Work Text:
Yuuri was running late. He had planned to get his hair cut the weekend before (it’s grown down past his eyes now), but his regular place had been booked up until the next month. Now, he’s got skating practice starting in - oh, 43 minutes - and unless he gets his haircut, Celestino will yell at him for his entire practice time. (Also, he won’t be able to see - but that’s not too inconvenient; Yuuri usually skates with his eyes closed anyway. Phichit is always teasing him about it, but Yuuri doesn’t care.) After running a bit further towards the rink, Yuuri stops again to check his watch. 35 minutes until practice starts. Damnit.
Looking around, Yuuri spots a new-ish looking hairdressers across the street and crosses the road in a hurry, barely looking where he’s going. Panting slightly, he leans against the wall and glances at the opening times in the window. He’s run from his flat again - Celestino says it’s a good warm-up - and today he must have taken a wrong turn; he never goes this way. ( To be fair , Yuuri thinks, he hasn’t had his daily caffeine yet, so can hardly be to blame.) When Yuuri’s caught his breath, he pushes open the door, hearing an unfamiliar but welcoming chime in response. Looking up, he catches sight of the only other person in the shop - must be the stylist. The man is tall and well-dressed, with sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. However, Yuuri’s gaze is immediately drawn to the man’s most striking feature - his beautiful, beautiful long hair. Yuuri doesn’t think he’s ever seen such beautiful hair before.
Dragging his reluctant eyes from the stylist’s hair, Yuuri finally notices the name badge pinned to the pocket of his shirt which proudly proclaims the man’s name to be ‘VIKTOR’. He flicks his eyes up to the stylist’s - Viktor’s - eyes, only to find him staring intently back. Yuuri blushes scarlet and ducks his head, embarrassed, in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his flaming red cheeks.
“Hello, I’m Viktor,” greets the stylist. His voice is smooth and soothing, although Yuuri thinks he heard him stutter slightly - it was probably just his imagination.
“Yuuri,” he replies awkwardly. Seeing the confused, expectant look on Viktor’s face, Yuuri blushes even more. “Um, can I get a really quick haircut?” Yuuri asks. He can barely look the stylist in the eye.
Viktor had never been more glad to not be looked at in the eye. When the boy had walked in, Viktor had almost dropped the hand mirror he was cleaning - and he still couldn’t think straight. There was no way he would cut this boy’s perfect hair - it looks so good , and Viktor definitely doesn’t want the responsibility of potentially making it look less amazing.
Yuuri is livid. For some reason, the stylist had outright refused to cut his hair and he’d been late for practice. (Also, he couldn’t concentrate on his spins for wondering why Viktor wouldn’t cut his hair; what had made it so objectionable?) Half of him wants to pretend the morning hadn’t happened, but the other half of him was too curious to let the incident slide.
After practice had finished - actually, ten minutes after practice had finished (Celestino had insisted on grilling him on “Why exactly, Katsuki, can you not see? ”) - Yuuri headed, determined, back to the barber’s. On his way, he put together a plan; he couldn’t freeze up (even if Viktor still looked as perfect as he had in the morning). He would walk (confidently) into the hairdresser’s and ask (calmly) for a haircut.
As soon as Viktor saw the boy from the morning coming into the shop again, he began hurrying towards the door.
“Sorry,” Viktor says, trying to sound sincere (and probably failing). “We’re just about to close; feel free to come back another day and -”
Yuuri hastily starts to apologise, talking over Viktor in his rush to leave.
It worked.
Yuuri comes in a couple of days later, and this time Viktor actually drops something. It’s his favourite mug - and it was filled with fresh coffee. Fresh, scalding coffee. As Viktor fumbles for a cloth to clean up the spillage, and a dustpan and brush for the shards of ceramic, Yuuri has no idea of what to do. Should he help? Should he just leave quietly, never come back and allow his unruly hair to grow down to his feet with the only thing stopping it getting longer being the blades on his skates?
This time, when Viktor tries to tell Yuuri “Oops; looks like we’re just about to close”, he doesn’t think Yuuri’s convinced. At least Yuuri’s hair will stay long and pretty for a little longer.
“It’s literally eight in the morning!” protested Yuuri as Viktor shoes him out of the door. This calls for desperate measures.
Admittedly, Yuuri’s plan had gone a lot worse than he had anticipated; Phichit had gone slightly ( read: extremely ) overboard with the scissors. (Yuuri made a mental note to never let his friend near his hair ever again. However, Yuuri thinks that his new ‘look’ can only work in his favour.
It’s slightly harder than he thought it would be to walk to the barber’s from his apartment without dying of embarrassment. Yuuri walks as fast as he can, averting his eyes from any passers-by. The journey seems to take much longer than usual, and Yuuri is paranoid that everyone who walks past him is judging him and his abysmal haircut.
Finally, Yuuri reaches the right place. Viktor doesn’t look up when he comes in; he’s distracted with another customer. When Viktor’s finished, Yuuri clears his throat.
“Hey.”
Viktor looks up, the happy smile that came from hearing Yuuri’s voice quickly dying on his lips. Yuuri can pinpoint the exact moment Viktor notices his hair - in fact, Yuuri can hear it; Viktor shrieks so loudly it leaves Yuuri’s ears ringing. Grabbing Yuuri’s hands - which does not make Yuuri blush (again), thank you very much - he pulls the boy closer until they are almost nose to nose. Viktor runs his hands through Yuuri’s hair, all the while making distressed noises that tug painfully at something in Yuuri’s chest.
“What have you done ?” he half-demands, half-moans, clutching at the hacked locks and uneven ends of Yuuri’s hair.
Yuuri grins sheepishly. “I take it you aren’t a fan,” he teases. “Well… you wouldn’t cut it - and I couldn’t see; this was the result.” In slow motion, Yuuri exaggeratedly sweeps his ‘fringe’ (a couple of strands that had managed to evade the hacksaw Viktor assumes Yuuri used - what else could result in such a mess? ) to the side, asking in a sultry voice: “Who is he?” (Here, Yuuri turns to the side, giving Viktor his profile.) “You see him,” he announces dramatically, “you want him. You -”
Viktor crossed the few feet between them, and Yuuri freezes as Viktor purposefully steps up to him. He can see the uncertainty in Viktor’s eyes, but doesn’t process what it means - doesn’t realise what’s going to happen until it does. And then Viktor is kissing him, hesitant at first but then more confident as Yuuri begins to respond. Viktor is kissing him and Yuuri never wants it to stop.
When the two eventually pulled apart, albeit very unwillingly (Yuuri would have gladly gone without oxygen for their kiss to have lasted longer - what even was breathing? ), Viktor gently but insistently pushed Yuuri into one of the many chairs in the shop. In the few minutes it took for him to rectify Yuuri’s “horrific and appalling” attempt at cutting his own hair (Viktor’s words, not his), Yuuri managed to formulate several ideas of things that could otherwise occupy the two of them - but Viktor didn’t deign to respond until he had finally finished rectifying Yuuri’s… ‘fringe’.
Spinning Yuuri’s chair around so that they were face to face, Viktor admired his work. Yuuri blushes under Viktor’s gaze - Viktor thinks it’s adorable how he still gets so flustered around him. “Much better,” he said approvingly, before leaning in to place a kiss on the tip of Yuuri’s nose.
The departing customer applauds quietly before grabbing his coat and leaving quickly.
The next time Yuuri goes into Viktor’s shop before practice goes something like this:
“So…” Yuuri speculates as he wanders in. “Are you still not going to cut my hair, or -”
Viktor resignedly pulls out a chair for him. “My liege,” he says sarcastically, gesturing towards it. When Yuuri has settled into it, Viktor gets his comb and scissors out before seeming to change his mind. Slowly, he places the items back onto the counter and moves in front of Yuuri, bending slightly so that he’s at eye-level with him. At Viktor solemnly and graciously proclaims that he shall cut Yuuri’s hair, Yuuri giggles into his hand, but manages to keep an otherwise straight face. “My only condition,” Viktor explains, “is that you shall never , ever cut your hair again. I don’t think I can face it.”