Chapter Text
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YP
It’s always his smile that Yuri Plisetsky notices first. The gentle curve of his lips, the dimples on his pink cheeks, the dark expressive eyes crinkling at the edges.
It’s breathtaking to the point where Yuri has a hard time looking away.
Today, he’s in a dance studio, sat on the floor, doing stretches. He looks up when he catches sight of Yuri out of the corner of his eye and waves at him in greeting.
Yuri, with his heart trying to beat out of his chest, dumbly waves back.
“Hello…” he says, but no voice comes out.
The figure seems to understand. He beams at Yuri and mouths a ‘hello’ back.
Yuri finds himself subconsciously drifting closer to the figure, who watches him approach with a wide and excited smile, all but hopping up to his feet like a hyperactive kid.
He is ethereal.
“Hello.” Yuri says again, but still no voice. But that doesn’t matter. He’d gotten used to it after the first dozen times this had happened. First dozen times being years ago, when Yuri was first learning how to skate.
Communication is impossible when you can’t hear or be heard.
The figure smiles again and Yuri finds himself staring again as he reaches out a hand to touch dark hair.
As always, his hand goes straight through.
The figure giggles silently, causing Yuri to scowl.
Shut up.” he snaps, and again, no sound.
The figure continues giggling, going so far as to putting a hand over his mouth to conceal that smile of his, though twinkling eyes continue mocking him.
If he could, Yuri would slap him upside the head. But he can’t, so instead, he crosses his arms across his chest and glares at the figure with no real heat. Just until the idiot notices his lack of amusement.
Which he finally does after a long minute. He conveys his apology in the way he looks up at him from beneath dark lashes, eyes wide and innocent in a way Yuri could never mimic, even in his youth.
‘Mine’, Yuri wants to say. But cannot, will not let it out of his mouth. Not until the figure is a physical being, not until he’s curled up safely in Yuri’s embrace, not until the figure gives himself completely to Yuri.
So he says instead, “Soon.”
The figure only stares up at Yuri and Yuri finds himself unable to look away from those dark orbs.
There is infinite in his eyes.
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YP
They had met when Yuri was barely five. He had been skating shakily across the empty rink when the feel of a presence had had him giving pause. And there, at the entrance, he’d spotted a small dark-headed figure watching him with eyes wide and brimming with curiosity. But when he noticed Yuri’s attention was on him, he’d booked it.
He next saw the figure when he was wandering around a dance studio. The place was also eerily deserted, save for one room, where Yuri caught the figure going through the step sequence of what he later learnt to be beginner’s ballet.
That is where Yuri had managed to corner him and discovered that they could neither talk nor hear sound. Or touch.
That one had given them quite a fright.
So, instead of interacting with the figure, Yuri urged the figure to continue training. And on days where they were at the rink, the figure would take a seat and encourage Yuri to skate.
So Yuri skated. And the figure danced. For fifteen years.
He doesn’t know when or how it happened, just that it did. Somewhere along the way, Yuri fell, and he fell hard . And by the time Yuri had mastered his step sequences and his quads, he knew it was too late to have a choice.
This figure, this angel from his dreams , had captured his heart. There was no one else for him now, only the man who didn’t exist…
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YP
Sometimes, Yuri is standing in the middle of the dance studio, and the figure dances around him (he seemed to know a range of dance styles), slender legs moving so fast, that they’re a blur to Yuri’s eyes. Yuri would just stare and stare.
Other times, Yuri would be skating at the local ice rink, while the figure cheers him from the seats, or sometimes, when prompted enough times, he would even join Yuri.
And other times, they were walking down the empty streets of Moscow, or an oriental spa of some sort, or bare feet on the sandy shores of a beach.
Every time they meet, the figure greets Yuri with that same blinding smile that always seems to stop his heart.
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YP
When Yuri awakens, he instantly wishes he was asleep again. Wishes he could bask in the soft gaze of the stranger in his dreams.
Instead, he pulls himself off his bed and prepares for another long day of nothing but ice.
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YK
“You were wonderful, darling!” Madame Camille sobs out as she all but squeezes Yuuri Katsuki to death, “I couldn’t be prouder!”
Yuuri himself is too overcome with tears to demand release, and only hugs back tightly.
He’d done it. His solo debut as an adult ballet dancer is finally done. And he pulled it off marvellously, if he does say so himself. Now he can go home.
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YK
He’s balanced on the balls of his right foot, one hand graciously reaching out to the sky, when he feels that familiar presence. He lowers his other foot and turns to smile at the blonde haired stranger as he enters the room.
“Hello.” he says, though no voice comes out.
The stranger seems to understand and nods his greeting. He takes a seat on the conveniently placed chair in the middle of the studio, while Yuuri resumes his warmups.
This is how it always is.
And Yuuri, who is usually so self-conscious and timid, finds that he’s surprisingly comfortable when the figure watches him dance.
He wonders if this is because he’s in a dream, or if it really is the stranger’s presence that sets him at ease.
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YP
Yuri adjusts his hood so that it covers most of his face. He hates being recognized, though the pale hair falling over his eyes alone is enough to conceal his identity.
A glance at his phone tells him that they should be boarding the flight to Dubai any minute now.
And after a three day stop in Dubai, he’ll take the next flight to Tokyo, where he is to have his next skating competition.
He’ll take gold, easy.
The voice over the PA announces that his flight is ready to board. Yuri waits another ten minutes before he shoves his phone in his pocket and pulls himself to his feet. He slings his carryon over his back and lines up behind the now very short line at the business class lineup.
That’s when he catches sight of him.
Of course it’s the smile he notices first. Followed by those kind, kind eyes…
His jaw drops to the floor as he watches the young man, the figure from his dreams, lips parted in an honest smile as he talks to an older woman with dark hair that looks like it’s recently been grown out.
What. The. Fuck.
No really.
The woman catches him staring and Yuri can’t find it in himself to look away, even as she - no doubt - tells the figure about it. She stops him from looking by grabbing his face and Yuri finds his hands clenching into painfully tight fists as he watches; feeling unnervingly possessive.
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YK
“Hey, Yuuri, I don’t want to alarm you or anything...but some guy is staring at you…” Minako says as she looks uneasily at something behind Yuuri.
“Huh?”
“Don’t look...but, oh God, he’s not looking away. That is so creepy…”
“What?” Yuuri says as he attempts to turn to follow Minako’s gaze, but the woman grabs his face none too gently and holds him still.
“I said: don’t look!” she whisper-shouts, “Jeez, kid, you really don’t wanna get caught looking. He looks like he could kill you with one finger.”
“I highly doubt that, Mina.” Yuuri says, rolling his eyes.
“Wow...he looks pissed.”
“Because you’re staring, Mina.” Yuuri points out tiredly, “And please let go of my face, it’s our turn.”
Mina releases him and Yuuri smiles politely at the checkpoint attendant as he hands over his ticket before proceeding inside.
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YP
He can’t stop staring. Even as the figure catches his gaze again, looking more and more paranoid each time.
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YK
“Okay, Mina, you’re right. He won’t stop staring…” Yuuri half cries as his gaze accidentally locks onto the hooded figure for the third time. “I think he wants to kill me…”
Mina laughs at that. “Well he can’t achieve that in a plane, so you’re safe for now.”
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YK
But he’s not.
Because as soon as the seatbelt signs turn off, the guy (who still hasn’t stopped staring!) gets up from his seat and starts to make his way over to them.
“Mina!” Yuuri grabs Minako’s hand, jerking her out of her half-asleep haze. “He’s coming to kill me!” he whispers in a panic.
“Relax, won’t you?” Mina grumbles, “He probably recognized you from that performance in Paris.”
“You, old hag, move.” a thick Russian accented voice cuts in.
There is a long beat of silence as both Yuuri and Mina look at the figure. His hood is covering most of his face and his pale hair concealing what little skin that’s left.
Mina bristles. “Excuse me?” she demands loudly.
People from the surrounding aisles shoot irritated looks their way.
“Are you deaf? I said: move, сука (bitch).”
Yuuri doesn’t know what that means, but it certainly isn’t anything good.
“Oh please no…” he gasps, and lunges to put his hand over Mina’s mouth before the woman could explode.
She glares at the stranger. Then at him.
“Mina, please…” he warns, desperation lacing his voice. The last time she had gotten angry during a flight, the two had ended up getting banned from Air France for a whole year.
“Are you gonna move or not?” the stranger demands.
“Not.” Mina snaps back, when Yuuri finally removes his hand.
The only-just-visible lips tilt up in a smirk as the stranger leans in and undoes Yuuri’s seat belt. And that’s the only warning he gets, before a strong hand wraps around his arm and jerks him out of his seat.
He lets out a startled squeak as the momentum carries him into the stranger’s arms. And in the next moment, he’s being dragged away by said stranger to the other side of the plane, where two empty seats await. Mina only waves an unsympathetic goodbye, before putting on a sleeping mask to resume her nap.
Yuuri is shoved unceremoniously into the window side, his escape quickly blocked by the stranger, who takes the aisle seat.
And then pulls up the armrest separating their seats.
And then leans in dangerously close to whisper. “Мой (mine)…”
And then he kisses Yuuri.
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YP
Okay, so maybe there were better ways to go about confronting the person who has plagued your dreams (and fantasies) since before you can remember. At least better than dragging him to your plane seat and then proceeding to kiss him without any warning. (It wasn’t even a good kiss, what with his hair falling over his face and the figure’s lack of response.)
So Yuri can’t really say that he didn’t deserve that slap.
“What the fuck?!” he yells as he jumps back in his seat. He has half a mind to attack the bastard right there and then (fucking twig stands no chance), but opts for fixing him with a death glare instead. “What was that for?!”
“You tell me!” the stranger yells back, looking a mixture of scared shitless and downright angry (it’s a hilarious combination), “Who are you?! What do you want?! Why did you steal me from my seat?!”
“You don’t fucking recognize me?!”
“...am I supposed to?”
It’s then that Yuri realizes that his face is barely visible underneath his Russia-themed hoodie. So with an annoyed sigh, he rips it from his head and peeks up at the stranger from behind his pale bangs.
He’s deeply satisfied when he sees the stranger’s dark eyes widen and his jaw drop.
“Wha…?”
Yuri smirks.
The stranger stares.
Yuri smirks some more.
The stranger stares even more.
With patience that he didn’t even know he had, Yuri calmly lets the man from his dreams come down from his shock and gather his thoughts. Or, well, either it’s patience, or Yuri just likes looking at that pretty face.
“You-you’re…him…from…from my dreams…”
“Yes.”
The stranger gawks at Yuri some more.
Yuri, usually very averse to being stared at, lets him.
“The name’s Yuri.” he says when it doesn’t look like conversation is going to happen any time soon.
The stranger jumps at his voice, and then, seemingly coming back to himself, blushes the prettiest of blushes before mumbling shyly, “Hello Yuri.” (and isn’t his voice just music?)
But then the rest of the words catch up to him.
“Wait, no, I’m Yuuri.” he says.
Yuri blinks. “No, you’re not, I am.”
“But…I’m Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki.”
“Plisetsky.”
They both stare. And then Yuri’s heart literally stops beating when Yuuri Katsuki’s lips split into a smile. The same smile he always enjoys staring at in his dreams. The same smile that he always wants to kiss.
So he does.
He carefully cups Yuuri’s chin in his hand and tilts his head upwards. His other hand comes up to rest on back of his head as he guides him closer. He does it slowly, allowing Yuuri the opportunity to pull away.
He doesn’t.
Good.
So without further hesitation, Yuri leans down and captures Yuuri’s lips with his own.
It’s soft and pure and everything Yuri imagined it would be…and more. Far, far more.
Yuuri leans back and they part for air (Yuri prefers he didn’t; air’s not that important).
“Hello Yuri…” Yuuri whispers, eyes glowing with affection as he brings a hand up to move the hair from Yuri’s face. He smiles gain when both of Yuri’s blue-green eyes are visible. “It’s nice to finally meet you…”
His touch is so soft and delicate that Yuri can’t stop himself from muttering, “Мой (mine)…” once more, before moving in and kissing Yuuri a third time.
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YK
Part of Yuuri believes that he’s still dreaming. But the other part remembers that in his dreams, they’d never been able to make physical or verbal contact with each other. Yet here he is, with his hands running through pale blonde hair as larger hands cup his face to keep him in place.
Yuri Plisetsky. That’s his name.
And isn’t that a miracle in and of itself? That the two would somehow share the same name?
“Tell me something…” Yuri murmurs, as they pull apart to breathe again, though his hands – weirdly possessive – never leave its place, “Do you actually dance? Or is it something you just like to dream about?”
“Of course I dance.” Yuuri says, “I actually just made my senior debut in ballet.”
“Just ballet? I’m sure that I’ve seen you dance other styles.”
This makes Yuuri smile before explaining, “I’ve dabbled. A little contemporary here, some jazz there. I’ve even done some paso doble, though Mina’s my only dance partner. And she hates ballroom dancing.”
“Oh…that’s…oh…”
“But of course, ballet will always come first. I’ve been doing it since I was a toddler…”
“Cute…” Yuri says, and Yuuri finds himself blushing.
“What about you?” he says before he can get too flustered, “I’ve seen you do those impossible jumps at the rink. Are you really a professional ice skater?”
“Of course. In fact…I am on my way to Tokyo for a competition.”
“Really?! That’s amazing!” Yuuri exclaims, “And in Tokyo?! I’m headed there too!”
Yuri leans in again, hand coming to rest on his face. “Well then, you must come and watch me win gold.”
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