your family?”

“I have been.” Yuuri chewed at his lip, looked away. “I uh. I’d mostly been eating at the diner. They gave us one free sandwich a day, and the cooks didn’t care if the waitstaff ate the customers’ leftovers. Management did but the cooks looked out for us, you know?”

Phichit sighed heavily and reached up to pet what he could reach of Yuuri’s fingers. “I knew getting let go from that chorus line really messed with your head but I didn’t realize it’d affected you this much, Yuuri.”

Yuuri waved his hands. “That doesn’t matter now. The warden knows Victor Nikiforov, Phichit, he said he’d talk to him about me! I just need to shoot him a hundred for the referral!”

Phichit’s eyes, he was sure, must have nearly fallen out of his head. “Are you shitting me?!”

For the first time in ages, it felt, Yuuri was grinning, actually grinning, practically glowing, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. His voice was breathless when he said, “Not even a little bit.”

Victor Nikiforov. The man should have been headlining on Broadway or something, he had the lineage for it given his one mother had been a famous opera singer and his other mother a ballerina. She’d been with the Bolshoi Ballet for a time and had later transferred to the ABT in New York before her tragic incarceration and death. Evidently, Victor hadn’t been very pleased by her circumstances and had instead developed a passion for law. He was the premier criminal defense attorney, even Phichit had heard about him but how could he not when his face was constantly being slathered all over TVs, magazines, and newspapers? The man was a celebrity lawyer and gorgeous to boot, which just made his star shine all the brighter. Phichit was pretty sure he’d even heard Victor could legally practice in the States and in Russia, his dual-citizenship apparently increasing his fervor. No, in America’s opinion, and probably Russia’s too though it was hard to say with how tough to crack the USA’s intranet was, Victor Nikiforov was the ideal male alpha. Phichit couldn’t count the number of forums and fansites he’d come across on his phone. Yuuri didn’t have a cell phone or a computer and had to make do with the payphone in the lobby, or Ciao Ciao’s landline in a pinch, but that’d never stopped him from compiling a list of those fansites and begging Phichit with puppy dog eyes for updates. To put it very lightly, Yuuri was besotted.

Once, Yuuri had taken one look at Nikiforov’s photo on a magazine cover and promptly bought three copies - one to tuck with his keepsakes, one to butcher for his scrapbook, and one to read at his leisure. The guy at the newspaper stand had been very amused and Phichit remembered he had been too. Typical omega, they’d joked a bit much to Yuuri’s chagrin. Even being mentioned in the same sentence as Nikiforov was probably a dream come true for Yuuri.

Phichit hated to burst that bubble, but he had to.

“Yuuri… you know that Nikiforov’s fees,” He shook his head. “They’re not going to be cheap.”

And indeed, the light in Yuuri’s eyes dimmed a little and his grin turned into a smile that was sad and sweet.

“I know, but…”

Yuuri slumped a little and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Everyone’s been telling me not to worry about getting the death penalty, but I just have this feeling, Phichit. If the District Attorney wants me to swing? I’m gonna swing. I’ve been trying to come to terms with that. But Peach.”

Yuuri looked up, his jaw firm. “If there’s a single person on this planet that can go toe to toe with Swanson, it’s Victor. Everyone in here would do anything to have him represent them, even J-Leroy hired him, according to Chris. If I can get a leg up just so he’ll even know who I am then I have to take that chance.”

With a flash of fang, Yuuri said, “Chambers isn’t taking me down with him. I won’t let him. I have a family to support.”

Phichit sighed heavily. He couldn’t say no to that.

“In your box spring, you said?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri nodded. “In a snuffbox Minako gave me. It was given to her when she was still with the Bolshoi. She told me to sell it if I had to. I haven’t been able to bring myself to do that yet but… it’s been a good reminder. If it comes down to it, maybe we could use it to pay some of Victor’s fees.”

Yuuri’s eyes hooded. “It’s the only nest egg I have, and with your family still frustrated with you for finishing your schooling at Wayne State instead of going Ivy League…”

Phichit sighed. Yeah, he loved them but they’d been right dicks on that front. Not outright, of course, saving face was too important for that, but it read in the way they ignored any of his requests to borrow money on top of the stipend they sent him. He’d debated selling his cell phone, even second hand those could fetch a very pretty penny as status symbols and incredibly useful tools, but he didn’t have any other way to drum up support on the intranet for his friend if he did. Phichit clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. This wasn’t fair. For all his trust issues, for all his lacking self esteem, for all his panic attacks and anxiety, Yuuri was the sweetest man he’d ever met, soft and talented and intelligent. He wasn’t confident he could be loved beyond objectification, but instead of sinking into that misery he paid his own warmth forward wherever he could muster the courage. It just fucking figured that the one time Yuuri went out on a limb and trusted in a stranger, this happened. Phichit could hit himself for encouraging Yuuri to go for it. It’d seemed like a downright decent deal at the time, he should have known it was too good to be true.

“It should be that knothead in here,” He scowled. “Not you.”

Fucking Chambers. And fuck Ms. Smith, too. And ESPECIALLY fuck that Swanson bastard. He was tempted to get together another cricket box.

Yuuri laughed a little. “You know, I’ve actually been thinking the same thing.”

Phichit quirked a small smile. When it came out, Yuuri’s pettiness was always entertaining. Oh, speaking of petty-

“You’ll enjoy this. I went to his funeral, you know, Chambers’s. For all the fuss Swanson made about his family, they actually didn’t look that sad. Like. At all. I’m pretty sure I caught the Missus doing a little jig, TBH.” Phichit leaned forward with a conspiratorial whisper. “I peed on his grave for you.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri screeched into his hands and collapsed into a pile of giggles. It warmed Phichit to see it, honestly. Yuuri had gotten so skinny, and his eyes always looked like he was crying. Yuuri had said he hadn’t had a panic attack yet, but in Phichit’s mind it was only a matter of time.

“I’ve been trying to look up their contact info,” Phichit said. “Figured I could try to put them in touch with you, maybe undercut Swanson’s ‘poor’ol alpha’ routine-”

But a guard swept forward before he could say anything more and tapped their baton into the counter Yuuri was leaning on.

“Times up,” They said.

Yuuri looked up at them and nodded sadly, then looked at Phichit and pressed his hand to the wire. Phichit laid his palm overtop.

“Keep your bones hard and your heart cool just the way you have been, okay?” Phichit said. “We’ll get you that money.”

Yuuri nodded, his eyes tearing up. “Thank you. I will. You too. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Phichit smiled.

Fifteen minutes once a week just wasn’t enough, Phichit thought with a cursory scrub over his own eyes as he walked out. He never bothered to wear makeup on visiting days, he always just ended up crying it off. He turned to look behind him as the gates rattled shut, up at that looming miserable brickhouse with its tall cement fences topped with barbed wire and spikes, its guardhouses on sticks, its spotlights. How he hated this place.

The sooner he had Yuuri home, the better. Cursing again the fact that he couldn’t legally marry his friend and give him all the rights that entailed, Phichit shook his head and replaced his hat on his head. Stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, he made his way for the nearest bus stop.

Home was lonely without Yuuri, Phichit thought as he shut and locked the door behind him. He was glad he’d picked up a job for some fun money. It got him out of the empty apartment for one, and without his friend’s income to pay half the rent Phichit would have had some trouble otherwise. He was here until he’d graduated after all, and he still had a year left to go on that. It didn’t stop him from spending most of his time at Ciao Ciao’s these days, even bringing his hamsters so they wouldn’t be lonely. He’d debated bringing them with him to his classes too but that would only stress them out.

He looked around, sighed to himself at how quiet it was, at the fading scent that spoke of Yuuri’s absence. Phichit pulled off his hat and coat, hung them both and fluffed his bangs with his fingers in the mirror next to the door. Hathead erased, he looked behind him.

“His box spring, huh?” Phichit said and ambled for Yuuri’s room.

Despite his and Ciao Ciao’s best efforts the blood had stained the wall and floor, though the stains on the wall were at least harder to see. That damn Chambers refused to be convenient even in his leavings. Making for Yuuri’s bed, he grabbed a handful of the round mattress and pulled, heaved, pushed until he could get at the box spring underneath. There was a tear in the fabric near the head and Phichit looked inside. His eyes widened and he heard himself gasp.

Reaching in, Phichit gingerly picked up what he could only guess was the snuffbox in question. There was a lovely cameo on the lid, set in what looked like amber, the ivory carved right down to the tiniest curl in her hair. Around it, twining filigree picked out delicate tree branches and flowers where here and there studded a gem that glittered whenever Phichit turned it in his hands. It was ornate, delicate, and above all it was beautiful. Phichit had seen pictures of Minako and had no problem believing someone had fallen in love with her enough to give her such a stunning and no doubt expensive gift.

‘This looks like real gold,’ He thought, stunned breathless and honestly a little confused.

Something like this would surely go for a substantial sum of money. If Yuuri’s surrogate aunt had this and hadn’t minded giving it away, why hadn’t they used it to help with Yu-topia’s bills?

‘Then again, it would have only been a temporary fix and if the economy over there is as bad as Yuuri says it is, they actually may not have been able to get all that much for it.’ Phichit sighed as he answered his own question. ‘Something like this would get more money here in that case, and sending money back is probably more sustainable in the long haul.’

Or it should have been had circumstances not tap-danced all over Yuuri’s well hidden rage triggers.

He hoped they didn’t have to sell it. It was a work of art that should have been passed down through the generations, and the way Yuuri had spoken about it too made it clear he was emotionally attached. Phichit opened the square lid, grimaced at the mirror on the lid’s underside as he caught sight of how miserable he looked. He pulled out the cash and counted it quickly, catching a faded scent here and there that suggested a lot of this was probably tips. Several bills had phone numbers written on them, which made Phichit snort. He couldn’t blame them for trying, but Yuuri’s poor self-esteem made him a pretty special brand of oblivious and getting dumped from that chorus line had made it even worse. He’d only clued into Chambers when the guy had tried to stuff his hand between Yuuri’s legs the first time, until then he’d apparently thought all the butt grabbing was cultural. The people who belonged to these numbers never had a chance, those poor heartbroken souls.

“Two hundred thirty five,” He muttered, pulled out a hundred of that and put the rest away, replacing the beautiful artifact within the box spring where it was safest.

Pocketing the cash he tugged the mattress back, bemoaning not for the first time the nesting humanity insisted on that meant beds with corners were so hard to find. Once that was done he went to get his cellphone, looked up a thankfully public number, and dialed.

The call answered within five rings.

“This is Warden Christophe Giacometti with Warren County Jail speaking, how may I help you?”

“Hi,” Phichit chirped, taking a seat at the dining room table. “You don’t know me, but you know my roomie Yuuri Katsuki. He told me something pretty interesting today regarding a referral, I just wanted to confirm those details with you?”

“Ah!” Giacometti’s voice warmed substantially. “Fantastic, mon cher wasted no time at all. Yes I know exactly what you’re talking about but that would be better discussed in person, non?”

“That sounds perfect,” Phichit smiled with all his teeth and distaste. A hundred goddamn dollars for a single phone call. What a prick. “When and where should I meet you?”

“I know this lovely little cafe just a twirl away from here, you’ll adore it I’m sure. It’s called Mendl’s Pastries and Bakeshop. I’ll take a half hour lunch tomorrow at one and meet you there. We can drink some coffee and chat.”

Phichit wrote that all down quickly into his notes app, Giacometti now on speaker. “Sounds good, I’ll see you then.”

“Ah, before you go, am I speaking with Monsieur Chulanont or Cialdini?”

Phichit’s smile slimmed. “My name is Phichit Chulanont, but you’ll probably be meeting with both of us.” “Ah,” Giacometti’s tone seemed to curl with amusement. “I see how it is. Very well. Tomorrow at one?”

“Tomorrow at one.”

“Tres bien! I’ll see you then, Monsieur Chulanont.”

“Oh, no,” Phichit laughed. “Please. Just call me Phichit.”

“Then you must call me Chris.”

And he would. To his face, anyway.

“Alright. Tomorrow then, Chris. Bye bye.”

“Bye~”

Phichit hung up the phone and let the smile immediately fall from his face. “I knew it. He is a prick.”

But if Giacometti was prepared to do his bestie some favours for a bit of cash, he was a good prick to know.

The next afternoon, Phichit sat in the passenger seat of Ciao Ciao’s death trap of a car as they made their way to the cafe.

“What do you think about this?” Ciao Ciao said. The drive had been otherwise quiet.

Phichit sighed. “I don’t like it, but Yuuri’s got a point that this may be his only shot at freedom. I still don’t think he’s gonna hang but with the way Swanson’s been gunning for him, I doubt he’ll be getting out anytime soon either. We can’t let Chambers ruin Yuuri’s life like that.”

Ciao Ciao sighed, glancing at him and looking sad. “It was Yuuri’s decision to shoot him, Phichit.”

Phichit gave his friend a disgusted look. “Did you forget what Yuuri looked like after Chambers was through with him? What, are you saying he should’ve just laid down and-”

“NO, Phichit, of course not.” Ciao Ciao grimaced and shook his head. “What I’m saying is that Yuuri might be an omega but he’s also a fully grown man. He has the brain to make his own decisions. Pretending he has no say in his life isn’t going to make this any better for him.”

Phichit opened his mouth to say something. Closed it and thought. Grimaced a bit.

“Chambers turned out to be a,” Ciao Ciao shook his head with a sigh. “Complete waste, yes. He lied to Yuuri and scammed him. He assaulted him. But he’s dead now. Yuuri put him down himself. He wouldn’t let Chambers have that kind of power of him when he was alive, Yuuri won’t let his corpse ruin his life either.”

Finally a little smile crossed Ciao Ciao’s handsome face. “Yuuri’s never had much confidence in himself but one thing he’s got is stamina. He might get knocked down, and he’ll be miserable about it and eat his weight in comfort food, but he’ll always be on the lookout for a new opportunity. So I guess if this is what Yuuri thinks it is, then…”

Phichit laughed a bit. “Yeah. You’re right about that. Let’s go for it.”

They rode in silence for a bit until Phichit said, “I still think this Giacometti guy is a complete prick, though.”

“You can think whatever you please,” Ciao Ciao said, voice dry. “As long as you don’t say that to his face.”

“What if I say it in Thai? Nobody around here understands Thai.”

“No, Phichit, not even in Thai.”

“But-”

“No.”

“Uuuuhg,” Phichit whined. “Yuuri won’t let me take the fall for him and go to prison, you won’t let me curse anyone out in Thai, I never get to have any fun.”

“I know you’re joking but I doubt Yuuri is having a party in there,” Ciao Ciao chuckled.

“Hey, I never got to meet anyone like JJ Leroy or be offered an introduction to someone like Victor Nikiforov even for a hundred dollars. Not in the States anyway. Let’s be real, Ciao Ciao, he’s rubbing elbows with high society in there.”

Ciao Ciao’s eyebrows did a little dance on his face before he said, “...You’re not wrong about that.”

“I could’ve gone to Harvard if I wanted to,” Phichit snorted a little. “Of course I’m not.”

He was even gladder he hadn’t, now, that he’d insisted on Wayne State in a fit of rebellion upon being told he was going to either Europe or the States to finish his education, no ifs, ands, or buts. He’d never have met Yuuri or Ciao Ciao otherwise. Now if his grandparents could stop being so miffed about it already, that’d been great. Phichit knew, just knew that was where the hold up was. They’d hit the roof at the idea of Phichit going to a so-called ‘omega school’, because that’s what that one scholarship made it apparently. They’d still paid for it, though.

‘I do have a trump card up my sleeve, if it comes down to it,’ Phichit thought, looking out the window and wincing as the car bounced uncomfortably. ‘I just hope it doesn’t.’

Beta he might be, he narrowed his eyes, but he was also his parents’ only child and that still spoke for something. His family loved him. Phichit had no doubts about this. If it came down to it, they’d fold, just like they had about Detroit.

‘It’s a good thing I’m still young enough to be allowed to be an insubordinate little shit sometimes.’

That currency was fast declining but that didn’t mean he had none of it left. If Phichit had to do what he was worried he might, though, that would probably be the last of it.

It would be worth it, though.

He could see the cafe they were to meet Giacometti at now, at the end of the street. Phichit took in a deep breath and straightened his shoulders just the way his grandparents had taught him. Negotiations always called for proper posture, after all.

Ciao Ciao parked, the engine dying with a noise that made Phichit wince. All the same he stepped out, replacing his hat on his head and looked toward the cafe. Despite the cold weather, there was a man sitting outside. He looked up from his book, extinguished his cigarette, and stood with a charming smile to walk toward them. He took off his hat and inclined his head.

“Good afternoon. I believe I recognize you from the bodycam footage of our mutual friend’s detainment. I am Christophe Giacometti but please, just call me Chris,” He said, extending a hand to shake.

Ciao Ciao did so promptly. “Celestino Cialdini. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“We call him Ciao Ciao because he usually says that at every opportunity.” Phichit said, shaking Giacometti’s hand next.

Ciao Ciao’s smile was a bit more like a smirk. “Ciao ciao.”

Giacometti laughed with a toss of his head. “How charming,” He said. “You must be Phichit then.”

“Sure am, and don’t forget it,” Phichit smiled. “Shall we head inside?”

“Yes, let's. I’ve been dreaming about the food here all day. You must try the brisket sandwich, mes amis, it is,” Giacometti waved a hand. “Ah, just sinful. The cappuccino is also to die for.”

“Oh, well, given you invited us out and are therefore paying,” Phichit said as he opened the door for them. “I’m sure we’d love to.”

Giacometti blinked, openly startled for a second, then threw back his head with a cackle. “I can see this is going to be very fun already. I’m expecting to be a little bit richer by the end of our meeting so sure, why not.”

The inside smelled delightful and Phichit sighed with pleasure, determining he’d have to remember this place if the food and drink were as good as the aroma. They ordered, made soft conversation about nothing by the pick up counter while they waited, then took their respective plates and mugs and found a table toward the back to sit in. Hats found their way into laps. The comfy armchair was almost as good as the brisket sandwich.

“Ohmawgdness,” Phichit groaned, chewed, swallowed. “This is incredible. Ciao Ciao, we have to bring Yuuri here when he’s out.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw a pork sandwich of some sort on the menu,” Ciao Ciao said through his napkin, craning his head to take another look. “If it’s anything as good as this, he’ll be very interested in that.”

“Uhg, don’t talk to me about pork,” Phichit sighed. “You’ll make me miss his katsudon.”

Ciao Ciao grimaced. “Now I do, too.”

“This whole thing is your fault anyway, you deserve to,” Phichit grumbled.

Giacometti looked back and forth between them then swallowed his own bite. “Katsudon?”

Phichit grinned. “It’s Yuuri’s favourite thing to eat in the entire world, basically it’s a deep fried pork cutlet in a bowl of rice and egg and veggies. He made so much of it after he lost that chorus line job that I got worried he’d get so fat he’d never get picked up by another one since people are huge bitches about that kinda thing. He lost a bunch of it when he got that job at the diner, I guess I know why that is now.”

Phichit looked at his half eaten sandwich and put it down with a grimace, mopping his hands. “And now he’s so skinny I’m afraid he’s gonna waste away.”

“Ah, I see. You know, mon petit, I think that’s part of the government's intent when they allocate our food budgets. What gets served is nutritious, certainly, but it’s not appetizing and inmates are hardly allowed to ask for seconds.”

Giacometti snorted. “Not that they’d want them, I’m sure. I’ve been trying to get more for my girls and boys but so far they’ve only given in for their heats. Snacks and fluids aplenty during those and a full steak dinner for two nights after, served bloody. Some of them have tried to fake a heat just to get better quality food.”

That was grim and made him feel even more guilty about his delicious sandwich. Hooray.

“Of course friends and family are allowed to bring food in for them,” Giacometti’s smile was wry. “But there’s no promise they’ll be allowed to keep it. I run a tight ship but jail is dog eat dog no matter what.”

Phichit and Ciao Ciao looked at each other. Giacometti shrugged.

“Ça joue,” He said and took another bite.

“You’ll be happy to hear, I’m sure,” Giacometti said after he finished chewing. “That our mutual friend is doing well, given the circumstances. Or at least no one has tried to attack him or steal those glasses of his, yet. He’s had one run in with mon beau JJ Leroy but that was only words and nothing else. But, mes amis,” He wiped his face, his hands, then picked up his mug and sat back. “I’m afraid my time is limited so let us skip straight to the point, shall we? Do you have the money.”

“Sure,” Phichit said and reached into the lining of his hat, withdrawing a bundle of bills and offering it.

Giacometti counted them quickly, paused, recounted and gave him a look from beneath his brows, glasses glinting in the light.

“This is only half of what I asked for, darling. Where’s the rest.”

“It’s yours today, don’t worry,” Phichit said and withdrew his cell next, sliding it across the table. “You’ll get the other half just as soon as you do your part.”

Giacometti huffed and gave a sour pout at Phichit’s phone as though it had offended him.

“I’ll have to text him first,” He said, picking it up. “Otherwise since it’s an unfamiliar number he quite likely won’t answer.”

“Go for it. We’ve got time,” Phichit smiled and sat back.

Ciao Ciao looked at him. “I don’t remember us talking about this exactly, Phichit.”

“Oh,” Phichit laughed and took a sip of his coffee. “We didn’t. I just want to make sure Yuuri gets his money's worth, that’s all. This one, single, phone call is quite the investment.”

Under his breath Giacometti was muttering something in French that sounded quite unfriendly.

~~~

“Lord save me from chivalrous friends,” Chris said to himself as he shot off the text, aware that he was pouting quite horrendously and not caring in the least.

He did understand their caution and later on he might even be impressed by it but this was simply not convenient.

Thankfully Victor actually texted back relatively quickly, for him, and Chris shortly dialed. Across from him, the pair had returned to their sandwiches and a soft conversation that gave Chris the feeling the so-called Ciao Ciao wasn’t too pleased, and that little Phichit simply didn’t care. It was all rather darling.

The call answered and Victor said, “Hallo!”

“Allo allo, my love,” Chris smiled and leaned back. “How does life find you today?”

“At the whims of a man who, if he sticks me with his needle one more time, is going to find me taking my business elsewhere. Apart from that? Quite well! I saw this lovely play just last night-”

“Ah, you’ll have to tell me all about that next time we see each other in person,” Chris sadly interrupted. “But I’m afraid I’m a little short on time at the moment.”

“Why not call me when you have some, then?” Victor laughed warmly.

Chris, too, laughed. “Because I’ve got fifty dollars riding on the completion of this phone call.”

“Aaaah, I see how it is.” Victor gave a long and tragic sigh. “I’m only business to you, am I? My best friend is just using me!”

“Oh no, never that, darling. Besides, I think this business could be mutually profitable, if it interests you?”

“I’m always interested in whatever you have to say, Chris, you know this. Tell me all about it.”

“Gladly. I’ve recently found in my possession a sweet little jazz-killer by the name of Yuuri Katsuki who says he shot a man in self defense.”

“Was it?”

“Ah,” Chris waggled a hand even though Victor couldn’t see. “I don’t doubt it was a factor, the poor dear came to us a bit beaten up. Beyond that, I haven’t spent enough time with him to say, though he’s quite the stick of dynamite when he’s pissed.”

“Uh huh.”

“Unfortunately for him, the man he shot turned out to not only be an alpha, but a father of five children. Swanson wants him hanged.”

Victor snorted. “An omega? Hanged? You’re joking. That man’s head is getting too big for his fedora, that’ll never happen.”

“Yuuri seems to think otherwise, he bought this conversation from me for a hundred dollars in a snap.”

“That all sounds very interesting,” Victor said, tone bored. “But you said you thought this might be mutually profitable. Can he afford me?”

“That I’m not so sure about, but he’s a chorine who dances exquisitely. I’m sure we could shoe in on his paycheques if it comes down to that, we’d only need to place him.”

“Ah, that’s always such a hassle though. They get so snippy and whiny and they’re never as grateful as they should be.”

Victor huffed. “Well,” Chris could almost hear Victor shrug. “I suppose if he’s in the common area the next time I swing by to chat with Leroy, I’ll keep his name in mind.”

“Victor, we both know your memory is so terrible that means nothing.”

Victor laughed again. “Alright, Mila will keep it in mind then. Yuuri Katsuki you said? How is that spelled?”

Chris rattled off the spelling for him, twirling a lock of hair around his finger as he smiled. The pair seated across from him were looking a little annoyed and Chris gathered they might not be fluent in French, then, since Chris had been speaking in it this whole time to irk them. He was glad he’d succeeded. He didn’t appreciate being played with.

“He’s a cute one, Victor,” Chris said. “Big eyes. You’ll like him.”

“That’s nice. Anyways you said you’re short on time, so I’ll let you go?”

“For now. I’ll call you again when I get back to work, you can tell me about that show you saw.”

“Ah, fantastic! That sounds wonderful, dear, I’ll talk to you then.”

“Kisses,” Chris said, which Victor dutifully repeated and then hung up.

Chris ended the call and set the phone back on the table, spreading his hands with a smile.

“I’ll take the rest of that money now,” He said in response to Phichit’s very flinty smile. “Mon petit.”

~~~

Phichit asked, “Did you catch any of that Ciao Ciao?”

“Probably less than you did, you’re the one who took French growing up.”

“Doesn’t mean I paid attention to the classes though,” Phichit sighed and looked back at the restaurant through the side mirror. He could see Giacometti walk across the street with quick, confident strides. “From what I could tell he was generally complimentary about Yuuri at least.”

“Then he fulfilled his end of the bargain,” Ciao Ciao said, blew out a slow breath. “Now we just have to see how it plays out from here.”

“Nikiforov’s prices aren’t listed online,” Phichit murmured, took out his phone and navigated again to the website in question. It was as glamorous and sleek as Nikiforov himself was. “...Ciao Ciao, I’m worried.”

“I know, Phichit. I am too.” Ciao Ciao smiled but what was so normally an easy expression on him looked strained. “We have to stay optimistic, though. Especially when we’re talking to Yuuri.”

Phichit nodded. On the phone screen, Victor Nikiforov smiled up at him with a perfect ratio of gum to teeth and chilly arctic eyes.

~~~

“Oi. Leroy.”

JJ threw his best smile at the young man who’d draped himself against the wall of his cell door but in truth, he was a little annoyed. He was a nice person, he thought. He gave to charity, he was kind to everyone, and though he had the talent and the connections to work on Broadway in the time it took to blink he’d decided to go the route of hard work and build his way there from the ground up. You know, ethically and respectably and stuff. He didn’t deserve this. He hadn’t deserved any of this.

He still couldn’t believe that his Bella had been cheating on him. He’d known she’d wanted children he hadn’t been ready for, his work took precedence but. Shit. Admittedly he hadn’t been shocked about his brother.

“Yes, kitten?” He asked.

Plisetsky. Yuri Plisetsky. He was younger than JJ. Skinnier, too. His thick accent made him difficult to understand and unlike JJ he wasn’t kind, not in the least. JJ still knew he’d be a fool to underestimate him.

Just like showbiz, jail was a hierarchy. Dog eat dog. Crabs in the bucket. Each and every person in here wanted to be him. He had the best room, he got the best food, he had the best lawyer, and all the publicity meant that as soon as he was out of this wretched place his name would be up in lights. Of course they wanted to be him, JJ thought. He wasn’t about to let them.

“I heard, ah. An interesting thing. From Guard George,” Plisetsky said. The shit-eating grin on his face spoke volumes. “Katsuki?”

JJ felt his smile start struggling to hang on. “What about him?”

Plisetsky’s grin somehow widened all the warm, jade eyes glinting meanly. “He’s going to buy your shitty lawyer.”

JJ’s smile plopped right off his face and despite the warmth of his cell, with his nice little heater and feather down duvet, he felt very, very cold.

“Na udachu,” Plisetsky said with a little wiggle of his fingers and cackled as he walked off.

JJ stared dumbly after him only to blink when Plisetsky’s laughter suddenly broke into yelling and probably swearing. A moment later, Emil came to his cell door with the laundry cart. Huh, that was usually Katsuki these days wasn’t it? Not that he wanted to see the man if he had to, something about that guy just freaked him out.

“I guess that means ‘watch where you’re going,” Emil laughed, his bearded face as smiling as it ever was. “Got your delicates.”

JJ gave his head a light shake. ‘Get your head in the game, Leroy. Come on.’

“Wonderful, thank you!” JJ said and stood, setting his book aside and striding the short length to retrieve them. He pulled out a dollar bill from his pocket and pressed it into Emil’s hand in exchange. “For your hard work.”

With that damn Papa Chris around his cash flow was growing scarce, but it was important to buy good will where he could. Just because he hadn’t bothered with that before didn’t mean a thing.

Emil blinked. “Thank you.”

“Wait just one moment, please,” JJ said. “I’m sure the quality is just the same as it’s been but I recall there being a food stain, so-”

He paused, looked at the delicate silk of his favourite robe. The stain was still there. He looked up at Emil and frowned.

“What is this?”

“Hm?” Emil craned his head and looked over. “Looks like that stain you were talking about.”

“I know that!” He shook the clothes at him. “I mean why is it still there?!”

“Ooohhh,” Emil nodded and rubbed at his beard, humming as he thought. Then he snapped his fingers. “I remember now. Yuuri said you told him not to touch your undies, and he said to be safe he felt he shouldn’t be allowed near any of your laundry at all. He didn’t want to offend you, he said. The guards agreed so Plisetsky is doing them now.”

Of fucking course it was Plisetsky but-

JJ stared. “But what’s that got to do with anything?”

Emil blinked then said, “Ah, you’re never in the laundry room with us so I guess you wouldn’t know? Yuuri grew up working in some sort of hotspring inn so he knows all the ins and outs of laundering! The guards put him on stains, delicates, and folding because of that, he’s the only one who knows how to use that machine… arm folding thingy that we were supposed to use for the blankets. I think the guards have started paying him to do their bedsheets and stuff! Isn’t that neat?”

…That was why his clothes and blankets had been so well cleaned and crisply folded lately?

“But,” JJ sputtered. “But I was only kidding!”

He hadn’t been, honestly, but it wasn’t his fault that Katsuki had caught him at such a bad moment! Honestly that guy should have inferred how guilty JJ felt about getting so snarly at him and just do it anyway. It was good that Katsuki had the brains to listen to him, JJ thought, he was king after all, but not about this! This was just-just inconvenient.

Emil nodded wisely. “That makes sense. You should tell him that, then, he looked very worried. I think he must have taken you at your word. I could take those back down for you if you like, ask them to try again?”

“...No, no, don’t worry about it,” JJ said and tried to smile again. “Thanks. You can go now.”

Emil beamed widely and saluted then did just that, ambling to the next cell with a cheery greeting. JJ looked at the handful of laundry he held then scowled and threw it at the wall. Whatever. Bella had bought him that robe anyway.

Fucker.

He hissed and slapped the wall. “Fucker.”

That damn Katsuki. JJ was already sick of him. Not scared though, no. Certainly not that.

He dragged a hand down his face and breathed in deep. Like hell he was letting Plisetsky near his clothes again now that he knew that, though, he’d just have to get Katsuki back on it. Maybe he’d shoot him a mickey, what chorine didn’t like booze? If they were ‘un’lucky enough it’d even be one of those bottles the cops had poisoned in the name of prohibition.

‘It doesn’t matter if Katsuki gets Nikiforov,’ He thought to himself and grinned. ‘I’m still his client and I paid him a fuckton of money to get him. He won’t drop me if he knows what’s good for him, certainly not for that guy. So what if he has multiple clients at the same time from the same cell block. It’s fine. I don’t need to be the only client so long as I stay king.’

But how the hell had Katsuki gotten in touch with Nikiforov anywa-

JJ’s eyes narrowed. “Papa Chris,” He whispered. “Eh?”

That dollar-eyed motherfucker.

He couldn’t do anything about that until he saw Papa next though, but Katsuki was readily available. It was the man’s day off so he was where he always was, the aloof bastard - in his cell.

Albeit he was chatting with a handful of guards. And it was, of course, about laundry. Pah.

‘Should have made a joke about washing and drying instead of the chicken dance,’ JJ sighed with hindsight powered remorse but peeked around the corner into Katsuki’s cell to get a read on the situation before he went in swinging.

“-ink you’re using a little bit too much detergent, that can leave a residue like this over time and make whites dingy.”

“Really? But it’s supposed to clean clothes,” A guard laughed.

Yuuri looked up with a smile. In his hands was a very lovely white dress. The woman he was talking to must be a beta, then, huh. You learn something new every day.

“For sure! But you don’t actually need all that much usually, just a little goes a long way.”

“You know, my art teacher in highschool said the same thing about acrylic paint,” A different guard said. “But I never got it. I’m positive she was lying and the budget just couldn’t afford the rate us assholes were going through it.”

There was a round of laughter, canned and sitcom, and JJ rolled his eyes.

“I get what you mean,” Katsuki laughed. “But it’s rather more like shampoo and conditioner. If you use too much of that-?”

“Aaaahhh,” Went the general sound of understanding.

The guard whose dress Katsuki was holding nodded and sat next to him on his bunk. “Alright, so what can I do about it?”

“Less detergent to start. After that, there’s a few ways. For white clothes, my favourite trick has always been a hot lemon bath. Lemon slices in boiled water, then add the clothes and let them soak overnight, but since lemons are out of season right now…”

“Yeah, they’re not the cheapest at the moment.”

“No, they’re not. Damn tariffs.”

Katsuki looked at the guard next to him. “Do you have any distilled white vinegar?”

Her nose wrinkled immediately. “Really? Won’t that make it smell?”

“Not once it’s dried. No it actually helps break odors down,” Katsuki shook his head. “You can add it in with your detergent too, you don’t have to do any presoaking if you don’t want to, though you can of course. It won’t wreck your colours either, you can use it for them and whites. My mom swears it even softens fabric but I’ve honestly never noticed anything.”

More canned laughter.

“It’s good for pet stains too, and sanitizing.”

“Really?” The guard mumbled, taking the dress back as Katsuki passed it over.

“Mhm. Just don’t use it for your silks or anything that’s elastic, but for linens, cottons - you’re good to go.”

Another guard waved a hand. “Why not just use bleach?”

The guard next to Katsuki perked up. “Can I mix them-”

“No,” Katsuki immediately said. “Never, ever mix vinegar and bleach. And you can use bleach of course, but it can be really hard on clothes. For a dress that pretty, it’s just not worth it.”

JJ was getting bored. Uhg, enough of this. He straightened from his crouch and swanned to the open door, draping himself against it with his hand on his hip.

“Well look at you, Katsuki,” JJ smiled. “Aren’t you just a perfect little homemaker? Careful or you’ll set back omega rights and we won’t be allowed to wear pants again.”

Nobody laughed. Katsuki’s smile stiffened quite a bit, actually. JJ looked around.

“I’m joking,” He said.

“Oh!” Now they laughed. Sigh, his comedic genius was just too intelligent for these people. Katsuki didn’t laugh of course. This guy was such an ice cube.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Leroy?” Katsuki asked once the laughter died down.

“As you just demonstrated,” JJ said, stepping into the cell and trying to ignore the mildew smell. Exterior wall. Bummer. “You’re proficient with laundry. I’ve changed my mind.”

He waved the guard away and plopped down next to Katsuki in her place, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. “You’re allowed to wash my clothes again.”

Katsuki blinked. “Uhm. …Thank you?”

“You’re very welcome! Hey, if you impress me enough maybe I’ll slide you a little something-something in thanks. I know we haven’t exactly gotten off to the best start but King JJ is always very gracious and accommodating. I’m a Leroy, it’s in the name.” JJ said with a humble shrug.

He grinned at Katsuki and winked. “So don’t go getting hanged too soon, eh? We could make use of you around here.”

Huh, Katsuki looked a little grey all of a sudden. Maybe the mildew was getting to him already. In that case, JJ wanted to spend as little time in here as possible so he popped back onto his feet, strutted to the door and spun.

“It’s JJ Style!” He sang, walked around the corner then trotted into a quick run. Best to get away from there as soon as possible, uhg.

~~~

“That was cold…” “Yeah, well. He is King JJ.”

“Yuuri, you know that’s not going to happen, right?”

Yuuri pressed a hand into his chest to comfort his rapidly beating heart, mustering up a weak smile for Jen as she sat next to him again.

“Fingers crossed. Anyways, would you like me to write that down for you?”

Jen’s face lit up. “Oh, would you? I’d appreciate that, here, let me just,” And she started going through her pockets, eventually returning a notepad and pencil.

Flipping to a clear page and very carefully not reading anything that’d been written before that, Yuuri quickly wrote down the tips he’d been talking about, and the measurements. Jen was lucky enough to live in a building that had washing machines and dryers and Yuuri had been explaining with that in mind. Yu-topia had those at one time. They’d had to sell them. This jail did not.

“So, now I gotta know,” Craig said with a grin, planting his hand over Yuuri’s head and waggling his eyebrows down at him. “What does happen if you mix vinegar and bleach? Do you get a little high, a little bitta party on?”

Yuuri smiled serenely back. “You get mustard gas.”

Craig’s eyeballs about popped out of his head and he choked as a loud “OOHHH” and laughter erupted in the cell.

“So, I mean it. Don’t.” Yuuri said and passed the notepad and pencil back to Jen.

“Hey Yuuri, is that how you killed your boyfriend? That seems right up your alley, haha.”

Yuuri was getting really tired of all these laundry jokes. He smiled wider. “Oh. Do you mean the guy who was scamming me? No, I was much nicer than that, I only shot him three times.”

Cue the awkward silence. Eventually Craig cleared his throat. “Anyways, you’ll have those ready for us by the time your shift is over tomorrow?”

“Sure thing. Thank you all very much, I really appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me.”

“Of course, sure thing.” “You do better work than my cleaners, kid.” “Yeah, thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Yuuri said, watching as the handful started to file out of his cell. Then he leaned forward. “Oh, Jen, please let me know how that goes for you? If that doesn’t work, I have a couple more ideas we could try, but it should.”

Jen flashed him a smile and a nod. “Sure thing, Yuuri!”

And then they were gone. Yuuri looked over at the pile of laundry peaking out from beneath his bunk, away from the bars to discourage theft. Some sheets, a couple blankets, some clothes. Another day, another dollar. Well. Another fifty cents, a full day’s earnings, per person at least, with advice being free. It wasn’t something he could turn down in his situation, but-

He was supposed to be dancing. Singing. On a stage with likeminded people.

Yuuri felt the cough building up in his throat and turned to give it into his sleeve. This fucking cell might get him before the noose did.

Yuuri had between three and four heats in a year and knew he wasn’t due for his next one until around February. He wouldn’t be getting into one of those nice clean heat rooms for a while yet.

He’d start hanging out in the common area more often if he wasn’t so afraid of the guard’s laundry getting stolen, but when they’d started coming to him he hadn’t even felt safe refusing them. They had the power to make his life a lot more difficult if he did. At least they paid him, unlike Chambers.

Yuuri closed his eyes and leaned back. What he wouldn’t give for a dip in Yu-topia’s hotsprings right about now. At least the laundry room was always sweltering with steam, that always did the lungs good and was as close as he’d ever be getting to an onsen again for as long as he lived.

He was getting to become of mixed minds about how much of a blessing that was.

‘I wonder if Victor knows about me yet,’ Yuuri thought and smiled. ‘Maybe if he gets me out, I’ll invite him to Yu-topia. I’m sure he’d like it.’

The thought of Victor Nikiforov enjoying his mother’s cooking, dressed in Yu-topia’s jinbei after a dip in a hotspring made him giggle. It was cute, but it would never happen.

Of course that just made him cough again and he sent a baleful look at his arch nemesis The Walls. He’d hoped it was too cold for mildew. That had not borne out. Failing the hotsprings, he’d be more than happy to get a scrub brush and a pail of hot bleach water but nope. That wasn’t in the cards either.

Yuuri paused, then looked at the laundry. Or was it?

A couple days later he’d bought just that, a mask, and a pair of rubber gloves for five dollars. It would have been three, but Yuuri wasn’t sure how confident he was in the cheap soap they used here so he’d really wanted the gloves. He wouldn’t be able to clean the entirety of the two walls (fucking corner room), there were parts he just couldn’t reach, but it was better than nothing.

Yuuri was about half way through when a voice barked out behind him.

“Hell you doing, pig.”

Yuuri squeaked and nearly fell over, spinning around. It was Plisetsky behind him, his scowl as hard as ever.

“Uh-uhm. I’m washing the wall. Because there’s mildew?”

Plisetsky just snarled and Yuuri guessed there might have been a word or two in there he didn’t recognize. Instead of doing anything that might have been reasonable, though, the young man stormed over and yelled “HAH?” right into Yuuri’s face.

“I said I was washing the wall because there’s mildew!” Yuuri squeaked again, flinching back. Oh God he was gonna die. It wasn’t going to be the noose or the mildew that took him out after all but a young beautiful Russian danseur. Minako had always told him to watch his back for exactly that kind of thing and yet here he was again, throwing her teachings right back into her face. He was gonna die. Oh, Yuuri trembled, he was gonna die.

Plisetsky’s jaw dropped, eyes bugging out. “The fuck?” He choked out, in Russian. “You speak Russian?!”

“A-” Oh man his heart was beating so fast Yuuri was starting to worry he was gonna be sick. “A little?”

Plisetsky scowled again, even more ferociously this time and Yuuri wondered if maybe prostrating himself and baring the back of his neck might save him. Maybe? Probably? No, probably not.

“What the fuck?! Why the fuck didn’t you fucking tell me you fucking pig?!” Plisetsky howled, hands grabbing on and fisting into his smock to shake him.

Yuuri was definitely starting to get light headed. Too much panic. “I. Wanted to? I was going to, I-”

“Tch,” Plisetsky snorted and shoved him then stepped back, folding his arms. “Let me guess. The little piggy got scared.”

Why was he a pig? Was this a fat joke? Or a cop joke? Since he’d been in this country he was decently certain he’d heard it in both contexts. Still, Yuuri nodded. Because it was the truth. He had gotten scared, just like he was scared now. Scared was an understatement, actually.

“Coward.”

Yuuri nodded again. Plisetsky turned to the wall, examining it then the bucket of water next, which was steaming slightly in the cool moist air.

“So. Mildew then. Yeah that makes sense. I’ve been wondering why I’ve started to feel like shit. Thought it was just from dealing with all of you assholes but no, that’d do it.”

Plisetsky’s eyes spat daggers at him. Yuuri gulped.

“I’m using that next, got me?”

Yuuri blinked once, twice. Nodded hastily. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Good. Bring it over when you’re done.”

Plisetsky spun on his heel and stormed right back out where he came from, muttering as he went, “The fucking pig speaks Russian, of fucking course he does, what godforsaken level of hell have I fallen into, Grandpa, I swear to fuck.”

Yuuri watched after him for a moment then turned back to the wall, eyes creeping over what he had left to go. He slowly licked his lips beneath the mask as he surveyed it. There was still quite a bit left to do.

‘I’m gonna need to hustle to get this done so he has time to do his before lights out,’ He thought, dipped the scrub brush hastily and got back to work. He’d been banking on having a little more time, but he couldn’t conscious the idea of refusing that poor kid now that it’d come up. Plisetsky had been in here longer than him, after all.

He finished in what had to be record time, and even though the cell was so cool, there was sweat dripping down his face and fogging his glasses. Yuuri hastily dumped the grimy water into the toilet, rinsed the gloves and the scrub brush in the sink then tore off his mask and quickly counted out some money from where he had it strapped to his thigh. Another bucket full of water and bleach should be around two dollars, he thought, and stuffed that into his chest pocket. Yuuri picked up everything up and jogged out of his cell. The laundry room where he had the highest chances of getting it thanks to how friendly he was with the guards who were on rotation there was quite a ways, he still had to be quick. His cell only had cold water after all, and obviously no bleach.

“Hey, Pig!” He heard Plisetsky call from across the way and Yuuri picked up his pace. This didn’t seem to impress the kid if he was understanding the resultant yelling correctly. Yuuri started running like the hounds of hell were after him. With Plisetsky at his back, they very well could be.

~~~

“Pigs even more of a coward than I thought,” Yuri growled and stole back into his cell, scowling at the evil nasty wall that he now hated with every fiber of his being. Katsuki better not tattle on him to the guards or he’d punch that asshole’s fucking lights out. Hell he might go ahead and do that anyway, teach the bastard what it meant to ignore Yuri Plisetsky, to LIE to him. Fuckwad. Piece of shit. Fuck that asshole, he better stay away from him now if he knew what was good for him.

‘I’ll break those stupid glasses of his,’ Yuri snorted. ‘See how well he does without them.’

Oh well. Yuri had known he couldn’t trust a single person in this manure heap, but now that he knew it was possible he’d just see about getting it done his fucking self. He settled back into his shitty bunk and picked his book back up, trying to distract himself from the shitty idiots that seemed to make up this fuckhole of a country.

“Never should have left fucking Russia,” Yuri grumbled to himself and flicked the page.

It was probably about twenty minutes later when he heard it again, the sound of running shortly followed by raspy wheezing breaths. A guard lazily called, “No running,” and Yuri looked up just in time to see Katsuki stumble into his cell, looking half dead.

“What the fuck?!” He swore and jumped up, watching the man sag into the bars with a goran. “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! Explain, pig!”

Katsuki held up a finger then clutched at his chest, apparently still struggling to get his breath back. That devolved soon into harsh coughing which he buried into his sleeve and Yuri watched with sudden understanding. Katsuki had struck him as very physically fit so this tight-chested, phlegmy wheezing didn’t make sense unless-

‘He must be more sensitive to that shit than I am,’ He thought, glancing at the wall. He’d had a consistent headache and got a little out of breath easier, but nothing like that. ‘Or it’s even worse on his side somehow. Fucking hell, no wonder he wanted to clean it.’

The thought hadn’t even struck Yuri to do that until today, vague mildewy smell or no. It was a goddamn jail cell, you didn’t clean it, you languished in it.

That hacking was a bit more than languishing though. Finally Katsuki stopped, looking exhausted, and just breathed.

“Sorry… Sorry. I had to get…” Katsuki said, head dropping onto the bars behind him. “You some fresh…”

“Some fresh what?!” Yuri snapped, honestly lowkey freaking out. He did not want that pig to die here, thanks.

Katsuki finally shifted forward and offered the bucket and other items. Yuri looked at it and noticed it was steaming. Huh? …What????

“More hot water with bleach in it… all ready to go. Couldn’t let you use that cold mildewy crap even if there was bleach in it… coulda just made it worse for you. The water needs to be hot. Hooot.” Then Katsuki gasped something in what was probably Japanese if Yuri had his surnames right.

Yuri found himself staring. “So when you ran off, it was to get more of that?”

Katsuki nodded like he couldn’t see the guilt Yuri was starting to feel only a smidgen of, which he probably couldn’t with his head bowed. Idiot.

“Uh huh. Those bastards charged me six dollars this time, can you believe it? I swear…”

Yuri was feeling the rather disgusting thing called ‘touched’. He grabbed Katsuki’s armful with a harrumph. “Tch. Whatever. Fine, lay there and die or whatever, take your sweet fucking time.”

“Don’t forget to wear the mask, you’re gonna be stirring… it all up, you don’t wanna breathe even more of it in.”

“Shut your goddamn hole, Katsuki, I know what I’m about.”

“...You know… my name?”

Tying the mask around his face, Yuri looked back at the ragged mess leaning against his bars, finding Katsuki peering up at him with tired eyes, and snorted. He reached for the gloves next.

“What, was it supposed to be a secret or some shit?”

“Well. No. But-”

“Then don’t go getting a big head, asshole.”

He picked up the bucket and scrub brush then made for the shitty wall in question, before finding himself pausing and looking back at the man who’d sagged to sit on his floor. The man, who though he’d never dream of admitting it aloud, had with his dancing reinspired Yuri’s convictions.

He was getting out of here, and he was going to dance on the stage again, and he was going to punch his evil murdering uncle right in his goddamn teeth then do a fistbump with Beka, and he was going to give both of his middle fingers to this miserable country when he left it behind him.

Katsuki’s dancing was stupidly beautiful and he did it every night, to Yuri’s hidden pleasure. Obviously if Yuri was thinking thoughts like that, that meant he just had to get even better because nobody was allowed to be more beautiful than him. He’d gotten lazy while he’d been here, had stopped dancing, had stopped stretching, had stopped reading, playing chess, all of it, had stopped everything except being miserable with grief and anger. It’d felt like without his grandpa around to enjoy it, to encourage him, to tell him to chase his dreams, there was just no fucking point to anything least of all ballet. Of course that’d just been him being an idiot, he saw that now. His grandpa wouldn’t want him to lay down and submit and die just because he was dead, that was never how Nikolai had raised him and Yuri wasn’t about to insult the man by pretending otherwise. At the bare fucking minimum, if he couldn’t get to his uncle then he had to show up that obnoxious Canadian jackass. He swore to God if he heard Leroy bragging about his magnificence and guaranteed freedom one more FUCKING time-

Katsuki wasn’t Leroy, though, thank God. They hardly needed two of those around here. It was for the good of everyone that the plank of wood had offed his own twin, honestly. Yuri eyed the pathetic leggy heap of meat resting against his bars then snorted and flicked some water at him.

“Hey. You fucking done yet regretting your entire life yet? If you are then get your lazy miserable asscheeks off my cage and get the fuck out of here, dipshit.”

“Oh,” Katsuki muttered, sounding more than half asleep. “Yeah, okay. Sorry about that. Excuse me.”

Yuri waited until the stumbling idiot was free and clear before turning to the wall, dunking in the brush, and attacking the stone with all his might.

For the first time since he’d been dumped inside this hellhole, his hands were warm.

Katsuki, huh. When Leroy had been waxing on about his spectacular dancing and had even ‘performed’ for them (in Yuri’s opinion it’d been lukewarm at best but what did he know about vaudeville), Yuri had happily thrown the fact of his superiors into his face, showing him up with a quick dance of his own that, even rusty, was far better than Leroy’s nonsense in his not so humble opinion. Then he’d told Leroy that Katsuki was better than him too and what kind of king did that make him? He’d walked away laughing at the dopesmacked expression on the goon’s face, it’d been the highlight of his week.

For all that he’d used Katsuki’s presence as a tool in that respect, though, he hadn’t known him. Honestly the turd had struck Yuri as a weakling and a coward, snuggling up to their guards, ingratiating himself to them and batting his lashes like they’d give a shit. Pigs hung out with pigs, it didn’t matter if Katsuki was on his side of the bars, he was, ergo, a pig.

But maybe also he was just a decent guy. Which was weird, given where the fuck he was.

‘The hell did he do to get in here anyway?’ Yuri wondered, paying another look at the man in question. Katsuki wandered back into his cell, flopped onto his bunk face down, and didn’t move. Obviously not every scumsucker in here was innocent like Yuri was, which if those pigs would stop listening to his lying uncle and do their jobs they’d KNOW this, but if he looked back through his memories he thought he recalled Katsuki looking pretty beat up his first week here.

‘Probably got his ass beat by an alpha, killed them, and now he’s here cus alphas don’t like that kinda shit. Mystery solved. Pah. Boring.’

Yuri rolled his eyes and got back to work. FUCK this wall.

#yuri on ice #i guess #idk #omegaverse #btw lol #freaks fics

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