Chapter Text
Yuuri knows that in someone’s eyes, he’s taking this celebrity crush a little too far.
And he agrees.
He knows that the possibility of ending up with Victor Nikiforov, let alone anybody, was close to nothing. Why would the Victor Nikiforov want anything to do with a slobbish overweight twenty three year old man who writes fanfiction about him? Yuuri also knew that every word he wrote was one step farther from moving on from this so called celebrity crush.
But, if we were all honest here, that was a cause that was lost years ago.
The silvered haired man groaned in exhaustion, relieved to be home after a long day of working. There were still boxes scattered across the penthouse that needed to be unpacked, but Victor could summon no spare energy to even look at them. He plopped on the sofa (one of the very few pieces of furniture that were usable at the moment), and felt like he never wanted to get up again. There was a space of emptiness that lingered in the pit of his stomach, and it made it oh the more obvious that Makkachin wasn’t here. His manager didn’t allow him to bring the poodle, and now, Victor was cold and alone in an unfamiliar place. It almost reminded him of
No. No. No. He couldn’t write this. This was suppose to be a light hearted reader insert, targeting to others, not Yuuri. This wasn’t suppose to be about the struggles of loss and finding purpose once again.
Yuuri kept hundreds of files on his google drive full of the kind of content he yearned to write. Tens of thousands of words were spent each day writing about the true, human Victor Nikiforov. The Victor Nikiforov inside closed doors, the pain behind the his smiles, and the reminiscence of the boy who Yuuri had fallen for in the first place, the one filled with passion and beauty and inspiration.
Most fans didn’t want that type of content. They longed for love at first sight, marriage after a month, and things so cliche like Victor being possessive and attentive. His readers wanted Victor Nikiforov, not Victor.
If Yuuri was going to truly write, it was going to be about his Victor ( Yuuri flinched. He was making it sound like Victor was an object, a mere prize that someone can win. It gave him a weird feeling in his gut), the one who loved his dog, struggled with self-doubt sometimes, and who was flawed. The Victor who would skate with his heart on his sleeve. Perfectly imperfect.
But he couldn’t stop posting. Too many people had commented how happy his updates made them (no matter how bad his writing was), and he would rather suffer through writing painstakingly fake chapters if someone out in the world was happy because of them.
It made Yuuri embarrassed about how he was craving for such an intimacy that he shouldn’t even been fantasizing about in the first place. He should be writing novels or poems or at least something that didn’t involve that beautiful silver haired man. Then maybe one day, he can look back at how silly he was for writing about him, and delete all of his accounts. Maybe he could get actual publishing then, and do something with his degree in Creative Writing.
But hey, that will be the day. Besides, Yuuri should be able to be content with giving something his readers enjoy, content with having the freedom to write about Victor at all. Yuuri was content.
It seemed like every word he wrote was trying to convince himself the same thing.
The silver haired man sighed in content, happy to be home after a long day of meeting fans and trying on new looks that were in the latest magazines. It was a Friday night and to celebrate Victor moving in and the start of the weekend, Victor thought that maybe a last minute party would be fun. He gracefully sat down on the long sofa, pulling out his phone to text his friend Christophe to send out invitations for him. Not even a few minutes later he received a response, so Victor started to call people to set up some refreshments for the guests that would be arriving that evening. The last thing Victor needed to do was to ready himself to look as good as possible (which wasn’t hard to do, he was Victor Nikiforov). He decided that the wool armani three piece suit he had would have to do tonight considering his better ones were still being shipped to his new apartment. He put his poodle in his kennel and left him in that laundry room for the night, almost forgetting to feed the poor creature he was so excited for the party.
Little did he know that he was about to meet someone that was going to change his life forever.
Yuuri wanted to vomit. It took him almost 15 minutes to get a single paragraph of this garbage in and the next fifty were promising to be just as hard. Everything sounded so...wrong. Yuuri made Victor seem so carefree and shallow and he even added that Victor almost forgot to feed Makkachin, even locking him in the laundry room. Yuuri hoped that he would get through this chapter, just like he had the last one, and the one before that. He wondered if Victor felt the same way about his work too.
Yuuri snorted. It was time to get to work.
~
More links. It’s been awhile since Victor had received this link through his various social medias, but apparently not long enough. Victor likes participating and acknowledging his fans, but sometimes, it’s advised not to. Twenty years of fame had taught him that some of his fans don’t care about sending links with viruses or sending links leading him to various porn and black market sites, so clicking on links are something Victor doesn’t do.
But this was almost ridiculous.
He get’s about a few links to this fanfiction once every few days at best, a few times an hour at worst. Victor found it cute that his fans would spend the time and creativity to write about him, and he knows he has a better tolerance for fan fiction than some of his other coworkers. He had never gone out of his way to read them anyways ( He never had the time to do anything these days), but after a few months of this spamming to his Twitter, Instagram, and even to his Facebook that he had left abadnoned for almost seven years, he was tempted to find out what exactly was so interesting about it.
When his mouse loomed over the link, Victor felt like he was expecting an electric shock, or something that would change his mind and tell him that he should be doing something else, and not wasting precious time. Nothing came. Victor was going to read a fanfiction about himself. He smiled.
He clicked the link.