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“You missed him again,” Mila says when she hears the door of the ice cream shop jingle. She doesn’t bother looking up from her phone.
“Oh?” Viktor walks around to the other side of the counter and starts pulling off his jacket. “Who?”
“What do you mean ‘who?’” Mila slaps her phone down and glares at Viktor. “Him! The strange beautiful boy I told you about!”
“The one with big brown puppy dog eyes who spent twenty minutes staring at the flavor board and then ate alone at the corner table last week?” Viktor ties his apron strings behind his back. “Don’t you think you’re a little obsessed with him?”
Mila rolls her eyes and picks up her phone again, her elbows planted on the counter next to the register. “Our very own workplace weirdo and you don’t even appreciate him.”
“So he’s a little eccentric.”
“Who orders a scoop of mint with a scoop of banana?” Mila asks. “Someone who doesn’t understand how human taste buds work,” she answers for him. “That’s who.”
“Mila…” Viktor tries to sound exasperated but only just manages not to laugh.
“I just hope I’m on schedule when the mothership finally comes to retrieve him.”
+
“Missed him again,” Mila announces when Viktor arrives to work a week later. She’s busy drawing pumpkins on their sidewalk sandwich board, announcing the arrival of November’s new flavor of the month.
“Who?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know.” She caps the orange marker and reaches for the green. “He ordered a milkshake with ginger and flaked coconut.”
Viktor looks at the ceiling, considering. “Well, that’s...not too weird.”
“With strawberry syrup.” Mila looks over her shoulder. “Sara thinks he might be a food critic.”
“Because he wanted strawberry syrup?”
“Because it took him nearly an hour to eat it.”
“Well, it probably didn’t taste great,” Viktor snorts. “I don’t know if I’d jump to food critic.”
“What, like that’s more far-fetched than him being an alien?”
It’s not, of course, but it’s also not as fun.
+
“Okay, new theory.”
Viktor only shakes his head, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Let me guess…”
Mila hands a customer back their change and wipes her hands on her apron. “Don’t pretend like you’re not interested.”
“I wouldn’t say—” Viktor begins when Mila thrusts her phone in his face.
“Sara took a video.”
“I—” Viktor gently takes Mila’s hand and eases the phone down from his face—“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
“Yeah, well, so is being the boss of an underground drug syndicate.”
Viktor freezes with his mouth open—his eyebrows knitted together in a silent question. “Okay. I’ll bite.”
Mila taps play on the video and they both hover over it, watching as a slightly pixelated figure sits at the corner table—arms folded over his stomach—eating a cup of ice cream bite after excruciatingly slow bite. “Rum raisin and peach, by the way,” Mila comments. “He’s clearly trying to figure out which weird ice cream concoction best hides the taste of hard drugs.”
Viktor can’t help but feel a little sad for the boy in the video. He can’t see him clearly, but he’s staring out the window, hunched and dejected-looking despite being little more than a blur of indecipherable features on Mila’s smudged phone screen. “Why would he want to dissolve drugs into ice cream?”
“I don’t know, Viktor, it’s not like I’m in the business” Mila rolls her eyes and deposits the phone back in her pocket. “Alternatively, he’s a jilted husband escaping his unhappy married life.”
“But he feels guilty about it so he only orders weird flavor combinations as self-retribution,” Viktor adds without thinking.
“See, I knew you were on board.” Mila lifts her apron strap over her head. “Now if you need me, too bad. I’m taking a lunch,” she winks, heading towards the break room.
“You’re an awful influence,” Viktor yells after her. He only half means it.
+
Viktor finally has his own encounter with Beautiful Mystery Boy (or ‘BMB’ as he and Mila have since dubbed him) nearly two weeks later. He has the closing shift and is scooping up a sugar cone of fresh strawberry for a little girl and her dads when the door jingles with another customer.
Viktor doesn’t see anyone when he glances up to hand over the cones, but he finds the new customer once he's moved back to the register. The boy is hovering at the corner of the counter: round cheeks and red ears and his eyebrows knit in concentration. Viktor can’t see his eyes behind the green and pink neon reflecting on his glasses, but somehow he knows who it is. He blames Mila’s hype for the way his heart skips a beat at the sight of him.
“Can I help you with anything?” Viktor asks in his lilting customer service voice. He wants to make contact, if for no other reason than to regale Mila with entertaining stories of their personal workplace cryptid.
The boy presses his mouth together and visibly swallows. “Um, no. Thanks. I’m just...deciding.”
His voice is soft and gentle and the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck is maddeningly cute.
Viktor had promised Makkachin at least a month of no dating after the black hole of drama and negativity that was his latest ex. ‘But I never said anything about crushes,’ Viktor thinks as he moves towards the Beautiful Mystery Boy and finally gets the first glimpse of his eyes—pointed away at the menu board but big and dark and sweeter looking than any of the store’s offered flavors.
Viktor takes a sample spoon and dips it into the vat of pecan praline. “Try this one,” he says, offering the spoon to the strangely alluring customer. “I’m pretty good at guessing people’s favorites.” He’s not, but it worked for Juliette Binoche in ‘Chocolat,’ so why not him?
The boy startles a little and takes the sample with mildly trembling fingers that make Viktor think of a bunny or maybe a newborn puppy. Whichever it is, he’s more tiny animal than human and Viktor’s really starting to lose his mind over it. “So what do you think?” He prompts when the boy slips the wooden spoon into his mouth. “You can be honest.”
“It’s good.” The boy says quickly, his eyes shining and serious and pointed more at the white tiled floor than at Viktor’s face.
“Yeah?” Viktor feels a surge of pride. Move over Juliette Binoche. “You can be honest.”
“Well—” the beautiful boy licks his lips—“it’s kind of icy. And—” He trails off, depositing the sample spoon in the little tub on top of the display. “I do like Häagen-Dazs praline, though,” he says as if that makes it any less of a crushing blow to Viktor’s heart.
He orders peppermint stick with mango boba and Viktor watches him eat it alone at his corner table. He takes a bite, then lays the spoon back down, staring at the cup with unspeakable sadness before picking up the spoon and repeating the process.
It’s excruciating to watch. Viktor starts to wonder if he really is a food critic, if for no other reason than it makes this routine a little less soul-crushing. His need to connect with this boy is redoubled.
It’s not that Viktor has a savior complex, but he does enjoy fighting off the ever-encroaching numbness of life with soft kisses from stunningly beautiful boys. So, there’s that.
+
“I was thinking he might be part veela.”
“Who?” Mila asks, tying back her hair.
Viktor presses his hands to his face and groans.
“Oh,” Mila smiles knowingly. “Finally encountered BMB.”
“He’s…”
“Weird beyond your wildest dreams?”
“Unbelievably cute.”
“Oh,” Mila smirks knowingly. “That.”
“And I’m going to learn his name.”
Mila shrugs a shoulder. “If you must.”
“It’s a promise,” Viktor declares, eyes shining.
Mila snorts out a laugh, distractedly typing out a text on her phone. “Great.”
+
Viktor makes good on his promise nearly a week later. It’s an hour before closing and an especially cold evening—the clouds have been hanging low and threatening snow all day. Viktor is taking advantage of the empty shop by blasting Celine Dion and singing along so loudly that he misses the new customer a full two minutes after the front door jingles with their arrival.
Viktor jumps and scrambles to turn down the radio while Beautiful Mystery Boy shuffles his way up to the display, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy coat. His eyes flicker from the flavor board over to Viktor. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says in that same gentle voice.
Viktor freezes in shock for a second because he’s pretty sure he just got teased? He hurries to lower the volume and grabs for a sample spoon—dipping it blindly into the nearest tub. “Your favorite,” Viktor holds out a little spoonful of bright blue bubblegum ice cream because he’s not yet ready to give up the Juliette Binoche act, apparently.
The Beautiful Mystery Boy actually smiles. It’s a small thing—the corners of his lips trembling upwards almost imperceptibly—and gone in a flash, but Viktor sees it and quickly logs it away to brag to Mila about later.
“Well,” Viktor asks impatiently as the boy slips the spoon into his mouth, his expression unchanging.
“Um.” Mystery Boy swallows.
“It’s okay,” Viktor laughs to ease the tension. “Few people above the age of eight like it.”
Mystery Boy looks Viktor straight in the eye, licking absently (and cutely, Viktor thinks) at the little wooden spoon. “Do you?”
Viktor gasps and presses a hand to his chest. “That's third date information,” he winks. It’s with great strength that he manages to contain the squeal bubbling it’s way up his throat when Mystery Boy huffs and hides a soft giggle into his scarf.
The boy makes his order ten minutes later—time that Viktor spends wiping down the counter and trying to act like he isn’t covertly checking him out. It’s a hard task because he’s unbuttoned his coat, revealing a soft and fluffy cream sweater that really does a lot for his likeness to an adorable baby animal.
“I’ll need a name for the order,” Viktor says when the boy finally makes his way to the register.
Beautiful Mystery Boy glances around the shop. It’s glaringly obvious what Viktor’s doing, but the boy complies, anyway, his fingers poised daintily around a folded ten-dollar bill. “Yuuri.”
“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats with a smile. He kind of wishes it wasn’t the same name as the shop owner’s bratty kid, but he’s pretty sure he can rework his brain’s negative association for this lovely-looking boy. He hands over the bowl of pistachio ice cream with Reese's crumbles.
Yuuri stares into the dish so long that Viktor starts to worry he somehow got the order wrong. “Thanks... Georgi.” Yuuri’s eyes go wide like he’s shocked with himself and he flushes deeply, quickly retreating to his corner table.
Viktor watches him go, glancing down at his name tag and feeling his stomach sink to his toes.
+
“Kill me,” Viktor whines to Mila that weekend.
“Okay,” Mila agrees, sweeping dirt and stray sprinkles into a dustpan. “What’s my motivation?”
“BMB was here,” Viktor says. “His name is Yuuri, by the way.”
“Yuuri?” Mila scrunches up her nose.
“I know. But—“ Viktor waves her off, “I screwed up.”
“Don’t tell me you declared your undying love.”
“No—” Viktor folds his arms on the counter and drops his head over them— “not yet. It’s just that,” Viktor sighs, “he thinks my name is Georgi.”
Mila stops sweeping and tilts her head at Viktor. “Okay. Can I inquire as to why?”
Viktor curls his fingers over his eyes. “I don’t know, we were totally dead. I didn’t think it mattered whose apron I wore,” Viktor groans. “But now he thinks I’m Georgi and my window to correct him without it being weird has totally passed and I’m so. Incredibly. Stupid.”
“Okay,” Mila leans the broom against the counter and goes around to the other side.“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she says, patting Viktor’s back. “You’re going to go out with me and Sara this weekend and we’re going to find you a new guy who doesn’t stare at ice cream like it murdered his dog.”
“You noticed that, too?”
“Viktor!” Mila scolds, rustling his hair. “Focus!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go.” Viktor pats his hair back into place. He’s pretty sure there isn’t a liquor in the world strong enough to wipe Yuuri from his mind—even for just an evening—but it can’t hurt to try.
+
“Feeling better yet?” Mila wraps an arm around Viktor’s shoulders.
He isn’t. Viktor is far from in the mood to be surrounded by obviously happy people—drinking and socializing and carrying on with their lives because they didn’t just recently ruin their chances with probably the cutest guy in the city, if not the world. He doesn’t want to disappoint Mila, though, so he plants a smile on his face and hopes that the dark bar lighting will hide the fact that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah, definitely,” he says. His tone is completely unconvincing but Mila is two cranberry vodkas and three tequila shots into her evening so she just kisses his cheek, too drunk to notice.
“Sara’s signing us up for karaoke,” Mila motions to the bartender for another drink. “What are you feeling like? First album Britney?”
“No, that’s okay,” Viktor sips sullenly at his beer. “You guys go ahead without me.”
“What, scoping someone out?” Mila takes her drink and bumps her shoulder against Viktor’s. “Have fun, lover boy!”
Viktor waves half-heartedly as Mila disappears into the crowd. He fiddles with his phone for a while, contemplating if he could smooth things over with a well-lit nude when he feels someone crowding into his space—hovering near his elbow.
“What are you drinking,” a voice sounds in his ear. Viktor looks up to see a brown-haired, red-faced guy with soaked through pit stains and a popped collar. He’s decidedly not in the mood to be dealing with an aggressive drunken idiot who refuses to understand that rejection isn’t a flirting tactic.
“Sorry, I’m DDing tonight.” Viktor lies, turning back around.
“Yeah?” the guy leans into Viktor’s space, resting a hand on his shoulder and pointing at his beer.
“I’m not that much of a lightweight,” Viktor smiles stiffly.
“So let me get you a beer.” The guy squeezes Viktor’s shoulder. “We’re all just here to have a good time. Right…”
Viktor barely contains a sigh. Is it too much to ask to be left alone to stew in his misery? “It’s Viktor.”
“Viktor,” the guy repeats. The familiar syllables sound revolting on his tongue. “Just one drink can’t hurt, right?”
Viktor is about to inform him that one more drink can, in fact, hurt (god knows his favorite chenille throw will never be the same) and that he’s a discerning adult who shouldn’t be coerced into explaining his reasons for not wanting one when a familiar voice sounds behind him.
“Uh...excuse me. Sorry—” Viktor whips around—grateful for the distraction—and comes face to face with the man of local ice cream store legend.
Yuuri is rosy-cheeked and obviously drunk with his first three buttons unbuttoned and his sweaty hair flipped up around his ears and stuck to his forehead. At this point, Viktor is ready to chalk Yuuri’s perpetual attractiveness up to some kind of niche superpower because he can’t fathom how—even while so obviously wasted—Yuuri still manages to be so damn cute.
“Who’s this?” The drunken buffoon asks, face twisted in a look of disgust.
“Georgi’s friend,” Yuuri says, shoving his body between them. He eyes Viktor’s harasser up and down, his face screwed up in a look of confusion. “I didn’t realize it was ‘90s night.”
The guy laughs but is obviously irritated. “It’s not.”
“Oh,” Yuuri says, his face soft and innocent with his eyebrows raised towards his hairline. “Sorry, I just...with the spiked hair and the—” he gestures vaguely at the rest of the guy.
“Real cute,” the guy cocks his chin to the side, growing even redder in the face. “And what’s with this Georgi shit?” The guy spits. Viktor feels his heart sink to his toes. “I thought you said your name was Viktor.”
Viktor inhales a sharp breath to explain. “Well…”
“Viktor?” Yuuri looks up at him—dewy-eyed and darling—blinking hard.
“Y-yeah.” Viktor admits. How can he be expected to lie to this boy? He’s only human, after all. “Sorry,” he says, shouldering off his drunken pursuer. “I wanted to tell you that night, but you seemed pretty...involved...with your ice cream.”
Yuuri’s smile is a self-deprecating one. “Okay…” he says more to his feet than to Viktor. He jumps a little when the drunk guy behind them yells something about ‘ weirdo foreigners with no taste ’ and takes off in another direction. “Well—” Yuuri glances over his shoulder with a little relieved laugh—“I think you owe me a dance?”
Viktor scoots to the edge of his seat, his heart beating in his throat. “Do I?”
“As an apology,” Yuuri confirms, taking Viktor’s hand.
Yuuri, as it turns out, is more than a beautiful boy with a weird taste in ice cream and even weirder eating habits, he’s also an astoundingly good dancer. “Where did you learn to tango?” Viktor gasps, breathless from being dipped in Yuuri’s surprisingly strong arms.
“The senior center,” Yuuri says, which...doesn’t explain a lot, but is enough for now.
Two rounds of karaoke (Yuuri knows all the words to Mariah Carey’s ‘ Fantasy ’ and Viktor is already writing wedding vows in his head), four rounds of drinks, and at least six different dance styles later finds Viktor dizzy and infatuated and happier than he remembers being in a long time. Maybe ever.
He leans against the wall outside a nearby convenience store, passing a bottle of water back and forth with Yuuri while he regales him with stories of his dog.
“So she was just a little thing and I thought it’d be nice to take her to the lake, y’know, to get her acclimated to the water at an early age.”
“Mmmhmm,” Yuuri nods, eyes shining as he holds the bottle near his mouth. A little cloud of steam forms over the lip from his breath.
“Did you know dogs can get car sick?” Viktor laughs at the dark sky, combing his fingers through his sweaty bangs. “I gotta give it to her, though, her aim was impressive. She threw up right in my pocket.”
“Your pocket?” Yuuri gasps, leaning his forehead into Viktor’s shoulder as he laughs.
“It’s true!” A cold breeze flutters through their sweat-dampened clothes and Viktor tests his luck by sliding an arm around Yuuri’s back, pulling him closer to his chest to conserve heat. From this proximity, Viktor can feel Yuuri’s heartbeat fluttering rapidly against his chest. “You should meet her.”
Yuuri looks up at him. From this angle, Viktor can see each of his short eyelashes reflected back in the glistening surface of his big, beautiful eyes. “I like dogs,” Yuuri says. It’s a stupid statement and his brain will punish him for it later to the tune of a tortuous ‘I like turtles’ playback attacking him in his most unsuspecting moments, but right now things like articulation and eloquence are far from his mind.
Their lips meet in a cut-off breath and the quiet rustle of fabric. The water bottle slips from Yuuri’s fingers and crackles against the sidewalk, spilling water in a star studded puddle around their feet. It’s faster than either of them would typically operate, but it’s good. Yuuri curls his fingers into Viktor’s shirt—holding him close—and Viktor thinks that Yuuri must be able to feel his heart through his lips for how hard it’s beating.
The kiss is far from explicit, but it’s also intimate in a way Viktor’s never really experienced: fun and exciting while simultaneously warm and familiar—like returning home after a long trip.
“Yuuri?” A voice echoes from the distance, back at the club around the corner. Viktor and Yuuri part, a silent, breathless question between them.
“I—I should go.” Yuuri breaks his trance, stumbling back. “My friend is…” he gestures towards the club. “Sorry.” He bows a little, tripping over his own feet in his hurry to leave.
Viktor watches him go, wondering what to say—wondering if he should say anything at all.
+
‘Viktor,” Mila elbows Viktor in the side while making her way to the register to check out another customer. “Focus.”
Viktor internally sighs and straightens his back. “What can I get you?” He asks in a fake cheery voice.
It’s been almost two weeks since he last saw Yuuri. The shop has introduced a new winter promotion to help drum up business in the dead winter months: one free scoop in exchange for a photo and tag on Instagram. It’s worked like a charm to pull in crowds of overwhelming proportion: they’ve been consistently swamped from opening till closing, and Viktor’s relatively sure his right arm has put on a full inch of muscle from scooping alone.
After the first few days, Viktor had attributed Yuuri’s absence to the long line trailing several blocks down from the building, but now it’s been a week and a half without a sighting and Viktor is trying to cope with the idea that maybe that night at the club was the last taste he’ll get of his Beautiful Not-So-Mystery Boy.
“What did you think would happen?” Mila asks late one night. “You don’t try to date Bigfoot and expect it to go well.”
And sure, Viktor supposes that true. He’s seen ‘Harry and the Hendersons,’ after all. But it still doesn’t save him from the earth shattering disappointment.
+
Turns out cryptid sighting may not be as rare as Viktor had previously thought. Or maybe he’s unknowingly susceptible to them, like Georgi and his alleged run-ins with demon possession. Either way, Friday evening Viktor’s walking past the shop on the way home from a late-night snack run when he finally spots Yuuri again: standing in front of the store, arms folded into his armpits, and staring at the door.
“Yuuri!” Viktor picks up his pace to a slight jog to reach him. “We’re closed. We—” it’s nearly midnight, he realizes, so he’s probably stating the obvious, but he’s not ready to let Yuuri go with a simple greeting. “Uh...do you want to come in? I have a key.”
Yuuri looks at Viktor—eyes glistening in the street lights—and nods.
Viktor scrambles to unlock the door and ushers Yuuri in with a hand pressed lightly against the small of his back. He’s somewhat in disbelief that this is actually happening, but the feeling of Yuuri’s coat under his fingers helps ground him. “It’s been a while,” Viktor says, locking the door behind them.
Yuuri stands facing away from Viktor in the dark and traces his fingers across the surface of a nearby table. If Viktor didn’t know better, he’d worry he was about to get murdered.
“Look—” Viktor runs a hand through his hair—“I guess I just...if I was out of bounds that night I’m really sor—”
“Sorry I haven’t been by,” Yuuri spins around, interrupting him. “There were exams and then I got sick and…”
He trails off and Viktor finally takes a good look at him. His face is drawn and pale, standing in stark contrast to his pink nose, and there are deep bags under his eyes, suggesting several nights of poor sleep.
“Are you okay?” Viktor frets. He lifts a chair from where it rests upside down on a table and sets it on the floor, motioning for Yuuri to sit. “I can get you some ice cream if that would help?”
“No, no. I’m mostly better.” Yuuri sits, absently smoothing the wrinkles on his joggers. “Anyway, I...I’m lactose intolerant,” he admits to his knees.
“You…?” Viktor boggles, clearly at a loss. He feels kind of bad that he’s been willfully contributing to Yuuri’s self-destruction via frozen treats, even if he was acting as an ignorant accomplice. “So then…”
“I’m sorry,” Yuuri repeats. He looks into Viktor’s eyes this time, his mouth pressed into a tight line. “I wasn’t really...coming here for the ice cream.”
Viktor flips over another chair and falls bonelessly into it. “You…” he trails off as his mind tries to process what’s happening.
“I...things were kind of—” Yuuri chews on his bottom lip—“I don’t know. But—” Yuuri takes a deep breath, visibly sorting out his thoughts. “I was trying to clear my mind. Go for the walk in the neighborhood.”
Viktor nods, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.
“And...well…” Yuuri picks at his thumb nail. “I saw you. In here.”
Yuuri flushes and pulls off his scarf and Viktor, miraculously, gets it. “You could’ve...you should’ve talked to me, Yuuri!”
“That isn’t really…” Yuuri scrunches his nose and scratches at his hairline. “I tried to. I was planning to, but…eating was easier?”
Viktor can’t help but laugh. “Didn’t it upset your stomach?”
Yuuri huffs—a self-deprecating noise—and shrugs one shoulder. “Well, yes, but...it tasted good, so.”
Viktor rests his hand on his face and exhales slowly. The events of the last few weeks are starting to snap together in his mind: Yuuri, staring at the flavor board trying to gather the courage to talk to Viktor, finally purchasing ice cream instead because it’s easier than admitting the true reason for his visit, and then sitting in the corner of the store—continuing to try to gather courage—eating his ice cream bite by tortuous bite because he can’t resist the taste.
“Are you mad?” Yuuri asks carefully. His fingers are curled into his palms—his eyes slowly scanning Viktor’s face for a reaction.
Viktor’s not mad. Not even a little. He folds his lips together—his whole body vibrating. He has to hug him. Right now. Yesterday. Two months ago. “Yuuri,” he says, his voice a tremulous whisper, “do you think I could—”
He doesn’t get the chance to ask because Yuuri surges forward, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s middle and nuzzling his nose in his woolen coat. “I’m sorry I kissed you,” Yuuri says into Viktor’s chest. “I knew it was wrong but you. You’re really—” he pulls back, wetting his lips with his tongue—“I like you.”
Viktor wasn’t expecting that...for multiple reasons. “I...thank you. I really really like you, too. A lot, but—” Viktor touches a finger to Yuuri’s jawline and—when he doesn’t flinch away from contact—cups the side of his face there, twirling his ring finger in the soft curly hairs behind his ear. “I thought I was the one who kissed you.”
Yuuri stares at something over Viktor’s shoulder. “You—” his eyes snap back to Viktor—“you did?”
Viktor smiles and leans forward, touching his forehead to Yuuri’s. “I guess the feeling’s mutual,” he says, drawing his face down and catching Yuuri’s mouth in a kiss.
+
“But here’s the thing I still don’t understand,” Mila gripes months later. Yuuri is sitting at a table near the register, attempting to work on his homework while Viktor massages his shoulders between customers and feeds him sorbet. “Why the weird flavors?”
“What?” Yuuri’s mouth is occupied by a plastic spoon and his words come out muffled. Viktor draws the spoon out and dips it back in the cup. “They were weird?”
“So weird.” Viktor holds a spoonful of raspberry sorbet up to Yuuri’s lips.
Yuuri shrugs and accepts the bite, Mila groans about alien encounters, and Viktor has never felt so lucky in his life. Yuuri may not be the mythical creature he had once suspected, but there’s no way this isn’t a love of legend.