Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Hey guys, welcome to today’s video. This time I am going to show you what the day of a music producer looks like. I know I only produce music on the internet right now, but you have to start somewhere, right?”

Viktor chuckled nervously, trying to control the hand drifting to his neck all on its own.

He liked to rub the short hair there, somehow it seemed to calm him.

But right now was not the time for uncoordinated movements. Right now was the time to put himself out there and be professional.

Which was, admittedly, hard when he had to supervise a child next to him that liked to pull his hair.

Yura wasn’t actually a child. He was barely younger than Viktor, and he was not actually pulling his hair either. But sometimes, it felt like it. Especially when Viktor was trying to work, and Yura was not having it.

“You know you could be more famous if you would compose something different from classical sheet music, right?”

The older man rolled his eyes and stopped the camera with a remote control. Adds had convinced him to buy it, and so far, he was not regretting it. Not with Yura around, who had a tendency to talk over his video and into his monologues. Viktor wished he could live alone, but straight from his studies and without family support, he was glad he had a place to live at all.

He turned to his best friend and biggest annoyance.

“Not everyone can get famous overnight through a boiler room video.”

The grin plastered on Yura’s face indicated he was enjoying that Viktor took his bait.

“You’re right. You need actual talent for that.”

He leaned back and smiled, all teeth, hoping Viktor would continue to discuss with him.

“I’m not going to help you procrastinate. Go and do your stretching.”

“BUT I DON’T WANNA.”

“Then you should have chosen a career that doesn’t involve… you know… stretching. Every day.”

Yura rolled his eyes but stood up regardless.

“At least I am not staring at a laptop all day like Beka and you.”

“At least I don’t have to torture my body every day to find a job.”

Viktor gave the camera a pointed look, pretending to be in a sitcom for a moment and actually hoping for the laughing track, but it never came. Instead, he exhaled, shook out his shoulders, and started anew.

-----

“I usually wake up early and head to the studio, but I try to make sure I eat something healthy first. I live with a ballerina, so I get chewed up and spit out if I ever bring home anything processed because he gets tempted easily and will blame every bit he gains on me. I’m involuntarily healthy, so to speak. Once I reach the studio, I practice on my violin. It helps me relax and focus on the music a little. After that, it’s the piano. I prefer violin. It allows more movement, but a piano is kind of a necessity to compose. The community of composers is… small, especially for classical ensembles. But we know each other, and it’s tightly knit and friendly, so there is that. “

Yuri leaned back, the bowl of Katsudon balancing on his legs as he tried to find an angle that would allow him to enjoy his food and keep watching the video playing on his laptop. Phichit scolded him for that, watching videos during dinner, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt less conscious about eating when he wasn’t actively paying attention to it.

Especially after a long and hard day like this, it helped him to wind down. One of the composers had yelled at him, screamed that he was unable to do anything right and would never listen. That Yuri was ruining his vision with the way he was playing his piece.

At least, that was how he had perceived it. Phichit said it was a little scolding, nothing more, and genuine wonder if Yuri understood what the piece asked for. But that didn’t stop him from panicking. Yuri felt like he had disappointed the man, and so he had decided to right his wrongs and do his best to acquire the perspective of a composer.

Which was why the heavily accented voice of a Russian man was filling his living room now.

“A day in the life of a composer- Viktor Nikiforov from The Rimsky-Korsakov St. Petersburg State Conservatory.”

The title had sounded as boring and stuck up as Yuri had expected from someone who decided to live their passion for music through a sheet of paper instead of an actual instrument, but he quickly had to readjust his perspective.

Viktor Nikiforov was a lot of things.

None of them were boring or stuck up.

There was only one problem.

Yuri struggled to focus because, on top of being very interesting and apparently talented, that man was beautiful. He spoke with so much enthusiasm about music. Yuri caught himself staring at his lips every few seconds.

That was the reason.

He was so fascinating to listen to.

It was not the way his lips and tongue curled around the words, not the way his hair kept falling into his eyes, not the way he kept pushing it away.

Or the little lick he sometimes did when he had made a cut and tried to find a way back to the topic.

Yuri was watching the video for the fifth time now.

“It is important for young composers to find their own voice. That is what I am currently trying to do. Trying to create something just for me. From me. And still… not just for me alone, I guess? What is the purpose of music, after all, if no one hears it?”

There it was. A gorgeous smile at the camera before his head twitched to the side, as if Viktor was looking at someone. Then, a cut. Viktor kept talking about his day, about the programs he used, about how and why he composed, and when and what it meant to him.

But Yuri kept thinking about that someone.

He had mentioned he had a roommate. But was that all?

Was Viktor Nikiforov otherwise alone, singing into the world with the voices of others, a hundred instruments carrying his call for a friend, a lover, a person to trust?

Or was this someone the reason his video had seventeen cuts?

Because Yuri had counted.

This had stopped being about the life of a composer a long time ago.

Somewhere along the second run.

Or maybe there wouldn’t have been a second run if he had wanted the information alone.

But the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he scribbled little notes onto giant sheets of paper, envisioning a whole orchestra in the tiny space of a kitchen corner, just to cram all those big ideas into an even smaller computer screen…

Yuri was transfixed.

He barely noticed Phichit coming home half an hour after the Katsudon was gone.

By now, Yuri had the genius idea of checking if Viktor had other videos too, instead of obsessively rewatching the one where he flipped his hair especially cutely after 13 minutes and 52 seconds.

Phichit wouldn’t say he snuck up on his roommate. He wasn’t the type for this kind of prank, at least not when the camera wasn’t rolling.

But Yuri was so enraptured with the video he was looking at, he startled and almost threw the laptop away when the screen cut to a black background, and there was suddenly a face behind his own.

“What the-… PHICHIT. Don’t do that!”

Now the younger man was actively giggling and wished he had had his phone.

“This would have made such a good boomerang.”

“I didn’t even throw it away.”

“You’re right. THAT would have been perfect.”

Yuri groaned and hid his face.

“What are you even doing here already? I thought you had practice until- oh god. Is that REALLY the time?!”

Phichit snickered again and leaned down, hooking his chin over his friend’s shoulder as best as he could. It was uncomfortable, but it made Yuri blush, and that amused him.

“The much more important question is… what are YOU doing here?”

Yuri opened his mouth, then turned to the screen and, without thinking, slammed it shut.

“What, did I catch you looking at naughty stuff again? In the living room?”

“No! Wait- what do you mean- again?- NO! This was just…”

Unable to hide his laughter, Phichit pried the laptop from Yuri’s hands and opened it again.

He was faced with the most boring and fascinating video he had seen in quite a while.

The title “Compose an Orchestral Theme with Logic Pro X using sampled instruments” sounded… interesting. But what really caught his eye was the silver-haired man on-screen talking passionately about how many hours of work flowed into the smallest beats sometimes, and some entire songs were written in a few moments.

“You’re really trying to learn to compose now?”

Yuri snatched his laptop back, still red to the tips of his ears.

“No… I was just…”

“Oh my god, you were staring at him. ”

Phichit grinned as if he had found gold.

He looked at the account name.

V.Nikiforov.

Looked Russian. Sounded Russian.

“Vladislav?”

“Viktor.”

“Gotcha.”

Phichit extracted his phone and started to type on it.

“So… Why are you staring at him as if he is going to solve all your problems?”

Yuri hid his face but felt obliged to answer to his best friend anyway.

“He is so… fascinating. His music, too. He wants to write sheet music for orchestras.”

“Oh, he did.”

Phichit nodded and smiled at him.

“Wait. What? How do you-“

Yuri was presented with the screen of Phichit’s biggest treasure, his mobile phone.

Open was an Instagram tab, containing some pictures of a dog, a lot of music notes, and… was that a picture of Viktor without a shirt?

Yuri screamed, and Phichit laughed like a demon child.

-----

“And you found this… where?”

Yura stared at the screen in front of him.

He could clearly see the video, the title, the description.

But it made no sense.

Viktor played it for the third time now, staring at the screen, his eyes big and glittering with emotions.

“I was writing applications to different studios, so I decided to google my name to make sure nothing embarrassing would come up.”

“Does this include the picture Chris took of you on his birthday?”

Otabek gave his friend something that others would have considered a lip twitch, but Viktor knew to read it as a smile.

“Yes, it includes the infamous swimming trunks photo, thank you very much. Although I still can’t see what is wrong with that. Why do employers care if I present my bare chest on my social media?”

Yura rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“For the same reason I am not allowed to be as famous on Instagram as I could be if people stopped minding my private business. Back to the story.”

“There is not much more story.”

Viktor paused the video and smiled back at the pixelated figure on-screen.

“I googled my name, this video popped up. It’s barely two weeks old. And everything is in Japanese, other than my name. I translated it, his name is apparently Yuri, too. But I think he kept it in Japanese because he didn’t want me to find-“

“HIS NAME IS YURI, TOO?”

“Yes. Shockingly, you aren’t the only person on this planet with this name.”

“Okay, but can’t I at least be the only one on this hemisphere?”

“Japan is on this hemisphere?”

“EXACTLY?!”

Both stared at each other, not understanding what the other meant.

In the end, they were saved by Otabek, as usual. He simply refused to acknowledge the drama the two Russians liked to maneuver themselves into.

“So, he uploaded this video, apparently, crediting you, but not sending it to you.”

Viktor nodded and hit the replay button.

There was Yuri again, Yuri Katsuki, who sat behind a big piano in what seemed to be a music studio, and he played his notes. Viktor had heard them a hundred times, played them almost as often. During his studies, people had played his compositions, even in big concert halls.

But this was a first.

Someone looking him up, deciding to play his music, to give a bit of himself to complete Viktor’s vision without the perspective of financial gain or even acknowledgement…

This was a first.

Yura poked his cheek.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to share this with my followers. They aren’t many, but he is… basically completely unknown. Can you boost it?”

Viktor looked between his friends.

Otabek had found fame after one of his boiler room sets was streamed internationally, Yura had his own Instagram fanbase.

The former nodded silently, but Yura groaned.

“This is SO not my aesthetic.”

“You’re a ballerina, how can classical music not be your aesthetic?”

“I’m also a gay man, do you see me dancing to Cher and singing into my hairbrush?”

Viktor snorted, a memory pushing to the forefront of his mind.

“I mean, yes?”

“That was ONE time, and I was DRUNK.”

The younger man hid behind his hands, suddenly a lot quieter.

“Well, in that case, you can boost THIS one time too, right?”

Viktor’s plea was met with a groan, but ultimately, the blond nodded. He took out his phone, frowning the whole time while writing the post. Yura knew Viktor had taken a video of that night.

-----

“Oh my god.”

Phichit pushed his sick mask down, as if the few extra millimeters he gained for his field of view changed what was written on his screen.

“You have to see this, Yuri.”

“Not in traffic, Phi- PHICHIT! Watch out!”

Yuri dragged him from the road when Phichit still made no move to lift his eyes from his phone, even in the middle of the street.

“No, you don’t understand… your video…”

Phichit finally lifted the phone up, but all Yuri was interested in was to get out of the way.

Once they were tucked into a smaller side street, Yuri accepted the offered phone.

“Who is Yuri Plisetsky?”

“A fashion blogger. I think. And a ballerina, if I saw that correctly. But… look!”

He pointed out a specific post, containing a picture of Viktor over his desk, drawing on a sheet of paper.

The caption read:

“Viktor made me post this. Shout out to Yuri Katsuki for stealing my name. And also for covering the old man’s music, I guess. Congrats, he is writing more. #why #whenwillmysufferingend #music #inspiration #work #piano #orchestra”

Viktor’s own account was tagged, a link led to Yuri’s video.

…

“What is this?”

Yuri looked at Phichit as if this was his fault, as if Phichit had posted this and wasn’t as equally surprised.

“Looks like Viktor found your video.”

“Yeah, but… What is he doing?”

He pointed frantically at the screen as if answers would start to show up when he just kept pushing the glass surface hard enough.

“Careful, you will break it!”

Phichit stole his phone back.

“Looks to me as if he... Is writing music. Which kinda is his job?”

“Yeah, but that… other Yuri… said ‘Congrats’. Why?”

“Maybe he wants to congratulate you for inspiring him?”

Yuri pulled a face and hid behind his own mask, looking as if he was about to shrink until he was gone.

“What is going on? I thought you liked him?”

Phichit looked him up and down, then took Yuri’s hand.

“Yeah, but… he was not even supposed to know I exist. I played his music because it inspired me!”

“And because you hoped he would put the pool picture back up?”

Yuri’s blush was visible even behind his mask, and he tried to back away from his best friend, but Phichit held on to him and even had the audacity to grin.

“Are you going to play it, too?”

“I don’t know…”

Yuri rubbed his arm and decided he was done with side streets and standing around. Instead, he headed to the shopping center they had been planning to visit.

Tokyo midtown was surrounded by glowing trees.

It was almost Christmas, and the lively city seemed to sparkle even more.

But Yuri struggled to focus on the beauty around him.

No matter how many lights danced against the night sky, all he could think about was silver hair.

-----

The next piece of music was released on the 25th of December. Viktor mentioned he gifted it to himself for his birthday. Not that Yuri had heard him say it. But it was written in the Instagram caption of the sheet music he had been staring at for an hour.

Yuri was determined to give Viktor another birthday present.

That was only polite, after all.

Especially after Phichit and him found out that not only had the fashion blogger boosted his channel, but apparently his DJ boyfriend, too.

Phichit stood in the kitchen, preparing their dinner. Yuri’s family was visiting, and his parents cooked together with the Thai musician. They had been confused when Yuri excused himself to go and play his travel piano, but once Yuri said it was good for his career and Phichit added that it was about true love, they only raised their eyebrows, grinned and told him to go.

Now he was playing through it for the fifth time. After studying piano music at Tokyo University of the Arts for years, he was used to playing music right from the sheet and without practicing it for hours. But for Viktor, for Viktor’s birthday, it needed to be perfect.

And of course, for his followers too.

Yuri had followers now.

Twenty-eight to be exact.

It wasn’t the world, he knew that, but it was a start.

Before Viktor, he had three.

Phichit and his parents.

Not even his sister had followed him, although Mari claimed it had been an honest mistake when he uploaded the first cover, and it was discussed in the family group chat. 

She was still not following him, though.

But Viktor was.

Viktor and that other Yuri and that DJ Yuri thought he had read about a while ago.

He had expectations to meet.

So, he played it a sixth time, hitting every note, as expected.

Better safe than sorry.

Once he felt ready, he called in Phichit to make a video.

This time, he tagged Viktor.

-----

“VITYA! I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU RUIN MY FUCKING PICTURE-“

Viktor hissed at his roommate.

“You don’t need me for your fucking picture, Yura. I have to work.”

“No, you don’t. New Year's Eve is a holiday. A family holiday, by the way. And if I can’t be with my grandpa this year, I DEMAND that you move your ass over here, so I can take a cute picture!”

“No one cares about your Instagram picture.”

A tiger-striped pillow flew across the room, hitting Viktor in the head.

“A FUCKTON of people care about my Instagram. More than they care about your music, anyway.”

“Hey.”

Viktor and Yura stopped their hissing match to stare at Otabek.

Both tilted their heads like confused puppies, not used to him actually participating in their discussions.

“That was not nice.”

Viktor blinked. He was thinking about dropping his pen to get up and get Otabek a glass of water, all this talking must have exhausted him. And it had been in Viktor’s favor, too. A belated Christmas wonder.

Yura seemed equally stunned. He closed his mouth, then looked at Viktor and crossed his arms.

“Dinner. Now.”

The older man sighed. He couldn’t reasonably expect Otabek to exhaust himself like that again. And it was getting late. But he had work… Nonetheless, Yura missed his grandpa, so fine, they would play makeshift family.

He sat down next to Russian salad, herring and sparkling wine. For some reason, that was something Yura enjoyed being traditional about. Viktor didn’t mind, and Otabek tagged along. New Year’s was celebrated during spring in Kazakhstan, they would honor his traditions in March.

For a while, they sat and posed until Yura was happy with the way his pictures turned out.

He uploaded one, then allowed the others to finally eat the food.

After some minutes, Yura searched his gaze.

“What exactly is the reason you push yourself so much to finish this today, again?”

“It’s New Year’s Eve. Yuri gave me a Christmas present. He deserves a New Year’s one.”

Yura huffed and pushed his fork unceremoniously through his food.

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know how he plays, that tells you everything you need to know about a man.”    

“Not sure about that. I think it would be more helpful to find out if he has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”

Now it was Viktor who huffed angrily.

“It doesn’t matter. This is about art. Something you don’t understand.”

“Oh?”

Yura laughed, more amused than offended by that statement.

“What makes you think that you know more about art than the guy with the fashion and lifestyle blog and ballet career?”

Viktor raised both his hands, the palms facing upwards in a universal gesture of offended confusion and looked at Otabek.

“Say something!”

The Kazakh shrugged, barely grinning.

It was worth a try.

“So… “

Yura picked up his phone again, a habit Viktor despised at the table. He would like to scold the other man for it, but it would be hypocritical with how much he checked his own phone. That was different, though.

Viktor was ripped from his thoughts.

“… your plan is to gift this to him for New Year’s Eve, yes?”

“Yes. And I only have two hours left, so I better start working on it again or-“

“Don’t worry, Romeo.”

Yura snickered and held up his phone, a time zone map open that showed the difference to Japan.

“You’re too late. It’s been New Year in Japan for four hours already.”

-----

Yuri stared at his follower count.

156 people.

Nothing in comparison to real musicians, small in comparison to Viktor Nikiforov, who had just reached the 2000 subscribers milestone. Tiny in comparison to Otabek Altin, who celebrated 5 digits a month ago.

But he was proud all the same.

Especially because he never said anything.

His video started, he played Viktor’s music, waved shily— something Phichit forced on him— and the video ended. That was it. No intro, no end card, no begging for subscriptions or follows or shout outs.

Yuri didn’t care about the fame, he told himself.

He cared about Viktor.

He cared about the music.

For the first time, he had more comments than Viktor’s consistent blue heart and a snarky remark from Yura. By now, Yuri had figured it all out. Viktor lived with the blond and the DJ, the latter two were dating, he had seen it in their posts and pictures. But Viktor was always alone when he appeared. 

Bad for him.

Good for Yuri.

Over the last few months, he had somehow started to feel like he was part of something bigger. Whenever he released a video, Viktor promoted it and vice versa. Sometimes even Yura. Otabek kept his account completely professional. The one time he said something had been an exception not only for his behaviour towards Yuri, but towards every other artist. 

He stared at the upload progress. 

Why the hell had Viktor released sheet music on the first of January? 

Had he nowhere to be? Nothing to do? 

The pictures on Yura’s Instagram suggested otherwise. 

For the hundredth time, he wondered if he should text Viktor. 

But after all this time, it felt weird. 

They hadn’t spoken yet. Why start now? 

The tagging and the little gifts they left for each other were enough. 

At least that was what Yuri told himself in the morning at 2 AM when he couldn’t sleep and scrolled through the rows and rows of pictures on Viktor’s social media. 

He blinked when he received the notification that the upload was successful. 

It was getting late. His family was sleeping by now, but Yuri had needed the extra time to learn the piece, practise, record it and upload the file.

Now he was tired. The New Year was the most important holiday in Japan. Most businesses wouldn’t open their doors until the fourth of January and families came together. Yuri loved his family a lot, and usually the onsen relaxed him, but he had been itching all day since he had seen the pictures. 

“Turn off the lights. How are you still awake?!” 

Phichit walked into his room, squinting at him through tiny, hazy eyes. 

It had become a tradition for Yuri’s best friend to join his family over New Year's. 

The musician had only visited his home country once since moving to Tokyo.  

“I’m going to sleep in a minute, but I had to finish the upload. You know-” 

“It has to be the same day, or you’ll disappoint your followers. I know.” 

Phichit smiled and plopped down next to Yuri, his head resting comfortably on his friend’s shoulder. 

“We have been up since forever. And don’t get me wrong, it is a beautiful tradition to view the year’s first sunrise. But it has gotten very late and if you don't go to bed soon, you'll get to see the next one, too. On top of that, you know you shouldn't stress yourself or work today."

“I didn’t work. I made music.” 

“For Viktor.” 

“By Viktor.” 

Phichit smiled softly. 

“I wish he knew how hard you fell for him. I bet he would come right over and sweep you off your feet. Show up in the onsen naked and move in or something like that.”

Yuri snorted, then hugged his best friend. 

“I would let him.” 

“I know. You slut.” 

They both laughed softly. 

“We should go to sleep. You want to visit the shrine tomorrow, right?” 

Yuri sighed and hid behind his arm. 

It would be another long day. 

-----

“Say cheese!” 

Yura held out his camera arm, making sure that Viktor and Otabek were in the frame. 

“CHEESE!”

Viktor looked like a child that had been gifted the biggest lollipop in store. 

He felt like that. 

The instant camera went off, a flash blinded them temporarily and out came a developed picture Yura pinned to their fairy lights. 

With a sharpie, he put “Vitya’s first 5000” beneath it, a heart finishing it off. 

To say there was growth in his community was an understatement. 

Sure, Viktor had worked hard, written a lot of music and produced and played himself. 

But he hadn’t expected to reach his first 5000 subscribers so early in the new year. 

All thanks to a rant that had gone viral. 

Viktor had spoken about the music industry, and without wanting to, he filmed a 20 minute video about sexism in the media field. It hit like a truck. 

People were all over him, Yura confiscated his phone for two days because the fans and antis went crazy. 

Two weeks later and the sudden fame was gone, but the subscribers stayed. 

He could only think of one person he wanted to share them with. 

Viktor sat down in front of his lined paper and sighed softly. 

“You will make him famous, too, won’t you? So we can meet? Come on. Cooperate.” 

Then, he hit the worst case of artist block in the last year. 

-----

The door to the apartment flew open, and Yuri ran in, throwing the bag with their groceries into the kitchen without even checking where it landed. 

“PEACHYYYY! 

The younger man stuck his head out of his bedroom door, obviously tired and in the middle of an afternoon nap.
“Is this it? Are we getting attacked? Are the aliens coming for us and we finally all get to die?” 

“Shut up, you millennial. VIKTOR POSTED A NEW SONG.” 

“Wait, really?” 

Every idea of continuing his nap was immediately forgotten. 

Phichit almost jumped over the sofa, stumbling over his own feet when he dropped down next to Yuri. 

“SHOW ME. After three months of nothing? Really?” 

“I know! I would have thought he was hit by a bus if he hadn’t appeared in Yura’s stories from time to time.” 

“I knoooooow.”

Yuri opened the picture, and they quickly scanned the notes, their brains translating them to music without a conscious thought. 

Phichit was the first who looked back up. 

“Damn. That is… dark.” 

Yuri nodded, then swallowed. 

“Do you think he is okay? First, all this silence and then this?” 

“Most artists bleed for what they do…” 

He shook his head, eyes filled with concern as he stared at Phichit. 

“I don’t want him to bleed. This is supposed to make him happy.” 

“Then you will have to play it in a way that fills him with joy, even if the song itself is sad.” 

Yuri thought about those words for a moment, then nodded.

He would do that. No matter how often he would have to play it, he would manage. 

-----

Viktor was resting in his room. 

He had been resting for days, staring at his ceiling. Yura called it depression naps, but Viktor did his best to ignore the little demon and focus on the chipped paint. 

Maybe, if he thought about it hard enough, he'd manage to find more inspiration. 

It had taken him months to write his last song. 

He blinked because the sting in his eyes told him that he had apparently forgotten to do that for a minute. 

When he came out of the mental haze, Viktor held his phone up again and refreshed it. Still no video. Still no Yuri. 

That had been the worst part of his artist block. No contact with Yuri, not really. He could have texted him, sure, but Viktor wasn't sure he understood English well enough. And what could he say after months of communicating through music alone? No. 

He stared at the likes on his pictures. They were higher than usual. Was it because he was somewhat famous now? Was it because it was a sad song? Was it because he hadn't uploaded anything in a while? 

Viktor pondered, was this what happened to dead artists ? His last studio album, quick, buy it or it will be lost. He rolled his eyes. 

Click. Refresh. Nothing. 

Where the fuck was Yura? Where was Beka? 

Click. Refresh. Nothing. 

Tomorrowland Winter. 

Viktor laughed sadly. It had been a last-minute invite that fluttered into their post box. They had almost not opened it because it had been too good to be true. Sure, Otabek had been commercially successful, fame constantly increasing over the last months, but this… this was special. 

Click. Refresh. Nothing. 

They had been gone for three days now. Yura kept sending Snapchats, selfies with Beka behind the turntables and big crowds dancing in ridiculous ski jackets. Yura was wearing far too little for the temperature, but he kept insisting that since he was born and raised in Russia, he had build up immunity to the cold. 

Click. Refresh. Nothing. 

Viktor was sure it was just because he wanted to make sure Otabek wouldn't forget where to look with all these masses of beautiful people celebrating him like a god. 

Silly Yura. 

Otabek had never noticed other people. Whatever he played was just another mating call to Yura, an endless variation of the same theme. 

Click. Refresh. Nothing. 

Was Viktor now stuck in his own endless theme? His own mating calls, screamed into the void of the internet, hoping that among the thousands of likes, one person would notice him? 

Click. Refresh. Notification alert. 

Viktor sat upright, the blanket thrown off of him, chipped ceiling forgotten as he ran into the living room to pair his phone with the Bluetooth speakers. 

He'd rather go deaf than listen to Yuri's masterpiece with his fucking mobile phone. 

The first time it played, Viktor muted the sound. Watched Yuri instead, his hands on the piano, a tiny smile tucked into the corner of his lips even though it looked somber. It was the music, Viktor was sure. He had almost stolen Yuri's smile. 

Curses filled the silence, then he remembered to focus. Yuri's touch was delicate. Like a caress. Viktor had thought too much about those hands. He dragged his thumb over the screen in futile longing, but all he did was accidentally pausing the video. Shit. 

Again. Once more. This time only the sound. Viktor closed his eyes and listened, humming as his living room was filled with soft notes. His music. His Yuri. Not his Yuri. But their song. Kind of. 

A third time. This time he looked at it and listened. Viktor knew why he had to work his way up like that. Whenever he saw and heard Yuri, he got overwhelmed with the feeling of pleasant warmth. Oh, how he had craved that the last few months. 

Yuri was beautiful in every aspect of the word. Viktor shared the video on his socials, then sat down at his computer to film a reaction video to Yuri. It had become part of their ritual at some point. Of course, his reactions weren't genuine. He couldn't do that, it would be far too much. Which was exactly why he looked at it a few times before. 

Even now, he gasped and closed his eyes during the high notes. Viktor didn't even try to stop his index finger from flying up and drawing the curves of the music into the air. 

Once the video was done and Yuri's notes dissipated into the silence Yura and Beka had left behind, Viktor sat down to edit the video. He had to upload it today, that was the rule. Only in post-production did he notice a single tear sliding down the corner of his eye. How had he missed it? But Yuri smiled on-screen, and Viktor smiled back, both in the video and in the dark room and forgot his tear again. 

------

"Yuri?" 

Phichit tiptoed into the room. 

"Yuuuuri…" 

Phitchit crawled onto his bed, then up his body. 

It was late, he knew, but… 

"Yuuuuuuuriiiiiiii… Viktor answered!" 

Within the blink of an eye, Yuri sat upright in his bed, aimlessly paddling his hands over his nightstand in desperate search of his glasses. 

Phichit let him search for a second, then laughed and handed him the object of his desire, together with his own phone. 

"He made another reaction video. It's so sappy. You guys are so sappy." 

Yuri grabbed both items, scrambling to sort out his hands so he wouldn't try to slam the phone onto his nose to stare at his glasses. He wasn't exactly well orientated after waking up. Especially not at five in the morning. 

"Why are you still awake?" 

Phichit answered him with a grin and only now did Yuri notice his clothes. 

"Oh. You were clubbing?" 

"Yeah, it was a spontaneous decision. I wanted to ask you to come along, but you were stuck on your video." He shrugged noncommittally. "Look at it!" 

Yuri adjusted his glasses, then started the video. He struggled to see himself on screen, it felt weird, alienating, but Yuri simply focused on Viktor and his reactions. 

They were softer than Yuri had dared to hope them to be. 

"Oh god, look how his hair flops.." 

"His hair? What? Focus, Yuri! He's having a total musical boner for you!" 

Yuri groaned and hid behind one hand, almost knocking his glasses off. Great, now he had little smears all over them. Maybe he should brush them to see better and-

"YURI." 

Phichit shoved his phone into his best friend's face. " He's crying."

Wait. What? 

He paused the video and took the glasses off, cleaned them and pushed them back on. Next to him, Phichit groaned, unable to wait for a single minute. 

When Yuri inspected the video again, he saw it. One single tear, stealing itself away out of the corner of Viktor's eyes. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. His music had done that. Well, not his music. But… their song? Kind of. 

Yuri flopped back against his pillows, an arm thrown over his eyes. 

"Peachy, I made him cry . On camera. " 

"I know, right? That's so gay." 

Phichit did his best to dodge the pillow thrown in his direction, but it was late, and he was tipsy, and Yuri threw like he meant it. 

----- 

"Those are the hits, right?" 

Viktor pointed at a five-digit number he had never reached before. 

A high five-digit number. 

Very high. 

"No, old man. Those are the likes." 

Viktor knew that. Of course he knew that. He had used YouTube for many years. But he couldn't comprehend it. 

Yura pointed at a number with six digits. 

"Those are the hits. Or views. Or-"

"I get it. But.. I don't get it ." 

He refreshed Yuri's channel, and the number climbed up. 

"What is there not to get? Beka used your music in his tracks, people asked what it was, he pointed them to Yuri. I mean, he played it himself in his songs because he could hardly rip off your other-side-of-the-world sweetheart, but.. Yuri had full versions of your music, so he shared Yuri's channel and spoke about it in an interview. I already told you." 

"I know. But I don't get it. "

"Are you like, dumb or something?" 

Yura rolled his eyes and popped his bubblegum annoyingly close to Viktor's ear. 

"You're famous now. Well, not really. A little, I guess. Your boyfriend might be famous soon." 

"He's not my boyfriend. We’ve never even spoke to each other." 

Yura laughed so hard he accidentally swallowed his bubble gum. He made a choking noise, heaved two times, spat it onto Viktor's desk, snipped it into Viktor's trash can and was still laughing. Harder than before.  

He wiped a tear out of his eyes and left the room. Viktor heard him yell in the distance, again almost choking on his laughter. 

" HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!"

-----

"Yuri Katsuki is so freaking cute, look at his floofy hair I bet it's super soooft." 

"How many hours do you practise each day?!" 

"This is the only thing I want to listen to for the rest of my life!" 

"What else can those fingers do, daddy?"   

"Ew." 

Phichit giggled behind his shoulder. 

"Is this one from you?" 

"You wish. No, actually, I wish. Your disgusted face would make it worth it." 

Phichit elbowed him happily before he pressed his nose against a shop window. 

"Really? Yet another Pokemon game? I feel like they should be done with them at this point." 

Phichit turned around, his eyes as big as they would go. "Take that back." 

Yuri started to smirk. 

"No." 

Coming closer, Phichit looked him up and down. "Man. Fame really changed you." 

Then, both of them erupted into sputtering laughter. First, Yuri thought the girl in front of them was staring at him because he clung to Phichit in a desperate attempt not to fall over from laughing, but then she mumbled his name and Yuri immediately went quiet. 

She clutched her fingers over her mouth, mortified to have been noticed. A blush crept into her cheeks, and Phichit elbowed him again, but this time, it was different. He pushed him forward. 

"Yuri… Katsuki?" 

He nodded, feeling numb. 

"Oh my god. I'm.. I'm a fan. Can I…  would you mind if I…" 

Phichit jumped into action. 

"A commemorative photo? Sure!"  

And just like that, his best friend had sold him. For nothing. Phichit took a photo with his phone, then with hers. 

"Can we upload it?" 

She nodded so much Phichit was worried her neck would suffer long-lasting damage.

When Yuri asked why the heck he would want to upload a photo with a stranger in the middle of the street in front of a game shop, Phichit rolled his eyes in friendly annoyance. 

"You have zero ability to market yourself. Okay so… a photo in the streets- you're down to earth. With a fan. You are approachable. In front of a game shop. You are a relatable nerd. Do you understand? You can say three things without one word."  

He kicked a pebble and cheered when it landed in a puddle. 

Yuri stared at him in shock. 

"Where did you learn that? 

"Uhm… I'm sure every child kicks stones around when it's-" 

"THE MARKETING THING."

"OH." 

Phichit grinned and winked. 

"I'm not telling you, so you can't get rid of me when fame offers you richer friends." 

Yuri rolled his eyes.

-----

The suitcase landed in the hallway with a loud rumble. Viktor would be scared one of the wheels would break off, if he was only able to detach his eyes from the screen for a minute. 

"You're sure you're not going to come?" 

Yura walked past his room with another heavy-looking bag, followed by Otabek, who gingerly carried a piece of equipment no one was allowed to even think about touching. 

"Yup." 

Viktor waved towards the door. 

"We are still here, asshole. Also... What the fuck is that?" The blond walked into his room, not even bothering to ask if he could come in. 

Viktor really should get his own flat now that they all earned real money and didn't have to live in each other's pockets anymore like they used to as students. 

But he didn't really want to.

And Yura and Otabek didn't ask him to leave. So he stayed. A regular breach of privacy was a price he was willing to pay for the comfort of not being alone. 

"Yuri's Instagram." 

He earned a "Duh." and a smack to the back of his head. 

"What is THIS?"  

Yura pointed at the woman in the picture, flaming red and smiling a thousand-watt smile. 

"A woman. I know, you have little experience with them, but…" 

Otabek stepped into the room and hugged the blond from behind. 

"...your dance instructor is a woman, too. They sometimes exist in nature." 

Every other person on Earth would have earned a bruised toe and maybe a broken finger. Otabek received a soft giggle. 

"Dork. I want to know what she's doing with Viktor's Yuri." 

He had given up protesting that name. Yura would only laugh at him if he tried to state that this was, in fact, not his Yuri. 

"I think they took a photo. You know photos. That is what you do with your food before you eat it. The reason you haven't had a warm meal since 2011."  

Viktor snorted. 

Whatever was going on with Otabek today, it threw Yura off enough to stop asking senseless questions. 

"Okay, but… is she a fan? His girlfriend?" 

Oh. Viktor had hoped for too much. There were more useless questions. 

Otabek was just about to answer him again, when Yura groaned. 

"Vitya, what will you do about it?" 

"Nothing. They aren't actually dating. And Yuri can take pictures with whoever he wants. How crazy do you think he is, Yura? That would be over the top even for him. Right Vitya?" 

Viktor nodded and turned the lined paper in front of him over. 

"Yeah… that would be… totally over the top." 

Yura was still laughing when he dragged the last bits of technic out of Beka's studio half an hour later. 

-----

"SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!" 

Yuri ran through the hallways of the opera house. 

Phichit said Viktor uploaded new sheet music, but he had no signal, so he couldn't load the pictures. And there was no way he could walk out of the building. Not in the middle of rehearsal. Yuri was sure there were jammers in here, so the ringing of stray cellphones wouldn't interrupt the concerts, but… dammit. 

He was stuck for another eight hours, and there was no way he could sneak off and play in between. Not if he wanted to keep his job. And Yuri liked his job. 

But Viktor was waiting for the video, he was sure, and Yuri would fail to deliver it on time. For the first time since their little game had started. 

He banged his head against a door, feeling like he wanted to cry. He should cry. Viktor would hate him. Viktor would hate him and never write anything beautiful for him ever again. 

Someone opened the door and stared at him. "Yes?"

He blushed tomato red. 

"Oh. I'm… I didn't mean to knock- I'm-"

"Then don't." 

The door was thrown into his face. Great. Yuri headed back to practise. 

-

When he came home nine hours later, Phichit was already asleep. Yuri felt like a zombie. His hands hurt from the strain of playing for many hours. Phichit had left him fried rice in the fridge. Phichit was his true love. He shook his head, realising something was wrong with this statement, but Yuri was too tired to figure out what it was. 

He ate and fell into his bed, thinking about icing his joints, but was too exhausted to get up again. Fuck it. 

When he closed his eyes, some kind of thought tried to push through his hazy fog, but he was asleep before it materialised fully. 

-

The second he opened his eyes again, Yuri knew. 

He also knew it was too late. He had failed Viktor Nikiforov, he had failed himself, he had failed his fans. Their fans. 

Yuri crawled under his blanket. 

This wasn't happening. 

After two hours, he felt brave enough to open YouTube. He hadn't moved much, but Phichit had knocked and told him breakfast would be ready in a few minutes, and Yuri did his best to brace himself for a world where Viktor wasn't talking to him through music. 

What he found was worse than radio silence. There were at least 6 other musicians playing Viktor's song. That had happened before. But Yuri was the first. Yuri was always the first. 

Maybe, if he hurried, he could become the seventh? Lucky number they said, right? He had to try. 

-

He did, in fact, not become the seventh. 

But that didn't matter anymore. Because while Yuri was trying to record, his phone kept chiming. He had silenced it to finish the song, exasperated with the world trying to get his attention and Phichit urging him not to miss the rehearsal in an hour. Once he had finally managed to record the piece, he turned his phone back around and allowed the notifications to drown his senses. 

He was being tagged in a video. 

That wasn't new. That happened whenever Viktor or him uploaded a piece for their game. But… Yuri hadn't uploaded anything. 

He felt his stomach drop and pushed his phone away. The notifications were coming in quickly, too fast to read, but Yuri had caught glimpses. 

"... Others…" 

"... Abandoned…"

"... Viktor…" 

"... Over?..." 

Yuri decided not to deal with this mess. Not right now, not two days before he had a big concert. He hadn't worked so hard to lose his focus on the finish line. 

-

His resolve lasted for all of 12 minutes. 

"PHICHIT, I NEED A FAVOR!" 

Yuri was beneath his blanket again when his best friend entered. 

"I already prepared breakfast, what else could you- oh shit, what's going on Yuri?" 

He knelt down next to the lump on the bed. 

A single finger left the nest and pointed at the phone. 

"Viktor has apparently uploaded a reaction video." 

"Yeah. He does that every time. I thought you noticed, with you screaming at me about every one of them." 

"I didn't make a video yet." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah." 

-

"How bad is it?" 

Yuri's voice was hesitant. He was a blanket burrito now, only his face was exposed, but right now his eyes were closed. 

"Do you wanna know the title?" 

"No."

"I think you do." 

"They said it's about other people and that he abandoned me." 

Phichit chuckled. 

"I feel like he's still pretty gay for you." 

Yuri opened one eye and leaned forward. 

He peered at the screen. In front of him, in bold letters, was the most dramatic title he had seen yet from Viktor. 

" Reacting to people who aren't Yuri Katsuki because he apparently abandoned me for fame and fortune..." 

The video description continued in the same manner. 

"...but it's totally okay, I'll just wait for him to realise that it was a bad decision and come back while I watch this in the meantime." 

Yuri felt his heart bloom and his stomach drop at the same time. 

----- 

"Could you have been more extra if you tried?" 

"Yes." 

Viktor stared at his ceiling again, but this time he didn't feel like there was no emotion left in him. 

This time, there were a fuckton of emotions. 

"This is embarrassing, old man. I'm embarrassed on your behalf." 

Yura pointed at the screen of his phone, the cursed video still open. 

Viktor shrugged. 

"He abandoned me." 

"No, he didn't." 

"Yes, he did! He didn't reply! He always replies! Within 24 hours! And now… there's still no video!" 

"You sound like a pathetic cry baby." 

Yura lay down on the bed next to him, crossing his wrists behind his head. 

"He's not obliged to answer. What if he was at work? What if he had an accident?" 

Viktor went pale as a sheet. He hadn't considered that. His mind was suddenly spinning, and he kept whispering. 

"What if he had an accident?" 

Yura slapped his palm to his head. 

"Oh my god, could you stop?!"

But Viktor was already going crazy over all the possible scenarios, and Yura hated himself for saying anything. 

"He's probably just at work." 

"For over twenty-four hours?!" 

"People work, Viktor. Not everyone can just chill at home all day and adjust their day around their hobbies." 

"I'm not chilling! I'm composing! And it's my job, not my hobby!" 

"Yeah, yeah. I know, and you do that very well. The world loves you. But they also love Yuri and you do, too, and-" 

"Oh my God." 

"If you're saying that he might have had an accident again, I'll slice your pillow open." 

Viktor sat up straight and shook his head, staring at Yura. "I think you're right." 

"Of course I am. I'm always right." 

They heard an amused chuckle from the kitchen. 

"SHUT UP! I'M ALWAYS RIGHT!" 

Yura turned back to Viktor. 

"Wait. I'm right with what exactly?" 

"Yura…" 

Viktor flopped back down, and Yura wondered if that was the only reason for him sitting up in the first place. 

Then he threw his arm over his eyes. 

"Yura, I think I'm in love."

The younger man stared at his friend's ceiling for a minute. 

"I think you're a dumbass." 

-

"There's a video, Yura!" 

Viktor barged into the room, stared for a second, turned red and immediately ran out and slammed the door close. 

Behind him, he heard cursing in at least three languages, Russian, Kasakh, some English, whatever else Yura was throwing in there. 

Viktor shook his head and decided to start again, this time with the door still closed. 

"There's a video, Yura!" 

"FUCK OFF." 

He dropped his head against the door, not at all stopped by Yura's anger. Nothing he wasn't used to. 

"Yuri uploaded a video! And it's so cute! Yuraaaa! He's speaking Russian for me!" 

"VIKTOR NIKIFOROV I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU WON'T FUCK OFF IMMEDIATELY…" 

Viktor grinned. Just a little more whining and Yura would give up and listen to him instead. "Yuraaaaaaa…." 

It took a minute until the door was opened, and Viktor fell backwards into the room. Yura stood above him with a bathrobe, looking positively livid. 

Viktor smiled up at his roommate as if he hadn't just ruined his day and night. 

"Yuri uploaded a video, and he's speaking Russian for me!" 

The blond gave him an incredulous look. 

"What the fuck, Vitya? Do you have eyes? Are you aware of what we were-" 

"HE'S SPEAKING RUSSIAN! AND HE'S SO CUTE! I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!" 

Yura looked like he was about to kick him in the head and to be honest, Viktor expected it at this point. 

"Come on, I need your help!?" 

"For what?" He was hissing now. Apparently Yura had realised loud anger wasn't getting him anywhere, so he tried a new approach. 

"I need to show him that I appreciate it, of course!"

"Are you going to learn Japanese?" 

"No… not as the first step. Maybe later to talk to our children." 

"You're the worst. What did he say in the video?" Yura turned and walked back into his room, settling down on his rumbled sheets. If he had to deal with Viktor right now, he would at least be comfortable. 

The older man followed him loyally and sat down next to him. "Hi, Beka." He smiled at his other roommate as if he hadn't ruined his day and night, too. 

"...Hi." 

Otabek awkwardly turned to his boyfriend, hiding under a blanket. 

"What is Viktor doing here?" 

"I have no idea. I didn't invite him." 

The older man clapped his hands. 

"But you're also not going to throw me out! Because you take pity on the dramatic love story that is my life." 

"Wrong. I take pity on Beka and myself. I know the only way to get rid of you is to give you what you want." 

Viktor waved his hand. 

"Same thing."

"So?" 

"So what?"

"Viktor, why are you in our bed?"  

"Oh!" 

He put a finger to his mouth, as if Viktor wasn't sure himself anymore. Then he tapped his lip and smiled. 

"Yuri uploaded a video!" 

"I know. Beka knows. Our neighbors know. Half of the internet knows, probably. You mentioned that. And you mentioned he spoke Russian. Can we get to the point?!" 

Viktor decided to ignore the mumbled "Apparent NOT." and smiled wider. 

"He was so confident! He was so sexy! He smiled directly into the camera and said, 'Viktor. I was great, right?'." 

He grabbed his heart and swooned like a teenager. 

Yura stared at him open-mouthed. 

"You're… Here because he.. Asked you if he did great? Oh my fucking god. Just send him a tweet that says 'Yes you did.'?! Or do one of your dumb reaction videos! The world seems to like them!" 

He stood up and ushered Viktor out of the room. "Leave leave leave leave leave leave…" 

But Viktor twisted and turned around, yelling at Otabek. "HOW DO I SAY 'I LOVE YOU' IN SHEET MUSIC?" 

The only answer was a door in his face. 

-

"How do I say 'I love you' in sheet music?"

Viktor propped up his head on his hands. 

"I am. A ballet dancer. I don't. Say anything. In sheet music. If I fucking had an answer to that question, I would have told you it the other 43 times you've asked!" 

Viktor gnawed on one of the Pirozkhis he had made as an apology and a peace offering. He needed every friend he could get right now. "I wasn't only asking you." 

The kick to his shin hurt, but not more than the first eight had. Viktor was nothing but determined. 

Otabek shrugged. 

"If I want to express attraction with music, I'll put moaning under a track. Do you want us to help you get an audio of this?" 

Viktor actually seemed to consider that for a moment, which led to Otabek facepalming. "You can't put moaning under classical music. I mean, you can. But.. not on sheet music. Of course, you could write those cute little instructions like 'play as if in love' or 'I desperately need to get laid, please come to Russia', but…" 

He shrugged.  

Apparently, his contingent for words was used up for today. Viktor nodded, even though the 'advice' hadn't helped him, he knew that Otabek was trying. In his own way. 

Viktor wondered briefly if he could throw in a coin somewhere to get more words out. He wasn't an expert in sheet music, but Otabek had studied composition too, and his music wooed people across the globe. He was currently deciding which of the three festivals that had invited him for the next month he would play at. 

"How about you compose something in the rhythm of a heartbeat?" 

Viktor hadn't expected an actually useful idea from his best friend, but here he was. 

"You mean… writing something along the lines of 'play with two staggered metronomes'?" 

"If that's what you call it…" 

He tapped his lips again, lost in thought. 

"That could work…" 

"What if you write a duet? And send him only one half? But like, don't make it obvious it's a duet. Or something." 

Yura blushed, tumbling over his own words. 

"You… actually thought about it." 

"Pppffff. Ha. No. That would be so sappy. Oh my God. No." 

He stabbed his fork into his dessert.  

Viktor gave him a soft smile. 

"That's such a good idea, Yura. Thank you." 

The younger man grumbled and repeatedly slammed his fork into his food. 

"You could…  name it after him. I guess. So he knows. Everyone knows, anyway. But you could stop. Being a coward, I mean." 

It was true. The whole internet knew. People were talking about it. About Yuri and him and their unusual love story. But it wasn't a love story, not yet, not with the most important part unsaid. 

Yura was right. 

He needed to stop being a coward. 

----- 

Yuri was awoken by his phone chiming. 

He wasn't getting an alert for every notification anymore, only for bigger numbers. This morning, his phone was flooded with alerts. He struggled to unlock it because the constant messages made it impossible to use the screen, which was constantly refreshing with yet another barrage of texts. 

He read one name again and again. 

Two names. 

Viktor Nikiforov. 

Yuri. 

Not Yuri Katsuki. 

Only Yuri. 

For a sleepy moment he was convinced this was about the Russian Yuri. Yura. Whatever. 

But people wouldn't tag him then, right? 

People tagged him in a lot of things these days. Nonetheless, Yuri dared to hope. 

Viktor hadn't reacted to his video yet, not officially. He had liked it and put a heart in the comments.

Of course Yuri treasured the gesture and appreciated Viktor's attention, but it hadn't been what he had expected. So he had kept waiting. Most of the times, Viktor surprised him. 

Just like right now. 

Yuri followed the tags and found Viktor's newest piece. It was sheet music for another piano song. Long and beautiful. Yuri could already hear the notes, soft and energetic at the same time. A masterpiece in four quarters clock, demanding his hands dance along the ebony and ivory. 

Far too late did he notice the title. 

"Yuri". 

Obviously in Viktor's clean, thin handwriting. Yuri wondered what his Cyrillic looked like. 

Then, his mind snapped back into the present. 

Viktor had written him a song.

No. Wrong. 

Viktor had written him a dozen songs. 

This time, Viktor had written him a love letter. 

And every musician looking at it would know. That was what all the tags were about, what all the people were yelling over. After more than a year of tiptoeing around each other, Yuri had broken the wall between them when he had addressed Viktor. And Viktor had torn any standing bits down with his very own answer. 

He was working on the second half of the song when his phone rang. Yuri cursed, he had forgotten to silence it for the recording. Suddenly he understood the jammers in the opera house. 

An unknown number. 

He scratched his head and answered.

----- 

Two days. 

It had been two days. 

Two full days. 

Again. 

And a bunch of people had played "Yuri". 

But not Yuri. 

So Viktor was doing what every reasonable man would do. 

He was recording a video. 

"Reacting to people who aren't Yuri Katsuki again because he ditched me once more, wtf babe." 

He wasn't sure if he should add the last two words, but Viktor felt like denying it at this point was ridiculous. 

And he felt very extra after opening up his heart like this. It wasn't like Yuri didn't like his song, after all. Viktor had been worried after uploading it that Yuri would retreat, but he had liked it quickly and posted a heart as an answer, just like Viktor had. 

He was pretty sure that this was their sign for 'Give me a moment' at this point, but Viktor had given him two entire days, and there was still nothing. 

He had tried to distract himself with commissions. These days, Viktor had enough offers to work nonstop at almost ridiculous rates. People ate him up, especially his little love story with the man he never met and still adored so deeply. 

But Viktor Nikiforov was not a patient man. Everyone knew that, and he was annoyed with Yuri for taking so long, with himself for being so impatient, with Yura and Beka for abandoning him for another festival in Belgium and a video shoot afterwards. 

So Viktor chose the petty title. 

The video was uploaded halfway when YouTube sent him an alert. 

New Video from Yuri Katsuki- "Yuri- I am Eros and Eros is me."

Viktor almost dropped his phone. 

He cancelled the upload and hurried to the living room. 

Over the months, he had slightly desensitised himself to Yuri's beauty. Now Viktor was convinced he could handle looking at him and listening to his music at the same time. 

Viktor was wrong. 

Because it wasn't only Yuri. 

Sure, it was him at the piano, and he was bringing Viktor's song to life in a more beautiful way than he could have ever imagined, but…

The video was interrupted with pictures. Of them. Fanart. Photo edits. Snaps from their stories made to look like they had been closer to each other than they ever had the chance to be. 

Single, soft notes sounded through the air when Yuri wrapped his song up, underlined with the most recent heart posts they had send each other. 

Then, silence and a black screen, followed by Yuri in a suit with a terrible blue tie. Viktor forgave him immediately when he started to talk. 

His Russian was heavily accented, and there were a few grammar mistakes, but Viktor understood what was asked of him, and he teared up. 

Watch it. Try not to cry. Cry. Rewind. 

Watch it. Try not to cry. Cry. Rewind. 

Watch it. Try not to cry. Listen. 

"Dear Viktor. 

You and I have been talking to each other for many months, but it's only been a few days since I said my first words to you. 

I feel like we grew together, you and I, with the world watching us. I'm sorry this video is late. But I got a call. 

A big label wants to produce my music professionally. They want to send me on tour to see the world and meet my fans. Our fans. But I only ever wanted to play for one person. 

I told them I'd take their offer under one condition. That they will let me play your music. Your music alone. Viktor, there has never been anyone else. There never will be. 

So I have to ask.

Viktor, be my composer?"    

----- 

Yuri's whole body itched. 

This had been too much. Right? It was too much. Phichit was still wrapped around his middle, he had held Yuri through the whole process of the video uploading and going live. 

It had been online for half an hour now. 

Viktor had liked it after four minutes. 

Now Yuri was waiting for his reaction. 

For some reason, he felt like Viktor wouldn't let him simmer for two days. And he was right. 

His phone pinged with a notification. 

New Video from V.Nikiforov "Yuri- He is Eros and Eros is him."

Yuri blushed like crazy, he had no idea why he had chosen that title in a fit of bravery, but apparently, Viktor had liked it. 

He had expected another one if Viktor's reaction videos and hoped for an answer to his proposal, but this video was different. 

There was his own video playing. Okay. Viktor had mirrored it so YouTube's copyright wouldn't freak out, but that wasn't new, he always did this for his reactions. 

New was that Viktor wasn't sitting at his desk. Instead, he stood in front of a microphone that looked expensive enough to pay for a small car and raised a violin to his jaw. 

Oh. Oh? 

Before Yuri even comprehended what was going on, he started to play over Yuri's track, creating a duet where only one artist used to be. 

Viktor's violin snuck perfectly into the soft piano melody. They harmonised in a way that couldn't be a coincidence, and Yuri finally realised that he had unknowingly only played half of their song. 

They had been answering each other's calls time and time again. But this was different. Where Yuri had used artificially created pictures to simulate closeness between them, Viktor created it effortlessly. 

'Yuri' hadn't felt like an unfinished piece, but now that the violin was added, Yuri realised he had been missing Viktor and his music in more than one way. 

The screen went black, and Viktor appeared in a suit that looked expensive as all hell and fancy enough to be designed around his body. Yuri didn't doubt that for a second. 

Instead of speaking, Viktor smiled shyly into the camera and held up a printed piece of paper. 

Yuri felt his heart pause together with the video. The only thing that kept him from falling off the sofa was Phichit's strong arms around him. 

On-screen, Viktor presented a flight ticket from Saint Petersburg to Tokyo. The video faded into a black screen, white, Japanese letters filling the center. 

"See you next level."