Chapter Text
It was an extremely well-known fact among the theatre community that Victor Nikiforov was terrible at remembering things.
It was an even better-known fact Victor Nikiforov was a hoarder of post-it notes and brightly colored pens. His copy of the Pippin script was a mess of color-coded notes and slightly crooked tabs. Prop notes were blue, set notes were green, all the lighting cues were in bright pink, sound was purple. Every new scene was marked with a neon orange post-it tab. The script lived in a black binder, and the binder lived stapled to Victor’s hands.
By the time he was ready to leave for the theater, he’d gone over the notes at least twice. He’d read the post-its on his mirror at least four times, but that was excusable considering he was packing at the time and couldn’t risk forgetting anything majorly important.
He still forgot his shoes the first time he tried to walk out of his apartment.
On his way out the door the second time, his phone started to ring.
He’d had to drop two bags and the stage binder in order to find it in time, thankfully only two rolls of spike tape rolled out in the process.
“Vitya,” a familiar voice said as he answered the phone. “I take it you’ve been well?”
Victor laughed a little. “It’s opening night, Yakov, if you called to catch up this really isn’t a great time.”
“What’s your show after Pippin?”
“Not sure,” Victor said, mentally running through a list of dates in his head. “I know community theatre wanted me to do Little Mermaid, but that’s still a way out. I don’t think I’m actively booked. Why?”
“I need a stage manager,” Yakov said. “For Firebird, in a couple months. It’ll be rushed, it came up last minute. But I’m putting together a crew and you’re the only one I really trust.”
“Is that ‘a couple’ as in four or ‘a couple’ as in literally two?”
Yakov just sighed.
“No offense, Yakov,” Victor said cautiously. “But why the hell would you try to put on a ballet in two months?”
“Lilia’s coming back into town, I want to do something for her.”
Victor didn’t have an argument for that. Sure, the ballet would probably be a train wreck. It would probably cost him a whole lot of post-it notes and even more coffee. But if it was for Lilia, if it was for love…
Victor knew he couldn’t stand in the way.
“Okay,” he said. “Who do you have so far?”
“Well, I’ve booked the Aria,” Yakov said. “Mila’s coming in to dance the Firebird, Gosha said he’d do Koschei. I have someone to dance Ivan- Yuri Plisetsky- I don’t think you’ve met him yet. He’s young, but he’s talented. Christophe said he’d do the costumes, Chulanont was more than willing to help with makeup. I have a choreographer, lighting, and I have a solid lead on someone for sound.”
Victor laughed a little. “Why do I feel like I’m the last to know?”
“Couldn’t risk you turning me down,” Yakov said.
“When have I ever-”
“Do you really want a list?”
“When have I ever turned Lilia down?” Victor corrected, earning an exhausted sigh from Yakov.
“I’ll have to ask her in two months, I’m sure she’ll think of something. We start on Monday, by the way. Bring some stagehands with you, call some friends.”
“You’ve already called all my friends.”
“Call some reliable acquaintances,” Yakov said. “Noon, at the Aria.”
“I’ll be there,” Victor promised, starting to pick up his bags again. “But I get to be best man at the wedding.”
Yakov hung up.
Victor wasn’t even surprised.
On the bright side, working with community theatre meant decent budgets and fairly competent directors. On the not-so-bright side, it meant Victor had to work the stagehands community theatre gave him.
Usually, this went fairly well.
Pippin had proved to be the exception.
They’d given him three high school students, promising they had a solid lead on a fourth and possibly even a fifth. The fourth came through two weeks before opening, the mysterious fifth stagehand never showed.
And so Victor was left to wrangle four high school students, and he would’ve gained at least three hundred grey hairs from the experience had his hair not been naturally platinum. At least one of the stagehands had wanted to be there. One signed up because she needed some sort of community service in order to graduate with honors. The third stagehand was the costuming director’s son, and the fourth was just there to see his girlfriend strut around in tights.
By some sort divine theatre intervention, Victor made it through Pippin without completely losing his mind. Did that divine intervention come in the form of Chris and multiple bar runs?
Maybe.
But either way, Victor survived Pippin. He left the theatre in the wee hours of Monday morning after tear-down was finally finished and tried to get something at least vaguely resembling sleep.
When his alarm went off at ten thirty, he felt like he’d been hit by a giant, circus-shaped bus.
He reset the alarm for eleven and slept for another half hour.
It didn’t really help.
Come eleven, he showered as quickly as humanly possible, grabbed the first half-decent shirt he could find and made his way out the door. The drive the Aria took about twenty minutes, plus Victor’s stop at the Starbucks drive-thru. Thankfully, there hadn’t been too bad of a line.
He made it to the theater with seven minutes to spare.
Thankfully, someone had left the back door unlocked, and though Victor hadn’t worked at the Aria in at least a year, he still knew his way through the halls. He made it into the wings, coffee in hand, almost running into Mila as he walked through the darkness.
She hushed him dramatically, gesturing to the stage.
Over his thirty years of life, Victor had read quite a bit about soulmates. As a child, he’d pored over books, articles, blog posts from people he knew nothing about. He’d been fascinated by the concept, daydreaming for hours on end about the music that would eventually connect him to the person he was meant to be with.
He figured it would be at least a semi-popular song, probably something he’d hear on the radio one day. He figured it would probably be catchy, upbeat, the kind of song that would get stuck in his head for hours. It would be annoying, sure. But it would remind him that somewhere out in the big wide world, he had a soulmate, and that would almost make up for it.
For his parents, it had been Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue.
For his fifth grade teacher, it had been that one obnoxious Britney Spears song.
For his first boyfriend, it had been Culture Club.
Victor had listened to Culture Club for weeks before he realized it wasn’t going to happen.
They’d broken up within the week.
After all, everyone had a soulmate and Nick from Chemistry 101 just hadn’t been his.
It hadn’t been Cody from Starbucks either.
He’d dated Peter from the gym for almost a year before the inevitable breakup.
It was the same story every time. They’d date for a while, get close. They’d go on dates, take cute pictures, Peter had even moved in. But then he’d heard his song. He’d come back from work practically glowing, the track cued up on his phone.
“Listen,” he’d said.
And Victor had listened, trying to ignore the eager eyes of his boyfriend as they practically drilled into his soul.
He’d wanted so badly to feel it, and yet listening to the calm guitar strums of Peter’s song, he felt nothing.
He’d cried.
Peter had cried.
And in the end, Peter had moved on.
He got a wedding invite in the mail a few years later. Chris had been nice enough to go as his date, considering Victor had paid him in champagne. It had been a nice wedding- Peter’s mother had made an excellent cake. And Peter looked completely blissfully happy.
Victor had smiled, figuring someday he’d find his song and be happy, too.
He’d never thought he’d find it at the Aria.
“Who is that?” he whispered to Mila as he stared at the dancer on the stage.
The man was incredible- he moved perfectly in sync with the music, feet perfectly arched in his pointe shoes as he twirled across the stage. There was something about him- something about the music- that had managed to completely take Victor’s breath away.
“We think it’s Yuri Plisetsky,” Mila whispered back. “The ballerina Yakov brought in to dance Ivan? Though he’s dancing Firebird now…”
“He’s amazing,” he whispered.
Mila just nodded. “I know. He’s eighteen, some sort of prodigy if I’m remembering right. Lilia taught him when he was younger, so Yakov had a bit of a connection.”
“Eighteen?” Victor echoed numbly, heart falling rapidly in his chest.
“Crazy, right?”
Victor just nodded numbly.
Eighteen.
The dancer couldn't be his soulmate after all.
Maybe it would be someone else in the crew.
But Mila had said he was dancing to Firebird, and considering Mila was dancing the Firebird in the actual show...She was a wonderful human, but she definitely wasn’t his soulmate.
After a few moments, the song ended, and the dancer leaned down to pick up a pair of glasses left on the edge of the stage. He glanced at his phone briefly before his eyes caught on the wings of the stage.
“Oh my God,” he stammered. “How long have you all been here? I thought I was early.”
“You were,” Mila reassured as she walked out onto the stage. “We just didn’t want to interrupt. Yuri, right?”
The dancer nodded.
Somewhere in the building, a switch was flipped and the stage lights came on.
Once again, Victor just stared.
The dancer would have been gorgeous, had he not been eighteen- eighteen, dammit. His dark hair was sloppily pushed back, blue-rimmed glasses ready to fall off the edge of his nose. And he was wearing this paint-stained Julliard t-shirt.
Julliard.
He was going to Julliard .
How the hell had Yakov found him?
“V,” Mila said. “Space much?”
“Sorry,” Victor apologized, walking out onto the stage. “You just looked a bit older than I’d expected, got distracted. I’m Victor, I’m here to stage manage.”
The dancer’s eyebrows rose as he shook Victor’s hand. “I’m just going to laugh and pretend not to be insulted by that.”
“Don’t be,” Victor said. “It was a compliment. I mean you might not appreciate it by the time you’re my age, but for now, at least you can probably drink easily.”
“ Victor, ” Mila snapped. “Ignore him, he just got out of Pippin and he’s a mess. V, be a darling and get the crew out here for introductions?”
Victor got the crew.
It took him a minute, but everyone made it out onto the stage relatively efficiently. They didn’t even complain when he asked them to sit in a circle.
God, they were so much better than his high schoolers.
“Alright,” he said. “Yakov’s running a bit late, but we’re going to start introductions anyway. Most of you probably know Yakov, considering you’ve been dragged into this operation.”
The majority of the cast nodded, a few hummed their agreement.
“That said, most of you also know me, but some of you are new. My name is Victor Nikiforov, I’m a friend of Yakov’s and the stage manager for the show.”
He gestured to his left, allowing Mila to take her turn.
“Mila Babicheva,” she said cheerily. “Also a friend of Yakov’s, and a friend of Victor’s. So when he inevitably gives you shit…”
Victor rolled his eyes.
“Anyways, I’m here to dance the firebird.”
“Georgi Popovich, I’m here because Yakov promised me a prosthetic nose and an excuse to wear black makeup. I’m dancing Kostchei.”
“Chris Giacometti, resident costume designer, also an expert on all things Victor, yes he’s gay, yes he’s single, if you’re interested come find me after this and I’ll give you his number.”
“Chris,” Victor hissed. “He’s kidding, Mila, stop laughing. Who’s next?”
“I am,” the sound director said. “Otabek Altin, I do sound with Leo, who’s on his way. He’s dragging the lighting crew with him.”
“Who’s on lights?” Mila asked.
“Ji and Minami for sure,” Otabek said. “Maybe a few others.”
Mila nodded and the introductions continued.
“Hi, I’m Phichit Chulanont, I’m here to do makeup and-”
He paused as someone walked onto the stage. The newcomer looked like a high school junior going through his middle-school emo phase. His blonde hair was pulled up in a sloppy knot, huge black headphones hanging from his neck.
“What’d I miss?” he asked, Russian accent dripping off his voice.
Considering Yakov probably recruited him, Victor wasn’t surprised.
“Just introductions,” he said. “You want to say hello and find a seat?”
“Yuri Plisetsky,” the kid said. “Yakov asked me to come dance Ivan.”
Victor looked at Mila.
Mila looked at Chris.
Chris looked confused.
“Wait,” Victor said, looking towards the ballerina from earlier. “You?”
“Yuuri Katsuki?” the dancer said. “Choreography?”
“Well that won’t be confusing at all,” Chris muttered under his breath.
Victor was vaguely aware of the continuing conversation- Mila was saying something about nicknames and Yakov’s angsty prodigy wasn’t having it. But Victor was focussed on the choreographer, who was probably not eighteen and who was also probably his soulmate.
God, he’d told his soulmate he looked old.
Old.
That would be a hard one to come back from.
Victor realized they’d started introductions again- one of the ballerinas was talking. She seemed nice. He had no idea what her name was, but she seemed nice.
“Who’s she dancing?” he whispered at Mila, who rolled her eyes.
“You mind repeating that again dear?” she asked the dancer. “V’s half asleep.”
The dancer just laughed. “Sara Crispino,” she said. “I’m here to dance Tsarevna.”
Victor nodded and gestured to the man sitting next to her.
“Mickey Crispino,” he said. “I’m here to support my sister.”
Victor almost interjected but didn’t get the chance.
“Emil Nekola,” the next man said. “I’m here to stop Mick from killing anyone.”
For a minute, there was confused silence.
“No, really, boys,” Mila said. “What do you do ?”
“Mickey’s here to stop me from ending up with some ‘flexible ballerina boyfriend’,” Sara said, voice dripping with irritation. “And Emil’s here to distract him.”
“So they do nothing,” Mila said dryly.
“I do kickboxing in the mornings,” the scruffy one said.
Mila just sighed. “Look, if you aren’t planning on contributing…”
“They can be stagehands,” Victor said quickly. “I’ll take them.”
“What?” the angry one scoffed.
“I’ll let you stay if you work for it,” Victor clarified. “It won’t be too challenging, I’m sure you’ll manage. But if you sit here and stalk the dancers all day I’ll throw you out.”
The angry one looked confused for a minute, before turning to Mila. “He’s not the director, can he do that?”
Mila just shrugged. “Yakov’s not here, so V’s the closest thing to God in this department until he gets back. You can be stagehands or you can leave, boys.”
“That’s heresy,” the angry one hissed.
“Dude chill,” the scruffy one said. “It’ll be fine. We get to be, like, roadies. Theater roadies.”
At least Chris and the makeup guy thought it was funny.
Mila looked about ready to kill someone.
“Good luck,” she muttered to Victor. “Call me when you need to hide the bodies.”
Victor shrugged and scanned the rest of the cast. “That’s it for introductions, right? I want the tech crew backstage, Chris?”
“Costumes and makeup are talking in the lobby.”
“Dancers?” Victor asked, locking eyes with Yuuri from across the circles.
“Dancers in the basement studio.”
“Alright,” Victor continued. “Mila will be around to get everyone into a group chat, we’ll get rehearsal plans out that way in the future. The Aria wants us out of here by five tonight, but we’re back same time tomorrow. Questions?”
“Do theater roadies get cool t-shirts?”
Victor rolled his eyes. “And break,” he said. “Tech, I’ll be there in two seconds. Yuuri, can I have a second?”
“Of course,” the choreographer replied as Victor made his way across the stage.
“I just wanted to apologize for earlier,” he said. “Mila had told me you were Plisetsky, I thought you were eighteen. You don’t look old.”
Yuuri chuckled a little. “I realized you had us confused right around the time Yurio walked in. It’s fine, Victor, don’t worry about it.”
For a second, Victor didn’t know how to respond. But once the idea hit him, the words were out of his mouth before he had the chance to fully process.
“Could I go out on a limb and ask you to get coffee with me sometime?”
“ What? ”
“I’m sorry, it’s probably sudden, and I’m probably crazy. But watching you dance earlier, that song… I think you might be my soulmate.”
The silence that followed was absolutely deafening. Victor could swear his heart stopped beating. Yuuri’s eyes were on his, though his expression was impossible to read.
Eventually, the choreographer just sighed.
“Look, Victor,” he said. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think that’s a great idea. Whatever you expect from me, I’m not- I just- I don’t believe in soulmates.”
Before he could fully process what had happened, Yuuri was walking away. He was walking away, not looking back, leaving Victor to stare slack-jawed from his spot on the stage.
He didn’t believe in soulmates.
How could he not believe in soulmates?
You: Welcome to the official firebird group chat, play nice and keep it clean
Stage Vodka Aunt: Why do I feel like that was directed at me?
You: Because it was.
Stage Mom: Anyways congrats on a great rehearsal, stage crew we’re building a tree tomorrow so come prepared.
I do kickboxing (Eric?): Ok so how exactly does one prepare to build a tree?
Stage Mom: Just wear clothes you’re not too attached to. Paint and paper mache will be involved.
Cute Yuuri Choreo: I want all dancers right away at noon for a few minutes, then we’ll split. Dance ensemble for two hours, then leads
Yakov’s angry prima: The fuck am I supposed to do for two hours?
Stage Vodka Aunt: Awww, V, it wasn’t even me this time
Stage Vodka Aunt: To answer your question though you’ll be with me getting measurements done
Stage Vodka Aunt: Same with the rest of dance cast
Becky with the good hair: My crew, we’re in the booth calibrating
You: That’s pretty much everyone right? V, is Yakov showing?
Stage Mom: I believe so
I do kickboxing (Eric?): At noon, right?
You: Yep!
I do kickboxing (Eric?): Cool beans I’ll be there