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It all starts with a pork cutlet bowl and one extremely bad idea.

Yuuri has leftover katsudon for lunch, his favourite meal, which inevitably means disaster because inevitably nothing will go his way. Today it’s entirely his own fault. He’s been doing so well, there was a test first period and he thinks it went pretty okay, but then Victor Nikiforov has to waltz by while he’s en route to his usual spot with Yuuko and Takeshi, and when Victor gets involved things always get more complicated.

He ends up tripping over himself because he isn’t paying attention to where he’s going, sending his food flying everywhere. He can’t tell which is worse—the humiliation, or the loss of a good meal. At least Victor doesn’t appear to have noticed. (And why would he notice you? he scolds himself. For good or for bad.)

Yuuko attempts to console him.

“I’m sure your mother will make some more soon,” she says.

He shakes his head morosely. “It’s for special occasions only.” Besides, all the pork cutlet bowls in the world can’t save him from the embarrassment.

“Was it Victor again?”

Yuuri nods. “I got distracted.”

“I think you might have a problem.”

“I know I have a problem,” he says, flopping back onto the grass, “but what can I do about it?”

A dangerous gleam twinkles in Yuuko’s eyes. “Well, now that you mention it…

“No. Whatever you’re about to suggest, no. I’m not doing it.”

“I haven’t even said it yet.”

“No, but I know it’s going to be about me confessing my feelings for Victor, which is something I have already firmly established is never going to happen ever.”

“I’m saying nothing about confessing your feelings. I merely wish to propose that you ask him out on a tiny, insignificant date.”

“Insignificant,” he snorts. “Right.”

Takeshi is sick today, so there’s no one to back him up in the face of her onslaught.

“Victor Nikiforov checks his perfect hair in the reflection on the microwave while he’s heating up his lunch,” Yuuri scoffs. “There’s no way he and I are even close to being in the same league.”

Yuuko frowns admonishingly at him. “I don’t see what harm asking him on one little date can do.”

“A lot of harm,” says Yuuri. “Probably all of it. All the harm.”

“You just need to be more confident in yourself.”

“That is definitely not what this is about.”

“It definitely is.” Yuuko’s expression changes then, and she offers him a sly smile. “Alright. I’ll make a deal with you. If you muster up the courage to ask Victor Nikiforov out by the end of the semester, I’ll take you to get katsudon every day for a week.”

Yuuri’s head spins. Asking Victor out is just about the last thing he wants to do, right next to giving Phichit full control of his social media accounts (few as they are), but a full week’s worth is an awful lot of katsudon.

“I’ll think about it,” he tells her.

“If you had to choose between doing something you didn’t want but ultimately being rewarded, or doing nothing at all,” he asks Phichit later, “which would you pick?”

The other boy raises an eyebrow. “Uh-oh. Did somebody make a bet with Yuuko again?”

“You really need to stop doing that,” says Leo.

Guang-Hong pats Yuuri on the head, and he sighs. “I know. But she promised me a week of pork cutlet bowls if…”

“If…”

“Never mind.”

But Phichit is curious now. “If what?”

Leo tries to look sympathetic. “You know he’s going to find out eventually.”

“I always find out,” says Phichit, nodding sagely. “And then I put it on social media so that everyone else can know too! I am a paragon in the quest to make knowledge free for all.”

“And you wonder why no one wants to tell you anything,” Yuuri mutters. There’s the flash of a camera in his face, and then Phichit is grinning at him. Yuuri looks down at his phone, reading the caption. Our friend Yuuri has a secret!! …hmm, how shall we get him to confess?

He groans. “This is the worst day.”

Phichit’s phone buzzes, and as he reads the notification his eyes light up. “Well. Would you look at that. Victor’s left a comment about our dear Yuuri.”

Instantly he’s on the alert. “What?”

He tries to grab the phone, but Phichit yanks it out of his reach, shaking a finger. “Not until you promise to tell me about the deal you made with Yuuko.”

Yuuri folds his arms. “You just made up the whole Victor thing to get me to spill.” Phichit flashes the screen at him, just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of Victor’s profile picture.

“If I tell you,” Yuuri says reluctantly, “will you promise—I mean really promise—not to tell anyone else?”

The trio exchange a glance, and Phichit nods slowly. “Yeah. Of course.”

Yuuri hesitates a moment all the same.

“It’s a simple bet,” he says. “All I have to do is ask Victor Nikiforov out by the end of the semester.”

Leo whistles, and Guang-Hong shakes his head sympathetically.

“She’s crazy,” says Phichit.

“I know,” says Yuuri.

“You’re not actually going to do it, are you?”

“I don’t know,” says Yuuri, “I kind of want the food.”

“And the boy,” Leo observes. Yuuri can’t disagree with him.

“So when are you thinking of popping the question?”

Yuuri shrugs.

“You should do it soon,” says Guang-Hong. “It’ll probably be better for you.”

“No time like the present,” Phichit agrees.

“Except the never,” says Yuuri, covering his face with his hands. He thinks he’s regretting the situation even more now than he was before, if that’s possible.

Phichit just smiles at him. “You haven’t even seen what Victor said yet.”

Yuuri snatches the phone out of his hands before he’s finished his sentence.

v-nikiforov: aww! I could try and coax it out of him for you

He buries his head in his arms again. “I can’t believe Victor Nikiforov knows who I am.”

Guang-Hong tilts his head. “Didn’t he have chemistry with us last year?”

“Yes,” Phichit nods, “and Yuuri spilled a test tube of saline solution all over him during lab once.”

Yuuri blushes at the memory. “I thought we agreed never to talk about that.”

“You were gone that day,” Leo tells Guang-Hong, “but Phichit got pictures.”

“Which I made him delete,” Yuuri clarifies, as his friend gives a murmured that’s what you think. “So now if Victor remembers me at all it’s only because I ruined one of his outfits.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Phichit says. “He’ll have forgotten all about that by now.”

Yuuri, of course, is worried about it. Very worried. Not just over the failings of his past, but the glorious potential for failure in his future. People like Victor don’t go out with people like Yuuri. And people like Yuuri certainly don’t ask them too, because it would be asking for trouble.

Chemistry isn’t the only class Yuuri has ever had with Victor. They’re also both taking an advanced literature class this semester, but it’s a big enough group that Yuuri doubts even the teacher knows everyone’s name, and he usually sits in the back, near the corner. Victor is in the middle of the second row. Sometimes, Yuuri will find himself gazing at the back of his head, daydreaming about running his fingers through his hair.

Today, though, Victor catches him at it, offering up a smile and a cheeky wave before swivelling his attention back to the front. Yuuri goes scarlet and lays his head down on the desk for the remainder of the period, not daring to look up.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he tells Yuuko at lunch the next day.

She shakes her head. “Too late for that. You made a deal.”

“I told you I’d think about it.”

“Phichit called to accept the bet on your behalf.”

“That’s definitely not how this is supposed to work,” Yuuri mumbles.

Yuuko just grins at him. “Sorry.”

“If you’re not going to let me back out,” he says, “then you can at least help me figure out what to do.”

Takeshi elbows him. “Just go up to him, grab him by the collar, and shove your tongue down his throat.”

Yuuko pulls a disgusted face. “Gross. Don’t do that, Yuuri. And don’t listen to my boyfriend when it comes to dating advice.”

“Hey!” he bristles, mock-offended. “I managed to get you to go out with me, didn’t I?”

“Sheer luck,” she sniffs, but she takes his hand.

“Even if I had the confidence to do something like that,” says Yuuri, “I have to agree with Yuuko. I’m not sure that’s the best technique.”

“Oh, and you know all about good technique, I suppose.”

He flushes. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, really, I want to know.” Takeshi folds his arms. “Please give me all of your flawless advice on kissing.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Yuuri?” asks Yuuko, not in a mean way, only curious. He ducks his head.

“I…no. No I haven’t.”

“It’s alright,” she says gently. “Plenty of people haven’t.”

“Even people my age?”

“You’re seventeen, Yuuri, you’re hardly an old man.”

“I bet Victor’s kissed people before.”

“Yes,” she says. “Many people, probably. But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like he can’t be with you just because he’s been with other people before.”

“It’s not that,” says Yuuri. “Victor has the right to kiss whoever he wants. It’s just intimidating, I guess. For me to ask him out, knowing that he’s more experienced.”

“You get intimidated by small, angry freshmen,” Takeshi points out.

“Yurio is a very intimidating freshman,” Yuuri informs him. “Even if he’s smaller than me.”

“I don’t know, I think he’s kind of cute,” says Yuuko. She smiles suddenly. “Hey, I know! Yuri’s friends with Victor, right? I’ll text him and ask if he knows if Victor’s dating anyone.”

“No,” Yuuri and Takeshi chorus.

“That boy has even less emotional maturity than I do,” says Takeshi.

“Please don’t spread my embarrassment around any further,” says Yuuri.

“Too late,” says Yuuko. “I already did it.”

Yuuri makes the sound of a dying animal and falls face-first onto his lunch. A few minutes later a short, angry figure with a mop of blond hair stands glowering at the head of their table.

“What do you want?” His arms are folded defiantly over his chest.

Yuuri groans, and Yuuko nudges him. “Come on, tell him about your problem.”

Yurio mutters something that sounds suspiciously like not your fucking advice column, but gives a resigned sigh when Yuuko flashes her most charming smile at him.

“I’ve got five minutes before passing period. Are you gonna talk or not?”

“Well…it’s stupid, really, but it’s about Victor,” Yuuri starts, uncertain.

“I don’t wanna talk about that bastard,” Yurio growls, gritting his teeth. “He’s the lamest person ever and we are not friends.”

“You’re in show choir together, aren’t you?” Takeshi observes, then quickly ducks behind his lunch tray for cover as Yurio cuts him a ferocious glare.

“So?” he demands.

“Yuri, we all know he drives you home after practice,” says Yuuko.

“Whatever, I can take advantage of a free ride if I want to.”

“The point,” says Yuuri, eager in spite of himself to get the conversation on track, “is that I would like to know…um. It’s kind of difficult to say.”

“Is he single?” Yuuko blurts.

Yurio makes a face that is equal parts outrage and revulsion. “How the hell would I know? He probably is; he’s been moaning to me about his lovesick heart for more than a week now.”

Yuuri’s own heart starts to speed up at that. “Y—you think he likes someone, then?”

“Victor always likes someone,” says Yurio. “He’s never not in love. It’s pathetic.”

Yuuko leans forward. “And the mysterious object of his affections, who might this be, exactly?”

“Don’t care, don’t know, don’t want to know.” He makes a show of pulling out his phone to check the time. “Would you look at that, I’m finally done with this conversation.” He stalks off, then pauses a few feet away from their table, turning back around. Yuuri almost gets his hopes up.

“You have gravy on your face.”

Ah, well. What else had he really expected?

After lunch plus a few more periods comes literature, his last class of the day. He notices that Victor’s usual spot in the first row is vacant and at first thinks he’s absent, but then he notices him sitting only a few rows away, conspicuously closer to the back. Conspicuously closer to Yuuri.

He tries to remain calm, taking slow, deep breaths in and out, and he thinks he’s almost recovered himself when Victor leans across the desks between them to grin directly at him.

“So Yuuri, word on the street is that you have a secret.”

Yuuri knows he should reply—that’s what people do in conversations, they talk to each other, and words come out of their mouths like normal human beings, but for the moment all he can think is Victor Nikiforov knows my name.

“I…might.”

He’s relieved that his voice has managed to start working at all, and he only wavers a little on the last syllable.

“Anything your friend Victor can help with?”

My…friend?

“…um.”

He doesn’t even get a chance at a more eloquent reply, because the teacher walks in and they start the lesson. It’s the first day of their new unit—poetry, Yuuri thinks glumly. It’s a little too coincidental for his liking, and he doesn’t think analysing all the great romantic classics is going to improve his mental state. Or his chances. I bet Victor’s great at poetry. He probably composes his own sonnets.

There’s an introductory lecture, and then they split off into pairs to work through a packet of materials. Yuuri sees Victor stand and begin to casually wander in his direction, so he quickly turns to Seung Gil next to him and starts writing furiously. When he looks up again Victor’s moved on, and there’s something like disappointment settled in the pit of his stomach.

He knows he should be brave and just confront his feelings—and Victor—head on. It’s never really been one of his strengths, he thinks, staring up at his ceiling, lying amidst a pile of half-completed math worksheets. It’s probably why he’s never kissed anyone, never even really been on a date, because that requires a confrontation of sorts. It’s all much too complicated, and he’d prefer to avoid it altogether, but he thinks he’d prefer a date with Victor Nikiforov even more. Not to mention all that katsudon.

If he truly is serious about this, and it’s seeming increasingly like he is, then he really does need to figure out some sort of plan. Preferably one that does not involve him making a complete and utter fool of himself, although he doesn’t think that’s something he can count on. Embarrassing himself is one thing he is very good at.

He considers asking Yuuko’s help, or even Phichit’s, but decides against it.

“This is something I need to do on my own,” he promises himself aloud.

As it turns out, it isn’t quite that simple.

For one thing, as far as Yuuri can tell, Victor is never alone, and he can’t bear the thought of asking him out in front of other people. There’s just too much potential for things to go horribly wrong, and there’s a high enough probability of that as it is.

Another problem is that Seung Gil is absent from literature the next day, and while everyone else is paired up, Victor seems to be missing a partner too. He offers Yuuri his customary heart-fluttering grin and ambles over to his desk.

“You seem to be missing someone.”

“So do you.” He turns a brilliant shade of scarlet and curses his tongue for being so bold.

“Would you like to team up?”

Yuuri just nods. He knows he should be happy that actual Victor Nikiforov, his longtime crush and by all accounts the most popular boy in the school, is talking to him—and he is, unspeakably so. But he can’t pretend it doesn’t complicate matters. Admiring Victor from a distance is easy. Admiring him up close is when things get messy.

Because asking Victor out when Victor only has a faint idea of who he is involves less risk. If Yuuri does something stupid it will sting for a bit, but the consequences will not be severe. Victor will forget all about it and Yuuri will move on with his life. But if Victor gets the chance to know him first any mistakes will be that much more damaging.

Only Yuuri really does need a partner for the day’s assignment if he wants to get full credit, and he can’t just brush him off, so Victor pulls up a chair and sits next to him.

“How much did you get through yesterday?”

“Just the sonnets,” says Yuuri. “Shakespeare and Milton.”

“That’s still more than I managed,” says Victor. “But let’s move on anyway. What’s next?”

Yuuri inspects the packet. “Pushkin, I think.”

“One of the great poets of my motherland.” Victor plucks up the paper, scanning the topmost page. “‘Echo.’ I have this in Russian.”

“Really?” Yuuri is intrigued now in spite of himself.

Victor nods absently. “‘If beasts within a silent forest moan…’ Not the most romantic, is it? Even if he was one of the prolific figures of Romanticism.” He looks up. “Still, there’s a certain beauty to it nonetheless.”

“‘The rumbling voice of violent waves and storm…’

Yuuri leans over the paper to read, is distantly aware of Victor’s arm pressed lightly against his, chin tucked nonchalantly atop Yuuri’s head. He drops the packet.

“Yuuri?” Victor moves away from him. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine!” He hastily picks up the pages and thrusts them at his partner. “I’m fine.”

“Okay…”

Victor doesn’t look convinced, but they continue to read quietly together. They answer the analysis questions on Pushkin, and Victor scrawls some verse in Cyrillic script in the margins.

“Have you always known Russian?” Yuuri asks.

“I grew up speaking it,” he says. “I had a bit of an accent when I was younger, which I’ve been informed was terribly sexy.” He winks, and Yuuri goes red again.

“I—I’m sure.”

Victor smiles at him. “It’s faded now, of course, but I hope I haven’t lost any of my charms.”

On the contrary, Yuuri thinks, they’ve increased exponentially.

Something of his thoughts must register on his face, because Victor bends forward slightly, and suddenly his lips are at Yuuri’s ear.

“What do you think?”

Yuuri jerks upright in his chair, then falls out of it entirely. He closes his eyes and lays the back of his head against the floor, wishing he could melt into it. Something pokes his side and he glances up to see Victor prodding him tentatively with his foot.

“Yuuri?”

Victor is making a valiant effort not to grin, but there’s laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes. Yuuri rests his head on the ground again, burying his face in his hands.

“Yuuri.” He feels Victor tugging his arms. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Come on, let’s finish our assignment.”

Yuuri sighs and picks himself up, sliding back into his seat rather abashedly. He fills out the questions in silence for a few minutes until Victor lays a hand over his, stopping him. He swallows hard and forces himself to meet his eyes.

“Do you have a favourite poem, Yuuri?”

He looks down. “I don’t know. I’ve never been someone who reads a lot of poetry.”

“No?”

“I like longer fiction, I guess. Stories. And music too. But I could never really get into poetry.”

“Sometimes all it takes is the right poem.” Victor leans across the desk to gaze at him more closely. “Isn’t that so?”

“Maybe,” says Yuuri, voice quiet. “I wouldn’t know.”

The bell rings then, jarring them out of their trance. Yuuri blinks and sits back, scrabbling for his bookbag so he can pack up. Victor stands, throwing a last grin and a “see you tomorrow” his way before heading back to his own table. Yuuri has trouble moving for a few moments, but quickly recovers himself. He bolts.

He’s on the phone with Yuuko about it later, and unlike Victor she does laugh at him, but she offers a few sympathetic words of comfort, which do little to assuage his embarrassment but are nice to hear anyway. He feels almost relieved when Victor isn’t in class the next day, which he uses to cover the fact that he feels a little worried, too.

Victor doesn’t come to school for the next two days, in fact, and by day three Yuuri is definitely concerned.

“Do you think something’s happened?”

Yuuko shrugs. “Maybe he’s on vacation. Or maybe he’s at nationals, they usually do those in the spring.”

“Maybe.” Yuuri isn’t so sure.

But that afternoon Victor is in literature after all, back in his usual spot at the front. They’re preparing for their poetry unit final projects now, so there’s no opportunity for group work, and Victor doesn’t once glance his way. Yuuri wants to approach him after class and ask if everything is alright, but thinks better of it. One conversation hardly makes them friends.

He thinks he might know what to do, so he finds Phichit out in the yard before school the next day, standing in his usual spot with Guang-Hong and Leo. They seem to be in the middle of a rather intense discussion that has something to do with romance and Phichit’s social media presence.

“I’m just saying,” says Leo, “your future girlfriend or boyfriend or whoever might not be as understanding as Guang-Hong and I when you spam all your social media accounts with unflattering photos.”

“My pictures are not unflattering.” Phichit grins. “And why have a boyfriend when I can have the internet?”

“I hear real-life boyfriends have their advantages,” says Yuuri, falling into place beside him. “Mostly involving kissing, from what Yuuko tells me, which your phone might not be capable of.”

“This phone is my lover, Yuuri, and if it was legal to marry electronic devices I would do it so that we could stop living in sin.” He strokes the object affectionately.

“I think that’s honestly the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Leo tells him. Guang-Hong looks mildly traumatised.

“Ignoring that,” says Yuuri, resolving never to go near Phichit’s phone again, even if he (probably) isn’t serious, “I have a favour to ask. It can make up for you telling Yuuko that I would go through with our bet.”

“You needed the extra push.”

He’s probably right, but Yuuri isn’t going to admit that.

“You have Victor on Instagram, right?”

Phichit nods slowly.

“Have you seen him post anything lately about any problems he’s had, or…or anything?”

“People don’t usually post every detail of their personal lives on Instagram,” says Phichit, and his friends give him a pointed look. “Okay, other people don’t. But I can scout around some of his social media profiles, see what I find.”

“There’s a much simpler solution to this,” Leo tells Yuuri, “and it involves you actually talking to him.”

“I don’t know,” he begins doubtfully, “after one conversation? What if it’s something private?”

“Yuuri, my friend.” Phichit claps him on the back, hard. “You need to stop worrying about that stuff. Most people like it when you ask them how they are. It shows you care.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Yuuri sighs. “I don’t want to show I care, because then Victor will laugh at me, or give me a look of pity from his beautiful, beautiful face, and I will be so embarrassed.”

Guang-Hong peers over Phichit’s shoulder. “Doesn’t look like there’s anything on any of his pages. Sorry, Yuuri.”

“You know what this means,” says Phichit.

Yuuri sighs again. “Fine. But that isn’t the only part of the favour.”

“Oh?”

He blushes, shuffling his feet self-consciously. “Um. Could you try posting another picture of me on your Instagram? But a good one this time.”

“You think I don’t already?” But Phichit grins, clearly satisfied with the idea. “When would you like me to take it?”

“Meet me here after school.”

Yuuri wonders the whole rest of the day if this is really the wisest choice to be making. He uses social media occasionally, but he doesn’t have very many followers—Phichit has always vastly outpaced him, which he’s perfectly okay with. But it’s only one of Phichit’s followers in particular that he wants to get through to this time.

He manages to catch Victor’s eye before the start of class, and this time he initiates the wave. Victor hesitates a moment—in surprise?—and then waves back, a beaming smile spread across his face. Yuuri is relieved, and there is a warm, tingly feeling in his stomach and the tips of his fingers, a little like confidence and a little like something else, too.

As soon as the bell rings he grabs his bag and hurries to find Phichit at the agreed upon location. He’s waiting with one of his more mischievous expressions, and while Leo and Guang-Hong have evidently elected not to tag along, Yuuko is standing triumphantly next to him.

“I’m here to consult,” she says, stepping a quick circle around him for inspection. “Hmm. Phichit, we should do something about his hair, don’t you think?”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing,” Yuuko assures him, “but I know a style that would suit you nicely.”

She and Phichit are the eleventh-grade gods of selfies and social media, so Yuuri lets them have their way. They do some sort of magic with his hair and remove his glasses, and Phichit pulls a respectable-looking jacket out of his backpack. (“I always keep a spare,” he says, and no one questions it.) Yuuko lends him her pocket mirror and Yuuri thinks he looks kind of nice, but he can’t see himself well enough to tell.

Phichit puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ready for the photo shoot?”

“I suppose I did ask for this,” he murmurs, but he’s feeling almost bold today and wants to see where it will take him. (Perhaps against my better judgment, a part of him thinks, but he shakes it off.)

Phichit and Yuuko both have their phones out and at the ready, taking his picture from varying angles and trying to coax him into a surfeit of ludicrous poses. Afterwards the three of them scroll through the results, comparing quality and picking favourites. Yuuri chooses one that is fairly standard for him—composed and a little serious, but presentable. But his friends disagree. Phichit points to the photo that comes after it.

“I think you should go with this one.”

“Oh, um. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea…

“Come on, Yuuri, you look great.”

It’s one of the posed ones, although he was too embarrassed to get it quite right, hands jammed into the pockets of Phichit’s jacket and hip jutted self-consciously to one side. Somehow that makes the image seem more natural than the others, like a person caught dancing alone in their bedroom. His hair is slicked back from his face in a fashion that he has to agree does seem to suit him. His cheeks are flushed, but his eyes have a spark in them that surprises even him, and he stares at the camera almost defiantly, as if daring any viewers to challenge him. It doesn’t seem like an accurate depiction of his usual self, and yet…I do look good.

“We’ll use it,” he decides.

Yuuko beams, and Phichit high-fives her. “What should I caption it?”

“You decide,” says Yuuri. “It’ll be better than whatever I can come up with.”

Phichit and Yuuko bend their heads together, conferring for a few moments in hushed voices, before nodding some sort of silent agreement. Phichit types something into his phone and then shoves it back in his pocket.

“It is done.”

“What did you say?”

“You’re just going to have to see for yourself.”

Yuuri waits until he gets home, holding out for what he hopes is a dignified amount of time, until he can’t pretend he isn’t curious anymore.

Beneath the picture Phichit has written Our very own Cinderella! Yuuri should consider a career in modelling. He feels his cheeks go red, and then he notices a comment below it.

Phichit+chu: @v-nikiforov you are a reasonably attractive human being who is probably already secretly a model. thoughts?
v-nikiforov: @Phichit+chu so cute!! I can’t tell you whether I am a model (highly classified information) but yuuri definitely should be

Yuuri has to remind himself to breathe, slowly and evenly and not in a panicked, “Victor Nikiforov just called me cute” kind of way. So cute, in fact. Cute with two exclamation points. He wonders how many exclamation points are standard in this sort of situation. The second part is pure exaggeration, but Yuuri can’t help rereading it to himself several times throughout the evening, and he can’t wipe the stupid grin off his face.

It’s enough that he corners Victor in literature the next day, after the bell as he’s leaving the classroom.

“Yuuri!” he says brightly. “I saw the picture Phichit posted. You should come with a warning label.”

He blushes. “Thanks, I think? Um, I wanted to ask…I know you were gone for a few days and, um. Is everything okay?”

His smile doesn’t drop, but Yuuri thinks Victor becomes a little more subdued.

“Oh, yes. My dog was sick and I had to take him to a fancy vet out of town. But he’s better now! He’s almost fully recovered.”

“That’s great,” says Yuuri. “My dog died a couple years ago and I was pretty broken up about it. I’m really glad yours…didn’t. Um. Wow, that was a really bad way to put it, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Victor, reaching out to squeeze his arm. His hand lingers, trailing down his shoulder to lightly brush across his fingers.

They stare at each other, neither really knowing what to say next. Yuuri shuffles his feet, and Victor runs a hand through his hair, giving a small laugh.

“Well…I’ll see you later,” says Yuuri, lamely. Victor nods, and Yuuri begins to walk away.

“Not too much later, I hope.”

And Yuuri knows that they are not friends, are not even speaking acquaintances, exactly, but the warm tingly feeling is back and he doesn’t try to ignore it.

“When are you going to take him on that date?” Yuuko asks him, at lunch again, and he shakes his head because he still does not have an answer.

It’s getting to be springtime now. Winter has not yet released them from its clutches, but it’s been raining lately and things might actually start growing soon. Which means that, soon, the semester will be drawing to a close, and so will the bet. He’s running out of time.

And he does want to do it, he’s realized, and not just because of the katsudon, but because of Victor. He wants the chance, at least, to know him.

So he has to get himself together and actually do it.

Victor has started sitting next to him in literature now, not always but sometimes, even though they’ve moved on completely from the poetry unit. He’ll try coaxing Yuuri into a conversation at the beginning of class, teasing him, always lightly but just enough to make him stutter.

And then one Friday, when there are only a few weeks left until finals, Victor walks out with him after the bell rings, and they find themselves alone at the corner of the pavement where they must go their separate ways. They stand for a moment in silence, hesitating to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Victor says at last, and turns to go.

“Yeah,” says Yuuri. “Wait. Um, Victor. May I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” He looks back around, stepping in closer. Yuuri’s heart is racing faster than an Olympic athlete. He clenches his fists and takes a deep breath.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Victor doesn’t speak at first, and Yuuri panics. He’s about to tell him he’s just kidding, that this is all an elaborate joke, a bet he made with Yuuko, really quite a funny story, when Victor pulls him into a firm, bone-crushing embrace.

“Of course I will,” he murmurs into Yuuri’s hair, and releases him. He walks away, and for a long time Yuuri doesn’t move.

He walks home in a trance, not caring how many lampposts and street signs he runs into along the way.

Both Yuuko and Phichit drop their phones in shock when he calls them, and they both have to spend the rest of the night convincing him that he didn’t imagine any of it. Yuuri winds up at an impromptu victory pizza party at Phichit’s house with Leo and Guang-Hong, and the next morning Yuuko has him tell her every detail again, in person.

“You owe me a whole week of katsudon,” he says.

“I do,” she concedes. “But not until after you go on the date.”

“That wasn’t part of our arrangement.”

“It is now.”

“Fine,” he sighs.

“Hey, Yuuri? I’m proud of you.”

The day itself arrives the following weekend. Yuuri gets ready for his evening out while Phichit advises him over the phone.

“If you follow us and take lots of pictures,” he says, “maybe Victor will be annoyed and call the whole thing off.”

“As a matter of fact, I have a very important date of my own this evening that I don’t want to miss.”

“You’re rewatching The King and the Skater again, aren’t you.”

He hums enthusiastically. “You wanna come? You could skip out on Victor. Me n’ Leo and Guang-Hong are gonna make popcorn.”

“Tempting as that is,” says Yuuri, “I think if I chicken out now Yuuko will have my head.”

“Her and me both,” says Phichit. “Good luck tonight. I know it’ll be great.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.”

“You’ll be fine. Just flash him one of those bashful smiles of yours and he’ll melt.”

“If I don’t melt first. There’s a distinct possibility I’ll be too busy swooning to stand upright.”

Phichit laughs. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Yuuri checks the time. “I have to go now. I’m meeting Victor in fifteen minutes.”

“Hey, Yuuri. You’ve got this.”

“Thanks,” he says. He stuffs the phone in his pocket and roots around for a nice-looking pair of shoes, taking a deliberately long time with the laces.

I can do this, he tells himself, repeating all the words of comfort he’s been given. He straightens, giving a resolute nod to the mirror in the entryway as he heads out.

It isn’t a long walk to the bookstore. When he arrives, Victor is already there waiting for him. He brightens when he sees his date approaching, offering a cheery wave. Yuuri notices with a gut-wrenching sensation of both terrified anticipation and elation that he has a single red rose suspended between his graceful fingers. He feels his face grow hot.

Victor, of course, presents him with the flower in his characteristically flamboyant style, twirling Yuuri around and tucking it behind his ear right there in the middle of the sidewalk, which only makes his blush deepen.

“V—Victor.”

“Happy to see me?” He grins, running a finger down Yuuri’s jawline. “Ready for our date?”

“I hope so,” he says, because it’s true, and Victor laughs.

“Where to first?”

“The bookstore, actually,” Yuuri says, pulling the door open. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“Fantastic. I love surprises.”

Yuuri follows him into the shop, a little self-conscious but a little excited now too. He hopes Victor won’t think he’s strange. He leads him to a small corner near the back; the poetry section.

“I know it was a while ago, but we were talking about Pushkin in literature and I saw this, and. Um.” He shoves the book into Victor’s hands. “It made me think of you.”

Victor turns it over, glancing at the title, and Yuuri looks down. It’s a book of love poems by Russian authors, written in the language, and it’s stupid and cheesy and Victor is wearing the biggest grin Yuuri’s ever seen.

“Yuuriiii.” He drops the book in favour of sweeping him up in his arms, spinning him around again and hugging him tightly. “That’s so sweet.”

Yuuri breaks away, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t buy it, or anything.”

“But you thought of me! I’m touched.” He picks the volume up from it’s haphazard position on the floor. “And I’m going to read it, too.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yuuri.” Victor gently lifts his chin so their gazes meet. “I want to read it. And I’m happy you were reminded of me.”

“I’m happy you like it.” Yuuri fights the urge to start staring at the floor again.

They browse some more, moving from the poetry section on to the rest of the shop. Yuuri checks his watch frequently, until at length he begins pulling Victor gently towards the door.

“I don’t want us to be late,” he explains.

“Late?”

“Yeah. I got us movie tickets. It’s starting soon.”

“You’re certainly prepared.”

“I planned everything out ahead of time,” Yuuri confesses, suddenly wondering if this is a bad thing. “I was going to see the movie with Phichit if you turned me down, but I’m glad it’s you.”

Victor smirks. “Oh really?”

“Of course. Phichit talks through everything.” Yuuri offers him a hesitant, teasing grin. “I just hope you don’t have the same problem.”

“I’m sure I can find other ways to be a distraction to you.”

Yuuri doesn’t doubt it.

They arrive at the theatre with plenty of time to spare, so they wander around a bit, and Victor decides to test every unoccupied seat in the house to see which one is the most comfortable. He deduces that they should sit about halfway up, near the end of the row, and Yuuri follows him, a large bucket of popcorn in tow for them to share. Their shoulders touch just slightly, Victor’s knee brushing casually against Yuuri’s leg.

Around halfway through the film he grabs Yuuri’s hand and doesn’t let it go.

The movie is unremarkable, but it still feels like it ends too soon, and before long they find themselves making their reluctant way back outside.

“What next?” asks Victor.

“I don’t know,” says Yuuri. A warm, comfortable feeling is beginning to seep over him, one that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with Victor’s fingers entwined with his own. “I thought we could go out for ice cream, but the popcorn filled me up.”

“We could take a walk,” Victor suggests. “Down by the shore.”

Yuuri swallows. “Okay.”

It’s a clear night, and for a while they stroll along the beach in silence, gazing up at what few stars can be seen, or out at the gently rolling waves, darker even than the sky above them. Overhead the moon gives off a faint, whitish light, and Victor’s hair shines more silver than ever. He stops suddenly, releasing Yuuri’s hand to slip an arm around his waist.

“Thank you for tonight,” he says, staring out into the ocean, eyes dark and unreadable.

“To be honest,” says Yuuri, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Victor looks down at him, brow furrowed. “Why?”

Yuuri bites his lip. “Well you’re…you. Popular and elegant and the one who took the show choir to nationals three years in a row. And I’m not any of those things.”

“Yuuri.” Victor folds his hands so that they’re resting against his lower back, arms encircling him. They’re facing each other now. “It wasn’t only you who noticed me before, you know.”

“What?”

“I noticed you too.”

Yuuri thinks that they are dangerously close now. Victor’s head is bent towards his own, and Yuuri tilts his chin up to study him.

“I thought you didn’t remember me,” he breathes.

“We were at a party a year ago. You danced.”

“I hoped everyone had forgotten. I blackmailed Chris into silence.” Yuuri lowers his eyes and gets caught on Victor’s lips. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Yuuri,” Victor says again, and stops there.

The quiet simmers between them, and Yuuri wants to say something to relieve the agonizing tension, but the words get stuck in his throat as he stares at Victor, leaning a little closer. His eyes flutter closed, and Victor Nikiforov is kissing him.

He goes rigid for a moment from the shock, and Victor starts to pull away, but Yuuri slings his arms around his hips, pulling him closer, closer. They only break apart when Yuuri begins to worry he’s running out of oxygen.

Victor seems dazed. Yuuri scans his face for signs of a reaction, but it’s hard to see much in this darkness.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not very good at the whole kissing thing.”

Victor shakes his head vehemently, though he still seems at a loss for words.

“Don’t apologise,” he manages at last. “You’re good. You’re great, Yuuri, you’re fantastic. I’m just…surprised.” He lifts a finger to brush away Yuuri’s bangs, and there’s a gentle smile on his face now. “You surprise me.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Victor just kisses him again.

This time, when he pulls away, Yuuri rests his head against Victor’s chest, allowing himself a moment to relax, to stand still and soak up his warmth. He can’t believe how at ease he feels.

“What next?”

Victor raises an eyebrow. “You could dance for me.”

“No way.” Yuuri pauses. “You could take me dancing.”

“Alright.” Victor grins at him, pulling him in for a light kiss on the forehead. “How’s tomorrow night?”

“I’ll check my schedule,” says Yuuri. “See if I can squeeze it in.”

“You’re a tease.”

“No you’re a tease.”

“No you are.”

“No you are.”

Victor laughs, taking his hand again, and they continue their walk. It’s getting late, and Yuuri knows they should think about heading back soon, but for the moment he is content to let his head drift onto Victor’s shoulder. This is all new territory for him. It’s heady and exhilarating and he is glad Victor is the one he gets to share it with.

All the katsudon in the world, he thinks, couldn’t make him happier.