Chapter Text
Yuuri finishes lacing up his skates and steps tentatively onto the ice.
“It’s fine, I checked it out earlier!” Yuuko says. “Would I really let you skate on an unstable lake like that?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Yuuri mutters. He skates out to the center of the lake and does a couple twizzles.
“You promised not to mention that ever again!”
“Sure.”
Yuuko shakes her head and crosses her arms. “Whatever. What did you want to show me?”
Yuuri steels himself and takes the starting position: head down, arms by his side, left leg crossed behind his right. A gasp escapes Yuuko, and a smile tugs at the corner of Yuuri’s mouth.
He performs the routine with practiced ease. There’s no music, but he counts out each beat in his head, perfectly in time. Prince Victor’s original performance is ingrained in his mind, which makes it easy to keep track of each jump and spin.
Yuuri spins into the final position, panting. Sweat plasters his bangs to his forehead and he can feel his face flush.
Applause breaks out.
“That was amazing! When did you even learn that? It was so beautiful!”
Yuuri breaks from the pose to look at Yuuko, who’s holding back tears. He raises an eyebrow.
“It was a perfect copy of V--”
She trails off, staring at something over Yuuri’s shoulder.
“Of, uhhh…”
Yuuko raises a hand in greeting. “Um, hi?”
Yuuri glances behind him. Someone on horseback had stopped, likely to watch Yuuri skate, which Yuuri carefully does not think about and instead turns to take his skates off.
“Hi!” the stranger says. “That was a wonderful performance!”
“Thanks,” Yuuri says. He pulls his boots back on and stands up, brushing snow off of his pants.
“How long have you been skating?”
“Uhh… I think I started when I was twelve? Or something.”
“Wow! You have the most entrancing step sequences.”
Yuuri flushes. “Thanks. That’s my favorite part.”
Yuuko gapes at him, looking back and forth between him and the stranger. She opens and closes her mouth like a fish, face progressively getting redder and redder.
Yuuri’s missing something.
He puts his skates into his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Yuuko, are you ready to go? My next shift is in fifteen minutes, so we should start walking back soon.”
Yuuko continues to stare at him, nodding mutely. Yuuri frowns.
Another horse trots down the path.
“Prince Victor, we need to go.”
“Oh, sorry, I was just watching this skater--”
Yuuri does not hear the rest of the conversation.
Prince Victor? Like, the Prince Victor? The Victor who Yuuri saw skating one day when he was twelve and was immediately entranced with? The Victor who inspired Yuuri to take up skating? That Victor?
Slowly, like in a horror story, Yuuri turns his head. He feels like he’s underwater.
The man on the horse is dressed in expensive clothing, with a long brown coat and riding boots, and a gold brooch emblazoned with the royal crest pinned to his lapel. His shock of silver hair means there’s no mistaking it.
Yuuri just had a conversation with the prince and didn’t realize until it was too late.
His life is over. That’s it. He’s gone, he’s dead, he’s six feet under ground in a casket never to see the light of day again.
“I hope to see you skate again soon!” Victor calls, and rides off.
Yuuri is frozen to the spot.
The second Victor and his friend are out of earshot, Yuuko squeals, throwing her arms around Yuuri in a bone-crushing hug.
“I can’t believe that just happened!” she screams directly into Yuuri’s ear. “You just talked to the ice prince himself! And he complimented you!”
Yuuri can’t seem to form any words. Only indecipherable panicked noises.
“It’s a good thing he didn’t get mad at you for copying his program but wow! He said he wants to see you again!”
Finally, Yuuri finds his voice. “I-- I’m sure that was just a thing he said to be nice. I can’t-- He-- okay, so Victor saw me skate.”
It hasn’t quite sunk in yet.
“Victor saw you skate!”
“Can we- can we just go back to the hot springs? I don’t… I need to process--”
Yuuko pulls away from him and nods furiously. “Yeah, of course. That’s a lot to take in.” She grins, and whispers almost to herself, “Victor saw you skate.”
Yuuri wants to stare at the wall and rethink everything about his life.
~~~
Yakov closes the door behind him when he enters.
No escape from whatever lecture this is, apparently. Victor scoots his chair back from his desk so he can rest his head on his arms, looking at Yakov through his hair. Yakov looks at him, unimpressed, before launching into whatever speech he has prepared.
“You need to pick a suitor.”
Victor huffs. “Believe me, Yakov, I’m aware.”
“I’m not sure you are. You’re twenty seven, Victor. and you still don’t have a next of kin.”
“I thought we decided that was Yuri!”
“Unofficially, yes. But you still have to pick a suitor before we can announce that.”
“That’s a lame rule.”
“Victor, just this once. Just once, will you do what I ask?”
Victor sits up and props his chin up on his hand. “I thought people were supposed to address the prince with respect.”
“I’ll do that once you earn it.”
Victor whistles. “Fine. What do you have in mind?”
Yakov pulls up a chair and sits down, unfolding a list of options he’d tucked away in his jacket pocket. It’s not nearly as long as Victor expected. He’s not sure whether he should be offended or not.
“As it stands, we have few options. How you got your reputation as a playboy, I’ll never understand, but the fact of the matter is this: you could marry your friend Christophe--”
“I think I’ll pass. Chris is great, but I’m pretty sure he’s in love with that one guy from--”
“--you could marry Michele,” Yakov continues.
“That guy weirds me out,” Victor says. Yakov sighs.
“Or you could marry Jean-Jac--”
Victor splutters. “No. Absolutely not. I refuse to be in the same room as him. He is the straightest man I have ever--”
“Vitya, if you don’t choose someone to marry, I will pick for you , and I will do everything in my power to make sure it is the most miserable decision I could possibly make.”
Victor slumps in his chair, letting his forehead smack into the wooden desk with a thunk. “Why do you hate seeing me happy?” he whines. Is he being a bit overly dramatic? Yes. Does his head hurt now? Yes. Is it worth it to rile up Yakov? Of course.
“If you can find another solution, be my guest. But if you say any bullshit--”
Victor sits bolt upright with a gasp. “We can throw a ball!”
“What.”
“You know, a ball! Like…” he snaps his fingers. “A masquerade! And we can invite everyone and I’ll dance with everyone there and we’ll fall in love and then we can reveal our identities at, like, midnight? And then whoever I like the most I’ll marry!”
Victor finishes his proposal with a flourish and a grin.
Yakov stares at him.
Well, it’s more of a glare than anything else, but Yakov always looks angry. Victor likes to think there’s a heart of gold under there. See, there’s a twinkle in his eye--
“Your lack of perspective on anything astounds me,” Yakov says.
Okay, maybe not.
Victor crosses his arms. “I can wear a mask, too, so people don’t try to throw the whole thing off. Why, do you have a better idea?”
“Literally any of the people I suggested would be a better idea than a stranger you meet at a masquerade.”
Victor pulls out his best puppy dog eyes.
Yakov continues to glare.
Victor bats his eyelashes.
Yakov throws his hands up. “Fine, we’ll try the ball. Just don’t bat your eyelashes at me ever again.”
“Success!”
~~~
The prince is giving a ball.
Specifically, the prince is giving a ball to find a potential suitor and everyone who can go is invited.
“You have to go to the ball, Yuuri,” Yuuko says. Yuuri ignores her and continues to wipe down the counter. “He said he wanted to see you again! This is your chance to sweep him off his feet!”
Yuuri snorts. “Yeah, me. Sweep him off his feet. Sure.”
“I think you should do it. Besides, it’s a masquerade! He won’t know it’s you unless you want him to know!”
Yuuri pauses.
She has a point.
But no, he can’t. He doesn’t care for parties that much, anyway. Too loud, too many people.
And yet… Victor did say…
No, he can’t.
…Could he?
“I have work tonight.”
“Just have Mari do it.”
Damn it.
Yuuri sets his dust cloth down and looks at the invitation, where it rests on the end of the counter. It’s light blue, written in a glittering golden ink that reflects the candlelight. There’s something so tempting about it.
“I’ll let you think about it,” Yuuko says, and leaves the building.
Yuuri picks up the invitation and looks at it, really looks at it. Yuuko’s right, he could wear a mask. And if he got to talk to Victor, he thinks it could be pretty nice. And if he ends up wanting to leave halfway through, no one would know him as the guy who ditched before the party ended.
A bark snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks down at Vicchan, sitting at his feet. The poodle lets his tongue hang sloppily out of his mouth. Yuuri smiles and ruffles his fur.
He goes to check his closet for something to wear.
That night, he knocks frantically on Phichit’s door until it swings open and Yuuri tumbles forward into the room.
“Hey, woah, what’s up?” Phichit laughs.
“I’m--” Yuuri catches his breath and tugs on the hem of his suit jacket. “I’m going to the ball, the one the prince is throwing?” he clarifies, as if there’s any other ball of note happening that night, “and I need help. To look good.”
Phichit’s face lights up.
“Yuuri, you’ve come to the right place.”
He drags Yuuri fully into the room and closes the door, making a beeline for his wardrobe. Yuuri waits anxiously in the hall, listening to Phichit rummage through drawers and hangers, muttering to himself.
He emerges a couple minutes later, arms laden with a variety of… stuff.
“First things first,” he says, dropping them all unceremoniously on the floor of the parlor, “is we are getting you out of that suit and into something fashionable.”
Yuuri looks down at his outfit. It’s pretty simple, just a black suit with a blue tie that reminds him of Victor’s eyes. “Is it that bad?”
“The second I can get ahold of it, I am burning that tie.”
Yuuri frowns.
“Anyway,” Phichit says, “if you really want to impress Victor, we’re going to have to give you a makeover.”
“Hey, I said nothing about impressing Victor! What if I just want to go to the ball and have a nice time?”
Phichit fixes him with a Look.
Yuuri stares back.
Phichit raises an eyebrow.
“...Yeah, even as I said it, I didn’t believe it.” Yuuri sits down in front of Phichit. “Alright, what do we have lined up?”
Over the course of the next hour, Phichit and Yuuri go through almost all of Phichit’s clothes. The pile in the corner of the room grows to unfathomable heights, dismissed by Phichit as either not flattering enough, not Yuuri’s color (“You are a winter, Yuuri, not an autumn,”), not formal enough, not danceable enough, or not gay enough.
Yuuri finds himself staring at his reflection in the mirror at the final outfit, Phichit chewing on his nails behind him.
It’s something Phichit brought with him from Thailand: a light blue long-sleeved shirt buttoned in the front with a high collar, paired with a pair of darker blue pants. The left side of the shirt is a matte fabric, while the right side is made of a shimmering, floral patterned material. Yuuri runs his hands over the cuffs of the sleeves, made from the same shimmering fabric.
He turns to Phichit, arms out. “What do you think?”
Phichit grins. “I think that’s perfect. Now let’s take care of your hair situation.”
He unscrews a container of time period inaccurate hair gel and rubs it into Yuuri’s hair, slicking his bangs back out of his face. Yuuri takes off his glasses and closes his eyes, wincing when Phichit pulls too hard.
“Alright, I think you’re ready to go woo your man,” Phichit says, admiring his handiwork. Yuuri opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder at the mirror. He can’t really see too well without his glasses, but from what he can see, he looks pretty good. The slicked back hair works for him in a way he honestly had not expected.
Something occurs to him.
“Wait, are you gonna come to the ball, too? I feel bad taking your fancy clothes.”
“Oh, no. I have other plans. Go wild with my fancy clothes, dude.”
“These other plans wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Seung Gil, would they?” Yuuri says with a grin.
“If I hadn’t just done your hair, I would hit you with a pillow right now.”
~~~
Victor is beginning to think the ball was a mistake.
Okay, well maybe not the idea of the ball itself. That was genius, and a totally valid way of finding a husband, and Yakov was just being judgemental. The problem was that somehow, despite his cool masquerade mask, people kept recognizing him, which was the opposite of what he wanted.
“Maybe it’s just the waves of homosexual energy you radiate,” Christophe says, sipping at a glass of champagne. “Everyone knows the prince is gay as hell, so they picked out the gayest looking person in the room and ended up being right.”
Victor hums. “You’d think that would deter the women from trying to win me over, wouldn’t you?”
“Got me there,” Chris says. He smiles against the rim of the glass. “You can’t help but feel bad for them. They really think they can do something about it.”
Victor leans against the wall and sighs.
He hears Yuri approach before he sees him. He supposes Yuri would be pretty likely to recognize him, but he’d like to think it would’ve been harder with the mask.
“Hey asshole, why aren’t you dancing with anyone? Wasn’t this your idea in the first place?” Yuri says. Victor smiles coldly at him.
“I’m taking a break. Can’t I catch up with old friends at a party?”
“No,” Yuri hisses. He’s like an angry kitten. “Yakov is going to take your head off if you don’t find someone to talk to by the end of the night. And then he’ll take my head off because I didn’t force you to socialize.”
“You’re young, Yura, you don’t understand how love works.”
“Yeah, I’m sure standing in the corner and staring wistfully at the dance floor at your own party is exactly how you find true love.” Yuri says. He huffs, blowing his blonde hair out of his face. Victor wishes he’d let him braid it. It’s always hanging in his eyes. How can he see like that?
Yuri glares at him for another moment, then rolls his eyes and gives up, stalking off. On his way, he collides with another man and launches into a rant. The poor guy looks so confused.
Victor swipes a flute of champagne off of the refreshment table and takes a sip.
“Excuse me, are you Prince Victor, by chance?” someone asks.
He groans. Seriously, how is everyone seeing through the disguise?
~~~
Yuuri notices Victor immediately.
He’s kind of hard to miss, with that silver hair of his.
The ballroom is huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows are spaced out across the walls, outlined in ornate floral trim. Sheer white curtains flutter as party guests dance by, their skirts swishing in time with the band playing. A few crystal chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, which is painted in intricate gold designs mirroring the design laid into the smooth, hardwood floors. It’s breathtaking, and so full of people Yuuri would believe the entire kingdom had showed up.
Anyway, Yuuri spots Victor across the room, wearing a long gray jacket and shiny, floral patterned waistcoat, and instantly wishes he hadn’t come.
What was he thinking? A throwaway comment from earlier that morning did not qualify as a formal invitation to attempt to… to woo him.
Everything is too hot and too loud and too crowded and Yuuri wishes he could just go home but if Phichit found out he hadn’t even tried to talk to Victor he’d never hear the end of it so he had to at least try but that meant he had to walk all the way across the ballroom and maybe talk to other people and then he’d have to figure out what to say and what if Victor didn’t even remember him? How embarrassing would that be?
Yuuri downs an entire glass of champagne in one go.
Two more glasses of champagne later and Yuuri prepares himself to attempt conversation. He sets his glass down, makes sure his mask is securely over his face, brushes nonexistent dirt off of his shirt, and takes a deep breath.
Okay. It’s time.
Victor is standing near the refreshment table. Yuuri just needs to walk over there, say hi, ask if he remembers the skater from this morning, and hopefully the entire conversation won’t be a disaster.
And then he collides with someone.
“Oh, sorry!” he says.
“Hey, watch it! I have places to be, you know. I can’t storm off dramatically if I run into someone because they weren’t looking where the hell they were going like any normal person with any respect for other people!”
“Uh… sorry?”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
The teenager storms off again, muttering under his breath. Yuuri watches him go, perplexed.
When he turns to make his way over to Victor, he’s gone.
How did he miss him?
Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
He takes another glass of champagne.
~~~
Something is happening on the other side of the ballroom.
Victor isn’t sure if it’s a good thing, but it certainly sounds interesting, and anything would be better than the conversation he’s been trapped in with the most boring man on the planet. He can’t remember the guy’s name, and honestly, it doesn’t matter, because he’s already making his way across the room.
The sight he’s greeted with is…
Well.
It’s something.
Somehow, one of the guests is very drunk.
Victor’s not exactly sure how. They’ve only been serving champagne, which isn’t typically what people think of when they want to get that drunk, but hey, Victor can respect it.
“You yelled at me earlier so now we have to have a” --the man hiccups-- “a dance off.”
“A what?” spits the boy the drunk man is talking to, and Victor realizes with a start he’s talking to Yuri.
“You heard me,” the man slurs. He leans in close to Yuri, who scrunches his nose in disgust. “A dance off,” he whispers.
“I am not dancing with you.”
The man leans back, hands on his hips. “Scared I’ll beat you?”
The disgust on Yuri’s face contorts into rage. “Absolutely not. I’d wipe the floor with you. I’m being courteous by not embarrassing you in front of all of these people.”
“Soundsta me like you’re scaaaared. ”
“Okay, you know what? I won’t be nice.” Yuri pulls off his jacket and drops it, arm extended for full dramatic effect. “I’m going to absolutely destroy you in this dance battle.”
Whatever Victor expected from a dance battle between fifteen year old Yuri and a completely hammered man who seems to be too drunk to stay standing, this wasn’t it.
This for sure wasn’t it.
For one, the drunk guy is killing it. He moves as if his body contains the music itself. For two, Yuri is definitely losing.
Christophe bursts out laughing. He runs over to the band and starts talking emphatically, waving his hands and gesturing back to the dance off. Victor can’t help a smile breaking across his face.
The band switches from the waltz they’d been playing to something way more energetic and upbeat. The drunk man adjusts to this change instantly and does a surprisingly impressive handstand. Yuri tries his best to break out his cooler dance moves, but he really just doesn’t hold a candle to this guy.
The second the song ends, Yuri collapses in a heap on the floor, arms splayed out and chest heaving as he gasps for breath. The drunk man whirls around until he locks eyes with Victor. “I won, right?” he demands.
The blood rushes to Victor’s face.
Now that he has a better look at the man’s face, he can’t look away. His face is flushed from the alcohol, painting the skin that’s visible under his mask a rosy red. Strands of dark hair --which previously had been slicked back, but now was starting to come undone-- frame his face. He brushes a lock of hair out of his deep brown eyes. He’s beautiful.
Victor grins. “Yeah, I’d say you won.”
On the floor, Yuri screams.
“Sorry, Котёнок. You tried your best.”
“I’m going to slaughter you when I get up,” Yuri promises. Victor ignores him.
He turns his attention back to the beautiful drunk man. “What’s your name? I think we should get you some water.”
The man hiccups. “I don’t-- issa secret.”
Victor knits his eyebrows together, smiling. “Yeah, sure. It’s a secret.”
He steps closer to Victor, wobbling dangerously. Victor holds his hands out, wondering if he should try to keep him from face planting. The man reaches blindly out, steadying himself on Victor’s shoulder. The blush on Victor’s face deepens.
“You’re” --the drunk man hiccups-- “you’re pretty, Victor.”
“My mask really didn’t prevent anyone from recognizing me, huh,” is all Victor can think to say. The man giggles and leans even closer towards Victor, so close he can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“You have silver hair,” he whispers, as if it’s a secret that Victor’s hearing for the first time. Victor looks up at his bangs. His smile widens.
“My family runs a hot springs, you should come visit! I like it ‘cause it’s also close to a lake and I go there to-- h-hey, I got an idea! If I- if I win the dance off, will you” --the man hiccups again-- “will you watch me skate?”
“Watch you skate?”
“Yeaahh!! I learned how to skate after I saw you once and I thought you were so beautiful and your hair was soooo long so I learned how to ice skate and I want you to see it.”
Victor is not prepared for this.
“Of course I’ll watch you skate. But who are you dance battling?”
The man leans in so close so suddenly that he nearly knocks their foreheads together. “You.”
Victor steadies the man, bracing his hands on his hips. “Can’t I just dance with you instead?” he finds himself asking before his brain catches up with his mouth.
“Yes,” he breathes.
The band is playing another song now, more upbeat, faster, more rhythmic. The man slips an arm around Victor’s waist and pulls him away from the crowd and onto the dance floor, spinning him around a couple times before letting go and pulling away, holding onto Victor’s hand by the fingertips.
The man seems to know what he’s doing, so Victor lets him lead, spinning him in, spinning him out, leading him around the circle, pulling him close.
“Give him something to work with, Victor!” Chris yells from somewhere off to the side. “You look like a rodeo clown!”
“How do I look like a rodeo clown? How is that in any way related--”
The man gasps. “Oh, like those bull guys? With the flags?”
A laugh bubbles out of Victor’s chest. He pulls away and takes off his jacket, waving it like a flag. The man giggles, puts two fingers by his head like a bull, and runs at Victor, who rips the jacket away at the last second. The man stumbles and Victor reaches out to catch him around the waist.
The man pulls Victor back into their dance. Just as the song comes to a close, he places one hand on Victor’s back, one hand on the back of his head, and dips him.
Victor struggles to catch his breath in between bouts of laughter. The man laughs so hard he snorts, which makes him laugh even harder. Victor thinks he might be in love.
And then the clock chimes.
The man pulls away so quickly that Victor stumbles, struggling to find his balance.
“What time is it?” he whispers.
“...Midnight,” Victor answers warily.
All around them, people start taking off their masks, rubbing the indents left behind. The man’s hands fly to his face, as if he’s afraid his mask has disappeared. The mirth in his expression is completely gone, replaced by panic. “I- I can’t--”
Victor pulls his own mask off, stepping towards his dance partner. “Hey, are you okay?”
The man flinches away from his touch, staggering backwards. He shakes his head. “I-I-I-I have to-- I can’t-- I have to go.”
“Why?”
“I can’t, I-I can’t, I have to-- Phichit will want his clothes back, I have to- my dog, I need to let out my dog, I--”
Victor takes another step towards him. “Please, just--”
“I have to go,” the man whispers, then turns on his heel and makes a break for it.
“Wait!” Victor cries. He runs after him, but despite being drunk, the man is faster, and he makes it out the door and down the stairs before Victor can catch up.
“I don’t even know your name!”