Archive of Our Own

Viktor had stepped off the podium only moments before he was barraged again with questions of his future plans. Shrugging them off with a polite smile and a wave of his hand, he followed Yakov back into the dressing rooms and changed into his sweats. As he pulled up the zipper of the jacket, Viktor frowned. What was he still doing this all for? He grabbed at the handles of a couple pieces of luggage, letting his other Russian companions and Yakov get the rest. They all meandered out of the dressing room and back into the main lobby, where reporters and other skaters’ teams alike stood around milling about.

Viktor smiled, seeing Chris act a fool and flex before the reporters from Switzerland. He always managed to make himself out to be an idiot, but Viktor was in some ways glad for Chris’s companionship on the ice. At the very least, Chris’s antics made things more entertaining. Viktor stood still, chuckling under his breath at the skater’s affectations. After Chris had finished the informal interview, he looked over to where Viktor was standing, waiting. “Picture?” Viktor smiled, his phone in his hand already with the camera app open.

From there, Viktor decided that his surprising the media this time around would include posting friendly pictures with all of his competition at the Grand Prix. He was too tired to come up with anything cleverer anyway. While Yuri was muttering some brilliant Russian curse under his breath, Mila was clapping her hands at the silly faces Viktor made in every picture. Whether the smiles were real or not, obviously, none but Viktor knew.

He really was a beautiful man, Mila pondered. Why he cut his hair off evaded her. Sending an evil eye at Yakov, who was huffing with his arms crossed in the corner at the distraction, Mila decided that she wouldn’t let the overweight old man choose her looks for her. She had seen the online fan groups for Viktor’s lost hair, pictures of long, silver wigs always the avatar. It was funny, to be sure, but seeing that many Twitter accounts with peculiar lace front wigs spouting out angry rhetoric at Yakov was ultimately tiring.

In the midst of her musing, Mila had missed out on Viktor’s selfies with several other competitors. Viktor had only one man left, the Japanese skater under Celestino’s care. Mila turned her head, scanning the crowd to see where Viktor had run off to. She was surprised to see him looking confused at her side, his hands lamely grabbing at the handles of several rolling luggage bags. “What happened?” Mila asked, her hand covering one side of her mouth in a mock whisper.

“He ran away,” Viktor replied, dumbstruck. What Mila had missed was Viktor’s first real rejection. Had the Japanese man seen him taking pictures with everyone else first and was offended? It had hurt, the look of pain in his fellow competitor’s face as Viktor called out cordially for a picture. Was the Japanese man’s English not as good as Viktor’s? That thought quickly was dashed as Viktor recalled that Celestino was the other skater’s coach. He had likely lived in America; surely he understood Viktor’s offer. “I don’t get it. He was looking at me, but he ran away.”

Yuri shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He was in sixth place; why did you even want a picture with him?”

Viktor shook his phone in his hand weakly. “For a complete set. Now what will I do about the other five Instagram posts?”

“There’s always the banquet,” Mila laughed, “and besides, you don’t even remember his name. That’s kinda rude, isn’t it? Aren’t the Japanese very polite? Maybe you offended him.”

Taking out his phone, Viktor quickly searched the internet for the names of the Grand Prix Finalists. “Yuuri Katsuki,” he whispered.

Mila leaned over Viktor’s shoulder and watched him scroll through pages of resulting images from the search. “He’s cute.”

Viktor agreed by simply continuing to check out pictures of Yuuri – headshots from different competitions, candids from interviews, even a couple yearbook pictures from his time in college – and the more he looked, the more he was intrigued. Despite newer images popping up of Yuuri’s performance that day, Viktor couldn’t tear himself away from the photographs of a vibrant, successful Yuuri. One in particular caught his eye. Another skater, Viktor assumed, and Yuuri were posing for an Instagram photo. They looked happy, their legs in the air just above the bleachers they stood on.

“Wonder where that’s from,” Mila asked quietly into Viktor’s ear. She wasn’t sure why he kept looking at the Japanese skater, but she knew she wanted to find out.

“Detroit,” Viktor answered mildly, his thumb tapping on the post. “That’s where it’s tagged, anyway.”

“Mm,” Mila nodded, leaning back away from Viktor’s personal space. He smelled of sweat and expensive cologne, but there was some aura coming from Viktor that overpowered even how delicious the spices of his cologne smelled. “Are you just mad because you’ve been rejected?” she laughed, pulling out her own phone.

“Why would I be mad, Mila?”

“Well, you have every woman who watches skating on your speed dial, and yet some kid turns you down for a photo op.”

“He’s not some kid; he’s a finalist,” Viktor frowned, his eyebrows knitting together on his face. He bangs fell in front of one eye, and he turned around slightly so Mila could see the anger in his expression. “You sound like Yuri.”

“Speaking of which,” Mila swallowed, avoiding the question, “where is our little Yuri?”

Yuri was nowhere to be seen, but Yakov was pacing around the lobby, impatient. “I swear, if Yuratchka doesn’t turn up…” He was muttering under his breath, swears faintly audible to anyone who paid attention.

Moments later, just as Yakov took to swearing up and down in his native tongue, Yuri reappeared.

“Where were you?” Mila asked, tilting her head mischievously. “With a girl?”

Yuri’s face embodied rage, his posture slumped over and completely withdrawn. He had no intention to respond to Mila or anyone else. That Japanese punk, he thought, was going to eat his own skates if Yuri had anything to do with it.

Viktor turned from the angry adolescent and followed Yakov and Mila quietly. He had put his phone away after Yuri stomped back into the lobby, but he couldn’t shake the smiling face of Yuuri Katsuki from his mind. Something was so… alive about the man, how his limbs moved gracefully around on the ice and how his entire face lit up in the pictures when he stood at the podium. Viktor wondered to himself what had happened to result in the overwhelmingly lackluster performance earlier. Nerves? Surely someone talented enough to make it to the finals would have more self-confidence. Whatever it was, Viktor decided, he would find out exactly what made Yuuri Katsuki tick that night at the banquet.

The afternoon passed in a dull blur. Viktor showered off in the hotel room, his mind still full of a foreign face, and as he went to take a quick nap before he had to get ready for the banquet, he couldn’t help but wonder what room Yuuri was staying in. “He wouldn’t want to see me anyway,” he laughed in a whisper to himself. “He ran off at the rink.” Something about staying in his room, completely alone, made Viktor wish he brought Makkachin.

Should he go find out where Yuuri was? They were strangers; it would make more sense to text Chris for his room number than to seek out someone he had barely even spoken to. And why did it matter so much? Viktor sighed, rolling onto his back with a pillow in his arms. He was sure he looked like a child that had gotten rejected by his school yard crush. Maybe he was. Hoping to officially meet Yuuri at the banquet, Viktor closed his eyes to rest.

From there, it was barely a half hour before his phone started going off, a flurry of text tones dinging one after the other. “Who,” Viktor groaned, reaching with his eyes closed at the bedside table, “would possibly want me now?”

They were all from Mila. Viktor groaned louder, hoping that from the room she was staying in two doors down, she could hear him. He input the password to his phone and looked over all the messages, each one just links to articles mentioning Yuuri. He could feel his face heating up lightly and he tried not to smile. Had he been that obvious? Instead of looking at each link individually, Viktor touched the talk-to-text option and spoke, “You’re a bit creepy.”

A bubble appeared on-screen that indicated Mila was typing. A moment later, “But I get the job done” with a heart emoji appeared.

Viktor sighed. Getting up, he tossed his phone onto the bed. It was close enough to when he needed to get ready, and he definitely wasn’t going to get any more sleep with Mila on him like this. He meandered over to the closet, one hand scratching an itch under his shirt and the other pulled leisurely at the handle on the closet door. Sweats and a couple casual outfits hung towards one side; on the other, his suit sat freshly pressed and waiting. Viktor loved to dress up. He had considered bringing several more formal outfits along with him, but Yakov had chided him on the thought of over packing.

Viktor sighed and removed the pieces to the suit from his closet. With care, he pulled each article of clothing from the hangers and laid them out on his bed. As he changed from a set of casual clothes into his formal attire, Viktor wondered to himself what Yuuri would be wearing. The banquets were always so dull - everyone on their best behavior - and he only hoped this year's affair would be even slightly different. Nothing could be more somnolent than even Chris acting cordially with everyone, his usually fiery personality calmed down tremendously and his flirtatious side almost entirely dismissed.

Before Viktor realized it, he was tying his navy tie and adjusting how he had tucked his crisp white button up into his dark gray pants. According to the clock on the nightstand, he had a few minutes until Yakov would come barging in and nagging him to get a move on. He sat down in the comfy armchair provided and stared out the window of the hotel. He was only a few floors up, but it was high enough for him to see several news crews piling into the parking lot and setting up for the mass exodus of the skaters and their coaches. All of them inevitably would want to interview him on his way out; it was his fifth Grand Prix win and it seemed that everyone was already asking about the sixth. "Can't they wait until Nationals are over at least?" he muttered, his arms folded and a frown working on his face.

One skater who hadn't qualified for the finals and his team had come to watch the day's events in person, it seemed, as Viktor noticed a familiar face exit the hotel. He was trying to place the name just as someone knocked from outside his door. "Coming," he said in Russian, assuming it was Yakov.

It was. The balding man stood outside the door stoically and responded in Russian, calling, "Vitya! Come out now or we'll be late!"

Viktor got up slowly, refastened the buttons on his suit jacket, and grabbed his phone from the bed. Opening the door, he followed Yakov silently to the elevators where Mila and Yuri stood. Both were well dressed for the occasion, and Yuri looked half satisfied with himself. Likely from winning the Junior Finals, Viktor guessed, stepping into the lobby.

Camera crews were inside the hotel now, with a few brave news anchors asking questions already of the couple unlucky skaters who had gotten trapped by them. For once in his life, Viktor regretted his beautiful gray hair and wished he was just a few inches shorter so he would be ignored.

When one news anchor, a girl who looked to be in her late twenties, asked his team in general what their plans for the night were, Yakov replied, "No comment" in a snide Russian accent.

The trip to the banquet location was short, but that didn't stop Mila from taking off her heels in the limousine as they rode along. She complained about them being dreadful to walk in; Yuri told her she was being annoying. Viktor stared out the window of the limo and thought about how much he could drink that night without getting so intoxicated as to make a scene.

In a few minutes, the driver stopped the car and the four of them piled out one by one. Waving at the paparazzi as the cameras flashed, Viktor gave an extra wink at one reporter he recognized from last year's Grand Prix events. As quickly as it started, however, the flashing ended and he was officially at the banquet. It was quiet, with somber music playing as a few people chatted over appetizers. Not everyone was in the main room yet at least, and Viktor was sure they weren't the last to arrive. JJ loved to make a scene, and if he was going to act like he had in years prior, Viktor was sure the night would not end without him having to again endure JJ's grating voice.

He stood and milled about with Yuri for a few minutes, chuckling to himself as Yuri asked the waiter if the punch was alcoholic.

"Ah, to be a Junior skater again," a familiar voice behind him said.

Without turning around, Viktor replied, "I sure don't miss those days. I know you don't, either, Chris."

Chris laughed heartily. "Not really. Not when I'm so close to beating you."

"There's always next season," Viktor teased as Chris walked past him to the drinks table. He watched Chris and his choreographer chat - what was that, flirting? Really? - before Chris returned and handed Viktor a glass of champagne.

"You need it more than I do," he winked, patted Viktor's shoulder, and walked to the other side of the room with his companion.

Sipping lightly at the bubbly drink, Viktor wondered when everyone else would get there. Several skaters from the women's competition weren't there, if Mila sitting abjectly at a table with her face propped up in her hands had anything to say about it. Yuri returned to Viktor's side, but the older skater kept an eye on the door to watch for those coming in.

Their conversation turned from any sort of pleasantry directly to skating and the choreography of the sport; Yuri was determined for his Senior debut to be spectacular and Viktor wanted to see it happen. Idly, he wondered what it would be like to coach rather than skate the next season. It made sense for him to do so as he was nearing thirty and he could tell with every flip he practiced that he was reaching the last one. His knees ached in the cold Russian winters, his lungs burned if he ran too hard, his sides split more quickly than they had even when he was a young skater just building endurance. It felt like it could be time, and it would make sense to work with Yuri. If Yakov gave up the position, that is, but that was unlikely.

Viktor realized he had been tuning Yuri's tirade out when he heard someone speaking to his right. His eyes flickered that way, and he saw Yuuri being led aound by Celestino like a small child who had been dragged to their father's work party. With the way Yuuri hung his head, it was difficult to see his full expression, but based on how Celestino was leaning over Yuuri and prompting him to eat something told Viktor that Yuuri was tired. Viktor continued to steal glances over towards where the Japanese skater stood as he pretended to listen to Yuri. Without speaking to anyone, Yuuri acquired a glass of champagne from a waiter who was wandering the floor and stood by himself facing a table at the far end of the room.

Part of Viktor itched to go over and speak to him. He wanted to ask for a picture again - this time more politely, to see if he had made some cultural faux pas earlier - and an even deeper part of Viktor wanted to ask Yuuri for a dance. The music was beginning to pick up the more that guests arrived, and by now the small orchestra was managing an almost upbeat song with beautiful violins playing alongside more mellowed cellos. Viktor tapped his foot impatiently, wanting another glass of champagne as his was empty, but Yuri kept him busy.

The night wore on quickly after Viktor finally excused himself from his clingy companion. He made his way closer to where Yuuri was standing and noticed that he had several other empty champagne flutes on the table next to each other. They were all lined up evenly spaced and, from the angle Viktor could see, even perfectly straight. Counting the one in his hand, Yuuri appeared to be on his seventh glass with no sign on stopping. Was he that upset, Viktor wondered, or was he secretly a drunk?

Without warning, Chris strode over to Yuuri and picked up a conversation with him that Viktor could only vaguely overhear from his place among a couple friendly female skaters. They chattered away pleasantly, but Viktor was nosy and unsatisfied at only hearing bits and pieces of whatever Chris could possibly be saying to Yuuri. His focus drifted in and out of both spheres, but it was shifted abruptly as he heard Chris clap Yuuri on the back and belly laugh at whatever had just been said.

Chris jogged away almost comically slowly, receding into a different crowd of people. He returned a few minutes later with an entire glass of some alcohol that Viktor couldn't discern from the distance. When Chris was back, speaking to Yuuri again, Viktor noticed for the first time that Yuuri had loosened his tie and removed his suit jacket completely. It had been laid carefully next to the ever-growing collection of evidence that Yuuri Katsuki had a high alcohol tolerance. After Chris uncorked the bottle and took a swig, he handed it to Yuuri.

From where he stood, Viktor thought he heard Chris say something like, "It'll only be a few minutes."

He could stand it no longer; Viktor would hardly let his long-time rival manage to speak to Yuuri without him being close at hand to join in. With a quick, "Sorry, ladies," and a careful smile, he slipped away from the group and walked intently towards the co-conspirators.

"Hello there," Viktor said, voice even, as he got within earshot of the other two skaters. "I see you two look rather chummy."

"Jealous?" Chris asked mischievously. "Katuski Yuuri, this is Viktor Nikiforov, as if you didn't know."

In response, Yuuri loosened his tie further and drank deeply from the bottle in his hand.

Viktor could smell the sweet champagne mixing with a more hardy scent of other liquors melding together on Yuuri's breath. Despite looking disheveled and ultimately exhausted, there was still an air of utter pride that shielded the rest of Yuuri's features from Viktor's keen scrutiny. Even drunk, Viktor laughed to himself, this man is a mystery. "Charmed," he replied finally to Yuuri's apparent greeting.

"Likewise," Yuuri said. He licked his lips, realizing before anyone pointed it out that he had managed to wet his mouth when he took too deep a drink.

Viktor felt his heart skip a beat at the cadence of Yuuri's voice. It was peculiar; Yuuri wasn't particularly polished like those Viktor had associated with in the past, but he wormed his way under Viktor's skin faster than anyone had before.

The music changed abruptly from the hired orchestra to something certainly pre-recorded, and with it the atmosphere changed. Viktor noticed guests look around at each other uneasily, confused as to what was going on. Surely something was wrong, and yet after the first upbeat song came to an end, another replaced it just as quickly. One female skater from the group Viktor had been chatting with earlier grabbed the arm of one of her friends and pulled her towards an open place in the room, dancing and singing loudly to the beat.

Obviously she was drunk, but when everyone saw how she and the other skater were having fun, the stifled responses to the initial music transformed into several groups of people flooding into the same area the first two girls were still laughing in.

It didn't take long for everyone to form into a large circle, clapping along for whomever was dancing in the center. According to some younger American skaters, Viktor heard that doing this had become relatively commonplace at school dances in their country. He just laughed, replying that even if his schools growing up had dances, he wouldn't have known for how busy he was then.

It was fun, just watching the same people who had glared daggers at each other in the kiss and cry earlier come together. Most of the participants in the circle were varying levels of drunk. As the onlookers thinned, most wanting some of that same liquid courage pouring through them, Viktor noticed that Yuuri had approached Yuri. From the shocked look on Yuri's face, Viktor was confused as to what was going on, but quickly he found out.

The music blaring some popular song from the past year, Yuuri and Yuri began to take turns showing off whatever dance moves they knew. As skaters, most of the attendees were comfortable with some form of dance, but it was interesting to see the difference in movement on the ice and off the ice.

Yuuri, despite his nerves choking him at the competition, had no issue completely transforming into a performer in front of the small crowd. Viktor watched excitedly, almost ignoring Yuri, as Yuuri moved with agility and fluidity around the circle. He would transition from being on his hands with a thrust of his hips and, suddenly, almost flip mid-air back onto his feet; he would move in time with the music when Yuri was dancing; he would completely astound every watching.

Even with the small amount of alcohol Viktor had in him, he couldn't keep himself still watching the two of them. Pulling out his phone to take pictures, he noticed that several other prominent skaters had done the same. Mila, for one, was giggling with another skater Viktor recognized as Sara from Italy, both of them with their phones in hand. It was the most fun Viktor had had in ages, and it compelled him to jump out into the circle with the two who were still wildly competing for some odd reason. He didn't do much, only took blurry pictures and called out cheers to both of them, but even letting go just some of the mystique he had been known for on the ice made Viktor feel completely alive.

As that song came to an end, Yuri the apparent loser, Yuuri strode off triumphantly towards another corner of the room. Viktor, not wanting to lose the star of the show, followed him back to the table he had occupied earlier. Yuuri reclaimed his bottle and drank deeply, stumbling dizzily towards Viktor afterwards.

Viktor, forgetting he had his camera open, took several blurry pictures of Yuuri unknowingly with his thumb before catching him in his arms. "Be careful," he laughed at the drunk. "Wouldn't want you hurting yourself."

"Viktor," Yuuri breathed, staring at Viktor in a way that was indecipherable, "only watch me."

Tilting his head, Viktor was about to ask what Yuuri meant before the lights went low and everyone's attention was directed towards a particular Swiss skater.

Chris stood in front of a pole - when did that get there? - wearing only his underwear and a tie. The lights came up again, but a different sort of song was playing this time. It was less the cheery pop music that anyone could dance to and much more sexually charged. People took notice, wolf whistling and clapping at Chris as he took to the pole like he was a professional dancer rather than skater.

Viktor laughed to himself, Yuuri still clinging a little at him. "Is this what you meant?" He asked for only Yuuri to hear.

"No. Just wait." Yuuri smirked, patted Viktor's arm, and walked off with a slight shake in his hips.

Viktor was left dumbstruck as he watched one of his friends completely confirm everyone's suspicion that Chris was just as crazy as he seemed. Holding up his phone, Viktor took a picture of Chris and settled for enjoying the reactions from everyone else watching.

One song passed before Chris dismounted, his legs arching over his body as he used his arm strength to flip him onto the ground. Amidst the sound of applause, most of the spectators missed a smaller, slenderer body wearing only slightly more walk behind Chris.

When the blonde man clapped Yuuri on the back, chuckling at how he looked completely drunk, he walked off to the side and stood next to his choreographer.

Confusion spread over those watching again as they watched the same Japanese skater who had just had a dance off with Yuri put one hand onto the pole, the other still holding his alcohol. A small laugh from a couple of the men's finalists was shushed by a group of women who were simply enjoying the sight of Yuuri's abs when he teasingly pulled his shirt up.

Viktor couldn't help but agree, his eyes roaming over Yuuri's body as it hooked and curved around the pole, his back arching as he twirled for everyone to see. His bottle spilled profusely as he spun upside down. Yuuri's hands moved lower, and he dismounted to hand his liquor to Chris with a wink. Running back, he jumped and one hand caught him as he looped his legs around the pole, moving into a pose that made it look like he was flying. Viktor was entranced. Yuuri managed to move even easier around the pole than he had on the floor, putting his dance moves against Yuri to shame as he nearly did splits while suspending himself with only one hand.

Chris, eager to join back in, ushered Yuuri off the pole and helped him unbutton his shirt. Some of the same women from earlier - and even a couple men - whistled at the display, and Chris soaked it in. He handed Yuuri back his bottle and the two of them began moving as one on the pole, swapping places with ease as if they had practiced a routine.

How long had Yuuri even known how to do this, Viktor wondered to himself as he saw Yuuri lose his breath and almost his grip on the pole at times during the last bit of his performance. What stamina, Viktor chuckled, clapping aloud with everyone else as the music ended and Yuuri was holding Chris by the chest.

Chris lay with his arms out in a flourish and Yuuri was barely holding on. Viktor could only imagine the pain that came from suspending two people by one handhold, and he winced as Chris slid off easily and caught Yuuri.

After that, with no one else to pole dance, the younger skaters mostly ran back to dance with each other again. It wasn't quite as exclusively a couples' dance, but those who were older had bowed out enough that those who were dancing significantly dwindled from before. Viktor was looking for Mila and Yuri, wondering where they had ended up in the shift, when he felt a warm body slither up onto him.

"Viktor," Yuuri whined, his accent thick with intoxication, "after this season ends, my family runs a hot spring, so please come." By now, Yuuri was grinding on Viktor shamelessly, his whole body moving against Viktor's in a way that felt delicious.

Viktor had no idea what to do. He had been enthralled by the man the entire day, from thinking about him in the shower to having to concentrate on not getting an erection in public watching him pole dance. And now, the same Yuuri that had rejected taking a simple photo with him was rubbing himself against him lewdly in front of everyone. It was hard to take in.

Yuuri continued after a small pause, looking with his entire face reddened into Viktor's eyes. He looked like a drunken prince, the worst kind of Cinderella, and Viktor swallowed thickly at how Yuuri's grip on him tightened even more as he spoke. "If I win this dance-off, you'll be my coach, right?" Yuuri's eyes sparkled brightly behind his glasses.

Viktor noticed for the first time that Yuuri's tie was now in a knot around his head. Everything about him was adorable in the moment, and Viktor nearly grinned as widely as Yuuri did when the younger skater pounced again, jumping at Viktor and wrapping his arms around Viktor's neck.

"Be my coach, Viktor!" Yuuri cried loudly, loudly enough for everyone who hadn't already been watching the display to take notice.

At the childish cadence in Yuuri's voice and the hard-on that pressed against Viktor's thigh when Yuuri landed again closer to him, Viktor blushed. Yuuri had captured his heart in a day, and he didn't want the moment to pass by. Sure, he had been thinking about coaching Yuri for his debut in the upcoming season, but it would be even more interesting for a change of pace...

"What's Japan like?" he whispered softly as Yuuri continued bucking into his hips. "I'd love to see it."

Yuuri's smile grew even wider, if possible, and he dragged Viktor by the hand out to where everyone had been dancing. The world was only the two of them; it was narrowing down into a microcosm where even the music in the background was fading away in the presence of the warmth Yuuri's sweaty palms provided to Viktor's cold fingers. Viktor was melting into even the slightest touch from Yuuri now, and as they began dancing an unpracticed yet harmonized fury of moves, he could only hope that Yuuri felt the same pull that would draw him into Viktor again.

They took turns acting as the 'female' in the dance, Viktor laughing as he mocked a matador's stance, Yuuri raising up on his tiptoes to play the bull. When had Yuuri put his clothes back on? Viktor smiled, pulling on his own tie to loosen it as Yuuri stood in a pose in front of him, his arms in the air. Viktor followed, letting Yuuri lead after a minute, stalking around the same pattern in the floor as they almost chased each other. Viktor was growing tired, the pursuit lasting too long for his taste, when Yuuri swept him off his feet in the same way as he had held Chris on the pole.

Yuuri's face, this close to his, looked even more handsome than he had thought before. Was the alcohol dulling his senses, too, or did everything really slow down that much when looking into his own personal sun? Viktor felt himself completely attracted to the man who held him by the chest as they stood and danced together much closer than before. His heart beat wildly in his chest and his pulse thumped in his veins, yet even the burn of dancing in shoes unfit for the activity meant nothing if it meant he could go on like this forever.

However, Yuuri was getting tired. It was obvious in his face, so by the end of the song that was playing - how long had they been dancing? - Viktor stopped him and they moved out of the view of the crowd. People had joined in to some degree, but Yuuri and his dancing had stolen the show if the looks they received even when retreating had anything to do with it.

Viktor made Yuuri sit after feeling the younger man stagger against him on the way over to where the tables and chairs had been pushed back to. He couldn't wipe the smile from his face as Yuuri held tightly to his shirtsleeve, begging silently for Viktor to sit next to him.

"Did I win?" Yuuri asked, suddenly serious. His face couldn't match his voice, however, and it resulted in him sounding pitiful in Viktor's ears.

"I'll definitely be thinking about it," Viktor laughed, trying to keep the mood light. He had to consider all his options, obviously, but he had promised something. "I won't forget you, that's for sure."

Yuuri clapped his hands together and said something in Japanese that Viktor couldn't figure out. He let it go, however, seeing the look of absolute joy on Yuuri's face as he stared into Viktor's eyes.

A voice spoke from behind Viktor that made him jump. Turning around, he saw Yuuri's coach looking frustratedly at the drunken Japanese skater. "Honestly, Yuuri, I'm glad you're having a good time tonight, but we needed to leave half an hour ago to get back to the hotel. The flight to Detroit is early tomorrow morning and-"

"I'm going home," Yuuri moaned, his features changing. He sounded more sober almost immediately, his entire demeanor increasingly more serious by the second. "We'll talk tomorrow, Coach Celestino."

Celestino, shocked, was at a loss for words. "Sorry, Viktor," he apologized, shaking his head. "I wanted him to forget what happened earlier today, but I never expected this."

"It's fine," Viktor laughed. "Hey, Yuuri?"

Yuuri looked at Viktor again, his smile returning instantaneously. "Mhm?"

"Commemorative photo?"

"Sure!"

Viktor moved his chair closer to Yuuri's and, holding his phone up to get a good angle of the both of them, kissed Yuuri's cheek. He took the picture just as he made contact; the resulting photo was a red faced Yuuri and a lightly blushing Viktor looking almost guilty together. Viktor kept looking at the screen, studying every feature of Yuuri's face that the camera had captured. When he looked up, Yuuri had already left. "He really is like Cinderella," Viktor laughed quietly, deciding to keep that last photo to himself. An incomplete set of pictures on Instagram was worth much less than having his own personal memories of that night. "That Yuuri is something else."