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yoi-secret-valentines2017 · 7 years

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love at second sight

For @mypoorlittlephanshipperheart from Edgedancer (@radiantmists). Happy Valentine’s Day!

***

Victor lay on his back and listened to the indistinct murmur of voices below him. Slowly, as it always did, his mind drifted to the ice, to the feel of skimming on a knife-edge and the freedom of taking flight. From those well-worn paths he was drawn to the sound of a crowd screaming his name, of voices in his own tongue declaring him a hero.

Downstairs in the onsen’s main room, Victor knew, Yuuri would be saying the words leaving and Russia and nationals and Victor in a voice too small for him, trembling with the conflict between hope and sorrow. He would be looking at the ground or his shoes or his hands, and so would be surprised to feel his mother’s arms close around him. When his father tells him they’re happy for him, mostly telling the truth, Yuuri would smile, tears in his eyes, and mostly believe it.

Victor could barely believe it himself, could scarcely fathom how these wonderful, kind people had let a perfect stranger drift into their home like a stray dog and had somehow turned him into a part of the family. Most of all, he couldn’t believe that Yuuri was at that moment giving all of it up, in a way, so that Victor could keep skating.

Ten days wasn’t a long time to uproot your whole life, wasn’t really long enough to say goodbye to the family you only just found again.

It wasn’t really long enough to come out of retirement, either, so Victor pushes himself upright and starts packing.

***

They headed to the rink early the next morning; Victor had called Yuuko while they were in the Barcelona airport, had made sure that Ice Castle Hasetsu would be theirs alone until the nineteenth. She had said she was happy to do it, had congratulated him on his decision to return and for proposing to Yuuri, had somehow managed to sound sweet and cheerful while declaring that if Victor let the first interfere with the second he would find his ice skates shoved, blade-first, in very unfortunate places.

It was almost like her blessing. Victor hadn’t been able to explain to a mortified Yuuri, listening on speaker, exactly why he had been smiling.

Now, Viktor set up the camera at the edge of the rink and video called Yakov. He was willing to swallow his pride and admit he needed all the help he could get to make it back in time for Russian Nationals on the twentieth.

He glided onto the ice, cued Yuuri to start the music, and began.

The thing was, it would be inaccurate almost to the point of falsehood to call what Victor had been doing for the last eight months a break. On top of the time he had spent coaching Yuuri, Victor had passed hours listening to music, dancing in Minako’s studio, biking and running and stretching. And he had skated, of course, had after hours of watching Yuuri finally remembered the way that ice under his feet had always felt like breathing.

When he had skated the two pieces through, heart pounding with strain, Victor returned to the computer Yuuri held at the rink’s edge, where Yakov looked pensive.

“It’s not good enough,” he said. Victor’s heart skipped a beat even though he thought- hoped- he knew what Yakov would say next.

“Not yet.”

***

The next ten days were a mad rush of ice, food, baths, sleep; Victor and Yuuri ran to Ice Castle as the sun rose, wolfed down the lunches that Hiroko had made for them the previous night, ran home as the sun set and collapsed. Sometimes in the morning they would chase each other, laughing; a few nights one wandered into the other’s room and they had curled together, too exhausted to do anything but sleep.

Their breaks were the time when the other was on the ice; Yuuri’s breaks were much longer than Victor’s, and Victor felt guilty though he knew he shouldn’t. Yuuri had months to perfect his routines; he took silver at the Grand Prix Final–barely missed gold– and there was no one at Japanese Nationals who was a serious threat to him. Victor, on the other hand…

Victor had never worked this hard before, and especially he had never done so knowing that despite it all, it wasn’t possible to win. As the week went on, he found himself developing the sort of empathy he’d never had for other, less talented skaters. Victor had always seen practice, competitions, advancement as simply reaching out to take what was his. If others couldn’t match him, it meant only that they didn’t want it badly enough. But suddenly, there was a wall between him and success, or perhaps a heavy door that he had to shove with all his strength just to keep from closing even further. Victor tried to imagine going through this struggle as a child, and couldn’t quite convince himself that he could have kept skating through it before he’d ever tasted the peace of a clean program.

Sometime during the mad week, he tried to tell Yuuri all this, asked him how he had kept on for so long without feeling what it was like to win.

Yuuri laughed. “Maybe I couldn’t feel it,” he said. “But I saw it, when I watched you.”

Victor stood, dumbstruck. He knew then and there that his skating, his loneliness at the top, his whole life had been worthwhile, if it had kept this beautiful creature on the ice.

***

For some horrendous, unknowable reason, the Russian and Japanese Nationals overlapped. To add insult to injury, they stretched through Victor’s birthday. Every year before, he hadn’t cared, but now…

Well, at least he and Yuuri had already exchanged gifts.

Yuri came to Victor after their warmup period. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally, he growled, “Don’t think I’ll go easy just because you’re an old man.”

Victor laughed, and it tasted like poison, like every night that he’d gone out to drink and flirt with beautiful strangers he’d known he couldn’t keep, because five gold medals or not, Katsuki Yuuri had never called him, and what more was he supposed to do?

Yuri would beat him here without trouble and they both knew it, but the thought rankled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The next day, Victor drew a slot right in the middle of the two dozen other men vying for a medal. Twenty-five dreamers; thanks to Victor and Georgi’s placement last year, Russia was allowed to send three of them to European Championships. Medalling here wasn’t just about being Russia’s best; it meant that the season could continue.

When his time came, Victor took to the ice confidently. He could hear the commentators gossiping about his costumes, reused from several years ago, and about his planned programs, much easier technically than in years past and notably missing his signature flip. They wondered if he really thought such a sudden comeback was possible, if he had any life left in him, why he had even bothered.

Victor arrived at his starting position, not listening. He wasn’t skating for them anymore. He kissed his ring, knew that somewhere, Yuuri was watching and doing the same.

The music began, and so did Victor. It felt like a beginning, the energy of the crowd and the music and the gold on his finger coursing through him. Every motion in this program was deliberate, filled with hope for the future. He thought back to the feeling when Yuuri had first tried his flip, when Victor had known that no matter what happened, if he could just somehow hold onto this boy the future would be bright. As the music built, Victor remembered the moment Yuuri had asked him to stay on his coach. He remembered the instant where he could see the future stretched out before him, and for the first time it had been filled with not just victory, but with their victory.

As he sank into his final spin, the music went silent for a moment. The whole stadium, the whole world seemed to hold its breath as he whirled, waiting to see what would happen next.

The final note rose along with him, and he stretched out his arm as though reaching for something, the other behind him holding an invisible hand.

There, he told the screaming crowd, and Yuuri somewhere far away, watching. There. Can you see it, too?

Yuri attacked him as soon as he left the rink.

“I can’t believe you!” he screeched, as he dragged Victor to the Kiss and Cry, then sat in the coach’s spot. “You can’t just skate for the katsudon forever!”

Victor only smiled and waved at the camera as the scores were posted. The presentation score was astronomical, record-breaking for a short program. The announcers and the crowd were hysterical; Yuri grumbled unrepeatable things.

Victor spotted the Japanese news logo on one of the cameras and blew Yuuri a kiss.

***

“After yesterday’s artistic triumph, Victor Nikiforov’s free program today doesn’t quite measure up, does it?”

“Only two quads, and he seems unable to truly connect with this music. Though Nikiforov edged him out in the short program, if we look back at Popovich’s characteristically… emotional free performance just moments ago, it seems uncertain which will take silver.”

“Well, we’ll be seeing both of them at Europeans in any case.”

***

Yuuri skipped the Japanese banquet and flew straight to Russia; he arrived at the rink just as the medal ceremony began. Afterward, Victor leapt straight from the ice into his arms and kissed him silly, then pulled back and smiled teasingly.

“You brought me a present, didn’t you? Besides your presence, I mean.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes but dutifully produced his gold medal from his coat pocket. Victor placed it gently around his fiance’s neck, then handed his own medal to Yuuri so that he could do the same.

He remembered his own joke, weeks that felt like years before: I won’t kiss it if it’s not gold. He’d told Yuuri, he’d known, that coming back would be challenging, that reaching this level was a triumph in its own right. But Victor was tired, and every self-deprecating smile tasted like ash in his mouth.

But the walled-up sadness in Yuuri’s eyes felt like a knife to the gut, so Victor put on a smile anyway. I’ll do better next time, he thought. I can do it for you.

“It’s perfect,” he said. “It matches my hair.”

***

“Do you have a theme?” the reporters asked at the winner’s panel.

“Yes,” he said, not quite lying, and gave them the sort of smile that everyone knew meant he had something up his sleeve.

He’d bought himself some time. Now he just had to look up his sleeves and find it.

***

The two of them went back to St. Petersburg, to Victor’s one-bedroom apartment just two blocks and a bridge away from Yakov’s ice rink.

Yuuri hung his clothes in the walk-in closet next to Victor’s, and within a week they were hopelessly mixed together. Yakov finally told Victor that the next time he showed up to the rink in a shirt three sizes too small, he’d be thrown out into the snow, because no one wants to see your stomach all the goddamn time, Vitya.

(Yuuri was not forbidden from wearing Victor’s clothes, mostly because he was smart enough not to do it with anything that would get in the way of practicing. Of Yuuri practicing, that is, because how was Victor supposed to concentrate on remastering the quad flip when Yuuri was wearing his sweatshirt?)

Victor was in awe of how quickly Yuuri got to know their neighbors, whose names Victor had never before learned in the six years he’d lived in this apartment. Like his rinkmates, they adored the combination of Yuuri’s sincere timidity and his moments of intense frankness.

Victor would have been jealous, but every day he discovered new reasons to love Yuuri that were all his own. He’d known that Yuuri loved food, but now Victor got to watch his own cooking make Yuuri’s eyes widen in delight.

They went out so Yuuri could teach him to dance properly, and it was even better than that first wild night, because the next morning and whenever else the urge struck them, they danced through the apartment to music only they could hear.

Every so often in Hasetsu, Victor would buy flowers for Yuuri on his way back from walks with Makkachin. Now, they settled young perennials in the window boxes Victor had forgotten existed, and he watched as Yuuri carefully coaxed the bulbs into blossom.

At the rink, they were somehow both Yakov’s biggest headache and the skaters who required the least maintenance; they distracted each other ridiculously, but the next moment Victor would offer some criticism that let Yuuri land his quads twice as often, or Yuuri would make an encouraging comment that changed Victor’s whole presentation.

One day, Victor talked Yuuri into skating each other’s programs just to drive Yakov crazy. It backfired, the older man using it as a lesson for both of them, making Victor spend time on Yuuri’s impossibly graceful spins and forcing Yuuri to repeat jumps until they matched Victor’s technical perfection.

Another time, Victor and Yakov came to the rink after lunch to find Yuuri running through Yurio’s step sequences with him. Soon, half the juniors at the rink were asking for time with the Japanese skater. Victor got pulled into it too, helping them with their jumps.

Yakov took Victor aside, in the middle of January, and told him seriously that he had a future in coaching when he retired for real, that they both did. I’m getting older, Vitya, he said. Someone’s going to have to take over this place. Victor looked at the fourteen-year-old girl listening to Yuuri explain how to fix her layback spin, and wondered when he became so… content.

For months, he had treasured the wonderful promise of spending his future with Yuuri. But more wonderful even than that was this: his life, now, with Yuuri.

***

Thankfully, Yuuri was able to come watch Victor at Europeans. Victor had hidden his costumes, when they had finally been delivered, and he skated his short program on the high of Yuuri’s delight, clothed in a Hasetsu sunrise.

They went out that night with Yuri, Chris, and Otabek; Georgi and Mila had tagged along, and they’d somehow managed to run into Emil and the Crispinos at the restaurant. (Victor suspected Chris, or possibly his quiet, extremely sneaky boyfriend.)

Victor was in second after the short program; he’d brought up his technical score significantly, but to his chagrin couldn’t surpass the perfection Yurio had achieved once again with Agape. Victor had created a monster, and he wasn’t sure whether to be proud or annoyed.

Chris, of course, started by teasing Victor about losing to a sixteen-year-old.

“Well, at least I’m in good company,” Victor winked. He had never done dinners like this before Yuuri, hadn’t been friends in the way the other skaters were. After all, Chris was the only one who was old enough to have entered Seniors before Victor’s gold streak had begun, and even he had seen Victor as some sort of constant, always a few steps ahead.

Now, they’ve all seen him waver. For the first time, Victor realized that his competitors were not as much sharks circling for weakness as they were people looking for some point of humanity. Stopping to coach Yuuri may have set him back in his skating, but it was the best decision he’d ever made for his personal life, for more than just the obvious reason.

Like his thoughts, the conversation circles back around to his relationship with Yuuri, and Victor has the pleasure of watching Europe’s best skaters argue over who’d shipped them first.

“I think Chris wins that one,” Victor said lightly. “He did introduce us at the banquet last year, after all.”

Chris grinned smugly, then jumped when his boyfriend elbowed him. “I don’t think he can take credit for that.”

Chris sighed. “Fine. No, I didn’t really believe it was serious until what Victor pulled at the Cup of China.”

“Ha! I win!” Sara Crispino crowed. When everyone stared at her, she added, “Mickey and I started researching competitors as soon as assignments came out. We saw Yuuri’s theme announcement, and…”

Yuuri groaned and smacked his head against the table as the other skaters laughed in recognition. Victor pulled him closer and rested his chin on top of Yuuri’s head, smiling. He’d watched the video of that incident perhaps even more than the one of Yuuri skating Stay Close to Me– at first trying to make sense of the rapid-fire Japanese as Yuuri had gone off script, and then during the long nights when he’d needed reassurance that despite Yuuri’s shyness, Victor wasn’t the only one who desperately wanted to hold onto this.

He hadn’t watched it recently; he hadn’t needed to with the real Yuuri sleeping beside him with a matching ring on his finger.

“Speaking of which, what’s your theme, Victor?”

The laughter quieted as everyone waited for his response to Emil’s question. Even Yuuri looked up, questioning.

Victor smirked. “You’ll find out tomorrow along with everyone else, at the winner’s panel.”

Under the ensuing chaos, Victor heard Yuri mutter to Otabek, “I’ll bet it’s something ridiculous like happiness or marriage.”

Victor smiled.

Close, Yura, he thought, but not quite.

***

Victor unzipped his jacket and handed it to Yuuri, then removed his skate guards. As Otabek’s score was posted, he circled quickly on the ice before returning to the barrier.

“I’ll be here, watching,” Yuuri said, pulling Victor close. Victor rested his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and breathed him in.

As the stadium quieted, he pulled away. “I know.” He smiled, and it tasted like sunlight.

The cheers as Victor saluted the crowd were deafening, but as he took his position, eyes closed, he thought he’d be able to hear a pin drop. Even the announcers were silent. In second place, and with four difficult quads in his program to Yuri’s three, Victor was poised to make possibly the greatest comeback in the history of figure-skating.

Victor raised his hand to his lips, saw Yuuri doing the same. He felt light, birdlike.

The music began. Victor launched straight into a quick step sequence, but it felt as effortless as dancing through the kitchen with Yuuri and letting dinner burn. He leaned back into a spin as though falling into bed, and when he launched himself into his first quad he could have sworn he felt strong arms lifting him up.

As the violins entered, Victor let his motions become more fluid, allowing the music to carry him. He knew this routine better than the back of his hand, and he let his mind drift until he found himself back in their apartment.

A January blizzard had swept into St. Petersburg, filling the streets and rattling the shutters. Yuuri had brought in the Chinese jasmine they’d been growing in the window-boxes, and Victor had lit the fireplace. They’d curled up together with Makkachin, each other’s bony warmth more comfortable than the bed could ever be.

Yuuri had stared out the window and told Victor about how it rarely ever snowed in Hasetsu even in winter, how the flurry on the April day Victor had arrived had been nothing short of miraculous.

“Like you,” he’d said, suddenly frank in the way that always knocked Victor’s breath right out of his body. “All the time we were in Hasetsu, I was waiting for you to melt away.”

Victor had taken his hand, squeezed it as tightly as he could. “Well,” he’d said, and swallowed. “Here, the snow takes forever to melt.”

The music came down to near silence, and Victor could have sworn he heard Yuuri’s voice, as clear as it had been that day: “I’ll be here until then.”

Victor pushed his toe onto the ice and leapt with the piano, spinning two, three, four times. He landed back in the stadium; Yuuri was behind him, so Victor added a half loop and triple axel to face him.

Yuuri was crying, Victor saw for a moment before he had to return to his program. As the music picked up once again, Victor remembered the last time he’d seen Yuuri cry, when their jasmine had finally bloomed after weeks of Yuuri pulling it inside every time there was even a chance of frost.

Rising from his last spin, Victor traced the vines that wrapped around his legs and climbed his white shirt. He placed one hand over his chest, holding out the other, palm up as though to take someone’s hand, or perhaps to offer them the pale pink flower stitched into his glove.

***

“It’s official- in a free program that ended in a mirror image of Katsuki Yuuri’s, Victor Nikiforov takes back the record his student stole only months ago!”

“Katsuki doesn’t seem especially angry about this.”

“No, but look at Plisetsky! I know the Ice Tiger of Russia skates better when he’s angry, but I think apoplectic rage is going to be a little too much for the judges.”

***

Victor gave Yuuri his medal as the stadium emptied, and smiled while Yuuri looped it over his head.

Then he gasped as he was pulled down to meet Yuuri’s sparkling eyes.

“Set a date for the wedding,” Yuuri whispered. “I’m coming for this in April.”

***

“My theme,” Victor beamed, “is life.”

***

“Katsuki Yuuri takes Four Continents by a landslide, earning a personal best in both programs! He came within a few points of Nikiforov’s record combined score from years ago. Worlds is going to be interesting, don’t you think?”

“Yes, and– Are those rose petals coming from the ceiling?”

(“I can’t believe you thought I forgot Valentine’s Day,” Victor pouted.

“Well, you were a few days late,” Yuuri laughed.

Phichit tossed a few more rose petals over their heads, took a picture, and said, “Don’t be silly; if he’d forgotten I wouldn’t have let him live a few days.”

Yuuri’s friends were terrifying and Victor loved it.)

***

They had their medals off before they left the ice; their tradition was public enough knowledge at that point that it would no longer look like a snub.

Victor did Yuuri’s first. It felt different this time, knowing he’d be giving Yuuri something else gold in just a few weeks.

Yuuri’s hands shook a little, and Victor could see the tenderness in his eyes. He found himself remembering the last time he had won a bronze medal, when he was nineteen and in his second year of Seniors, full of the hope and ambition that would eventually take him to the top of the podium but still growing into too-long legs and too-short hair and too-heavy expectations.

He folded his hand and Yuuri’s hand over the medal, brought it up to kiss softly, and thought, I’m still growing into this, too.

“It’s perfect,” he declared softly. “It matches your eyes.”

End

***

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for the inspiration, both from the domestic Victuri stuff on your blog and more generally to make me actually finish something. :)

Victor’s short program is to the song Road to Victory. His free program, as well as the title of the fic, is from The Gambler by fun., though I imagine he skated to an instrumental version.

Coda:

“No, I will not be your flower bearer!”

“But you’d look so pretty, Yurio–”

“I’ve been there getting embarrassed by your stupid antics from the beginning. I’m getting you back in my best man’s speech and that’s final.”

#yoi secret valentines #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #phichit chualnont #writing #chris giacometti #yuri plisetsky #submission

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onceandalwaysenglishmajor · 7 years

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In Which Yuuri Talks to Katsudon

This is the first chapter of Howl’s Moving Castle reimagined with the Yuri!!! On Ice cast.

It is quite the misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows that you are destined to fail most spectacularly of the three when you set out to seek your fortune. Yuuri Katsuki was the eldest of three, and not even poor, which might have given him some slim chance of success. Instead, his family owned a small onsen that did quite well. True, his own mother died when he was very small, and his brother Phichit even younger, and his father married a childhood friend, Minako. This is where the third brother, Otabek, came from. Now, to follow tradition, this should have turned Yuuri and Phichit into Evil Step-siblings, but all three boys grew up to be very kind. If Otabek could be a bit stubborn, and Phichit could be a bit dramatic, that was nothing to be held against them.

About a year before this story really begins, whispers of the Witch of the Waste reached their small village. Apparently the Witch had threatened the king’s daughter, and the king had sent his personal wizard, Seung-gil into the Waste to deal with her. The rumor said he promptly got himself killed. So when an ominous black castle started moving around the hills just beyond town, people were understandably concerned, and there was much debate as to whether the Witch had left the Waste to terrorize the populace like she had in their grandfather’s day. Soon, however, they discovered that the castle didn’t belong to the Witch at all. It belonged to the Wizard Victor, which was hardly better. Though he seemed content to stay in the hills, it was whispered that he liked to eat the hearts of young people, or steal their souls. So the young people were constantly lectured not to go out alone, which was a huge annoyance. Yuuri wondered what Victor did with the souls he collected.

He was soon distracted from any thoughts of the Wizard Victor, though, by the death of his father. Minako discovered that the boys’ school fees had left the onsen quite in debt.

“I’ll have to find good apprenticeships for you,” Minako said sadly. “I just can’t afford to keep all three of you here. Phichit first. Dear, I’ve placed you in the local bakery. The owner is a friend of mine, and has agreed to take you on. You’ve always been a fair hand in the kitchen, so you should do quite well there.” Phichit just laughed.

“A good thing indeed,” was all he said. Yuuri could tell that Phichit wasn’t pleased, but he didn’t say anything else. Minako let out a small sigh of relief, as Phichit could throw quite the tantrum when he wanted to.

“Now, Otabek, I know you’re full young to be out in the world working, so I’ve done some thinking on what will give you a nice long apprenticeship. Do you remember my school friend Celestino?”

“Ciao Ciao,” said Otabek, “the one who talks so much.” Yuuri winced just a little at the thought of quiet Otabek at the mercy of the talkative Ciao Ciao.

“Isn’t he a wizard?” Otabek asked.

“Yes,” Minako continued excitedly, with clients all over the valley and connections in the capitol. You’ll be set for life after studying under Celestino.”

“He’s nice enough,” Otabek conceded in his quiet way. Yuuri nodded along with these decisions. Otabek would have magic and rich friends, just as a youngest child destined to make his fortune should. Phichit would have a trade, and a good chance of finding a spouse and settling down. As for himself, Yuuri knew what was coming.

“Now Yuuri,” Minako said, “as the eldest, it’s only right that you inherit the onsen. So you’ll be my apprentice and learn how to manage the inn. How does that sound, Yuuri?”

Yuuri could hardly say that he felt it was his fate and was simply resigned to doing nothing of much import with his life. So he just nodded and smiled softly.

Yuuri helped Otabek pack his belongings and load them in the cart that would take him over the hills, past the Wizard Victor’s castle, to Celestino’s. Otabek didn’t say anything, but Yuuri knew he was nervous. Phichit refused all help packing, throwing everything to a pillow case and slinging it over his shoulder before heading to town, hamster cage tucked under one arm. That left Yuuri alone in the onsen. Other than a few quick notes from his brothers, saying they had reached their respective destinations and settled in, Yuuri didn’t hear from them. As for his own apprenticeship, there wasn’t much Minako could teach him that Yuuri didn’t already know, having grown up in the onsen. Yuuri mostly stayed in the kitchen (he was a better cook than Phichit, even, and definitely better than Minako) though Minako did try to teach him how to deal with the customers, convince them that they wanted a meal and a beer after their bath. Yuuri’s anxiety meant he wasn’t much good at this, preferring to hide in the kitchen and talk to the dishes he was preparing instead of people.

As May Day approached, Yuuri admitted that his life was rather dull. He cooked. He tended the onsen. He listened to the gossip in the dining room, who ran off with a count, the Wizard Victor’s castle had moved again, whisper whisper, he caught a girl across the valley last month, whisper whisper, hopefully the weather would be good for planting crops this week. And Yuuri hid in the kitchen, talking to the food he cooked, or skittered around the dining room, collecting dirty dishes and trying not to be noticed.

Yuuri knew he should walk into town and visit Phichit. After all, it was quite silly that he hadn’t seen his brother in months. But he didn’t go. He couldn’t seem to find the time, or the energy, or he remembered that on his own he was in danger from the Wizard Victor… every day it seemed more difficult to go see Phichit.

“This is ridiculous,” Yuuri chided himself. “It’s only a couple streets over… if I run…” Yuuri promised himself that he would go see Phichit when the onsen was closed for May Day celebrations.

May Day arrived and the streets were full of people in their best clothes, fully intent on having a good time. He had a couple of things to finish at the inn, but he felt genuinely excited, watching through the window. But when he actually stepped out of the door, Yuuri did not feel excited at all. It was too much. Too much noise, too many people. Living like and old man the past couple months, rarely leaving the onsen, had apparently made his anxiety worse. He clung to the walls, trying to stay out of the way of the revelers. Why had he wanted his life to be interesting again? Yuuri broke down and ran toward the square. The square was, if anything, worse. Crowds of slightly inebriated young men swaggered around, accosting finely dressed girls and each other, while the girls walked around in pairs, ready to be accosted, or try their hand at accosting the boys. All of this was perfectly normal May Day flirting, and Yuuri should be right in the middle of it, but that scared him too. And when a young man in a particularly elaborate blue-and-silver suit with trailing sleeves spotted Yuuri and decided to accost him too, Yuuri tried to melt into the doorway he was hiding in. The young man tilted his head in surprise.

“It’s ok, little mouse,” he said kindly. “I just wanted to buy you a drink.” He looked at Yuuri with pity. Yuuri felt rather ashamed –he was acting quite ridiculous after all--- and the man almost devastatingly attractive. Silver hair flopped over one eye, leaving only one brilliant blue eye visible. He’s older than I thought, Yuuri noted, in his late twenties at least.

“Oh, no thank-you,” Yuuri murmured to the man who was still watching him. “I’m… I’m on my way to see my brother.”

“Then by all means,” the silver-haired man laughed, gesturing grandly for Yuuri to move past him. “Who am I to keep such an attractive man from his brother? Would you like me to walk with you, since you seem so scared?” he asked kindly. Yuuri blushed in embarrassment for his anxiety and ridiculousness.

“N-n-n-no!” Yuuri stuttered. “No thank-you, sir!” he gasped and darted away, sure he imagined the muttered, “More’s the pity,” as he slipped past the man with the silvery hair and sparkling blue eyes.

The bakery was packed when Yuuri got there. Yuuri found Phichit in line with other apprentices behind the counter, surrounded by a group of admirers. He twisted pastry bags, handing each one over the counter with a small smile. Yuuri fought his way to the counter. Phichit noticed him. He looked shaken for just a moment before he smiled, a real smile, and shouted, “Yuuri!”

“Can I talk to you?’ Yuuri yelled. “Somewhere?” he gestured helplessly at the crowded shop.

“Just a moment!” Phichit yelled back. He turned and whispered to the girl next to him, and she stepped up to take his place, to the visible disappointment of the crowd. Phichit opened a flap in the counter, gesturing Yuuri through. Phichit grabbed his wrist and dragged Yuuri to the back room.

“Oh Phichit, I’m so glad to see you!” Yuuri said, settling onto a convenient stool with a huff. Phichit absently handed him a cream cake, Yuuri’s favorite.

“You may need this. And I’m glad you’re sitting down. Because I’m not Phichit. I’m Otabek.”

#yuri on ice #howl's moving castle #YOI/Howl's Moving Castle AU #book cannon

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