Chapter Text
It's a well-known fact that Katsuki Yuuri does not like parties. So well-known in fact, that practically the whole student body, despite not particularly knowing him, knows he most likely won’t be seen at any party whatsoever. So why, he wonders as he washes his hands, am I at one?
He dries his hands off and groans, the thumping bass music wasn’t even slightly muted by the door, as he hoped it might have been. He sighs and opens the door, preparing for the inevitable headache that was already beginning. Immediately, someone shoves past him and vomits in the toilet, someone following them in to pat their back soon after. Yuuri jumps in shock, turns away and swallows a gag of his own, hoping beyond all hope that this is the worst his night gets.
Why am I here? He asks again but he knows exactly why he’s there. I am never letting Yuko convince me to do anything again, he laughs lightly to himself, like that would ever happened, I mean, she got me here.
Yuuri looks down at exactly where here is from his vantage point at the top of the stairs. The party was extremely hectic; bodies thrashing around in attempts of dancing, people making out in corners, people stripping and those who keep drinking whatever vile concoctions are in their cups.
I hate you Yuko, is all he can think.
Yuko is his best friend, practically his only friend, and she always knows what to say to get him to do what she wants. Once, she wanted to go to a movie when Yuuri wanted to study, she reminded him that one of his favourite actors was in said film and the next thing he knew he was sitting in the cinema seat with a small popcorn on his lap. This party was like that instance, but in this case, it took Yuuri a little convincing. She bursted into his dorm room with, “Yuuri, let’s go to Phichit’s party!”
He turned and rubbed his neck, saying, “Sorry, Yuko but I was going to study.”
“What? Yuuri, please!” She responded, dramatically falling onto her knees next to him. Yuuri fondly rolled his eyes. “Yuuri!” she begged, grabbing onto his arm.
He pulled his arm out of her hold.“Maybe, if you went on your own?”
“I can’t go on my own! That’s social suicide!”
“I think you’re overstating it.”
“Yuuri, please, it’ll only be a few hours then you can return to your boring study.”
Yuuri huffed and muttered, “Psychology isn’t boring.”
She held her hands up as if she were praying, “Please, Yuuri, I’m begging you! Takeshi’s going to be there and I need to be there too.”
Yuuri looked at her and smirked, “Ah, I see now.” Yuko was always talking about ‘how nice he was today’ ‘how funny this joke he said was’ or even in one instance, ‘how wonderful his laugh had been.’ Yuuri liked to tease her about the last one.
She’d met Takeshi during one of her classes (Yuuri couldn’t particularly remember which at the moment) and despite the fact that half of the time she was him he was immature and downright rude; she’d fallen for him. Now, she constantly tried to go where he went and talked to him every chance she got.
“Does that mean you’ll come?” Her eyes sparkled with hope.
“I really can’t Yuko, I’m behind” Her eyes became puppy dog eyes. “…And you know that I don’t like parties.”
“But Yuuri, you need to try new things!” She said for the billionth time, having said it every time she tried to convince Yuuri to do something.
He didn’t respond, focusing back on his notes.
Yuko sighed and slowly got to her feet, “Okay, fine I’ll go alone.” She brushed herself off and walked to the door, holding onto its frame before she turned and said,” But I did hear from the other Yuri that Viktor’s going to be there,”
This was her last resort, her last weapon.
Yuuri froze, a war of emotions and logic beginning within him. He began questioning the importance of schoolwork as hopes rushed through his head: Maybe I’ll finally talk to him. Hey, you never know, he might actually ask me out. But school! School comes first! But Viktor might actually talk to me and I’ll actually talk to him! SCHOOL!
Viktor Nikiforov was an exchange student from Russia and everyone, even those who were older and younger, were in love with him. In fact, Yuuri was fairly certain the Russian received a few love letters every day. Not to mention he was practically an internet celebrity- Yuuri had internet stalked him one night and made the shocking discovery that he had over twenty thousand followers on Instagram- so he probably had a lot more confessions than Yuuri would ever get in his entire life. And still, even with all this information, even with the knowledge that he would just be one among the masses, Yuuri had a crush on him.
“Yuuri?” Yuko broke his thoughts. A look of worry on her pale features.
“Only a few hours?” he asked.
She squealed.
So, she dragged him to Phichit’s frat house and by the time they arrived the party was in full swing; music loudly playing whatever song was popular, people dancing on furniture and people already passed out on the floor. Yuuri followed Yuko in and swerved occasionally when someone ran past them screaming, “I’m going surf down the banister!” (It actually happened surprisingly often). And while Yuko shouted at him to look for Takeshi, all he could do was search for Viktor Nikiforov. He saw all his friends but he never found Viktor himself.
“I thought you said Viktor was here,” he shouted into her ear. She shrugged. He frowned.
It took them an hour to find Takeshi and by that time they’d avoided many, many horny drunk guys who were all trying to sleep any girl who entered their field of vision. When they finally found him, he announced that he couldn’t drink because he was the designated driver among his friends and Yuuri was so thankful he could have crushed him in a hug. Instead, he awkwardly leaned against the wall next to him and third wheeled the conversation between him and Yuko.
Again, he looked around but he still couldn’t find Viktor. He could feel everyone looking at him, “Why is he here?” He could practically hear what they would says he next day.
“Did you see him at Phichit’s party? He was so awkward.”
“Oh yeah! He’s so much nerdier in person!”
“And did you see how stupid he looked! It was hilarious!”
“Losers like him should just stay home”
He needed fresh air.
He shouted in Yuko and Takeshi’s general direction, “I’m going to the bathroom.” He left before he got any sort of response.
It's stupid really, his anxiety. It’s not like anyone cares about him, he can bet that half of them didn’t even know his name or would even notice his presence. Still though, he can’t help it. His brain is loud and whenever he goes anywhere public, he feels eyes on him, judgements flying off in whispers. It makes him vulnerable. It makes him nervous. He always has to calm himself and say, “It’s okay, they’ll probably forget by tomorrow.” But even so, he’d remember. He’d remember it all.
So here he is, extremely self-conscious and uncomfortable at the top of the banister examining the party he doesn’t want to be at. I’ll find Yuko and go home, he thinks, it was stupid to think Viktor would actually talk to me anyway. I mean, he’s not even here.
But as he reaches the wall he was previously been leaning on, they aren’t there. Yuuri starts panicking. He double checks that it was actually where they’d been by checking every other wall on the bottom floor of Phichit’s stupid frat house but he just can’t find them.
He tries to find them among the mesh of bodies that occupy the impromptu dancefloor but maybe it’s just that he squeezes through too many people to find them, or that he’s panicking too much to actually see and it’s far too warm to be natural on the dancefloor for him to form coherent thought.
He can’t help but remember Yuko’s words from earlier, I can’t go on my own! That’s social suicide!
He crawls off the dancefloor and attempts to find a non-alcoholic drink to clear his mind. Hopefully, stopping his panicked brain from making any more panicked assumptions like, what if Yuko was waiting for this moment to ditch you? What if she only brought you here in case she needed to make Takeshi jealous and doesn’t want you here at all? He tries to calm himself with water but all they have is vodka. Having put some in his cup, he takes a sip and promptly spits it out. “Don’t like vodka?” someone asks, he looks up.
“Oh, hey Phichit,” he shouts over the music. Phichit is the only other person Yuuri might consider a friend.
He’d met him at the beginning of the year when he’d first gone to the university’s skating rink. To Yuuri’s surprise, they both did figure skating and they'd bonded quickly due to that. Sadly, Phichit rarely ever had time to go skating and that left Yuuri to go alone.
But that wasn’t too bad. After all, he’d discovered Viktor Nikiforov that way.
“What?”
“Hey!”
“Hey!” Phichit slurs. “I saw you and was like, ‘Whaaaaat? Yuuri’s here?’ It was like, ‘whoa’,” he takes a photo of Yuuri.
“Yeah!” he blinks at the flash. “Hey! Have you seen Yuko around?”
Phichit shakes his head roughly, picking up a cup and pouring a bit of every different bottle on the table. “Not recently!” He hiccups, giggling at his hiccup like an anime schoolgirl.
“Great,” Yuuri mumbles to himself. “Maybe you should stop drinking!” he shouts.
Phichit just laughs at him. “So hey, I was, I was wondering…” Phichit giggles again. “Are the rumours true?”
Yuuri raises an eyebrow, “What rumours?”
“Yes or no, Yuuri!”
“Yes?” Yuuri answers, his reply more of a question than a statement.
Phichit positively beams. “Come with me!” Phichit grabs his hand tightly and leads him through throngs of people to a small door by the entrance. “Get in!”
“Excuse me?” Yuuri gasps, Phichit responds by shoving him into the room.
Despite the fact that it's pitch black, Yuuri can tell it's a small room filled with coats. The coat closet? Yuuri thinks, shocked, but at the same time thankful that he can’t smell any vomit. Yuuri turns back towards the door just as he hears the click of the lock being turned. He feels his stomach drop, “Phichit! Let me out, this isn’t funny!”
“I’ll be back! Don’t get any ideas!” he hears Phichit’s surprisingly loud footsteps stomp away from the door, until all he can hear is the muffled song playing in the foyer.
This is officially the worst night of his life, he realises, sliding down against the door. He hates Yuko, he’ll never let her talk him into anything again. He feels tears well up in his eyes, he just wants to go home but here he is, stuck in a stupid coat closet for god knows how long. He brings his knees up, interlocking his arms and burying his head into them.
A few minutes later Yuuri hears the lock being undone again and he stands up. The door flies open quickly as another person is shoved into the room, knocking Yuuri to the floor. The door shuts just as fast as it was opened. “Sorry,” he hears as the other person scrambles to get off him. Male, Yuuri thinks in response to their low and raspy voice, indistinct.
“It’s okay,” Yuuri mumbles.
“Seven minutes in heaven!” Phichit shouts from the other side of the door. “No talking, just kissing!”
“Phichit!” The Other Guy shouts.
“Oh and the light switch is on this side, so don’t try look for it.”
“Phichit! It’s not funny!” Yuuri shouts.
“Less talking more kissing~”
Yuuri gives up, all hope of Phichit opening the door is lost and he feels his way to the end of the closet- which isn’t too far- and sits against the back wall.
After what feels like a long while of awkward silence, the Other Guy sighs, his voice getting less muffled as he turns. “He’s gotta be drunk.”
“Has he done this before when he was drunk?” Yuuri timidly says, sitting down dejectedly.
“I wouldn’t know, only come to these sorts of things now and again,” The Other Guy says. Yuuri hears his footsteps coming closer.
“Oh, I don’t really go these things either,” Yuuri practically squeaks as the Other Guy sits down next to him, he hates how uncomfortable he feels.
“I don’t hear kissing!” Phichit shouts.
“You probably can’t hear anything over the music!” The Other Guy shouts.
“I really want to go home,” Yuuri mumbles under his breath.
“I was heading home,” the other guy hums, Yuuri didn’t think he’d said it loud enough for the Other Guy to have heard, “but Phichit saw me leaving and dragged me here.”
They sit in silence. Yuuri isn’t sure if he should say anything.
“You’re a guy, right?” The Other Guy asks, his voice shocking Yuuri slightly.
“Yeah, you?” he kind of hates how he actually asks him, of course he's a guy.
“Yeah. Are you attracted to guys?”
Yuuri hesitates, he’s bisexual but he wonders if he should take the time to explain it. “Well,” He begins but then decides against it, “yes. Are you?”
“Yes.”
They sit in silence again, Yuuri is pretty sure Phichit walked away at some point. Either way, all Yuuri can hear is the bass line of whatever pop song Phichit has on through the door.
“So do you want to kiss, then?” the other guy suggests.
Yuuri jumps. “What!? You can’t be serious!”
“Of course.”
He sounds so certain. Yuuri pauses, “You want to kiss me?”
There’s a beat of silence. “You couldn’t see but I nodded.”
“You’re not drunk, are you?”
“I had a drink or two a few hours ago… so probably not.”
Yuuri hesitates. He doesn’t know this person, should he just kiss a stranger? Yuko was always telling him he should try new things but isn’t this too new? He shouldn’t just go around doing stupid things like this…
But what if he enjoys it?
“Okay, but only one kiss. And if I don’t like it, we stop, is that okay?” Yuuri agrees, standing.
“Okay,” the Other Guy says as Yuuri presumes he stands.
Yuuri feels the other guy’s arms fly out, one arm hitting his stomach, the other flinging dangerously close to knocking his glasses off his head. My glasses! He thinks and takes them off quickly, tucking them into his back pocket.
Yuuri takes the other guy’s hands in his own and brings them up to his chin. The Other Guy feels around his face. Yuuri can feel the moment he starts to lean in. Yuuri hasn’t been kissed that much in his life to know exactly how to prepare himself for an oncoming kiss. How far do you part your lips? He wonders. Do I tilt my head? Does he? Does he know all this? How many times has he been kissed?
The Other Guy kisses the tip of Yuuri’s nose and Yuuri opens his eyes, which he doesn’t realise he closed. After he got over his shock he starts laughing, “You hit my nose,” he says once he calms down.
The Other Guy (I have got to think of something else to call him, Yuuri thinks) mutters an embarrassed, “Oh. Sorry.” Pulling his lips off his nose.
Yuuri laughs a little more, “It’s okay.”
“You have a pretty laugh,” the Other Guy breaths, his breath on Yuuri’s lips.
His lips touch his. It’s a soft kiss, his kisser’s lips barely pressed against his. Yet despite this, Yuuri feels a shiver run across his lips, almost like a spark, which he finds…he enjoys. And he doesn’t know why, nothing’s happening, they’re barely even kissing but Yuuri feels a strange craving to make the kiss deeper and run his kisser’s hair through his fingers. Just as Yuuri has this revelation, his kisser pulls away, “Was that okay?”
Yuuri would insist in this moment that he did not, in fact, pull his kisser’s lips back onto his immediately; of course, he’d be sorely lying.
His kisser’s lips are back on his and Yuuri does not let this opportunity go to waste, running his hands down his face until one hand cradles the back of his neck and the other is running through his silky hair. The kiss is deeper, Yuuri makes sure of that, tilting his face so his nose won’t ruin anything (god, did he hate his nose during this kiss). His kisser doesn’t seem to complain, though, his hand and trails Yuuri’s spine until they’re wrapped around his waist.
Yuuri can smell his sandalwood cologne and all but hums. His lips taste very faintly of beer and Yuuri thanks whatever higher power that it's barely even there and he isn’t just kissing some drunk weirdo Phichit had shoved him into a closet with.
When they pull away, they only do so briefly for breathing’s sake, going back to kissing after having a few short breaths.
Yuuri is melting and soaring and dying and living all at the same time and he loves it. His kisser is so warm and so good at kissing, Yuuri thanks Phichit at the back of his mind. His and Yuuri’s lips seem to work in tandem like extremely heated and messy clockwork, moving and tilting simultaneously. Yuuri wonders if his kisser’s heart is beating as fast as his own, a loud continuous thump in his ears which seems to be a sort of reminder that he is, in fact, alive and he isn’t actually dreaming.
Somewhere between his partner’s tongue slipping into his mouth and Yuuri deciding to stand on his tiptoes, Yuuri moans from somewhere at the back of his throat and he’s fairly certain his heart stops beating. His kisser grins into the kiss and releases a moan of his own; and if Yuuri’s heart had stopped beating before it beats faster than it ever has before.
After this the boundaries between them seem to fall away completely, his kisser’s hands roaming until they reach the hem of Yuuri’s shirt. Warm hands snake up his stomach and rest at his heart before they continue moving around. “Hmm, muscular,” His kisser mumbles into Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri shivers under his touch, his hands burning everywhere they touch. “You can do it too, you know.”
Yuuri pulls away, “Huh?”
His kisser laughs lightly, gently taking Yuuri’s hand in his own and bringing it under his shirt. He guides Yuuri’s hand around his stomach- Yuuri tries not to freak out at how muscular he is- and eventually places his hand on his heart which, much like Yuuri’s, is beating much faster than it ought to be. “Your heart’s beating so fast,” Yuuri murmurs.
“Yours too,” His kisser responds, hands returning to Yuuri’s chest.
Soon he’s kissing Yuuri’s collar bone and up his neck. “Did you feel the spark too?” Yuuri asks, gulping, ignoring the obvious cheesiness of the question. The kisses are intoxicating and Yuuri attempts to pretend that they're not affecting him as much as they are.
He nods into Yuuri’s neck, “By the first kiss, if you could even call it a kiss.”
Yuuri breathes a quiet sigh of relief.
He brings his kisser’s face up, lifting his chin and kissing him again. This time his hands wrap around his waist and his kisser’s hands find their way through his hair. His lips complain allthewhile and Yuuri had even thought about the possibility of them swelling.
They pull apart instantaneously, their chest touching and their breaths mingling. What Yuuri wouldn’t give to see his face in that moment and find out who he was. As if he were reading his mind his partner asked softly, “W-who are you?”
Yuuri laughs internally, like he’d know who he actually was. “I don’t think you’d know. What about you? Who are you?”
He feels his partner frown. “I think I’d know you,” he mumbles, but even as he says it it’s almost as if he doesn’t agree with his own statement.
Yuuri drops to his heels, his feet aching.
His partner laughs, “You’re quite short, aren’t you?”
“You’re only slightly taller than me,” Yuuri huffs.
His partner stops laughing and takes Yuuri’s chin with his hand. “It’ll help me find you,” he purrs.
“How?”
“Tell me your name.”
“My name?”
“Yeah.”
“M-my name is-“
Before he even knows what’s happening, the door is opening and Yuuri’s being dragged away. His eyes snap open in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his partner’s face but it’s too dark in the closet and they’ve apparently reached the glow stick phase of the party that mean all the lights have to be off.
Yuuri is dragged through the ground floor until he’s on the other side of the house. “Stay here~” some blur he can only assume is Phichit coos.
“Sure,” Yuuri says absentmindedly touching his swollen lips as if checking to see if what had actually happened isn’t just some dream. He puts on his glasses.
Phichit waves before making his way back to what Yuuri assumes was the coat closet.
He touches his lips once more before wandering away, bumping into people mindlessly and mumbling a panicked, “Sorry!” to anyone he accidentally shoulders or elbows. He’s still on a high after kissing… that guy.
He touches his lips and smiles to himself. He doesn’t know anything about the guy but he wants to kiss him again. He wants to see him again. He wants him to find him. He wants to tell him his name. He runs- or, at least, tries to- in the direction of the closet. Phichit isn’t outside so he cautiously opens the door, throwing a shy, “Hello?”
He’s met with silence so he tries again, only to be met with the same response. He wanders out glumly, eyes glued to the floor. He feels a tap on his shoulder and almost headbutts Yuko. “Where have you been?!” she screams.
“I went to the bathroom!” he shouts back, not sure if she heard him over the music.
“Did you have trouble or something? You were gone for ages!”
“I wasn’t gone that long!” As she loudly explains how worried she was, Yuuri looks over her shoulder to see Takeshi by the door, waiting patiently.
She follows his eyes, “Oh yeah! I’m going home with Takeshi, is that okay?”
“Yeah! I’m going to stay a bit longer, I think!” Yuko overdramatically gasps and clutches her chest, before a smile breaks out on her face.
Yuuri assumes she says, “Have fun!”
He sees her take Takeshi’s hand and walk out the door.
Yuuri touches his lips once more and confidently heads out to find his kisser. But as he turns, he’s met with the unexpected sight of messy silver hair, starry blue eyes and a dazzling smile; Viktor Nikiforov is actually at the party, leaning against a wall, animatedly trying to talk to his friends.
Never before has the sight Viktor made him feel guilty or sick to his stomach. He feels weird, like he’s cheated on him - despite the fact that they're not dating and Viktor probably doesn't even know who he is. His stomach drops heavily. Suddenly, Yuuri’s bravado and inspiration is gone and all he feels is a sick shame that’s rooted in his stomach. He doesn’t even know why; Viktor probably doesn’t even know who he is.
He turns and leaves, deciding to save his search for his partner when Viktor isn’t around to remind him of the odd sickness in his stomach. Despite this disgusting feeling, he’s hopeful. He’ll find him, he knows he will, especially when he leaves him blushing and excited for their next meeting. Yuuri promises himself that he’ll find the man he kissed that night, at whatever cost.
On the other side of the room, gesturing wildly with his hands, Viktor promises himself the same thing.