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It’s the space age equivalent of dumpster diving, but Victor emerges from the space station’s recycling bins with a few treasures in hand. Georgi’s supposed to be standing watch. Georgi also promised he wouldn’t keep trying to get back together with Anya and the entire space station has seen how well that’s worked out.
In a word: poorly.
Victor has to admit that he admires Georgi’s eternal—if misguided—optimism. It’s not the best look. Then again, Georgi’s taste in eye makeup has long since proved that “best look” isn’t the aesthetic he’s going for.
Victor, on the other hand, has an incomparable aesthetic. And some excellent trash finds to turn into the next trends to filter down amongst the space station’s populace. Victor’s always had an eye for these things, which means that everyone else has always had their eyes on him.
But not now.
He creeps through the hallway. Georgi is nowhere in sight, probably gone to fix his eyeliner or make a futile pass at fixing his life. In either case, he’s not standing watch like he’d promised and Victor’s left to cover his own ass. If Yuri finds out about this he’ll never let it go.
There’s a rustling and and a low hush of voices a few feet away. Victor knows then and there that he and Georgi aren’t the only ones who aren’t where they’re supposed to be. Some of the voices sound familiar. He could swear that one is Yakov’s strident bark and another Lilia’s clipped but quiet responses. There’s a third that might well be the obnoxious Canadian whose name Victor refuses to remember on principle.
Lilia and Yakov say their goodbyes, striding past where Victor’s hiding. But the other voices keep talking.
Victor can’t hear all of the conversation. The part that he does hear, well, it narrows his world down to a few words.
Shut down the space station.
Victor prides himself on his balance. His poise. And it’s undeniable that his ensuing pratfall is the most graceful the ISS has ever seen.
Regardless, it still means several errant recycling bins tip over like they were waiting for Victor to meet his doom.
The sounds must have summoned Yakov and Lilia back to the scene of the crime. Sprawled on the floor and staring up at Yakov’s cherry red face, all Victor can think is that the Russian judges are definitely not giving him a ten.
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Victor is steaming mad as he digs into his bowl of Grape Nuts the following morning. (He may be pissed off but he still cares about his digestion. He’s not soulless. Self care is internal, too.)
“Vitya, a word please?” Lilia asks. If Victor hadn’t already wasted significant time and research into the possibility, he would think that Lilia had some sort of technology that painted her to perfection every morning. Victor will live in hope. They can send a man to Mars, surely they can make looking beautiful less of a trial by fire. Or at least less time consuming.
“Vitya,” Yakov says, stern and grey faced. He’s less intimidating than he probably thinks he is. Victor gives him points for effort. Lilia stands in the corner, arms folded over her chest, glower painted on her face as though it were just another part of her make-up. “We heard you were dumpster diving again.”
Victor examines his nails. Twirls a strand of hair around one of the fingers on his other hand. “I thought we had a waste not, want not policy here. That was waste, I had a want, it works out for everyone.”
He shouldn’t be so flippant, not when there’s a real fear threatening his home. But it’s easy—too easy—to fall into a pattern.
“ Vitya ,” Yakov says. He’s red and waiting for an apology.
Victor makes an attempt. “It’s done now, Yakov. Sorry I got caught.”
He made an attempt. He didn’t say it was a very good one.
“That’s it. You are grounded . No tablet. No phone. No time in the zero gravity chamber. And—” Yakov leans closer. Victor can see how deep the lines between his brows have become. He’s the cause of at least two of them. “—absolutely no dumpster diving.”
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When Victor tries to tell Yakov and Lilia about what he heard, they dismiss it as him trying to wheedle his way out of his grounding. And his Geneva Convention-violating technology ban.
They’re not wrong, but they’re not exactly right either.
“We appreciate you bringing this to us, Vitya, but without evidence, there’s nothing we can do,” Lilia says. She’s not exactly soft, but there’s touch of concern clouding her features.
What they mean is that Victor is air headed and flighty. That Victor probably doesn’t actually know what he’s heard. That it’s easy for them to dismiss him.
That’s fine. He’ll find another way.
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Victor finds his way to Earth in the back of a cargo shuttle. He’s tired and bored, and it’s not as much fun to see the stars as it used to be. Not when the space station only ever follows the same path. Victor wants to strike out in new directions; wants to meet people other than the same couple hundred who populate and run the space station; to see what real gravity feels like, pressing down against his skin.
Victor would also like to see what the stars look like from earth.
If Yakov wants him grounded, well, Victor will show him what grounded really looks like.
It’s not as hard as it should be to sneak away. Victor’s long since mastered the art of looking like he’s supposed to be where he’s not. The straight line of his shoulders and defiant lift of his chin is enough to convince most. He’s got lines prepared for the rest.
It’s not a smooth ride, and it’s an even less smooth landing. Victor finds his way out of the cargo bay, sneaking past the guards, and finds a phone—regular, not holo—and contacts Chris. He’s that desperate.
Chris has visited the space station a few times, is Victor’s long distance best friend, and is ‘kind of a big deal’. (His words, not Victor’s.)
Chris picks him up in a flamboyant pink Cadillac.
“Get in loser, we’re going home,” he says, barely waiting for Victor to throw his things in the trunk before he guns it.
In this moment, Victor keenly regrets never getting his license. For several reasons. He’s not going to let that stop him, though. He’s broken the rules before and that color is a much better match for his complexion than it is for Chris’s.
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Against Victor’s wishes and better judgement, Chris forces Victor to attend school. Chris says something about compulsory education that Victor only half listens too. The rest of him is scheming his way out of it.
It doesn’t work.
He still has to go, despite the ISS curriculum being a full two years ahead. Victor is bored. There’s only a sea of tragic cargo and polyester to distract him. He just doesn’t understand why all the clothing on earth is so ugly. Everyone should thank him for being a fashion inspiration.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice says. A boy slides into the seat beside him. Warm brown eyes, an adorable confused furrow between his brow and thick blue frames that really shouldn’t look as cute on him as they do. He’s wearing hideous khaki cargo pants and Victor should be repulsed but, just this once, he’ll make an exception. “I think this is my seat.”
If it isn’t, it is now. And just like that, Victor’s got a new reason to stay on Earth.
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Except, well, that new reason doesn’t seem to be able to make eye contact with him for more than a second. And whatever softness had lingered in his gaze that first moment fled just as soon as it arrived. He stays cold, standoffish, eyes trained on his notes.
“Can you pass me the Erlenmeyer flask?” he asks one day. Victor just barely keeps himself from offering to pass him whatever he wants. He hopes that someone, somewhere, is proud of his restraint.
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“It’s weird, Vitya. They shut down half of sector five. They sent Anya and her parents to Earth. Said their research grant had run out.”
Victor frowns. Mila looks-—well she looks like she hasn’t had a good deep condition in a while. Victor is concerned. “I thought they had a contract for five years?”
Mila bites her lip. “They did. I’m not sure what’s happening. It’s probably nothing though.”
“Yeah, it’s probably nothing.” Victor says.
Both of them are reasonably sure it’s something.
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Victor’s lab partner continues to be beautiful yet standoffish and there’s only so many times Victor can toss his hair in just the right way before he hurts his neck.
He’s already hurt his neck.
He keeps tossing his hair.
It comes to a head one day when Victor finds him in the dance studio, long limbs moving to a song only he can hear.
Except, when he’s watching him, Victor swears that he could almost hear it, too.
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His name is Yuuri. He takes Victor to the mall where Victor promptly discovers Sephora. And glitter.
Victor has binge watched enough teenage movies on Chris’s netflix account to know that this counts as a first date.
(He’s also messed up Chris’s suggested watches algorithm, but that’s just a bonus.)
They don’t have Sephora on the ISS. They don’t have Cinnabon, either. But Victor has priorities and those priorities are glitter and then food in that order. It turns out that Earth high school is mostly mundane and a lot of crude attempts at passive aggression. Victor grew up with Yakov and Lilia and these neophytes have nothing on him when it comes to veiled insults. Yuuri has been the one exception.
Yuuri is soft and kind, and lets out the most adorable squeak each time Victor links their arms together.
(He made the same noise when Chris groped his ass but Victor is a magnanimous friend and is choosing to ignore that. At the very least, Chris owes them tickets to his next show. For Yuuri’s sake, Victor’s going to make sure that he delivers.)
“Victor, I’m not sure you—”
“Yuuuri, tell me, which lipgloss tastes better?” Victor asks. It’s a rather ingenious plan. Yuuri will have to kiss him and Victor will ensure that his lipgloss does, in fact, render him irresistibly kissable.
“Um, the pickle one is a little weird, maybe the smoothie? “ Yuuri says, swiping a bit of gloss on the back of his hand. He sniffs it. He does not look at Victor’s lips at all. Victor is offended. He would be more offended if Your weren’t so cute.
“Smoothie it is.”
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“They’ve shut down sector seven as well,” Mila says. There are new purple crescents punched below her eyes.
“Oy, idiot. If you don’t get your ass back up here, there may not be a here to get your ass back to.” Yuri says. It’s a fear disguised as an insult; Yuri looks wan and tired, like he’s not sure what danger the direction is going to come from next.
Shut down the space station, Victor hears, again and again and again.
He has to do something. He has to save his home.
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“Chris, I need your help.”
“Finally. Someone needed to tell you that hot pink isn’t your color.”
“How dare you. I look amazing in hot pink.”
“You can keep telling yourself that. Do you want my help or not?”
It’s a matter of need, not want. “Yes.”
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“You should sit with us today,” Yuuri says, shoving his notebook into his bag.
Victor has studied that notebook. It does not say Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov in the margins—yet. But he’s sure it will. One day. He’s been stocking up on smoothie flavored lip gloss in preparation.
“I’d love to,” Victor says. He makes sure he gets the spot next to Yuuri. This also means he’s laid bare to the discerning gaze of one Phichit Chulanont, queen bee of Stammi Vicino High.
Each rumor Victor hears about him is more outlandish than the next—he rigged the school’s PA system to play Carly Rae Jepsen and nothing else, Kat Von D asked him to approve her liquid eyeliner formula before she sent it into production, half the teachers live in fear that he’s already seen their entire internet history.
Two minutes in Phichit’s company and Victor believes all of them.
He also believes that Phichit’s the person he needs to help him save his home—if anyone can.
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Phichit and Chris get along too well. Like a house on fire, leaving everyone else to stare at the pile of ashes they leave in their wake as they merrily blaze along.
Anyone else would think that a sting operation involving body glitter and an international teenaged pop star was destined to fail. But Phichit Chulanont’s never met any doomed situation that he hasn’t managed to steer towards victory.
Anyone else might call it a long shot, but Victor likes their odds.
All that’s left to do is wait.
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Time passes. Victor thinks about the stars every so often. He misses the neatness and order of the space station more than he’ll let himself admit. There, everything had a purpose. There was no waste, no excess. In comparison, Earth is a literal trash dump. Maybe not even in comparison, maybe just in general. It’s a trash dump where half of the open spaces camouflage piles of garbage waiting underneath.
Victor hears from Yakov and Lilia every so often. But nothing about the space station. Nothing about it’s potentially imminent demise. At first, Victor thought that they probably deserved it for sending him away. But, it’s not just Yakov and Lilia. It’s Georgi and Mila. And Yuri. Sort of. Even though Yuri would hate being included in that list.
Mila and Yuri are increasingly panicked and increasingly terrible at hiding it. Victor’s playing a waiting game, but it’s unclear how long the other side will maintain the holding pattern.
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Things come to a head the day that Yuuri takes Victor to the beach for the first time. It’s more rock than sand. He takes off his shoes and regrets it instantly when a rock’s jagged edge slices through the sole of his foot. The water is nice though, and Yuuri is there, which makes it even nicer. Yuuri’s been the best part of all of this. He’d been willing to help Victor with the whole thing despite barely knowing him. Chris approves, which is high praise, because Chris has ran off multiple of Victor’s would be pursuers with his own charms.
But...
The concert is coming. There’s only so much time that they have left to spend together. Once Victor saves his home, well, it’s likely he’ll have to stay there. And yeah, everything on Earth is disposable, and there’s smog and cars, and the shriek of sirens at night, but the air is fresh and not recycled, more places to explore than Victor things he could traverse in his entire life time.
And Yuuri.
Victor looks over to where Yuuri’s playing fetch with his dog, Vicchan. It’s a nickname of some sort, but Yuuri had only blushed and stuttered when Victor asked what it was a placeholder for.
“Victor!” Yuuri says, with a smile and a wave. He’s beaming—bright and beautiful. Vicchan bounds over, knocking into Victor’s calves in his excitement.
Victor can’t have a dog on the space station.
Yuuri wanders over. He gives Victor a soft, shy look from underneath his eyelashes. Victor thinks he could spend the rest of his life being on the receiving end of those looks. If only he could. “Are you ready for tonight? Chris said it was all set up.”
Tonight is, if all goes according to plan, Victor’s last night on Earth. He needs to make it count in more ways than one.
“I’m ready,” Victor says. And he laces Yuuri’s hand with his.
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Plans, as it turns out, are elaborate and unwieldy things. Especially when the spring fling committee doesn’t know that you’ve brought your international rock star friend as a surprise guest (thanks Chris). Or that you’re using the whole occasion as a sting operation for corporate drones who want to sell off your home—piece by piece.
It’s like Victor said. Recycling. He’s made this whole occasion better by giving it multiple purposes.
At least, that’s what he’ll claim later when half the gym ends up covered in glitter and the other half in fire extinguisher foam.
In all honesty, Victor thinks it’s a pretty substantial improvement over what the place usually looks like .
It’s also a substantial improvement to see Alain and Natalie Leroy being led away for questioning. For now, Victor’s home is safe.
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Victor is the hero of the ISS, despite how he tells everyone that Yuuri and Chris played big parts too. That he couldn’t have done this without him. That he wouldn’t want to.
Yakov stands before him, stone faced. He’s a little unsteady, not used to the way real gravity feels compared to the artificial kind. Victor can tell he’s proud—if only because he’s had a lot of practice reading the nuances of Yakov’s poker face. “It’s time to go home, Vitya.”
Victor looks around. Yuuri’s chatting with Phichit. Yuuri doesn’t know that Victor’s about to make the biggest decision of his life.
“It’s okay, Yakov. I’m already home.”