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When he was seven, Katsuki Yuuri fell in love.
Their tiny village did not often get reception enough to pick up television signals, so when the world championship of skating came through the winter he was seven, Yuuri was charmed by the beauty and spectacle of it. More specifically he was charmed by the beauty of a specific skater, Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri found his nose inches from the screen and his heart lost.
Two days later Yuuri declared that he was going to become a great skater just like Victor, only to have that dream dashed because his tiny village had nowhere to skate. Not even a pond and certainly not a proper rink he would need to learn more than wobbly little baby steps on ice.
Then, if he couldn’t skate like Victor, Yuuri declared he would make him the most beautiful flowers. Flowers so beautiful that Victor Nikiforov would come to their sleepy little village just to get them.
That, of course, didn’t happen.
Yuuri’s family grew flowers, their massive greenhouse producing beautiful blooms in almost any season. He grew up with dirt beneath his nails and smudged on his cheeks. At seventeen, Yuuri finally got to see the city, its sparkling lights and people awake until the dawn of the next day. Of course Victor had not come to their sleepy village for flowers; it had been several years since Yuuri had realized his dream was foolish and unattainable. But maybe in a large city, maybe maybe Victor would see his flowers.
That was how Katsuki Fleur came to be. The shop was little larger than a modest walk-in closet, sandwiched between a bank and a cafe in a space that had once been storage until someone realized it could be rented out with very little effort. Yuuri filled the tiny space with flowers that rivaled more expensive, larger shops; he filled it with his dreams and with a shy smile when he charmed someone with a bouquet or an arrangement they had been told was impossible in that season.
It was made possible by the large greenhouse in a tiny town that Yuuri could drive to in the night. The trip back to his tiny hometown was three hours one direction and within a year of Katsuki Fleur opening, Yuuri was bringing his friend and roommate, the bike messenger and hamster aficionado, Phichit along for the ride. He was mostly along as an excuse to get out of town and ply Yuuri with coffee until the shy florist got talking and opened up about anything Phichit wanted to know about.
And that was how it all started.
“No way.” Phichit was laughing, hands wrapped loosely around the hamster in his lap while Yuuri changed lanes.
“Well, I’m not going to try and convince you while there’s actual cars on the road,” Yuuri responded. He was always a careful driver, particularly when he had passengers, so Yuuri left his answer at that while he checked the mirrors to get back into his lane.
“I mean. Who doesn’t have a crush on Nikiforov? He’s basically a magician on the ice and the best at whatever he does. I bet in bed he–”
Yuuri cleared his throat.
“God, you’re a prude. Okay. So you’ve got a crush on the world’s most famous skater from Russia so you opened a flower shop here. In not-Russia.” Phichit didn’t need to reach a certain threshold of coffee before he got chatty. It was one of the things Yuuri liked about him. Phichit was more than happy to take up the slack in a conversation when Yuuri wasn’t feeling verbose or was feeling more anxiety about socializing than normal.
“Well yeah. I don’t have connections to flowers in Russia; I can go get flowers anytime I want here. Besides, skaters travel to major cities all over the world.” Yuuri smiled at Phichit but then redirected his eyes to the road. “I met him once.”
“You never.”
Yuuri felt himself blushing and he needed a moment to collect his thoughts before he continued. “Last year. The florist who was contracted to do the arrangements for the championships needed help with transportation.”
“Did you get paid?” Phichit, practical as ever, interrupted the story to ask this.
“No but–”
“But you’re just a sucker with a big ol’ gas guzzling truck that is stupidly large for this city, so you drove around, probably having a panic attack about going to the skating event, and then didn’t even make any money on it,” Phichit guessed.
“Do you want to tell the story for me?” Yuuri offered. His tone was amused rather than annoyed; if he’d let himself sound irritated with his friend it would have been a lot like admitting how close to the truth he was. It had been an arduous day, getting through traffic to the Arena three times to get all the flowers in before most of the skaters had even started to arrive. By the third delivery Yuuri had been nauseous and questioning why he’d even moved to the stupid city.
“No, sorry. Please tell me the intricate details of the backstage Arena.”
“It wasn’t a paid gig. But I did get a pass for the whole event and I was invited to something after the medal ceremony,” Yuuri continued his story.
He’d run into Victor that morning after his third delivery. The rink had been empty every time Yuuri peeked in on it, but on his third trip there had been the sound of blades scraping ice and he’d been irresistibly drawn to it. He’d gotten to watch Victor Nikiforov practicing from the edge of the rink. It had been magical. And then Victor had seen him. They’d made eye contact and Yuuri had panicked all over again and fled the side of the rink when the skater changed directions to skate toward him.
“Wait, now I remember this. You came home really drunk and your pants were on backwards.”
“How do you even know that? I mean, we’d been living together for a few months but–” Yuuri could feel his cheeks still warm and hoped it was dim enough in the cab of his truck that Phichit couldn’t see it.
“You got stuck trying to get out of them and asked me to help you out of your pants.” Phichit leaned closer while he said this, grinning in a way Yuuri could only see from the corner of his eye and knew if he looked more closely he would veer off the road. “I thought you were finally hitting on me but really you were just super drunk. Turns out I’m not your type; turns out your type is impossibly gorgeous and ash blond. What about that other Russian skater, the blond blond one?”
“Plisetsky? N-no not– I don’t–” Yuuri abruptly corrected their slow drift into the other lane and glared at the road instead of continuing this embarrassing conversation.
“So you and Victor met at the after party? He was there, right?”
“I assume so. I don’t really remember it to be honest. I don’t even remember my pants being on backwards.”
Phichit laughed. “Good thing you have such an honest and good housemate who would not take advantage of your gorgeous, drunk ass.”
Yuuri risked a glance at him and answered with perfect sincerity. “It is a good thing, really. I’ve been very lucky you moved in when you did.”
“Gross, we do not do sincerity in this truck,” Phichit declared, but he was smiling in a sweet manner that was different than the devilish grin he’d had earlier.
“Do you need the rest stop?” Yuuri asked, spotting a sign indicating an upcoming rest stop.
“No, I want to talk about this possible drunken encounter with Victor fucking Nikiforov.”
“There was nothing. I just happened to be in the same place at the same time and we probably met, that’s all.” Yuuri shook his head.
“You should make him flowers. No I mean it, you’re really good at this.”
Instead of stopping at the rest stop, Yuuri and Phichit talked about the impossible, crazy idea of putting together a floral arrangement for Victor in the upcoming competition. Yuuri thought it sounded like the sort of thing that would get them laughed at on social media, while Phichit thought it was brilliant advertising for Katsuki Fleur and would get Nikiforov’s attention.
“I’m really good at getting senpai to notice me,” Phichit explained, not for the first time.
Yuuri had given up asking him how he knew the term and just accepted it. As a joke, Phichit dragged a mannequin into the greenhouse while Yuuri was carefully collecting the blooms he’d driven down for. There was no point in arguing with Phichit once he was determined to make something happen; rather than argue, Yuuri wove a flower crown and explained his choices to him as he worked.
The foundation of the crown was camellias woven together, white alternating with yellow to indicate waiting and longing. They were both quite pale flowers, the white camellias turning slightly pink at the bases and the yellow almost gold. He tucked tiny little jasmine blossoms in for both smell and because they represented Victor’s grace on the ice. For color he put little forget-me-not blooms into the crown, their blue representing love that couldn’t be forgotten.
“That’s true in western flower language, too. I don’t think any of them have bad meanings in western flower language. But I guess it’s different,” Yuuri explained, florist wire held in his mouth and his glasses pushed up on top of his head for the close, intricate work.
He didn’t see the phone in Phichit’s hand, he couldn’t see the soft expression as he talked, and he never believed in his own charm and charisma. Nor could he have predicted how the video would go viral once Phichit uploaded it. He hadn’t been joking about being good at social media; Phichit was very good at getting people to notice his work. “Victor Nikiforov’s Flower Crown” made the rounds on social media until it was likely that Victor would notice it.
Back in Detroit, Yuuri was aware that he’d become briefly internet famous and had taken to hiding behind a newspaper when strangers came into his shop so they would have a chance to gawk if they wanted but he would be available for someone who actually wanted to buy flowers. There wasn’t really a place to hide in the tiny confines of Katsuki Fleur anyway.
He was vaguely aware of someone walking into the front opening of the shop but was far too absorbed by the large picture on the front of his paper to say anything or look up. Victor Nikiforov with his arm around the shoulders of his younger compatriot, Yuri Plisetsky, both of them grinning at the camera. Plisetsky must have been older than Yuuri had guessed, because the caption below read, in bold letters, “Russian skater announces engagement”.
“Katsuki?”
“Yes, sorry, can I help youuu—” Yuuri’s brain short circuited as he lowered the newspaper before he had a chance to read a word of the article that went with the photograph. Instead of looking at the frozen, inky face of Victor Nikiforov, the handsome and very real face of the skater was looking at him. In his store. In person. The very handsome and very engaged Victor Nikiforov. In Katsuki Fleur. “—uuu?” Yuuri finished the question and could not have said how long the vowel sound had gone on, but he knew it was long enough he wanted to disappear.
Victor Nikiforov smiled at him and the busy city of Detroit slowed down around the both of them. “I thought it was you hiding behind that newspaper.” Victor’s accent was heavy but Yuuri could understand him through it; in fact, the longer he spoke the more he found himself hanging on his words and leaning gradually closer to the counter.
“Vuh-Victor Nikiforov?” Yuuri asked, tripping over his tongue.
“Ah you r—”
Yuuri flipped the newspaper over to show the face of the section he’d been reading and the photograph of Victor and the younger skater together on the ice and the engagement announcement.
Victor blinked and finished his statement, the tiniest pause in his sentence. “—read the article. That certainly makes things easier, no?”
In the last two decades of his life, Yuuri had read a lot of books. He’d read about hearts breaking so many times and never really been certain what his novels meant until the moment he felt his own heart break. Victor had been impossible and perfect and unattainable and here he stood before him, just as perfect and handsome as he had imagined him to be. But his smile was warm as sunshine and so blissfully happy. Yuuri would have been content with awareness of Victor’s marriage at a distance, as something far removed happening to a celebrity he had almost met once. Maybe less okay with it happening in front of him.
“Uh-yuh yes. A-article. I-” Yuuri cleared his throat and put the newspaper down, feeling his face getting warm. If he could just push down the embarrassment, shattered heart and the pure mortification that Victor might remember him, he could act like a business owner talking to a client. “Ahem. Congratulations.”
There was a beat and Yuuri couldn’t read Victor’s blue eyes, couldn’t tell what he was thinking. When he smiled again, something had changed about Victor’s smile and the bliss was tempered. “Spasibo. Do you think you would be able to give a hand with the preparations?”
Yuuri could feel his already broken heart sink down in his chest. But the way Victor smiled at him and the blue of his eyes made it impossible to say no. He was caught in the pull of Victor and was that really so bad? To help him be happy. “Ah- yes. Certainly I don’t mind helping at all. With- er, with the flowers, right? I’m not a wedding coordinator or anything. I just do flowers.”
“Davai! The best of flowers, no?” Victor reached across the counter, cool fingers brushing against Yuuri’s hands and fingers until their hands were linked together.
He was blushing again, unable to pull his hands away from Victor’s. Yuuri had always imagined Victor’s hands as warm and glanced down at them briefly, then back up to his eyes. “Only the best. For you—and Yuri.” He remembered to add the other groom’s name in belatedly, but Victor didn’t seem to bat an eyelash.
“I do remember the flower arrangements you did for the Championship.” Victor’s smile was warm again and Yuuri was almost lost in it.
Yuuri kept the nerves from his voice as best he could and responded, “I was only helping with those—just uh, some of the banisters and the winner’s wreaths and they’re based on, um, someone else’s designs. Sort of.” Yuuri had been given the plans for the wreaths and he’d worked with them but had made alterations where his personal sense of style had differed from that of the other florist. He’d kept to the plans on the railings but he’d followed his heart on the wreaths. Maybe because he knew there was a chance Victor would receive them, stupid as that hope was.
“Beautiful wreaths, I remember them. You should see the venue; Yuri has picked the most beautiful church. Can you come?” Victor put his hand on Yuuri’s as they spoke, fingers winding into his and drawing the whole arm across the counter.
“Ah. What time is it?” Yuuri pulled his phone out and tried not to notice the text message from Phichit. Probably telling him the news the newspaper had already imparted. And Victor himself. “I can close early. Let me see if I have any paperwork you can start looking over while I pick up; is that okay?”
“Oh. Oh yes, that is acceptable.”
Victor waited a half second after Yuuri had gotten up from his seat on one side of the counter before stepping around and settling on it. Yuuri blinked at him and then shuffled around to moving his flowers inside the shop, putting them into the coolers as he needed to. He could come early the next morning to sort out those which weren’t suited to selling another day.
“What sort of arrangements were you thinking you wanted?” Yuuri asked. They were sheltered from the noise on the street and the silence was making the racing thoughts in his head echo until it was all he could think and hear. He broke the silence just to give himself some peace.
“I will let Yuri explain to you. It is funny, no? Yuri and Yuuri,” Victor smiled. The way he rolled the R in Yuuri’s name in his mouth left Yuuri wanting more, pausing his work to hear the way he pronounced the word. “He is very particular, but I tell him, Yuri, I know who the best florist in the world is.”
Yuuri laughed, a soft rush of air that was barely audible, but Victor paused to watch him for a moment.
“Sorry. It’s just that— There’s a lot of good florists out there; I’m just a little shop in a big city.”
Victor looked thoughtful, resting half his fingers on his mouth while the others curled down toward his chin. Those impossible blue eyes followed Yuuri while he tried to return to work and tried to pretend this was a job just like any other. Maybe a little high profile but he’d worked with famous clients before.
“Do you think that I am wrong?”
“No! I mean. No, I mean that I’m a good florist but the best…?” Yuuri shrugged and put the last tier of buckets inside the shop. “Alright, that’s me cleaned up; which church did you choose?”
“Oh. I will call car, and then you may see the church Yuri has chosen.”
Yuuri felt his heart sink so of course he smiled. “Of course. I’ll just grab my coat.”
It wasn’t far to the church but with traffic Yuuri was alone in the car with Victor for nearly an hour. Within five minutes he’d run out of things to say; Victor kept saying that Yuri had to choose the flowers, that Yuri was the one to make decisions about the perfect arrangements from the best florist. Eventually Yuuri and Victor had both settled on their phones, not really close enough to touch, even though Yuuri was drawn to Victor like a moth.
The texts from Phichit were indeed letting Yuuri know that, according to the article he’d read on the internet (followed by everything else he’d been able to gather), Victor Nikiforov was going to be in Detroit for the wedding and was Yuuri ready just in case he actually came to Katsuki Fleur. Yuuri gave his phone a wistful smile and let Phichit know that he and Victor were headed to the venue and he was doing the flowers for Victor’s wedding.
By then they had finally arrived at the church. Yuuri had to crane his neck to look up at the building, putting his phone in his back pocket to be forgotten until he wasn’t putting his customer service face on.
“It’s beautiful,” Yuuri said. He genuinely meant it and smiled while pushing his glasses back up his nose from where they’d slid as he had been texting.
“Da.”
Yuuri glanced over at Victor and found he wasn’t even looking at the building. Even though he knew Victor was engaged to a completely different Yuri, he found he was blushing under his blue gaze.
“Shuh-should we go inside?” Yuuri cleared his throat and ignored the buzz of the phone in his pocket.
They walked up the stairs together and inside the church was the blond Yuri from Russia and a friend who looked familiar to Yuuri though he hadn’t quite placed it yet. They stood shoulder to shoulder, talking quietly with a familiar intimacy to their bodies. Best man perhaps? Yuuri had a moment to take in the stranger, barely taller than Yuri but broad in the shoulders with his hair cropped quite short compared to the engaged couple. Maybe he was another skater; his familiarity and connection to the two Russian skaters seemed right.
“Ah, Vitya. Is that your flower boy?” Yuri turned and looked at them, his eyes roaming over Yuuri with only mild interest.
“Ah yes. Yuri, I would like for you to meet Yuuri,” Victor tucked his phone back into his jacket pocket.
It was hard to call them a match or a couple; Yuri looked so much younger than Victor. He was rough at the edges and scowling at the both of them, a hole in his jeans while Victor looked to be wearing a suit beneath his coat. Yuri stopped to pull his phone from his pocket and read something on the screen before linking his arm into his companion’s.
“C’mon, Otabek. Let’s go find something to eat.”
Otabek Altin. The name made the best man’s identity slide into place in Yuuri’s mind. He had been watching figure skating most of his life and finally recognized him as another skater.
“Don’t you want to help pick flowers with Victor?” Yuuri asked.
“Too many Yuris,” the blond grumbled. “Pick out something good, okay old man?”
Victor laughed rather than looking offended by the unusual pet name his fiance had for him.
“How long have you known Yuri?” Yuuri asked when the door had slammed shut behind the other two men.
Victor studied Yuuri for a heartbeat before answering. “I have known Yuri since we were very young, but I am not sure he remembers that far back. We met by accident and I have been a bit in love with him since then.”
Yuuri couldn’t help his eyebrows lifting slightly.
“Oh, it was very innocent when we were younger. And it was years before we reconnected and now here we are. In this city.” Victor was still watching Yuuri.
“What brought you do this city?” Yuuri asked, feeling nervous under that gaze but not sure why. Victor was engaged and he didn’t even know him. They had, maybe, almost met once.
“You did. Ah—” He stopped and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I am sorry but I have to take this.” Victor walked a few steps away and began to speak to someone on the other side of the phone in quiet but rapid Russian.
Yuuri finally pulled his phone from his back pocket and scrolled through the pile of increasingly frantic texts that had been piling up from Phichit. Yuri and Otabek were engaged. Phichit had texted that approximately six times between asking Yuuri where he was, screaming about Victor being in town and at Yuuri’s flower shop and why the hell weren’t they still there.
Without answering, Yuuri put his phone back into his back pocket and peeked at Victor while he finished his phone call. Phichit’s texts didn’t make any sense; Victor had just been telling him about how he’d been in love with Yuri since he was young, that they had met years ago and-and that Yuri didn’t remember.
“Ah Yuuri, I am sorry. He is having the wedding jitters.” Victor smiled as he hung up the phone, returning his attention back to Yuuri.
“Yuri is getting married to Otabek, isn’t he?” Yuuri asked.
The smile dropped from Victor’s face and he stared at Yuuri like he’d been slapped.
“And you’re not the one marrying him. Are you.” He said it like a statement rather than a question.
“No.” Victor put his phone back into his pocket and closed the distance between them.
“Why did you have all those stories about you and Yuri?”
Victor took a deep breath and sat down on one of the massive, wooden pews. “I did not want to trick you; the stories were not made up.”
Yuuri immediately sat down beside him, picking up his hands. “Oh, Victor. You’ve been in love with Yuri and he’s marrying someone else?”
They sat like that for a heartbeat before Victor shook his head. “No, that— Yuuri, I have been in love with Yuri since I was quite young. It’s that—” Victor sighed and closed his hands around Yuuri’s to keep him from pulling them away. “Listen to me, I will call my skating friend ah… Yura will do. That way you can tell your name from his, yes? You, Yuuri, do you not remember when we first met?”
Yuuri blushed, thinking back to the Championship and when he’d fled rather than talked to the figure skater. “I’m really sorry about that, I didn’t think anyone was going to be skating and—”
“No. The first time we met.” Victor’s voice was soft and Yuuri stopped trying to extricate his hands to look up at him.
“Before that?” Yuuri looked up from their hands and got caught in Victor’s blue eyes and the gentle way he smiled.
“I was ten.” As he spoke, Victor was rubbing Yuuri’s knuckles with his hands. “And I was supposed to skate in a competition here, actually, but something had gone wrong with my costume and the flowers hadn’t come in.”
Yuuri was drawn into the story, something small and insistent in the back of his mind trying to get his attention. It was the same feeling like when he’d forgotten his phone, something he was supposed to remember.
“No one had what we needed and Yakov was so angry, but then we ended up in this tiny little town with a big greenhouse.” Victor kept talking in that slow, patient voice. “And I met a boy there. I met you. And I’d lived all my life in this cool, ice-bound world and as soon as we met, you let me hold a salamander you’d found behind the greenhouse. You were messy and so happy and I didn’t want to leave because I wanted that. I wanted to be happy and I wanted to be happy with you.”
Yuuri laughed, a sharp, manic and nervous noise he couldn’t keep inside anymore. “S-sorry. It’s just, I’m nervous. I, uh, I thought I’d been following you since I was young, but—I don’t remember that.”
“I thought maybe it was a dream for years. Until the Championship and there you were, still surrounded by flowers and as beautiful now as you were when I was ten.”
“And I ran away because— Oh Victor, I thought I was so stupid because I’ve been in-infatuated with you since I was seven but I thought it was just from watching you skate. You were this beautiful, perfect being and I wanted so badly to skate. And then you were there and I didn’t know what to say so I just. I just… I left because I was scared and- and-” Yuuri was babbling and he knew it but he could hardly slow the words and could feel both his face and eyes burning.
Victor stopped him by leaning forward in the small gap between them and putting the lightest kiss on his lips. Yuuri thought time around them stopped, but then the church door slammed open and shortly after a full size poodle was barreling toward them.
“Good. Vitya can stop whining now.” Yuri had a coffee in his hands and glared at Yuuri like this was his fault somehow.
His hands remained entangled with Victor’s and soon they had gotten him thinking about flowers for a wedding and actually planning what sort of decorations would be best.
“So, did you tell him about the banquet?” Yuri asked, speaking in low-pitched Russian while Yuuri did an impressive job of drawing Otabek out of his shell to talk about the upcoming wedding.
“Oh. Of course that is what we talked about. Yuuri found it very funny that he got drunk and asked me to marry him at the banquet. He’s embarrassed though, so please don’t bring it up, okay?” Victor stroked Makkachin’s head as he spoke, rubbing his dog’s ears while he watched the man he loved.
Yuri made an undignified snorting noise. “Gross, I don’t want to be involved in it anyway.”
The Yuris switched, and Yuri returned to his fiance who had the fries while Yuuri shyly took up position beside Victor. “So um. Are you going to be in town long? Because it’s not salamander season for a few months.”