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The new boy greets him at the gate at 6:37 in a beautiful sapphire tunic and velvet bonnet. "Well met," he says, squinting up at Victor. "Hast thou a pair of prescription sunglasses seen?"
"Nay," says Victor. "Sorry."
"Dang crap it," says the boy, sighing. "I mean, fie. It's not like I'm even allowed to wear them around here, but they were expensive." He pauses, smiles. He is far past lovely: he is exquisite. "I'm so sorry, I never introduced myself. I'm Yuuri Katsuki. I'm the new cheesecake-on-a-stick vendor."
"Victor Nikiforov," Victor manages, reaching out to shake the proffered hand. He has to quash the urge to strip it of its perfumed glove and kiss it. "I'm a nobleman."
"Yes," says Yuuri shyly. "I can see that."
It's Victor's millionth year working the Renaissance Faire, and it still inspires in him a sense of magic, of excitement. The beginning-of-the-season possibility twists pleasantly in his stomach as he beams down at Yuuri, cheeks pink. It'll be sweltering by ten o' clock, but this morning is bracingly chilly, and for now Victor's comfortable in his silver doublet and landsknecht hosen. He prays he looks half as handsome as Yuuri does. When it becomes clear that their conversation has faded into bashful silence, he walks backwards toward his stall so he doesn't have to break eye contact. His veins are tickled with hope.
"Yuuri Katsuki," he murmurs to Christophe, once he's out of earshot.
"Oh, I know," says Christophe, applying his mascara in the reflection of a shield. "A perfect doll, isn't he? Here. I was going to return these myself, but I think you'll benefit more from them." He presses Yuuri's sunglasses into Victor's hand. "They weren't easy to pilfer, let me tell you."
"Thou art a skelpie-limmer," says Victor, laughing.
"Don't I knowest," says Christophe with a wink.
Victor sets off in search of Yuuri again, and finds him loading up the cheesecake wagon under the eave of an old cottage. An adorable swell of belly fat curves his stomach as he kneels. Victor has to take three deep breaths before he approaches, startling Yuuri so badly that he drops one of the crates.
"Sorry, sorry!" says Victor, helping him right it. Once it is neatly stacked with the others, he offers him the sunglasses. "Found them."
Yuuri gasps. "Thank you so much!" he says, tilting them back and forth between his fingers to check the lenses for damage. "Where were they?"
In his best friend's conniving hand. "Near the armory."
"I wonder how they got all the way over there." Yuuri tucks them into the pocket of his breeches, which tauten deliciously around his ample backside. His eyelashes sweep up, demure. "How can I thank you?" he asks.
"You could let me buy you a honey cake during your break this afternoon," Victor suggests.
Yuuri blushes. "Peradventure," he says, but his smile says anything can happen.
*
It's only three weekends into their season, and Victor is in love. His heart pounds with anticipation whenever he walks Yuuri's route, and seeing him, speaking to him makes him dizzy with affection and longing. "I can scarcely breathe around him," he tells Christophe, who is delicately eating a funnel cake as they watch Otabek and Seung Gil joust in the arena.
"Verily, the maiden is quaint as the Givenchy haute couture Beyoncé wore to the 2015 Met," says Christophe.
"Quainter!" Victor says.
"He's gorgeous, darling. When are you going to make a move?"
"As soon as I spend a little more time with him, get him more comfortable around me."
The bench rattles as Yuri Plisetsky plops down beside them, kicking his bare feet up on the guardrail. Gold glitter drifts out of his hair when he shakes his head. "Talking about the little piggy again?" he asks. His flower crown keeps slipping; he jams it back into his place, grumbling. He's sipping an anachronistic can of Pepsi.
Victor clasps one hand to his chest, lashes fluttering. "'Is love a tender thing? It—'"
"Shut the fuck up," says Yuri.
He drops it. "You're the most scandalizing fairy I've ever met."
"Like you should talk, Oberon. Ooh!" All three of them wince against each other as Otabek unhorses Seung Gil in a spray of splintering wood, much to the delight of the audience. Yuri puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles shrilly, waving his tiger-striped hoodie around in wild circles above his head. "That's my man!" he yells.
"If you three are going to sit in plain view, you have to at least be in-character," King JJ announces loftily from his throne.
Victor and Chris straighten, adopting more dignified postures, but Yuri slouches back down on the bench and spreads his knees widely, like a dudebro riding the subway.
"Gross," says JJ.
"If you want to spend more time with Cheesecake, ask Phichit to hook you up," says Yuri to Victor. "Those two are tighter than a horse's asshole during fly season."
"Ah, glorious Phichit," Christophe says, sighing rapturously.
"Not all similes are Elizabethan, you know," says Victor, but he smiles: that's an excellent idea. He stands up suddenly, making Yuri and Christophe jump.
"What, you're going now?" Yuri demands. "The show's not even over!"
"I shall waste no time, lest time waste me," Victor paraphrases, raising one triumphant fist. He accidentally bumps shoulders with JJ as he moves to exit the bleachers.
"Ouch."
"I cry your mercy, your heterosexualness." He takes the stairs two as a time as he bounds toward the makeshift town square, hand on his head to hold his hat in place.
Phichit and Guang Hong are halfway through their dirty washer woman skit when Victor skids into the aisle and finds a seat. It occurs to Victor that with Yuuri on staff now, he, Phichit, and Guang Hong form a perfect Asian trifecta of insurmountable beauty: Guang Hong's freckly cheeks are pretty and rosy under the summer sun, and Phichit's got his dark hair up in a white rag as he suggestively wrings a linen clean.
"Dost thou knoweth any rhymes?" Phichit is saying.
"Aye!" says Guang Hong, sort of jerking off a pair of leggings in the wash bin. "'There liveth a man from Locke, who aged claret inside of his—"
"Sock!" Phichit interrupts, then pretends to wipe sweat from his brow. Laughter from the audience. "Hast that wicked word even been invented yet, young Thomasin?"
"'Sock?' Aye, Lettice! They sayeth 'men with large socks oft have large—'"
"Fox...es," Phichit interrupts.
"What dost the fox sayeth, Lettice?"
"The play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king-ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding—" Phichit says, and he and Guang Hong elegantly begin to dance the volta, swinging their sopping laundry all over the crowd. Victor laughs, clapping along with the audience. Their skits, 100% improv'd, are the result of a dare in which they'd swapped roles with Sara and Mila one slow afternoon. To this day, they're still the washing women, and the ladies still play the pirates. Works much better that way. Those girls are fierce.
After the show ends, Victor shimmies his way up to the stage to help them clean up. "God ye good-morrow, gentlemen!" he calls.
"Victor!" He's suddenly got an armful of damp Phichit, practically vibrating with excitement. "How were we? Did you see us?"
"You were great," says Victor, laughing. "Lettice, eh?"
"Phichit had 'lettice' stuck in his teeth after this morning's Big Mac," says Guang Hong, wrinkling his nose. "It was disgusting."
"Say what-eth?" teases Phichit, bumping him lightly.
"'Twas vile!"
"It was, wasn't it. I usuall—oh! Oh, okay, 'scuse me." He steps back as Guang Hong spots his boyfriend Leo in the crowd and bodily shoves past Phichit without another word, squealing. "Ah, young love," says Phichit, sighing happily as he stares after them.
"Speaking of," says Victor, bright but timid. "I—"
"I know what you're all about," says Phichit knowingly. He leans in: "Measure for measure, Victor Nikiforov. You talk me up to Christophe Giacometti, I get you and Yuuri some alone time."
"Done!" Victor holds out his hand, and Phichit gives it one enthusiastic pump, slinging a wet pair of trousers over his shoulder as he points ahead.
"Onward! To the cheesecake cart!"
*
The faire is crowded on Saturdays. Families bustle along with their children in tow, happily toting around fairy wands, plastic swords, juicy turkey legs wrapped in wax paper. People part for Victor and Phichit as they traverse the village, Victor with one gentlemanly hand on Phichit's back as he holds his skirts up out of the dust. Yuuri's clear, cultured voice precedes him in the crowd, set to a Gregorian chant: "Give my sweetened cream a lick, buy some cheesecake on a stick," he sings, pushing his cart into the shade as he waves around the treats.
"How dost thou, Yuuri?" Phichit hails.
"Phichit-kun!" says Yuuri, swinging around with a big smile—one that grows softer, shyer when he sees Victor there too. He dips his head. "How do you, my Lord?"
"Beautiful," breathes Victor. His ears redden when he registers what he just said. "Ah—I mean, most joyous."
"Happy to hear. Eth. Heareth? Alas, my Elizabethan English is indign."
"It taketh some practice. We're all bullshitting it anyway, except Otabek, but he barely talks to anyone but Yurio," says Phichit. He nudges Victor forward slightly. "I know you two have already met, but did you know that Victor's parents founded RedTube?"
"They did not!" Victor sputters, at the same time Yuuri says, "What's RedTube?"
Phichit narrows his eyes suspiciously at Victor.
"My parents are crossing guards at History Elementary," says Victor weakly.
"Oh," says Yuuri.
They stare at each other. Phichit gives them a moment, and when they don't start talking, he draws in a breath. "RedTube is a—"
Thankfully, an adorable little girl chooses that moment to skip up to them, holding one of those little GPS Baby's First Phone things. It apparently has a camera, too, because, with her parents' encouragement, she smiles diffidently and says, "Can I take your pictures?"
"Oh! Yes, of course, my lady," says Victor, and he, Phichit, and Yuuri cram into the frame. Victor hears Phichit's billowy sleeve rustle as he seizes Yuuri's wrist and places his hand firmly Victor's waist, making them both squeak. Phichit's not the world's most subtle wingman, but he sure gets the job done. He even holds Yuuri's arm in place as they chat with the girl about her day, ignoring Yuuri's subtle yanks in attempt to free himself.
"—and then I saw the fairies," the girl says, lisping through her missing front teeth. "I'm going to be a fairy when I grow up."
"Fairy Prince Yuri would be delighted to have you in his retinue," says Victor.
"Fairy Prince Yuri hit someone with his wand," says the girl. "Someone touched his butt and he hit him!"
Victor and Phichit immediately start laughing, but Yuuri manages to damage-control the situation a little: "Ah, yes, fairies don't like to be touched," he says. He reaches back into his cooler and pulls out a little cheesecake slice, glancing at her parents for affirmation before offering it to the girl. "Here, try this. It's nice and cold for such a hot day."
"Thank you. I need to pee," the girl announces.
"The Royal Flush is over there behind the blacksmith," says Yuuri, pointing.
"I'll escort you," says Phichit, gathering his skirts again and holding out one hand. The girl slips hers into his, and they leave, the girl looking back over her shoulder to wave shyly.
"Rest you merry, fair maiden," Yuuri calls.
They fondly stare after her, Yuuri leaning against the handle of his cart. His arm is still around Victor's hips, and it's obvious when he notices, because he tenses up and then gingerly removes it.
"You're so good with children," says Victor.
"Thank you," says Yuuri. "Yuko has triplets. I used to babysit them a lot."
"Yuko is—a girlfriend?"
"A friend." Yuuri goes pink. "Ah—cry mercy, my lord, but I've got to sell all this cheesecake before it melts—"
"Oh. Of course," says Victor, disappointed, but a peek at the clock on the Canterbury Chapel reveals it's time for him to return to the front gate for his greeter shift. He smiles at Yuuri, hoping he doesn’t look as helplessly lovelorn as he feels. "Fare you well, Yuuri."
"God bye ye, Victor."
It's only as he walks away that he realizes that that was the first time Yuuri had spoken his name. He grins as he races to the castle parapets. It's small, he thinks, but it's progress.
*
JJ is actually a king in more than name: he's their shift leader. Victor doesn't mind; the guy is nice enough to him and cares deeply about his job, but it really boils Yuri's botvinya. He's got his face pressed between Otabek's pectorals as he grumpily mouths JJ's words along with him: "—no 'i' in team, and—Yuri, stop that, you know I hate when you do that—geez, Yuri, stop—"
Victor chuckles, turning to say something to Christophe—and that's when he notices Yuuri to his right, drifting a bit on his feet, eyelids fluttering.
The sun is brutally hot today, and their costumes are unforgivingly heavy. It took Victor ages to get used to his own clothing, the snug jacket and its thick, quilted lining, but now he's acclimated enough to wear an accompanying houppelande or headdress when he wants to look fancy. It's a matter of circulating the air, staying hydrated. Beads of sweat are trickling down the sides of Yuuri's face. He raises one hand and fans himself weakly, swaying back and forth—
"Yuuri!"
Phichit notices too, and he seizes him as he falls, yelping, but he can't support Yuuri's limp weight on his own. Victor lunges forward to help, cradling Yuuri's head in the crook of his elbow as he eases him to the ground. Yuuri is soft and hot in his arms. Way too hot. "Water," he commands, and his coworkers rush forward with bottles and one flask (goddamnit Christophe). He takes the nearest receptacle and unscrews the top, dumping some of the water into the handkerchief he carries around for authenticity. Gently, very gently, he begins to dab the sweat from Yuuri's temples.
This close, Victor can see the moist space between his lips, the long, dark fans of his eyelashes. He swallows hard. He gingerly unfastens the top two buttons of Yuuri's tunic, baring a gorgeous slip of collarbone. "Yuuri," he says softly, stroking one cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Yuuri, wake up."
"Should we call an ambulance?" Phichit frets, wringing his hands.
"Get him out of the sun first," says JJ.
Together, Victor and Otabek carry Yuuri into the shade of the large tree in the town square. Victor shrugs off his coat and lays it in the dust, then settles Yuuri atop it, lifting his sweaty head into his lap and stroking his bangs back. By now, Yuuri is stirring, his movements heavy and confused.
"Mmm," he murmurs, eyes still closed. "Victor…"
"Um?" says Victor, too surprised to be all, 'Yes, my darling?' about it.
"Ugh, Phichit, he's so fiiiiiine," Yuuri whines, rolling over so that his nose is directly in Victor's crotch.
Laughing nervously, Phichit scrambles over and elbows Victor aside, guiding Yuuri's head onto his own knee. "I think he'll be okay," he says. "Besides the, uh, nonsensical rambling. Can I get that water again? Thanks…"
He holds the bottle to Yuuri's chapped lips until he starts drawing tiny sips. Victor watches, heart thudding in his chest. It feels wrong to stare at Yuuri with sexual intent while he is only half-conscious, so Victor keeps his eyes above his waist, determined to ignore the growing heat in his codpiece. Slowly, Yuuri comes to. He looks blearily up at Phichit with a sweet, drowsy smile—then spots Victor and sits bolt upright, smacking his forehead soundly against Phichit's.
"Ah, fuck!" Phichit whines, and Christophe is all too happy to fuss over him, but Yuuri is busy bowing for some reason, hands clasped together.
"Sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble—sorry—"
"Are you okay?" JJ asks.
"Yes, I'm fine! What happened?
"You passed out," says Victor.
"Fuck that shit," says Yuri, cackling. "You swooned."
Yuuri stares at him in horror. "Swooned?"
"Yeah. Like, you fainted, except it was all slow-motiony and your airborne sweat glimmered like diamonds. Seriously, come work the Enchanted Forest with me. You get to throw glitter at children."
"I'll think about it," Yuuri says, but his smile is tired, disoriented. He drinks more water and sits up more fully. His cheeks are red with embarrassment.
"Pray pardon me, dost thou needeth a respite?" asks Victor softly.
"Yes," says Yuuri. "Yes, please."
*
They stroll through the Enchanted Forest, since Yuri put the idea in their minds. This early, before opening, the attraction is somehow miraculous, the grass dewy and the fake flower garlands bright spots in the white morning. Victor wishes he could hold Yuuri's hand. Instead, he keeps his fingers on his scabbard, pretending he is escorting a fair maiden through dangerous territory. That's the best thing about being a nobleman: he gets to play at being fancy, being heroic in his genteelness.
"I used to work here," he says, lifting aside a curtain of fake vines for Yuuri to duck beneath.
"Really?" asks Yuuri, after a long moment. "Why'd you stop?"
"I wanted to officially pass the torch to Yurio. Fairies are quite territorial, did you know that? Only one of us could be Prom Queen."
Yuuri laughs. He stoops to examine a fairy ring on the ground made of ceramic fly agarics, tenderly swiping one free of condensation. "I love working at the faire," he says. "It's magical. Every day I come here and wonder if I'm going to fly away on a dragon, or ride a unicorn, or be seduced by a cursed prince—" he pauses for a moment to check Victor's expression at his coming out, as if Victor's having been a fairy king weren't enough of a giveaway. Victor struggles to keep his face neutral, but he might be smiling a little bit, because Yuuri smiles back and ducks his head. "I've just always wanted to be a part of this."
"I know the feeling," says Victor. "I love the idealization here. The omission of diseases and poverty, the inclusion of plumbing in the privies—"
Illness and toilets. Very romantic, Victor. He breaks off. But Yuuri laughs again, a sound like bells.
They end up getting into the cotton candy machine, making huge, floaty swirls of sugar around the paper cones. Victor tears chunks free and places them straight into Yuuri's mouth, and they laugh together, Victor imagining what it'd be like to kiss his sweet, sticky lips clean.
*
Yuri or Phichit must've filled Yuuri in on what he'd said before he regained consciousness, because he avoids Victor like the plague the next weekend. He actually hides behind one of the petting zoo donkeys when Victor comes looking for him, pretending to be milking it, which is incredibly awkward for all parties involved. Victor takes the hint and sadly buggers off.
See, the problem is all of the unaired romantic tension between them, but now that Victor is reasonably sure that Yuuri returns his affections, he can begin planning his confession. His flash mob idea gets scrapped when it turns out that only Phichit and Leo are on board, so he dials it down a notch: flowers. Lots of flowers, and maybe something savory, like gourmet cashews, because Yuuri is probably pretty goddamn tired of cheesecake and other sweets by now.
"Yes, get him nuts," is Yuri's response, not looking up from his phone, "then bust one on his face."
"Immensely helpful, thank you," says Victor. No nuts, then. He'll do the roses. Six dozen, he's thinking.
"Holy shit, that's a lot of roses," Phichit says, when he finds out. "Why not make a more personalized gesture?"
Victor pouts. "He's not talking to me anymore. I don't know what kinds of things he likes."
Phichit puts a finger to his lips, thinking. "Well, back when we lived together in Detroit, he listened to a lot of really overwrought classical music whilst eating pudding shots and sobbing about how much he loves dogs a—"
"Dogs!" Victor shouts directly into Phichit's face. "Sorry, Phichit—cover for me during the noon skit, please, I need to run home—"
"I can't cover for you!" Phichit yells after him. "I'm just a washing wench!"
Victor drives back to his house, picks up Makkachin, then visits the florist to pick up the roses.
When he returns, the play is well under way on the main stage. Sara and Mila are swashbuckling, accessorized with real swords and high boots and feathered tricorn hats, gleaming gorgeously with sweat as they shout and lunge. Victor's scenes have already passed. He wonders briefly how Phichit filled in for him before he hears the squeaky wheels of Yuuri's cart, and smiles, alight with hope.
"Now how should we break the ice, Makkachin?" asks Victor. He glances down at the empty space beside him. "Makkachin? Oh, shi—"
Makkachin has slipped his leash and is bounding, yes, straight toward Yuuri, who is just backing around the corner of the wind-chime booth with the cheesecake cart in tow.
"Yuuri!" Victor yells, just a bit too late: Makkachin barks once and leaps, knocking Yuuri face first into the dirt, and begins to busily hump his ass.
"Phichit, this wasn't funny the first time, and it's not funny now," begins Yuuri, turning his head, but Makkachin takes the opportunity to lay a huge, sloppy kiss across his cheek. Yuuri squeaks in surprise. Makkachin's hips accelerate.
"Makkachin!" Victor cries, horrified. He races over to retrieve him, hauling him off of Yuuri. "I'm so sorry, Yuuri! I've never seen him behave this way!"
"It's okay," says Yuuri weakly. He stands up, brushing off his trousers and tunic, and turns. To Victor's surprise, his expression immediately brightens, and he reaches forward to begin ruffling Makkachin's fuzzy ears. "Such a misbehaved puppy! Do you like my butt? Are you a butt dog? My goodness, I'm flattered, but I'm not ready to take our relationship to that level yet. We just met each other! Didn't we? Didn't we, butt puppy?"
Victor watches, enchanted. Phichit wasn't lying when he said Yuuri loves dogs. "His name is Makkachin."
"Makkachin," Yuuri coos. "You look just like my old dog, V—" he breaks off suddenly.
"V—?" says Victor.
"Vvvvog," says Yuuri, after a long moment. "My old dog—Vog."
"What an interesting name! I don't believe I've ever heard it before."
"Me either," Yuuri says. His cheeks flame. He stoops to hug Makkachin, burying his face in his fluff, and Victor has to bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from squealing in adoration.
"I have something in my car for you," Victor whispers.
Yuuri lifts his head. "Sorry?"
Victor clears his throat and speaks up. "I have something in my car for you."
"Oh?" asks Yuuri. "Is it another sexually frustrated dog?"
Victor laughs. "No," he says. "It's—pray just follow me, sir." He offers his arm to Yuuri, and is delighted when Yuuri actually takes it.
*
They walk to the car in shy silence. It's a decent distance; the dusty lot is a few blocks down the road, so as not to interfere with the immersion of the fair. Makkachin plods along happily, perfectly well-behaved now, and Yuuri holds the leash. Victor studies him in profile: Yuuri's smooth, sweat-beaded forehead, the curves of his full lips. He needs Chapstick. Victor digs in one of his pockets and produces a tube, which Yuuri accepts, fumbling off the cap with his gloved fingers and applying it without wiping the top first. When he passes it back, their hands touch. Victor's ears burn pleasantly as they reach his silver Accord.
"Oh," says Yuuri, immediately seeing the huge horizon of red roses in the backseat. He buries his face in the crook of one elbow. "Oh my god. This isn't happening."
Victor unlocks the door and frees one of the roses, stripping it of thorns before passing it off, tender. Yuuri accepts it without looking up. Victor thinks he might be crying.
"Yuuri Katsuki," says Victor, gently placing one finger under his chin to lift it. "'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.' Will you do me the honor of going out with me?"
"Aye," Yuuri manages. He looks up. Big tears slide down his cheeks. He's an adorably ugly crier. "Victor," he stammers, "I—I used to come to the faire with my p-parents when I was a child. You were still the Fairy King. I admired you s-so much, the way you made people smile, your hair, your laugh—and I thought, 'I want to be a part of this.' B-but I never imagined that you yourself—that you c-could n-notice me—"
"Yuuri," says Victor, staring him directly in the eyes, "I am smitten."
Yuuri lets out a happy, hiccupy sob. He smells the flower. "'That which we call a rose' etcetera, etcetera," he says, and leans in to give him a quick, chaste kiss on the lips.
Makkachin woofs.
*
On their last weekend in July, Victor pays Leo the minstrel to follow Yuuri around all day and serenade him, which backfires a bit, because Nicki Minaj's 'Your Love' apparently has a ridiculously racist music video and sounds really creepy on a psaltery. But it's the thought that counts. Leo ends his set with an old English version of 'Baby Got Back' ("Ye Gods, Rebekah, behold her buttocks!") before leaving Yuuri laughing near the privies. Victor waits for him to change, smiling up at the stars, so clear without competition from the low torchlight. The faire is officially over. The grounds are dark, swept free of litter.
Yuuri eventually emerges from the bathroom in faded jeans and a Mother of Dragons crop top, costume draped over his shoulder on a hanger. It's the first time Victor has seen him in street clothes, and it stops his heart. Yuuri takes Victor's hand and they go to check their uniforms back in, standing in line behind Phichit and Christophe, who are sloppily making out.
"Yoooo," says Yuri, planting his foot at the small of Phichit's back. "Save it for RedTube."
It's become a sort of running joke with everyone now, and it never fails to make Yuuri blush and groan. He buries his face in Victor's shoulder, and Victor laughs, fondly recalling that bygone conversation.
"This felt like such a short season," he says.
"Are you kidding? It dragged ass," says Yuri, but he's smiling as he leans into Otabek, face still dusted with glitter.
"'Parting is such sweet—'" Victor begins.
"Ha!" Phichit and Yuri shout, and Victor remembers belatedly that at the beginning of the summer, they'd made a bet that whoever abused that quote first had to pay for late-night-midlife-crisis Denny's after costume check-in. He whines.
"Nothing has to end," says Yuuri softly. "We'll keep in touch, right? We all have each other's numbers?"
"Of course," says Victor, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
He waits until everyone else is engaged in conversation before pulling the little velvet box out of his coat pocket. Yuuri sees it and starts to jerk away instinctively; Victor hauls him back, laughing. "No, don't panic," he says. "Just a little gift for you. It doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to mean."
Yuuri watches with some apprehension as he opens it, then breaks into a radiant smile. It's a simple gold ring in the shape of a tiny crown. He bought it from Minami's handmade jewelry stand. The blue crystals glimmer as Victor slips it onto Yuuri's right finger, and Yuuri raises his hand, admiring it in the buttery moonlight. "Thank you," he says. "I love it. Actually, um—"
He swings his backpack off his shoulder and reaches into the front compartment, pulling out an identical box.
Elated, Victor opens it: it's a similarly gold band, but its curves are delicately engraved with the veins of fairy wings, encrusted in the middle with a silvery chunk of smoky quartz. He slides it onto his finger, the same one as Yuuri's, and lays a long kiss in his dark hair. They link hands, their right ones. Victor lifts Yuuri's to his mouth and presses his lips to his knuckles, letting them linger there, soft and dry.
"My love," he says.
"My king," Yuuri returns.
"My stomach," says Yuri, making vomiting sounds.
The costumes glimmer as JJ tallies them and hangs them onto the wheeled rack, his smirk wistful. Ahead of them, Phichit and Christophe flirt in low, seductive tones, and Yuri and Otabek's mouths sparkle tellingly with glitter. Victor holds Yuuri close, counting stars as the summer evening breeze carries across the grounds, still alive with magic.
Anything can happen.