Chapter Text
“Yuuuuri~”
It's a generous three second warning - just enough time to catch sight of a blur of silver hair.
Yuuri yelps and braces himself for the impact but it's a futile exercise. Viktor is all lean muscle and sweet intentions. In short order, Yuuri falls victim to Viktor's flying tackle, flattened against the top of his desk with the air punched out of his lungs.
Yuuri flails his arms weakly, slapping his desk in the universal sign for tapping out. “Off,” he wheezes.
The weight on his back is lifted. He sucks in a deep breath of air and turns his head to glare at Viktor. There's a blush of repentance on Viktor's cheeks. Cute. Viktor has some shame left.
Viktor gives him a smile that wobbles at the corners and pats him on the back gingerly. “You okay?”
Yuuri nods and sucks in another lungful of air. He tolerates another five seconds of pets before sitting up and shrugging off Viktor's hand.
“Let's be partners!” Viktor chirps.
Yuuri squints and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Viktor's teeth are unfairly white. “Did you switch your toothpaste?”
“What?” Viktor wrinkles his nose and tilts his head to the side, bangs falling across his eyes.
Yuuri curls his hands into fists, fighting the urge to tuck Viktor's hair behind his ears. It's not like they're still in kindergarten art class with Viktor whining for help as long strands of his hair hang dangerously close to the mason jars of gloopy paint.
They're in senior year of high school for goodness sakes. A familiar ache in his chest starts throbbing; he pushes it away and forces himself to focus on the present.
“Your teeth,” Yuuri says. “They're very bright. Are you using a new toothpaste?”
Viktor tosses his head back, hair falling neatly into place. The corners of his mouth turn up in a wide grin, showing his teeth off to full effect. “Maybe that's a secret. It tastes pretty good too.” He punctuates this last bit with a broad wink.
Yuuri laughs and gives him a light shove. “Don't be silly. Who would want to eat toothpaste?”
“You'd be surprised,” Viktor says with a pout.
He ignores Viktor's nonsensical rambling and makes a mental note to check the toothpaste brand for himself the next time he is over at the Nikiforov’s apartment. “Don't you want to work with Chris? I was gonna ask Phichit if he wants to partner up.”
“Too late,” Viktor reports, pointing to the side.
Yuuri follows the direction of his finger and finds Phichit glued to Seung-gil, the new transfer student. To the right of them, Chris is hanging off of his crush Masumi, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
Yuuri clicks his tongue. “I can't believe they’re using this project as an excuse to flirt,” he grumbles. “I guess we’re stuck with each other.”
It's his miscalculation. He didn't realize Ms. Baranovskaya would announce the project so early. He should've gotten Phichit to agree in advance to partner up.
Viktor makes a strange squawking noise, not unlike a dying chicken.
Yuuri whips his head back to Viktor, eyes growing wide in alarm. Viktor's face - or what he can see of it - is beet red and he's coughing into his elbow. “Are you okay? Do you need water?”
Yuuri snatches up his water bottle and shoves it at him. Viktor grabs it and fumbles with the cap for three heart stopping seconds before successfully twisting it off. Viktor takes several gulps in quick succession. Yuuri holds onto the bottom of bottle to steady it.
Viktor lowers the bottle, swiping his lips against the back of his hand and takes a deep breath. “I'm fine. Accidentally swallowed my gum.”
“Ahah,” Yuuri says with petty satisfaction. He makes grabby hands for the bottle and Viktor hands it over. Yuuri takes several generous swigs and feels the spike of panic fading away. Between the two of them, the previously full bottle only has an inch of water left. He recaps it and sets it back on the desk. “Serves you right for keeping secrets. You're a terrible best friend.”
Viktor snorts and makes a face, the very picture of inelegance.
All of the underclassmen who swoon over thehandsome prince of Eastbrook High have little to no concept of Viktor's true self.
He is indeed easy on the eyes with his shiny silver hair and killer abs - the result of extensive workouts on and off the ice as the captain of the hockey team. But he's nobody's pretty, dumb jock. His grade point average is impressive with his horde of academic awards almost as extensive as his collection of athletic medals and trophies.
Viktor is charming, athletic, and brainy. And as if that isn't enough to have every college recruiter within a 200 mile radius drooling to snatch him up, there is a bonus cherry on top of the attractive package. Viktor is the son of a Russian diplomat with a silver tongue for languages. He's fluent in Russian, English, and French with a working knowledge of another heaping handful.
Oh. And Viktor Nikiforov is a huge dork and a major homebody bookworm.
The loud rapping of the ruler against the metal rim of the blackboard has the whole class snapping their attention to the front of the room and scrambling for a chair.
Yuuri corrects his slouch and throws back his shoulders. Even Minako-sensei would be satisfied with his posture. Viktor drops down into the seat next to him.
Ms. Baranovskaya is strict but fair with exacting standards. Rumor has it that before she became a high school home economics teacher, she ghost wrote several national magazine columns on manners and etiquette.
She is also infamous for her beast of a final project. In all other classes, teachers have long thrown in their towels against the fight to senioritis by the time spring semester rolls around. She alone perseveres in a semester-long, multidisciplinary capstone. At this point, it's practically a rite of passage to complete and a badge of honor to ace her capstone.
The student pair earning the top grade for the project receive coveted cupcakes as their reward - fluffy golden wonders handmade by Ms. Baranovskaya herself with perfectly piped buttercream chocolate frosting. And, of course, endless bragging rights.
Ms. Baranovskaya surveys her domain with a sweep of eyes across the classroom. “It looks like you have all identified partners without loss of life or limb,” she says dryly. “We’ll proceed to picking lots to determine the order for selecting.”
Under her instructions, each pair scribbles their names on a slip of paper and folds it up before passing it to the front of the room. Ms. Baranovskaya sweeps all the papers into a jar and swirls the collection around with her hand.
A quiver of anxiety slides down Yuuri’s spine. He has terrible luck.
One by one, each pair gets called to the front of the classroom and examines the options in the bin before making their selection and returning to their seats.
Yuuri cuts his eyes to Viktor. Ms. Baranovskaya’s jar is emptying rapidly.
Viktor reaches across the aisle and squeezes his hand. Yuuri focuses on the feeling of Viktor's touch. It's solid and familiar. Warm and safe.
Finally, it's down to the last two pieces of paper in the jar. Yuuri squints. From this distance, it's impossible to guess which of the two is the one he scribbled on.
Ms. Baranovskaya pulls out a slip. “Isabella and Jean-Jacques,” she announces.
The pair walk to the front, hand in hand, and have a quick discussion over the bin that ends with JJ picking up a small package. It fits easily in the palm of one hand.
Yuuri bites back a sigh. His bad luck is in fine form today. They're dead last to pick. As Ms. Baranovskaya is reading out their names, Viktor grabs hold of Yuuri’s hand even tighter and drags him to the front of the room.
There is one package left tucked in the corner of the giant bin. It looks forlorn and neglected with a smudge of dirt along the side.
It's an ordinary 5 pound bag of all purpose unbleached flour without even a recognizable brand name to distinguish it or add flair. It's store brand - Quality Foods Gold Medal Flour - and everything about it screams generic and tryhard from the plain font and tacky yellow emblem to the bold assurances plastered across the front that the taste is comparable to name brands and perfect for all baking needs.
Viktor squeezes his hand before letting go and picks the bag up with both hands, tucking it protectively against his chest.
Yuuri can feel some of his misgivings melt away to be replaced by determination. So what if they got the most boring choice by default after all the other groups called dibs on the fancier options.
Competitive is his middle name and Viktor is no slouch in a fight either. They're going to make this work and win.