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When he was a boy, his father fussed to him near daily about women. Told him all about their wily ways and to be careful not to fall into their gold-digging snare. Told him to be careful not to let them get too close, because everyone wanted something. But he thinks of how the man had no qualms about spending frivolous amounts of money on his many different paramours throughout his childhood. He wondered why his father didn’t take any of his own advice, or why he complained in the first place. He threw his wealth around and it was just another part of Victor’s life that he didn’t think twice on. He just knew his dad was made of gold and had no problem shaving off flakes of himself to shower the people around him with. Victor doesn’t think he’ll ever feel that way about anyone.
Victor wonders if his father was the reason he’s never fallen in love before, the reason why he keeps everyone at a distance. He wonders if he’s the odd one out for feeling so singular but so widely adored at the same time.
He is lost, he admits. Skating is everything to him, but what used to bring him euphoric joy leaves him feeling empty, passionless anymore. Victor wonders if this is it. He doesn’t want the void his life has become. He also doesn’t really want to go to this banquet.
But he has to, so he plasters on his people-face and works the crowd over. He’s turning to grab another glass of wine, but his eyes catch on a man standing with his back to the crowd. Ah, the other Yuuri. Victor glances at Yuri Plisetsky and isn’t surprised to see the teenager out of his element in a suit and tie and looking worse for wear. But he turns his attention back to the Japanese Yuuri and decides Plisetsky could have it worse.
It wasn’t like he completely tanked his routine.
He watches as the man sets down his empty flute of champagne and straightens up.
He turns and their eyes meet.
Victor is expecting embarrassment, shame, something standard of a loser to wear fastened to the man’s face. But Yuuri’s eyes are sparkling.
The smile on his face is brighter than the sun, and Victor is burnt. He doesn’t realize his mouth is hanging open until Plisetsky elbows him in the gut.
“What’s that stupid expression for?” Victor has learned to decode what the moody teenager says. ‘I’m a little concerned,’ is what he really means. “Nothing, nothing,” Victor says, dazed. His cheeks feel a little hot. He adjusts his tie.
“Liar,” Plisetsky jeers. But before Victor can retort, someone clears their throat. It’s with his heart in his throat that Victor turns to Yuuri Katsuki, the all around loser and currently happiest man in the room. The man stands before him with his eyes riveting Victor in place. Victor feels his jaw drop this time.
Yuuri has lost his jacket between the minute Victor had last been looking at him and now. He’s currently loosening his tie and pocketing his glasses. His smile hurts from this proximity. It suddenly seems like a big deal that Victor doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He feels his mind whirling about hands and why did humans even have them in the first place and Victor is panicking. He frowns, heart thudding in his chest.
What.
Victor never panics.
He opens his mouth to say something, anything to keep the status quo. Yuuri Katsuki speaks first.
“Dance off.”
Victor feels like he can feel the Earth hurtling through space. He is so honest to God confused, he doesn’t know what to do.
But Yuuri just continues to smile and smile and then he turns to the other Yuri and repeats the same two words. Victor feels both relieved and disappointed.
The two Yuri’s are suddenly arguing, but the older is smiling broadly and the teenager is hissing like a fussy cat. Then, Yuuri grabs the teen and swings him into a waltz. The clatter catches the room’s attention and Victor is now unbelievably jealous. He wanted to be waltzed away by the happiest loser in the world.
Christophe comes up next to him and grins at the commotion.
“Wouldn’t have expected him to be so sprightly,” he says, nudging Victor.
“Mmm,” Victor responds intelligently. Christophe looks at him, and barks out a laugh.
“Victor, are you all right?” Victor glares at him, maybe a little heat in his gaze.
“I’m fine, Chris.”
“Because you look sunburnt,” Chris snickers.
Victor feels a little bottomed out.
The music that had been forgettably classical is suddenly stopped, leaving the room a little empty without that comfortable ambience.
Victor tries valiantly not to laugh when it’s replaced with something more akin to house music. A few patrons look a little scandalized; Yuuri Katsuki is not one of them. And then Chris’s eyes are lighting up. Victor giggles, a little out of sorts. Chris was never one to shy from a good time, and Yuuri was still dancing in the center of the room with his same-named newfound friend. Victor is only a little surprised that the teen relents to the joining in the raucous. (Anything to take off his tie, right?)
Yuuri’s eyes are back on Victor and the shorter man comes up to him and is pulling him by the hand to join their little festival within the banquet. Victor beams, unable to do much anything else, and relents. Who was he kidding; he was waiting on the sidelines, like a boy at the school dance with no date.
And before he forgets, he pulls out his phone. He’s doesn’t want to forget this happiness.
It’s not long before the banquet has all but been forgotten and skaters and patrons alike are dancing, high heels forgotten, suit jackets tossed aside. And amidst the bodies, Victor finds himself drawn back to the drunk Japanese man who started it all.
They dance and twirl and suddenly more than one person is missing pants and shirts, and Victor can’t keep the glee from bubbling out of him.
It’s something else when Chris pulls out the pole. And Victor’s mouth goes dry when the first person to put it to good use is Yuuri.
Then it just becomes impressive that he’s got that much core control while wasted. Chris is quick to join in and everyone is taking pictures and video. Plisetsky looks a little scandalized, but it doesn’t stop him from snapping away. Victor laughs and laughs until his stomach hurts. He glances at the clock and can’t believe how late it’s gotten. He turns back to the show and watches as Katsuki gracefully slides down the pole and bows before the crowd. He hears whistles and joins in, clapping loudly. He closes his eyes for a moment. He opens them and is suddenly being pulled by his tie further into the throng of people.
Yuuri Katsuki is grinding on him like they’re in a club, and Victor has never been more fixated on someone in his entire life. They pull apart and Yuuri snorts and steals Victor’s jacket, tossing it at him. Then the man’s pulling his shirt and pants back on and Victor cannot deal with all of this at once. He feels like a child, unaffected by worries or cares.
His heartbeat is reverberating in his head. He can’t stop smiling.
For being perfect strangers, they dance like extensions of each other and Victor tries not to think about it too hard. He’s a little out of breath just before things calm down, finding watching Yuuri more exhilarating than skating.
He freezes. He feels like something monumental is happening, like he’s on the cusp of the rollercoaster, just about to plunge. He doesn’t have time to analyze it because Yuuri has just attached himself to Victor’s waist.
Yuuri has his tie knotted around his head and his pants are missing again.
“Victor, after this season ends…” Yuuri mumbles about a hot spring resort. Victor thinks he’s invited. Victor simpers a little bit. Yuuri pulls away and looks at Victor with an unwavering scrutiny.
“If I win this dance off, you’ll be my coach right?” And the man’s eyes are sparkling and he’s so drunk it’s not funny, but Victor can’t breathe. Because there it was. There was his answer, his plunge.
“Be my coach, Victor!” Yuuri nearly collapses from laughing, and Victor only just rights him in time. But he can’t say he minds. Victor turns to Chris, who is just now (hours later) pulling on his pants back on. The blond wags his eyebrows at him and winks. Victor turns back to Yuuri and can only try to memorize the man’s entire face, the rosiness in his cheeks fanning across his own.
Victor thinks about his father, about the man’s advice. He still can’t understand it. But here is this man in his arms, drunker than a skunk, looking at him like he hung the moon. Victor’s cheeks hurt from smiling.
He finds he wants to know exactly what it is Yuuri Katsuki wants.