Chapter Text
Yuuri pinched his nose, dislodging his glasses in the process. Offering a friend a place to stay shouldn’t have required quite so much deliberation, but the thing was, Chris Giacometti was only kind of a friend. Like they chatted in the hotel halls and maybe got dinner if they were at the same competitions, but they didn’t exactly trade confidences or talk on the phone. They only even texted to trade good lucks and pet pics. So, Yuuri calling to offer his couch would be weird. Maybe.
But, also Detroit was swamped with a major sporting event happening (something with hockey though Yuuri couldn’t have said what exactly) and two major conventions in town (one of which was a huge gaming convention Yuuri knew everything about). Hotels had been filled to capacity for days. Even the Air B&B postings had nothing to offer. And now this super blizzard or whatever had hit and shut down the entire airport and every other mode of transportation, an airport Chris had gotten stranded at on his way somewhere. All Yuuri’s information on that came from the single Instagram post Phichit showed him which consisted of a picture of Chris at said airport looking forlorn with the message “Snowed in in Detroit.”
So, yeah, his first instinct had been to call and offer his couch, because they had one, it was actually a futon that folded down into a surprisingly comfortable bed, and he wanted to help. Except then he paused to think about it and his anxiety brain decided to point out this could be seen as all kinds of strange from stalking (how’d he know it was needed?) to propositioning (so, hey, come and stay at my place, wink, wink) to just plain awkward which was, after all, Yuuri’s default state.
He needed to consult an actual functional human being for advice. Also, make sure Phichit was even okay with having some random person he barely knew in his space.
“Hey, Peach, about that Instagram post, do you think we should offer him our couch for the night maybe?”
“Who? Christophe Giacometti? How would we even do that? We can’t just put that on social media. He’d probably think we’re deranged fans or something.”
Yuuri shuffled his feet and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I mean, I was going to call him, but you’re right. It’s odd, and--”
“You have Chris Giacometti’s phone number?”
“Yes?” Yuuri looked up in time to watch Peach’s face go from startled to delighted, a wide grin blooming and eyes dancing.
“Call him! Call him now!” Phichit bounced in place. “I’m going to meet Chris Giacometti. This is the best day ev—wait. Yuuri, why do you have his number? Did you hook up with--”
“No!” Yuuri waved his hands wildly. “Nothing like that. We just...we were in Juniors together for a while and we’re...friends? Friendly? Something like that.”
“Okay, we’re going to talk about why I am just learning this now, but first, call him. Even if I didn’t want to fanboy and possibly climb him like a tree, it’s the nice thing to do.”
Yuuri blinked and then shook his head as if he could physically force that image out of his mind. Then he dialed.
Chris answered after one ring. “Yuuri! Hi. Is everything okay? You don’t usually call.”
“Oh, um. Yeah, I’m fine but you’re...not? I saw your thing about being stuck in the airport.”
“And you’re checking on me? That’s sweet. I didn’t even know you used Instagram.” He sounded confused, but not angry.
“I don’t really, but Phichit—my roommate does—and well, see we live here. In Detroit that is. I think I told you that maybe? Anyway, all the hotels have been booked up and I thought if you were stuck overnight that you might want a place to sleep. And I have a couch. Couch bed thingy. Futon.” He stopped and took a deep breath, cursing softly before he added quietly, “This is why I don’t talk on the phone. Or at all really.”
Chris laughed, warm and easy, nothing mocking in it. “We’re definitely stuck for at least tonight, and it would be amazing not to sleep in a hard, plastic chair, but does this couch bed thingy,” he chuckled again, “have room for two? I’m traveling with a friend and I can’t just abandon him here.”
Yuuri nodded and rolled his eyes at himself as he realized Chris clearly couldn’t see him through the phone. “Yeah, it’s a full, so it should be okay. Hrm, we just have to see about getting you here. Usually you could just Uber, but with the snow….let me call you back in a minute. I know someone with a truck that’s good in the snow, and he owes me a favor.”
“Wow,” Chris’s voice was still bright, but Yuuri heard the fatigue under it, “such service. Just let me know what or who to look for. And thank you, Yuuri. Seriously.”
“Sure.” And Yuuri hung up, already rehearsing what he’d say to Jason when he called in the IOU from the hockey player for all the free ballet lessons.
##
Victor stared at his phone in abject horror. Twenty-seven calls and not a single hotel had a room free. Not for any price, not even for him. Which, yeah, sounded arrogant, but places had fought to have them stay in their chains before, and it wouldn’t have been the first time they booted someone for him. Just the first time he’d have been maybe a little okay with it if they had.
“Chris,” he sighed dramatically, “we have a problem.”
The taller man handed him a paper cup of tea with a smile. “All the hotels are booked. I heard. But I, being the miracle worker have gotten us a place to stay.”
“What? How? Where?”
“Yuuri Katsuki’s place. He called and offered his couch. Which pulls out to a bed before you start complaining.”
“Who?” Victor twisted his neck and heard the vertebrae crack. He’d have preferred a king-sized hotel bed with high thread count sheets, or better, his own bed and Makka, but far be it from him to look down on the aid so graciously offered by some guy Chris probably slept with once.
“Yuuri Katsuki. Twenty-two, Japanese national champion?” Chris made a hand motion as if this all should have triggered recognition.
Which, yeah, probably, if the guy was another skater, much less an actual national champion, Victor should have at least known the name. He didn’t. “I don’t think I know him.”
“Oh, mon amie,” Chris grinned slyly and pulled something up on his phone. “You have no idea what you’ve been missing.”
Victor shrugged, but watched the video shoved in his face regardless. The guy didn’t seem like much as he was introduced. Cute, sure, but there were plenty of attractive men on the figure skating scene.
Then he started moving. And Victor couldn’t look away. Most skaters were graceful, but Katsuki flowed across the ice like a dream, not just completely in time with the music, but as if the music were summoned by his every gesture, brought forth for him and him alone.
Victor had never seen anything like it, but he desperately wanted to see more. “Chris,” he gasped, “why haven’t I met him? Why hadn’t Yakov picked apart everything he does because he’s a threat? Why isn’t he winning everything?”
“Anxiety.” Chris offered a bit of a sad shrug. “Poor guy has pretty severe anxiety and it messes up his performances, his jumps in particular.” He gestured at his phone. “Except in exhibition skates like that one.”
The phone rang before Victor got to ask more, but he listened in intently as Chris made some incredulous noises before hanging up. “What was that about?”
“So, Yuuri’s arranged a ride for us. With Jason Peers.”
Victor blinked. “Wasn’t he a hockey player on the 2010 US Olympic team?”
“And a forward for the Detroit Red Wings.” Chris gave him a flat look. “Also, how can you know that but not the name of a guy actually competing in your sport?”
“Yakov likes hockey.” Victor flushed. He’d been called self-absorbed before, but he’d never had it demonstrated so pointedly as now.
Still, he knew about Yuuri Katsuki now, and he fully intended to make up for lost time.
##
Jason said it’d take about an hour to get there and back, maybe more with the snow, so Yuuri decided to throw together a soup for dinner. Easy, quick, and he had the ingredients to make enough for four people. Besides, Phichit had already made up the couch bed, so Yuuri needed something to keep himself from panicking while he waited for Chris to arrive.
It helped, the process of cooking the meat and slicing the vegetables familiar and meditative from helping at the onsen. He had to use carton broth, but he made do. Phichit had brought back a bunch of spices from his last trip and they did wonders for the chicken broth.
With the soup merrily bubbling away, Yuuri decided to throw in his earbuds and do the dishes. One more productive task to keep the anxiety at bay. He didn’t even have to listen for the door with Phichit bouncing and hovering around it like a moth battering a porch light. Perfect.
So, with Yellow Flicker Beat playing in his ear, Yuuri got to work with a smile and a shimmy to his shoulders he knew would turn into little turns and dance sequences as he moved from washing to drying to putting things away. Happened every time and Yuuri had spent a fortune on hamster toys bribing Peaches to keep it off the internet. Still, the momentary relaxation it gave was worth the hassle, so he turned the music up and let himself go.
##
Jason and Victor shared many traits: both professional athletes, both had strong opinions on music, and both spent the entire time trapped together in a car asking Chris dozens of questions about Yuuri. Victor liked to think his were the better questions. He wanted to understand Yuuri, what made him tick, what allowed him to move as if he’d transcended physical boundaries and become pure music. Jason’s questions more or less circled around the best way to get Yuuri to sleep with him. Which, when he finally, as they arrived at the apartment building, just point-blank asked Chris, Christophe replied with a very droll, “No idea, but if you find out, let me know.”
Victor wanted to slap both of them. Katsuki might be attractive, but treating him like some conquest to be won missed the point. The man made art with his body. He deserved to be respected and honored for that. Not drooled over.
“Worried about the competition, mon amie?” Chris grinned over his shoulder at Victor, pausing as they took the stairs to Yuuri’s floor.
“No,” Victor rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to hook-up with Katsuki. I just...I want to understand how he does that.”
Chris’s eyebrows furrowed. “Skate? Victor, in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re the best skater in the world.”
“Not skate, dance. Make music with his body. It’s...impressive.”
“And has nothing to do with the fact he has the best ass in figure skating?” Chris finished climbing the stairs and knocked on a nondescript door.
Victor frowned. “I thought that was you. Also, completely not the point. Let me be very clear. I do not want to sleep with Yuuri Katsuki.”
“Oh,” said the tiny dark-haired boy who opened the door with a bright smile just as Victor spoke, perhaps a tad too loudly, “well, I suppose someone had to feel that way, but he’s going to be so disappointed. Also, I’m Phichit, the roommate. Come on in.”
Opening his mouth to apologize or explain or something, Victor found himself staring right at Yuuri Katsuki, in poodle pajama pants and a t-shirt worn so thin it was practically see-through, shimmying his hips and shoulders as he danced, eyes closed, around a small, spotless kitchen. His throat dried instantly and words disappeared like smoke.
The shirt was stretched out enough it fell over one shoulder, Yuuri’s collarbone exposed, his neck stretched long and supple as he lifted into a perfect pirouette. On linoleum. In socks. Socks with more poodles on them. The shirt lifted to reveal toned abs and the graceful swell of his hip. Victor swallowed. Twice.
Then, still unable to look away, he reached out and tapped Phichit’s shoulder. “Does he do this a lot?”
The boy grinned. “Always.”
“Huh.” Victor dropped his bag and took a step forward as if pulled by an invisible string towards the beautiful man dancing before him. “Yeah, what I said before, I was wrong.”
Chris and Phichit both laughed, the sound loud enough to apparently get Yuuri’s attention because he opened his eyes, looked right at Victor, and screamed.