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Yuuri meets him, first, when the Katsuki-gumi is holding one of its parties meant to serve as a cover for gauging the worth of its allies.
He doesn’t like these parties, hates being anywhere near the public eye, but he has to make an appearance for his family’s sake. It’s not because he’s his oyabun’s representative, which he isn’t; it’s just that out of everyone in the family, he’s best at making judgments about other people.
It’s ridiculously easy, given how so many people overlook him in a way that gives him enough space to make his observations. Put on some glasses and let his hair lie flat and suddenly, it’s as if Katsuki Yuuri is a nobody in a crowd of beautiful and magnificent people.
“You could try to look a little happier, Yuuri.”
Of course, there are the exceptions who know him as he is, with or without the wakagashira façade.
He stifles an exclamation of his friend’s name, choosing to greet him with a wide smile and a handshake instead. It certainly helps that he’s not prone to displays of affection that he can refrain from hugging his friend then and there. “I’ll keep that in mind, Phichit-kun,” he says, tone wry but smile amused as his friend, one of the best informants from Thailand’s better-known Chao Pho, shoots a wide grin back at him.
“Not Japan’s ace today?” Phichit asks when he’s released from the handshake, gesturing with his other hand holding a flute of champagne to Yuuri’s hair, falling flat and slightly messy on his forehead, with his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.
“Do they really call me that?” Yuuri says, nose wrinkling for a blink of a second as he squints at Phichit in disbelief. “That sounds horrible, and untrue.”
Phichit shrugs, though the easy smile on his face is telling of his amusement at Yuuri’s confusion. “That’s what I’ve been hearing them say. Even outside of Japan,” Phichit mock-whispers, like he’s a porn actor who’s achieved fame with an international audience, before sending a wink his way.
“Sure,” Yuuri says with an almost-weary sigh. He adds, with the briefest of shrugs, “Whatever you call it, it’s not really necessary right now.” Crass as the name is, or any other nicknames people may have come up with for him, Katsuki-gumi’s wakagashira is a character in his own right; slicked back hair and a narrow-eyed gaze define his image, though the furrowed brows and squinting eyes are actually more of a product of his lack of glasses than any other more sophisticated reason.
“Subterfuge?”
“Didn’t feel like it,” he admits, and Phichit laughs.
“I would think you’d prefer to not wear your glasses for these kinds of events,” Phichit says. Unspoken, his smile says, “I know how much you hate having to see and talk to all of these people.”
“They think I’m softer when I’m not the wakagashira,” Yuuri concedes. “Like I’m more approachable for wearing my hair down, when I’m still the same person.” He pauses, taking a sip from his own flute of champagne, then adds in a soft voice, “But it’s easier to be invisible this way.”
“Is it?” Phichit hums, smile serene in such a way that Yuuri can’t help himself from smiling as well.
It’s hard not to, when Phichit looks the perfect picture of a gentleman despite the amount of blood Yuuri knows is on his hands. “It is,” he answers, before finishing his flute and handing it off to a passing waiter.
It doesn’t take long for Phichit to get to his point, eager man that he is. “You owe me a photo the next time you come out as Japan’s ace,” Phichit tells him, head turned away but gaze upon him when Yuuri chances a look. “You’re so difficult to catch in that image, Yuuri! The last time we got a photo together is so long ago I can barely remember when it was!”
“Blame your good timing.” He smiles when Phichit raises an eyebrow at him in confusion. He clarifies, “The Katsuki-gumi’s wakagashira only makes an appearance when the wakashu aren’t enough for the job, or if an ally crosses us.” He raises an eyebrow at Phichit. “You haven’t been in enough trouble to see me at work.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Phichit says, the smile back on his face as he watches the people passing them by. There’s a comfortable silence for a short while, even through the anxious feeling rising in the pit of his stomach, up until Phichit brings the conversation back to life in the briefest of seconds. “For now,” he hums, catching the eye of Guang-Hong, heir to one of China’s well-known Dragon Heads, across the room, “I think I’ll have to get my photos elsewhere.”
Yuuri smiles his relief at him. Leave it to Phichit to figure out that he’d like some time to himself, even when he hasn’t said anything yet. Playing at exasperation, he says, “Go on, then, before you lose your chance at a picture.”
Phichit clicks his tongue at him, brown eyes narrowed in mild suspicion as he regards Yuuri. Then Phichit wiggles an index finger at him, almost like he’s telling off a child, and Yuuri raises both of his hands in mock submission. Phichit says, tone scolding, “You better not leave without telling me, mister! We’ve got some catching up to do!”
“Duly noted,” Yuuri says with a wry smile, lowering his hands. He watches Phichit as he leaves, hiding a laugh into his fist when Phichit makes a point of exclaiming his luck at meeting Guang-Hong when he manages to reach him.
It’s funny, still, the idea that he managed to find friendship at all in his line of work. Given the inherently dark nature of being yakuza, the greed and betrayal that is inevitable in dealing with international groups, one would think it difficult to find any true friends at all.
And it is. Especially so if one is Katsuki Yuuri, a man even less inclined to forming friendships than the average non-yakuza person. It’s not so much that he hates other people that he hates the concept of socializing and having to put on airs, just so he can form a fragile, temporary bond with another human being for the sake of staving off loneliness.
It’s too much. Too much time, too much effort put into pretending that he cares when he doesn’t- when he can’t afford to.
“Yuuri!”
And yet.
There always seems to be an exception.
“Yuuko-san,” he greets, smiling sheepishly when Yuuko regards him with a raised eyebrow. “Yuu-chan,” he corrects, nodding his head in greeting. “You’re done talking with the others?”
“I made it a point to keep things short,” she confirms, the smile on her face taking on an amused tone as she moves to stand by his side. All too quickly, though he had expected it, his imaginary wall of invisibility crashes and burns with the entrance of Nishigori Yuuko into his space. There are more eyes on him now, passing over his body as though judging his worth to be by her side, and he hides a grimace of annoyance. It’s bad enough that he can’t actually date anyone in this line of work- must people judge him for something that isn’t true or at all possible?
“You think they’re looking at me,” Yuuko says, startling him out of his thoughts.
He hums his acquiescence.
She smiles, amused. “You’re wrong, Yuuri-kun.”
He knows better than to refute her by now, but the urge to is almost instinctive. “How so?” he asks, gaze turned away from her and observing the people mingling all around them.
“You’re beautiful in your own way, but you never really see it,” she tells him honestly. His face heats at the compliment and he makes to argue, but she cuts him off with, “You’re graceful in a way that most men aren’t. A way that most men don’t allow themselves to be. You hold yourself like you’re something smaller than what you really are; it’s doing an injustice to how Minako-sensei trained you, you know?” She smiles softly when she sees the flinch he makes at her last words. “You think no one can see it, but your family- we- can see that you’ve been working hard enough to sometimes forget yourself. That’s not what we want for you, Yuuri-kun.”
He grits his teeth. Eventually, after the silence has festered for too long, he says, “I don’t know what else to be.”
She frowns. “Yuuri-kun-”
“Is that Nikiforova’s heir?”
His head snaps to attention at the whisper from the crowd; he doesn’t have to look over to know that Yuuko is looking too. “Did we- is he really?” he whispers to her, body visibly curling inwards as he shoots a look at the gathering crowd by the open doorway. “He never usually comes, right? Why would he-”
“You know that he loves surprises,” Yuuko shoots back, eyes bright with excitement as she grips him by the elbow with a firm hand. “And don’t even act like you don’t want to see him! Come on!”
Panic bubbles in his stomach, nervousness a curling snake around his throat as he tries and fails to pull away from Yuuko dragging him to the Bratva’s pakhan-to-be. He’s not ready yet; it’s far too soon for him to meet the one man he’s idolized since childhood! He’s barely even made a name for himself outside of the façade he’s built up for years! Anxious, he says, “Yuu-chan, I don’t think I’m ready-”
“You’ll never be ready if you don’t give it a try, Yuuri-kun,” she insists, sneaking a look behind her just to give him a quick smile. “And who knows? He might like you.”
He sputters.
“Nikiforov-san,” Yuuko greets, smiling sweetly when they finally reach Viktor, who offers them a mildly bemused but polite smile when he notices the crowd parting for them. “It’s so good to finally meet you. You’ve proven to be elusive for so long, we didn’t think you’d accept our invitation.”
Yuuri hides a squawk at her brazenness, though it doesn’t look like he does a good job of hiding his shock when Viktor raises an eyebrow at him. Viktor turns to look at Yuuko, cool smile still on his lips as he says, “I’d say that it’s a pleasure to meet you, but it seems I’m at a disadvantage. You know who I am,” at this, he looks to Yuuri, expression inscrutable, “but I do not know who you are.”
“I’m Nishigori Yuuko,” she says, discreetly but firmly keeping a hand on Yuuri’s elbow as she bows her head slightly in acknowledgment. For all that she’s capable of adapting to the western world’s culture, she still likes to remind foreigners at times that they should know their place- hence the lack of an offer for a handshake and the unchanged name order. With a gentle nod of her head to Yuuri, she adds, “And this is my friend, Yuuri.”
Yuuri shoots her a look when he notices the lack of surname. Still, he bows his head to Viktor, unwilling to reach out a hand for fear of a possible rejection. “Good evening, Nikiforov-san,” he says politely, donning a strained smile as he straightens up to look back at him.
Viktor smiles and it’s cold, tracing an invisible chill up his spine when their eyes meet. “Good evening to you as well, Yuuri,” Viktor drawls, tongue curling around his name like he knows what it means to disregard any sort of suffix for the sake of familiarity- a familiarity that he has yet to even earn, given how they’ve only just met.
His smile twitches, and Yuuko coughs in an attempt at stifling a laugh. “I suppose I’ll leave you both to get acquainted,” she says, deliberately ignoring the subtly startled look Yuuri shoots her way, “as I still have to take care of some business.”
If Viktor is offended at the notion of being less of a priority than whatever lie of a business Yuuko is busy with, he makes no show of it. “I wouldn’t want to keep you,” Viktor tells her, polite as ever. Then he turns to look at Yuuri when she goes, smile mild and gaze roaming, and if Yuuri didn’t know any better, he’d think Viktor was curious.
But why would he be?
“I’m certain you have better options for conversational partners,” Yuuri says, trying to find a way out of actually talking with Viktor, “so I’ll just-”
“I certainly don’t,” Viktor interrupts, a spark lighting in his eyes as he steps closer into Yuuri’s personal space. “You don’t have to be so shy; I don’t bite,” he teases with a wink.
Viktor winked.
At him.
He’s not even sure he knows what’s happening to him at this point.
“I’m sure you do, given the right circumstances,” he blurts out, before biting the inside of his cheek at the unplanned flirtatiousness. Lamely, he adds, “Not that I’m interested in that.” Shit, backtrack. “I don’t really care, either way.”
Viktor almost-smiles at him, and Yuuri kind of wants to die, just a little bit. His first time talking to Viktor, and he’s going to embarrass himself like this?
Maybe it’s time to resort to one other, better tactic.
“If you would be willing,” he begins, holding out a hand to Viktor that earns him an intrigued look, “may I ask for a dance?”
“Oh?” Viktor says, smiling. He reaches out and sets his hand in Yuuri’s, letting him lead as he takes them both to the dance floor. “I imagined there would be some dancing, but I didn’t think I’d be swept into one so early.”
Yuuri turns to take Viktor in his hold, one arm on his waist and the other clasped around Viktor’s hand in his. He sweeps him into a waltz, enough space in between them that Yuuri can be comfortable in raising an eyebrow and telling him, “Are you raising a complaint?”
Viktor laughs.
(Yuuri doesn’t notice the slight turning of heads in their vicinity at the sound, too caught up with memorizing the nigh cheerful look on Viktor’s face.)
“Hardly,” Viktor answers, letting Yuuri lead him through graceful twists and turns. “I’m pleased, if anything. You seem to be a graceful dancer, Yuuri.”
Yuuri is hard-pressed not to blush at the compliment. “So are you,” he offers in return, before sliding his hands up under Viktor’s arms and swiftly raising him, relishing in the surprised look on the man’s face as he turns them in a spin before setting him back down onto his feet. Viktor does not hesitate to take the lead this time, sliding one hand to the curve of Yuuri’s back with the other clasped around his hand.
“I’ve been taught to dance since I was a child,” Viktor confesses (and hopefully, the greed for information is not clear on Yuuri’s face when he says as much), “it would be a shame if I weren’t graceful as my mother taught me to be.”
“Lessons aren’t the deciding factor for grace, though,” Yuuri says, and Viktor blinks. A bit awkwardly, he explains himself, “Lessons teach some grace, sure, but grace in itself is not something that can be taught entirely. You’re more than your lessons, is what I mean. You’re just…graceful, as you are.”
“Oh,” Viktor says, looking mildly winded for no reason that Yuuri can understand. Softly, he murmurs, “I…thank you.”
Yuuri smiles, amused. He lets Viktor spins him, lets himself enjoy the warmth of his touch, then turns in his arms to say, “There’s nothing to thank me for, but you’re welcome.”
Viktor clears his throat, a slow flush rising on his cheeks that looks dangerously attractive on his fair skin. Yuuri is glad, at least, that he’s had a few years of watching him to become somewhat immune. (God knows how much more embarrassing he’d be if he wasn’t already aware of his budding attraction to Viktor before he met him.)
Then, Viktor asks, “Are you a part of the family? Nishigori seems to know you well enough to call you a friend, but I didn’t want to assume.”
He feels the cool sweat forming on his nape at the question, nervousness making his voice freeze in his throat for a moment. Eventually, he manages to clear his throat enough to say, “I suppose you can say that. I’m no one important, really.”
“Every person in a family has their own value,” Viktor says, an inscrutable smile on his face he presses close, disregarding the usual distance in a waltz when he spins them along the dance floor. “You shouldn’t sell yourself so short, Yuuri.”
“I guess not,” Yuuri hums, letting himself relax as they do a turn. He’s lying still, omitting the truth that he’s a little more than a friend to the Katsuki-gumi, but it’s better that he concede to Viktor’s assumptions than make a bigger ass out of himself by messing up his initial white lie.
“Are you with a partner, perhaps?” Viktor asks, abruptly. He looks odd, expression somewhat strained between politeness and casual interest, and Yuuri makes a humming sound in his confusion.
“No,” Yuuri answers honestly, confusion growing when he feels the slight twitch and relaxation of Viktor’s hands on him. Curiously, he inquires, “Why do you ask?”
“I find it doubtful that someone as cute as you could be alone in this kind of place,” Viktor says, and Yuuri-
Yuuri chokes.
On nothing.
“I- wh- what?” he says, all hope of ever looking regal or refined or anything resembling classy in front of his idol dying a slow death in a pit of fire as he stares stupidly at him. “What?” he repeats, baffled at the sudden odd turn of their casual talk.
“You’re not the classical type of beauty, admittedly,” Viktor says frankly, spearing Yuuri through the heart with his honesty, “but spending a little more than a few minutes with you really shows off your shine. Dancing with you, experiencing your grace, makes you all the more attractive. I admit I’m a little surprised to hear that you don’t have a partner with you.”
Yuuri gawps. Should he be offended? Flattered? He’s not even sure where the compliment is in between those words, if there even is any. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
Viktor smiles, less hesitantly than he had in their first meeting and more brightly than Yuuri’s ever seen him be. “You get confused far too easily, Yuuri. It’s strangely adorable.”
“Excuse me?” Yuuri sputters, mildly insulted at the patronizing tone to Viktor’s voice. “I’m just- I’m not confused, I’m just not seeing where all of this is coming from.”
Viktor raises an eyebrow at him, and Yuuri feels a mixture of attraction and annoyance spiking through his blood when Viktor gives him a little spin in his arms. Viktor says, tone light, “You don’t understand why I’m flirting with you, you mean.”
It’s childish, but Yuuri feels vindicated at having his suspicions confirmed.
He’s also very, very baffled, because why him?
They’d barely even had an hour’s conversation! Yuuri has no idea where any of this is coming from. Viktor said it himself- he’s not the classical type of beauty, so he’s definitely not the kind of person people usually engage in flirting with. He has his experiences, certainly, but they were all generally looking for someone a little more like the wakagashira: someone confident, someone sure of himself, someone that isn’t him.
He doesn’t understand why Viktor is flirting with him, when he’s a little more Yuuri than the Katsuki-gumi’s son while waltzing with him in this moment.
“I’m flattered,” he says honestly, smile strained on his lips as he follows Viktor’s lead in swaying and turning on the dance floor, “but I don’t think I’m the type for trysts, Nikiforov-san.”
Viktor blinks at him, surprised, before laughing a short, sweet laugh. Yuuri would be offended, if he weren’t so bewildered at what it was that got Viktor to laugh.
“Yuuri,” Viktor says, voice warm and sending an odd tingle up his spine. Then he raises Yuuri up by his arms, the same way Yuuri did for him before, and Yuuri lets out a surprised sound. “You’re beautiful, for all that it doesn’t seem that you know it,” Viktor tells him as he sets him back down, before sweeping him right back into his arms, closely enough that Yuuri can smell a hint of his cologne. Viktor’s smile is strange on his face, an expression Yuuri has never seen him wearing before when he’s with his Bratva, and Yuuri feels strange for it. Like he’s being let in on a secret he can’t even begin to comprehend.
“I’m not looking for a tryst,” Viktor tells him, erasing what distance there was as they both move into a tango with the live band playing in the background. Yuuri lets Viktor lead him, lets his feet play in the spaces between Viktor’s own before kicking up to cling with a leg to his waist, thoroughly enjoying the gasp that it gets him. In a murmur, Viktor says, “Though you certainly make it hard to dismiss the idea.”
Yuuri laughs, heady with the feeling of pride that Viktor does think he’s beautiful.
He can grant himself this, can’t he? He can enjoy Viktor’s attention, for all that it will last in this one night.
He won’t submit himself to his base desires. He doesn’t have to. Just this, teasing Viktor in a dance of seduction, would be enough to satisfy him for the years to come. Just knowing that Viktor could want him to some degree, even when he wasn’t the wakagashira, or trying to be seductive, is enough.
“You play a dangerous game, Nikiforov-san,” Yuuri teases, smile playful on his lips as they part, only to meet together again in an almost-embrace.
“Viktor,” Viktor says, correcting him.
Yuuri smiles, warmer than he’s ever felt himself be, as just Katsuki Yuuri. “Viktor,” he parrots, grinning when Viktor smiles at him. “You know, don’t you?” he says, raising a hand to caress Viktor’s cheek, quietly delighting in the way that Viktor leans into the touch. “You’re beautiful too.”
Viktor breathes out, eyes fluttering shut in a way that has Yuuri admiring his beauty, as he often does. “Am I?” Viktor asks, as if he has to.
“You’ve always been beautiful,” Yuuri confesses, uncaring of the implications in his own words.
Viktor smiles, and somehow, it looks vulnerable- far more fragile than any smile Yuuri has seen on him in the past few minutes. “Thank you,” he whispers, holding Yuuri close, swaying with him in his arms like he’s something to treasure, even though there’s barely been a day’s worth of Viktor knowing him for him to feel that way.
“Then,” Yuuri says, smile back to being playful as he twists out of Viktor’s hold, feet dancing as he lets Viktor pull him along, “if not a tryst, what do you want?”
“Just this,” Viktor tells him, leaning to one side and taking Yuuri with him, before bringing him back up into a slow but playful tango that carries them across the room. Yuuri grins, chest warm and full as Viktor spins him around, before leaning back to take Yuuri with him, bodies pressed together as Yuuri leans into him.
“This?” Yuuri asks.
Viktor wide smile fades into something softer, something- something pure, something that Yuuri isn’t sure he’s supposed to see. “You,” Viktor says, and Yuuri’s heart pauses in his chest, frozen even through the leading movements his body follows in Viktor’s hold. Almost like a confession, as if Yuuri was worthy of this secret, he says, “That would be enough.”
“That’s a lot to ask,” Yuuri says, hesitant. He looks up at Viktor, sees the sadness flickering in blue, blue eyes, and says, “You barely know me.”
Viktor smiles and it’s sad, strained around the edges as he sways with Yuuri to the music. “One only needs time to better know someone.”
“Do we have that?” Yuuri asks. He doesn’t ask, even if he truly wants to, “What could make you so desperate, so lonely that you would look for companionship in a stranger?”
Viktor’s eyes gleam, hinting at mischief that Yuuri’s only gotten a glimpse of before in the moments he’d seen him in passing. “We could always find a way.”
Yuuri laughs nervously, squeezing the hand Viktor has in his grasp. “That’s an odd amount of effort for a stranger, isn’t it? And I’m not- I’m barely a friend. We’re from different families.”
Stubbornly, Viktor pushes on. “Is it so strange, that I would be interested in you?”
“No,” Yuuri says, subtly leading Viktor until they’re at the border of the dance floor, somewhere close enough to the outside that he can escape if he wants to. “But it’s one thing to be a passing interest, and another to actually consider finding a way around one’s family like I’m-” like I’m someone important.
“And have you not taken risks before?” Viktor insists, pressing close, body warm against Yuuri’s own and breath a teasing whisper against his ear. “Have you not broken the rules, just trying to get what you want?”
Yuuri shudders. He remembers nights escaping his own home for a bid at freedom, at pretend normalcy. He remembers disregarding Minako-sensei’s warnings when he’d sought Viktor out, not to actually meet him, but just to see him in passing. He remembers dozens and dozens of minutes and hours spent sneaking around to get glimpses, to collect memories of him like it will get him somewhere closer to where Viktor is.
But Viktor doesn’t know that.
Viktor has no idea who he is, at all.
“I have,” he admits, sotto voce, as though murmuring his sins to a confessional.
“And?” Viktor probes, curious.
“It was worth it,” he begins, taking in a breath as he rests his head against Viktor’s cheek. “It was worth it, but it was never enough.”
“Then-”
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice breaking through the quiet bubble around them as he pries his hand from Viktor’s hold. His smile is strained, weak on his lips, but he forces it on anyway. “I should go.”
Viktor’s expression falls at those words. He says, hands beckoning, “I didn’t mean to pressure you into anything, Yuuri. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
Yuuri feels the fragility of his own heart in that moment, feels the temptation rise just from Viktor having offered anything.
But Viktor has no idea just how long Yuuri’s admired him, followed him, looked up to him as an example, a god, an idol. It wouldn’t be fair.
“No, it’s not that,” he says, laughing off the guilt written all over Viktor’s face. “It’s not you. I’ve already spent too much time playing around when I should be working.”
“But-”
“Viktor,” he says, voice soft as he looks up at him, smiling. “You were a great dance partner. I had fun.”
Viktor smiles but it’s a frail, shaky thing. “I enjoyed it as well. I just hoped…”
He bites his lip, clenching his fists to keep himself from reaching out to Viktor again. It’s enough, having been able to dance with Viktor in the way that he did. It’s enough. “Maybe next time, we can share a dance again,” he offers, a little lie, but enough to bring back a spark of brightness in Viktor’s eyes.
“Could we?” Viktor says.
Yuuri laughs, shaken by the hope laced around Viktor’s voice. “Of course.” He smiles a moment more, before reaching out (damn his impulses) and taking Viktor’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his gloved hand. “It was a pleasure, Viktor,” he says as he straightens up, giving his hand a little squeeze.
Viktor breathes out a sigh-like sound, and says, “It certainly was, Yuuri.” His fingers curl in Yuuri’s hold even as he lets him go, and when Yuuri turns to leave, it feels a little like his gaze is following after him, even when the thought of it sounds ridiculous, fairy tale-like, and all too wistful.
He sighs, digging a thumb into his palm, searching out the heat that Viktor had pressed into him in a holy palmer’s kiss.
(Who even knew that a few minutes of being with the man you admire could change things so much?)