Chapter Text
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Katsuki Yuuri hid in the toilet and rested he'd forehead against the stall door, staring at his hands.
They still had that subtle purply-pink tinge that was all Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri could get lost in studying the differences -- these nailbeds were flatter and set further back, there were tiny tufts of invisible hair on the middle knuckle and freckles at the base of the left thumb. The hands were larger and less flexible--
And Yuuri would love to explore further but he'd love even more if he could have his own body back now. Please?
He looked at his chest. It didn't respond.
Dammit, he had a banquet to get to!
Banquet?!! His mind screetched and for one, disassociated moment Yuuri could see his thoughts lurching away from the present and spiralling into a whirlpool of I'm going to miss the banquet because I'm Victor!