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Yuuri frowned as he regarded himself in the mirror, running his fingers through the strands of his hair, tugging on the tufts at his temples where they brushed his ears.
He pulled the skin off his lips with his teeth, eyebrows furrowed.
A movement behind him made him jump as Phichit stuck his head inside the open bathroom door.
“Ah“, he said, grinning, “Is it that time again? Time for your appointment?“
Yuuri nodded vaguely, still lost in thought, still unable to tear his gaze away from his reflection.
“Tomorrow“, he said.
“Yeah, I know“, Phichit said, leaning against the door frame now, “Thursdays, 3:15pm, every other week.“
Yuuri huffed and ran both hands through his hair, messing it up until it stuck up every which way.
“I don‘t know“, he said, trying to brush it this way and that way, “do you think maybe I should do something different?“
Phichit opened his mouth to say something, eyes wide, unblinking. It took a few moments until any sound left his lips.
“Something different? Yuuri, are you okay?“, he took a step forward, arm outstretched as if to check his temperature, “You‘ve had that standing appointment for the last, what, two years?“
(“Two and a half“, was Yuuri‘s mumbled interjection.)
“Always just a little trimming and cleaning up at the neck and around the ears, to carefully maintain the blandest haircut in existence. And now you want to do something different? Like what? And why now?“
Yuuri shrugged.
“I just feel like it might be time for a change, you know. It‘s—I... You‘re right, I’ve been doing the same thing forever, expecting different results and it’s... I need to change something.“
The borderline concerned expression on Phichit’s face morphed into a wide grin.
“Oh, I see. That’s what this is about.“
Yuuri pointedly ignored him.
“Will I need to let it grow out, do you think, in order to change it?“, he asked, fiddling with his hair again, “I mean, as it is right now there‘s nothing much to be done about it, right?“
“Yuuri!“, Phichit‘s tone was scandalised, but he was still grinning, “Grow it out? Are you saying you just won‘t go? You do know that would break his heart, right?“
“Don‘t be ridiculous, Phichit. I‘d call to cancel. I‘m not a monster. Besides... I‘m just a customer.“
“My dearest, loveliest cinnamon boy, I am being completely and utterly serious! You‘re not just a customer, you’re a cherished regular and probably his best source of income. How will he ever make ends meet without your precious biweekly student-discount rate?“
Yuuri sighed.
“He’ll be fine. He has plenty of other customers. He’s the best in the city. He probably won’t even notice.“
Yuuri focused on pushing his hair back, carefully ignoring Phichit’s deadpan stare.
“Plus“, he continued, “it’s not like I have a choice, right? I mean, my hair is boring right now. Even he couldn’t do anything different with it.“
Phichit walked around him, regarding his hair contemplatively.
“I beg to differ. For one, you could get one of those fancy undercut or sidecut things. I’m sure that would take a while to get done. Maybe with like a design shaved into the side or the back? Oh!“, Phichit grinned gleefully, “Just ask him to shave his phone number into your hair!“
“Phichit!“
“Sorry, sorry. Okay, but seriously: the best thing you could probably do is get your hair dyed. Something fancy, like blue, or purple. Or silver?“, he raised one eyebrow pointedly and Yuuri groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“I’m not going to dye my hair silver, Phichit.“
“Why not? Then you two would match! How adorable!“
Yuuri used the combined strength of his embarrassment and his pre-season thighs to bump against Phichit with his hips, sending him tumbling halfway through the bathroom.
“Alright, alright, message received, Mr. Grumpypants“, Phichit laughed as he braced himself against the shower wall, “No silver then. But you should dye it, though. With all the bleaching your hair would need for any other colour to take, it would be a guaranteed multiple-hour ordeal, just you, stuck in that chair with him fawning over you all afternoon. That’s pretty much what you’re going for here, right?“
“I—...“, Yuuri trailed off, deciding that it was not worth the hassle, trying to deny it, “But—dyeing, really? I really don’t think a different hair colour would suit me.“
Behind him, Phichit snorted.
Yuuri frowned in his general direction.
“Sorry“, Phichit said, but the mirth in his eyes belied his apology, “I just pictured you with red hair and... yeah, no. But, seriously, I can totally see it, if it‘s the right colour. Imagine if you will“, with a dramatic flourish of his hands, Phichit stepped away from the shower, framing his arms around Yuuri‘s head, “imagine the gasp of the crowd when you step on the ice this season. You would look so cool—an undercut with your natural black hair at the bottom, and the longer hair on top a soft pastel blue.“
Yuuri frowned, meeting Phichit‘s gaze through the mirror.
“Now you‘re just making fun of me.“
Phichit gasped.
“How dare you suggest I would ever treat your skating career with anything but the utmost seriousness? Me, your best friend and biggest fan!“
Yuuri levelled him with a look.
“No, I mean it“, Phichit hurried on, “you could totally change your image, go for a, like, punk-edgy kind of thing. Just make that your theme this season!“
Yuuri gave an undignified snort.
“I think the Russian Punk would actually murder me if I stole his image, too, in addition to ‚stealing‘ his name. Plus, I already have a theme for the season.“
“Oh, right! Uh, Growth, isn‘t it? I know! Just go for that forest girl fashion style. What’s it called again?“
Yuuri sighed deeply.
“Mori. It‘s mori.“
“Yes! That! With a delicate ombré dye job and lots of layers! You would be so cute!“
Yuuri unceremoniously shoved Phichit out of the bathroom and slammed the door in his face.
“Hey, Viktor!“
Mila was waving him over as he stepped out from the back, carrying a pile of freshly laundered fluffy towels.
“Your Thursday 3:15 just called and cancelled for this week.“
Viktor, just about to pile the towels onto the shelf, felt his fingers slip, and they landed in an undignified crumpled heap to his feet.
“He—what now?“, Viktor said, staring at Mila by the reception desk where she was bent over the appointment book.
“He cancelled.“
“He...“
Mila glanced over to him when he trailed off, and raised an eyebrow at the crumpled towels on the floor. Hurriedly Viktor bent down to start picking them up. He shoved them roughly into an empty chair and began painstakingly refolding them.
“Did he happen to mention why?“, Viktor asked, trying his hardest to make his voice sound casual.
“He didn‘t“, Mila called over, “he just said he couldn‘t make it this week.“
She seemed to read something in his silence, because she continued, a knowing lilt to her words, “Try not to be too disappointed, Vitya. It‘s not like you won‘t have plenty else to do, you know we‘re booked solid.“
“But he...“, Viktor cleared his throat, willing to stop himself stammering like a dumbstruck idiot, “he never misses an appointment. Thursdays, 3:15pm, every other week. It‘s a standing appointment.“
“Yes, Viktor, I‘m well aware of that. Don‘t worry about it. I‘m sure he‘ll be back to his regular appointment the next time. Maybe he‘s just busy or something.“
Viktor stared down at his hands mechanically folding the towels.
He didn‘t understand. Yuuri never cancelled. Yuuri was here, in his salon, every other Thursday, at 3:15 sharp. Had been for over two years now, and to say that he’s never missed out on one of his appointments would be... well, it wouldn’t technically be true, because occasionally Yuuri couldn’t make it because he was travelling (where a psychology student was travelling to so much and what for, Viktor had not been able to find out. Yet.). But when that was the case, Yuuri would always let him know well in advance, usually in person, and he would make sure to reschedule his appointment at the nearest possible date.
Because Yuuri was particular about his hair like that.
(Viktor was very grateful that Yuuri was particular about his hair like that, because it meant that every other Thursday for a glorious twenty minutes, he had every justification to run his hands through Yuuri‘s beautifully soft hair as much as he liked.)
But now Yuuri had cancelled his appointment just like that, not rescheduling and barely twenty-four hours‘ notice?
The thought stuck coarsely in Viktor‘s throat.
Maybe he was just sick? Just a flu or something, and he couldn‘t yet say when he would be back on his feet? That must be it, right? Or he was travelling unexpectedly and wasn‘t sure about his schedule for the next week?
Surely it wasn‘t because Yuuri was leaving Detroit, as students were wont to do after a few years, before Viktor had found a way to ask him out while hovering over him with a variety of sharp implements in his hands without seeming like a creep?
Surely it wasn‘t because he had found a better hairdresser, someone he‘d rather spend his precious twenty minutes every other Thursday with?
Viktor gasped at the towels he was still folding—he hadn‘t found someone who gave better scalp massages than him, had he?
No—no, that was impossible. There was no one in Detroit who gave better scalp massages than Viktor, something that he made sure to remind Yuuri of during every single appointment, even if it wasn‘t technically necessary to wash Yuuri‘s hair for the little bit of trimming he got done.
(Viktor had lost count of the number of times he‘d silently congratulated himself over the last two years for offering that student discount that allowed Yuuri to afford fortnightly appointments with Viktor. Viktor was a master of his craft, after all.)
Whatever the reason for Yuuri‘s unexpected absence, Viktor did not have any choice but to wait, and hope that his favourite regular would find his way back to Viktor‘s salon sooner or later.
Hope that he hadn‘t missed his chance to ever have a conversation with Yuuri that didn‘t take place through a mirror.
It took four excruciating weeks before Viktor heard Yuuri‘s soft voice again, on the phone in the salon, confirming his appointment for the following day. And—indeed, there it was in the appointment book, a full hour-long appointment for a haircut for Yuuri.
He would have to have a serious talk with Mila or Georgi, or whoever it was that took the appointment in the first place, for failing to inform him immediately that his favourite regular had booked another appointment, and a longer one than usual at that.
But in the meantime he gleefully confirmed the appointment with Yuuri and bade him a reluctant goodbye until the next day.
Viktor couldn‘t help but look up from whatever it was he‘d been doing when he heard Yuuri coming in the next day—and he knew it was Yuuri, because Yuuri always turned up at 3:15 sharp and, would you look at that, that was the time now. And even though he was still with his previous customer, Viktor couldn’t help but glance up at the figure coming in through the door of the salon.
Yuuri was wearing a light jacket against the first chill of the approaching fall, but the cuffs of his jeans were still rolled up, revealing a glimpse of his toned legs, and his shirt underneath the jacket was dark, and form-fitting in a way that Viktor had rarely seen on him.
He wondered who he had to thank for this unusual glimpse at Yuuri‘s sculpted chest and narrow waist.
But the thing that caught Viktor‘s eye the most—maybe not surprisingly, given his profession—was Yuuri‘s hair. He‘d never seen it this long in the two and a half years he‘d known Yuuri.
That wasn‘t really saying much, since Yuuri had had the exact same haircut for all of those two and a half years. But at just about six weeks without a haircut, Yuuri’s hair had a lovely little bit of shagginess to it, the strands reaching just a little bit further into his forehead and curling slightly around his ears and at his neck.
It made him look even softer and more adorable than usual.
Viktor grinned at Yuuri and held up a finger indicating for him to wait a moment longer, and Yuuri smiled back at him hesitantly, sinking down on his usual waiting chair by the door.
By the time Viktor had finished up with his previous customer and beckoned Yuuri into the salon chair, Yuuri had taken out his phone, put it back into his pocket, taken it out again, dropped it into his lap and started fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. It had been three minutes.
“Yuuri!“, Viktor greeted him enthusiastically with a firm handshake, as he did all his customers, “It‘s been a while since I‘ve seen you! How have you been?“
Yuuri gave a small smile as he took a seat and, glancing up at Viktor through the mirror, he nodded sheepishly.
“Uhm—I‘m okay, thank you. I‘ve just been very, uh, busy the last few weeks. I‘m sorry I couldn‘t make it in.“
“That‘s quite alright“, Viktor replied, as if he hadn’t dramatically declared his impending death by heartbreak to his staff at least half a dozen times in that first week alone, “don‘t worry about it. So what can I do for you today?“
He immediately took the chance to run both his hands through Yuuri‘s hair, pulling it back from his face and carding his fingers through it.
“I‘m guessing it‘s not going to be the usual, seeing as you booked a longer appointment today?“
The thick, soft strands of Yuuri‘s hair felt warm and familiar in Viktor‘s hands and Viktor honestly never wanted to let them go.
Yuuri perked up a little in his chair, twisting his hands a little in his lap.
“Well, actually—you see, I thought it might be time for me to try something different? You know, with my hair? But I don‘t—I don‘t really know what would suit me? So I was hoping that maybe you could advise me on what... might look good?“
The words came out all in a rush and Yuuri barely took the time to take a breath.
“I know there‘s not too much to work with but, you know, they‘ve grown a little over the last few weeks and—I was thinking that hopefully you can... uhm... do something with that?“
Viktor beamed, his fingertips already tingling with ideas the second Yuuri uttered the words “something different“.
“Of course I can“, he said, “I‘m a professional after all! I‘m sure we can find something that goes beautifully with your—“, Viktor did not say loveliness or beauty, and he was very proud of himself for that, “style.“
He ran his fingers through the strands again.
“Your hair is fairly short, but there’s still plenty that we can do with it if you want. Do you have any idea what kind of a style you want to go for? Modern, cutting edge? Or more vintage? Something messy and tousled or rather clean and sleek?“
He could see it all in his mind‘s eye, and all of it looked fantastic on Yuuri.
“How do you feel about colour?“
“Uhm...“, Yuuri hesitated, chewing on his lips, and Viktor tried to refrain from staring at his mouth, “I don‘t—I don‘t really know about any of that. No colour, I think. I can‘t really imagine myself with a different hair colour. Other than that, I...“, he flicked his gaze up at Viktor momentarily, “I trust your expertise. Only, it should be something that isn’t too high maintenance. I don’t really have the... the time in the morning to do anything fancy with my hair.“
“No worries“, Viktor had taken up a comb and was running it gently through Yuuri’s hair, pulling it back, “we’ll do something versatile then, something that is low maintenance for every day, but that you can still style into something fancy when the mood strikes you. Sound good?“
Yuuri nodded as Viktor’s hands settled lightly on his shoulders.
“Sounds great. I, uh, I wear contacts sometimes, so... I don’t know if that makes a difference at all, but...“
“Oh!“, Viktor grinned, delighted with this new piece of information, “What I have in mind will definitely work with or without glasses, so no worries there.“
He curled his fingers around the little tufts of hair at the nape of Yuuri‘s neck, delighted that his profession gave him ample permission to do so.
“So, how come I‘ve never seen you wearing contacts before?“, he asked, making sure to keep his tone light and conversational in the typical hairdresser manner.
“Well...“, Yuuri looked away, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket again, “they just seem too much of a hassle for every day, you know? But sometimes I just—sometimes glasses are just really inconvenient, you know?“
Viktor hummed knowingly, even though he‘d never worn a pair of glasses in his life, other than sunglasses.
He liked Yuuri‘s glasses and how they framed his face. But he‘d had ample opportunity to stare at Yuuri‘s beautiful unobstructed face in the mirror as he was cutting his hair, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see it more often, or if that would just leave him even weaker to Yuuri than he already was.
For now, though, he asked Yuuri to take off his jacket, and his glasses, and after talking him through the basic idea of what he was planning motioned him over to the basin in order to wash his hair.
Yuuri took a deep breath as the soft stream of warm water soaked his hair and tried his best to brace himself. In vain. No matter how many times he came here, Viktor‘s touch was electrifying all over again every single time.
The second Viktor‘s fingertips touched Yuuri‘s scalp, his eyes slipped shut of their own accord and he had to consciously bite back a moan.
It should be impossible for any one human to be able to make another feel this good. And yet...
Once every two weeks, every last ounce of tension seeped out of Yuuri and trickled down the drain under Viktor‘s skilled fingers.
He went completely boneless in his chair and within seconds everything that set his shoulders with worry throughout the day fell away—his classwork, training, all his falls and failures, the aches of his body, still young but already so strained, the pressure of competition—it all disappeared.
The only thing left was deep relaxation, a warm pleasant fog settling over him like a blanket.
It was better than any massage Yuuri had every received from any physical therapist, and if Yuuri was being honest with himself, he would have to admit that it was probably about seventy-five percent of the reason he kept coming here.
Even if Viktor hadn't been exceedingly pleasant and kind-hearted, skilled at his job and, frankly, out of this world gorgeous, the scalp massages alone would probably provide Yuuri with ample reason to return to the salon every other week to spend more money than he could really justify on haircuts that he barely needed.
But Viktor was all of those things and Yuuri strongly suspected that the only reason he ever managed to have a halfway decent conversation with Viktor at all was because after that incredible massage he was so deeply relaxed that he forgot all about being nervous under Viktor‘s attentive gaze and his warm, deft hands.
“So“, Viktor said in his easy conversational tone, once Yuuri was settled back in his salon chair in front of the mirror, a dark silver cape draped around his shoulders with Viktor‘s salon‘s hot pink logo emblazoned on the front, “what made you decide to change something up? You‘ve never wanted to do anything different so far.“
Viktor‘s eyes glinted with quiet amusement as he brushed out Yuuri‘s hair, gently squeezing the excess water from the strands.
“I don‘t know“, Yuuri said, “that‘s just it, isn‘t it? I never do anything different. I‘ve been following the same routine for years and I... I‘m kind of sick of it. I want something to change.“
He sighed and made to lift his hand, to touch his hair, before he remembered that his arms were covered by the cape.
“I was actually going to let them grow out longer. You know, so there‘s more to work with?“
“Hmm“, Viktor set the towel off to the side and began dividing portions of Yuuri‘s hair with the comb, “what made you change your mind?“
Yuuri flicked his gaze up at Viktor in the mirror and braced himself. “I got impatient“, he said, and held Viktor‘s surprised gaze for a solid three seconds before the heat rising in his cheeks forced him to look away.
The soft smile on Viktor‘s lips was more than worth it.
He started working swiftly and efficiently, the soft rasping of the scissors on Yuuri's hair a physical reverberation against his skin that made Yuuri shiver and relaxed him at the same time.
“If I may ask, what‘s kept you so busy the last few weeks anyway? I—we missed you around here.“
Viktor grinned at him, a mixture of sheepish and teasing. Yuuri took a deep breath. This was it, this was the moment. If he wanted this eternal stalemate between them to end, he would have to do something differently.
“I was travelling“, he said.
“Wow, for so long? Isn‘t it the middle of term for you?“
“Well...“, Yuuri ducked his head, “I wasn‘t actually away the entire time. Some of it was preparation. I only missed a few days of classes, and I got leave for those.“
Viktor kept his eyes fixed on Yuuri‘s hair as he was cutting it, which Yuuri was thankful for, but he could see the barely concealed curiosity on his features nonetheless.
“And where did you go?“
“Munich.“
“Munich? Munich as in Germany?“
“Mhm. That‘s the one.“ Yuuri tried hard to keep his tone neutral. He really didn‘t want to sound like he was bragging.
“For school?“
Another deep breath. He could hear the eagerness in Viktor‘s questions now. He‘d always talked openly with him about school and his life in Detroit, but whenever Viktor‘s questions veered too close to his skating, he‘d deflected. He was an expert at that.
He wasn‘t actually sure why he‘d done it. He wasn‘t ashamed that he skated, not at all—quite the contrary, it was one of the few things he took pride in. On a good day at least. But how do you bring up the fact that you‘re an internationally ranked figure skater with a modest but greater-than-zero amount of medals to your name? How do you do it without sounding like an ass, which Yuuri decidedly did not want to do in front of Viktor?
“No. Not school, it—it was for work, actually.“
“Oh? I don‘t think you ever told me you work? What is it that has you jet-setting to Germany just like that? Are you secretly a pop star or something?“
Swallowing, he took a moment too long to answer and Viktor‘s eyes widened comically.
“Wait, are you?“
“No! No, of course not. Who has ever heard of pop stars living in Detroit?“
Viktor pursed his lips, still looking at him expectantly.
“They might, if they were trying to hide.“
Yuuri sighed.
“I‘m not a pop star trying to hide. I‘m...—Do you follow winter sports at all?“
For the first time, Viktor lowered his scissors, tapping his fingers contemplatively on his chin.
“I used to, back in Russia. You know, skating, hockey, that kind of thing is pretty big there. Kind of lost track of it when I came here, what with work taking up all my time. Since none of it is particularly popular over here. Except for Hockey, of course, and even then it‘s only the NHL...“, Viktor trailed off, and Yuuri could pinpoint the exact moment he remembered how they got to this part of the conversation. His eyes came to rest on Yuuri and Yuuri could see him mentally reevaluating every single thing he knew about him.
“You skate?“
It was barely even a question.
“I—yes.“
“Internationally?“
Yuuri nodded, tucking his head between his shoulders. He wasn‘t really sure what kind of a reaction he expected, but he braced himself nonetheless.
“Yuuri! That’s amazing! I mean, you told me that you like to dance, but this is—wow!“
“I—It’s not...“, Yuuri stammered, but Viktor didn’t even let him get through his self-deprecation.
“Singles or pairs?“
“Singles.“
Viktor hummed, pleased, and seamlessly picked back up where he’d left Yuuri’s haircut.
“I’m gonna have to look you up“, he said lightly.
“Please don’t.“
“Whyever not?“, Viktor‘s eyebrows furrowed, questioning.
“It‘s—“, embarrassing was what Yuuri wanted to say, on instinct alone, but he consciously reminded himself that it wasn‘t. And that most likely nothing he might say would keep Viktor from looking him up at this point. He sighed again. “If you must“, he finally continued, “but please do it when I’m not around.“
„Deal! So that‘s why you went to Munich?“
Yuuri nodded. “I was in an ice show there.“
“Wow! How did it go?“
And that‘s how Yuuri found himself recounting his travels to Munich, the benevolent chaos of the show and the shenanigans Phichit had them getting up to after they were free of their obligations.
Viktor, meanwhile, laughed and hummed in all the right places and encouraged him to keep talking the way only a hairdresser can, all the while snipping away at Yuuri‘s hair. Yuuri was so engrossed in his stories, Viktor so easy to talk to, that he barely registered the progression of scissors and razors that ran through Viktor‘s hands.
It wasn‘t until Viktor picked up a large, soft brush to brush off the last of the loose hair from his cape and his neck that Yuuri really paid attention to his reflection once more.
Without his glasses the image was fuzzy at best, but Yuuri could already tell that it was... different.
Different. That was what he wanted.
“You can put your glasses back on“, Viktor said, and when Yuuri had done so, he immediately started running his fingers through Yuuri‘s hair again.
“So“, he said, “what do you think? I‘ve let it long enough at the top that you can style it back or even up, but if you don‘t feel like putting in the effort, it‘ll also look good falling forward to cover your forehead.“
As he spoke, Viktor tugged the strands this way and that to demonstrate the styles he was talking about. Then he picked up a hand mirror to give Yuuri a better look at the sides and back.
“It‘s nice and clean here at the sides now, with a transition towards the bottom. The design that I shaved in will grow out fairly quickly, but with your biweekly appointments it should be no problem to keep it up, if you like it.“
He paused, waiting for a reaction from Yuuri.
“Well?“
Yuuri regarded his reflection, turning his head slowly from one side to the other.
“It‘s... different“, he said, then hastened to add when Viktor‘s brow furrowed, “in a good way! I just—I‘m gonna have to get used to it first. It looks good, but it‘s so different from what I usually do. So... bold. And suave. I just didn‘t think that would be me.“
Viktor smiled softly at him, settling his hands on Yuuri‘s shoulders once more.
“Don‘t sell yourself short, Yuuri. If you ask me, you‘re plenty bold, pursuing the career that you do. And on top of going to college, too. If that isn‘t bold, what is? As for suave...“, Viktor winked at him through the mirror, “you could definitely have me falling at your feet any day of the week.“
For a few moments Yuuri stared at him, dumbstruck. Viktor‘s words coursed with molten heat through his veins, making him sweat. But looking at him, Yuuri could read nothing but honesty in his expression.
Well. If Viktor thought him bold and suave, then maybe it was time for him to live up to that belief.
In any case, his extended time with Viktor, bought for the price of a strange new haircut, was coming rapidly to an end, so it was now or never.
He took a deep breath.
“Let me take you out, then“, he said, the words leaving him all in a rush, but if the widening of Viktor‘s eyes was any indication, he‘d understood him just fine.
“To—to dinner“, Yuuri added, when an answer was not immediately forthcoming, “let me take you to dinner. I would say I will prove to you just how suave I can be, but I don‘t want to get your expectations up so—I will just say: let me take you out. Because I really want to. I want to have dinner with you, Viktor.“
A wide, languid smile spread on Viktor‘s face, more sincere than any Yuuri had ever seen from him.
“It would be my pleasure, Yuuri“, he said, his fingers on Yuuri‘s shoulder squeezing lightly, brushing against his neck ever so slightly.
For a few moments he just looked at Yuuri, smiling, apparently lost in his own thoughts, before he shook it off with a grin.
“But first, let me show you how to style your hair right! After all you‘re my celebrity customer now, and how can I brag about being your stylist if I don't actually style it for you?“
He skipped—literally skipped—away to grab a tub of styling paste and went on to show Yuuri exactly how to work the paste into his hair and how to style it, by running his fingers, rather extensively, through Yuuri‘s hair.
His fingertips on Yuuri‘s scalp left Yuuri shivering in his chair.
Once Yuuri had paid for his haircut, a new tub of styling paste in tow, he and Viktor hovered by the reception desk, exchanging numbers.
Yuuri looked down at Viktor‘s digits in his phone with a giddy feeling in his chest.
“I‘ll text you then“, he said, “and we can make plans.“
“Yes, Yuuri“, Viktor said, clutching his phone just as eagerly, “Please do.“
Yuuri couldn’t help his grin that he was sure must look completely goofy, but it was mirrored on Viktor’s face, so it was okay. When Viktor extended his hand for his customary handshake goodbye, their fingers lingered together for just a little while longer than usual.
And when Phichit spent a solid twenty minutes that night screaming in delight about Yuuri‘s new haircut, Yuuri barely heard it. He had a date to plan.