Chapter Text
Without inspiration, you’re as good as dead.
That’s why Victor Nikiforov kept creating, even if all he had left were fragments of imaginary scenarios and pieces of information about lives he didn’t know or bother to learn more about as he toured the world. He strummed on his guitar, played the black and white keys, and sang the lyrics. Applause flooded each venue, but the adrenaline didn't keep him coming back for more, not like it used to.
He played a show in Sochi against his will. If you asked him like a considerate human being where he wanted to perform after long years of being away from the only city he truly knew, he would have answered, "I prefer playing in St. Petersburg. It's been quite a while, and I miss it." It was traditional for artists to play their final performance of the year in their hometown, but Victor’s manager, Yakov, insisted that Sochi hear his voice one last time.
Earlier before his set--before he even set foot in the Winter Theatre’s foyer--Victor had reporter after reporter asking him about what he planned to do with his career once Sochi’s spotlights dimmed.
”Victor, will this be your last performance of the year?” A journalist asked him earlier. Victor simply smiled and winked at the camera. It wasn’t that he wanted to evade the question; he just didn’t know the true answer. Sure, his schedule and manager said so, but when did he follow the rules? ”Will you collaborate with another artist before the season’s end?” Again, Victor didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t nod or shake his head. He just smiled as he reached for his bottle of water hidden in his coat pocket.
”I don’t know what the next year holds for me. I’m hoping to find something or someone that makes me want to write another album.” Victor answered suggestively because he knew how much fans ate that up (and ate the “love interest” alive, but he would deal with that later).
"But you revealed a demo for a song called ‘Eros.’ Can you tell us about that?”
Luckily, Victor’s manager stepped in at that moment, escorting Victor away from the hungry journalists and taking him back to his dressing room to warm up for his final gig.
”Vitya,” Yakov sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “You can’t avoid their questions forever. When are you going to tell them?” Victor shook his head.
”There’s nothing to tell,” Victor protested, a hint of desperation in his voice. “I’m bone-dry of inspiration, and I need to keep searching.” Victor reached for a scarf, sunglasses, hat, and coat. “There’s still five hours until the doors open. I’m going for a walk."
Victor explored the streets of Sochi. The hat covered his noteworthy hair, and his oh-so-dazzling eyes were shielded by the glasses. Even though the city was known as the unofficial “Summer Capital of Russia,” the streets were still alive with businessmen, teenagers, and starving artists of all kinds. Victor stopped to listen to some of them, free to do as he pleased in his disguise.
Then, he found a young man playing a keyboard just a couple streets down from the theatre. Yes, that’s him.
Yuuri Katsuki was simply another musician trying to make it in the music scene, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t even want to be famous; he just wanted to be known somewhere other than Hasetsu, a small castle-town in Kyushu, Japan. He had black hair that hung in his face as he played the keyboard, and he was in layers upon layers of warm clothing. His bulky coat didn’t seem to limit his ability, and despite wearing gloves, he didn’t show any vulnerability to the cold. His brown eyes shone bright as he continued to press on the keys and sway in time with the music, and he wore a timid, but telling smile.
However, Victor knew this man far too well. Yuuri’s music was one of his guilty pleasures on YouTube while he was touring; waiting for him to upload new videos, watching his Q&A’s with his fans, even sending him a gift every once in awhile. He would never admit it to anyone who asked, but he was subscribed to Yuuri Katsuki under a fake name.
Victor made sure to keep his face hidden from the musician in fear that he would scare him off and not hear his beautiful music anymore, and he simply hovered near the Japanese man, keeping his hands in his pockets and letting the music flow through him.
Yuuri played the notes on his keyboard and didn’t let the loud environment of the streets or the cold get to him. Victor opened his eyes for a moment to find that Yuuri had closed his, rocking into the piano as he played each note with more fervor than the last.
“What’s someone like you doing out here in the cold? In Sochi nonetheless?” Victor asked the pianist after he finished playing another song, throwing a few rubles in his empty guitar case. Most likely an original; I haven’t heard anything like it. Yuuri’s eyes shot open, and he let out a tiny scream at the witness of his performance.
“Oh, gomen! Gomen!” Yuuri apologized profusely, falling back into his Japanese. “I was just startled; I didn’t think anyone was watching that…”
“You’re out here performing, and you’re startled by an audience?” Victor chuckled at the irony. “So, you’re out here because…” Victor rotated his right hand in a circular motion, signaling for Yuuri to finish his sentence.
“Well, college is expensive,” Yuuri laughed. “But I do what I can to make money. Sometimes, I just need a break from helping out at the onsen.”
“Onsen?” Victor cocked his head like a confused puppy hearing police sirens for the first time. Yuuri searched for the words.
“It’s… Ah, what do you call it… Hot spring! Yeah, a hot spring run by my family. I usually help out there, but lately, I’d been missing the music,” Yuuri gazed lovingly at his keyboard, and Victor stared off into the distance.
“I know what you mean,” He mused. Snapping out of his trance, he turned back to Yuuri. “So, what song was that? That you were playing just now,” He clarified.
“Oh, that? It’s, uh, an original piece. I don’t know what to call it yet, but I’ll figure something out.”
“I’m sure you will; it’s beautiful, and you play with such… Soul,” Victor commented. Yuuri shook his head.
“Thank you, but it’s nothing compared to the one who’s playing Sochi tonight.”
“Really? You know Victor Nikiforov’s music?” Yuuri snorted, and Victor couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Who doesn’t? He’s one of the biggest artists to hit the scene lately, and I, um, well,” Yuuri’s voice cracked when the stranger brought up his idol.
“Yes?” Victor stepped closer to him.
“I… Kind of love his music. A lot. But not in a creepy way! He’s just really inspirational, and it’s not like I have a shrine or anything--” Victor laughed softly, cutting him off.
“I thought I heard some influences of his in your piece.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s kinda obvious, huh,” Victor smiled, and he felt the familiar tugs at the corners of his mouth without the overwhelming strain of a fake smile.
“Tell me something, Yuuri. Do you think he’s lost soul in his music?” Victor wondered.
“I don’t think so,” Yuuri said. “Maybe he’s lost, but it’s none of my business. He’s playing despite that, so I commend him for it,” Victor’s eyes widened, but of course, the Japanese musician couldn’t see that. For the thousandth time that day, Victor was thankful for his disguise.
“Did you come here to see him tonight?” Yuuri nodded.
“I, well, I saved up a lot of money to get into the meet-and-greet tonight! He’s one of my biggest inspirations, and I really want him to see this,” Yuuri grabbed a little present out of his coat pocket. Victor stared at the wrapping inquisitively.
“What is it?” Yuuri laughed awkwardly, realizing his dilemma immediately.
“It doesn’t look like much, but it’s something for Victor,” Victor perked up at this, his sunglasses almost falling off.
“Do you send other gifts as well?” Yuuri shook his head, his cheeks becoming a darker shade of red. Victor couldn’t tell if it was because of the biting winds or the mention of the international star, literally standing feet away from him if he would just figure it out.
“It’s a big deal to me that he sees this. He’s the one who’s pushed me thus far as an artist; I want to repay him in some way.”
“That’s sweet,” Victor grinned, his eyes softening at such a genuine fan.
“I just… I hope he likes it,” Yuuri blushed.
“I have a feeling that he will,” Victor smiled knowingly. Yuuri stared down at the concrete--he didn’t see the way that Victor encoded Yuuri’s gift wrapping in his memory--and he shoved the gift back into his pocket.
“You think so? I don’t think he’ll even notice me,” Victor’s eyes widened.
“Why do you say that?” Yuuri shook his head, smiling sadly.
“I’m not exactly the most memorable person out there. Besides, there are bigger fans than me who will probably treasure him more.”
“You can’t think like that, though,” Victor pointed out, ever the optimist. “He has to at least remember your name!” Yuuri chuckled.
“Highly unlikely, but thanks for giving me some hope. You’re too kind,” Yuuri looked down at the only money in his case. One day, he would realize that it was his idol who actually helped him during that tough time, but for now, he just suspected a friendly stranger who for some reason wore sunglasses in the winter time. Victor checked the time on his watch and kept in mind how many minutes he would need to talk to someone about this fan who seriously doesn’t have a clue who he’s talking to.
“Well, I must get going, but hopefully we meet again!” Victor waved to him.
“Oh, uh, who are you, exactly?” Yuuri asked. Victor was shaken out of his usual facade and couldn’t respond for a few moments.
“You mean… You can’t tell by my voice?”
“Not really, sorry,” Yuuri apologized, and Victor laughed.
“It’s okay! The name’s Igor. You’ll know me when you see me,” Victor winked at him, falling back into his flirtatious act. Maybe he would know the name; Victor didn’t want to overthink that.
“I’m sure I will,” Yuuri replied, a glint in his eye as he spoke. With that, Victor, or Igor, walked away from the boy playing music in the streets. The playboy never rests, does he? Victor sighed to himself, turning back slightly to find that Yuuri was going back to playing beautiful melodies on his keyboard, this time with contentment shining on his face.
I wonder how he sounds with a grand piano…
All the reporters kept asking him about what he wanted to do after releasing his fifth album and even tracking every instrument necessary by himself.
“Doesn’t solo work get lonely?”
“What are you planning to do after this year’s album?”
"Are you going to turn in a different direction for next year?"
“Victor, is it true that you’re going out with--”
Solo work wasn't always lonely. The next album? Hanging in the air. Let me know if you can do any better, Victor thought bitingly. A different direction? Maybe home, but where was that anymore? As for going out with anyone; who would? Yes, there were millions of fans who would gladly lock lips and dote on the famous Victor, but what about flawed Victor?
There was nothing awaiting him in St. Petersburg, besides his beloved dog Makkachin. The questions became daunting and exhausting. He’d tried working with several different artists: Otabek Altin (a rising star from Kazakhstan), Christophe Giacometti (an artist known for his, ahem, sexual appeal), and even Jean Jacque Leroy (the frontman of a well-known rock band in Canada). However, he just couldn’t find the spark that he loved about music years ago. Where is the adventure? Where is the thrill? Why can’t I find that anymore?
In the end, his mind kept backtracking to the Japanese musician he had met.
Needless to say: Victor Nikiforov--instrument extraordinaire, lyric machine, seemingly-eternal bachelor of the music industry--was absolutely stuck.
Maybe... That pianist could be his muse.
“Yuri, you should have seen him. He played with such finesse and passion,” Victor enthused to his bassist, Yuri Plisetsky. Of course, Victor talked his ear off for a good half an hour about the other Yuuri he met. Yuri was fifteen, but at such a young age, he was an amazing instrumentalist who needed to make money to provide for his family.
”Vitya, you can’t play an acoustic guitar forever. You need a band and fast,” Yakov lectured, and Victor nodded, simply going through the motions.
“Who is our next candidate?” Victor inquired, staring at the headshot of a possible bassist.
”This is Yuri Plisetsky; a spitfire and arrogant as hell, but he gets the job done. Is he the best for your image, Victor?” Victor put curled fingers to his lips, considering the possibility.
”Everyone is expecting me to choose someone agreeable to complement me, so…” Victor gazed at the boy’s long hair, cheetah-printed bomber jacket, and permanent scowl.
"We’ll have to do the opposite of what they expect,” Yakov finished, sighing. “Will that work forever? People will end up expecting the unexpected from you…” The manager trailed off, realizing that Victor wasn’t even listening to his words of caution at this point.
”Exactly,” Victor replied with a newfound determination. “This ‘Russian Tiger’ will be huge by the time we get to Sochi.”
Now, a year after that audition, Yuri was rolling his eyes and looking for a pair of cat ears he got from a fan. Surprisingly enough, Yuri was a hit with the fans, and as much as he hated to admit it, he wore the cat ears to make them happy.
“Why are you so obsessed with this guy? He’s just another musician who seems to have that, what do you call it?”
“Spark,” Victor supplied, acting sunny in an attempt to lighten the Russian Tiger’s mood.
“Victor, you just want to get in his--”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Victor growled as Yuri glowered.
“What would you do if you met him? What would he do? You said it yourself; he’s a huge fan. What if he does have a shrine of you? That’s creepy as hell if you ask me,” Shudders ran down Yuri’s spine as he spoke.
“We’ll have to find out!” Victor chirped. “I see him in a little while!”
“What!?” Yuri shouted.
“Were you not listening to my tale?”
“I kinda tuned you out when you kept describing his features and wouldn’t stop for a good five minutes,” Victor’s cheeks tinted pink, and he returned to his original point.
“I said that he got tickets for my meet-and-greet today! So, I’ll get to see the present he got for me!” Victor smiled like a giddy fangirl, and Yuri rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time.
“Are you going to open it in front of him? You usually don’t, and you disappoint all those fans, too,” Yuri smirked, and Victor’s jaw dropped.
“I have to! I’m dying to know what he gave me!” Victor pushed aside the angel on his shoulder and gave into the wonder.
“Whatever, loverboy.”
If Victor thought that Yuuri was nervous talking about his idol, then he certainly wasn’t ready for the man talking to his idol.
“H-hi!” Yuuri sputtered, his cheeks rouge and his eyes glimmering with the absolute euphoria that came from meeting someone who had such an impact on your life.
“Hello,” Victor said smoothly, a little chuckle as he recognized him. “What’s your name?”
“Y-yuuri K-katsuki, nice to meet you,” Yuuri tripped over his words, but Victor didn’t mind. If anything, he found it endearing.
“What’s that in your hand?” Victor wondered, trying to shake the teasing out of his voice. He didn’t want Yuuri to be nervous after going through so much trouble to meet him for a moment or two.
“It’s a, uh, a gift! For you! Since your birthday is in about six days--I-I’m just g-guessing though--I wanted to give you something, to mark the occasion,” Yuuri sighed heavily, letting all of the air out that he used to utter those incredibly difficult words.
“Spasibo,” Victor lit up, and in turn, Yuuri beamed.
“It’s not much, but I thought maybe you’d get some use out of it…” Normally, Victor wouldn’t open one of his fans’ presents in front of them, but after seeing Yuuri earlier… Well, he had to satisfy his curiosity.
Yuuri anxiously looked behind him, hoping that not too many people would murder him for the scene that was about to take place.
“I-is it really okay for you to, you know... ?” Yuuri couldn’t even finish his words. Victor’s eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Are you worried about them?” Yuuri nodded. “Some of them are scary, but,” Victor leaned over the table to Yuuri’s ear, whispering. “I can protect you if needed.” Yuuri’s entire face turned a candy apple red. Victor, of course, was teasing, but he genuinely didn’t want one of his fans to get hurt on his account.
“T-that won’t be n-necessary!” Yuuri waved his hands furiously, trying to save himself.
“Alright, alright, let’s see the present,” Victor chuckled, carefully removing the bow and the wrapping. The paper was covered in cartoon poodles (resembling Victor’s beloved pet), and the bow was expertly tied. Victor’s eyes crinkled at the edges. He really went through all of that trouble for me? How sweet.
Victor opened the gift to find a box full of customized picks. Some of them had ice skates--one of Victor’s favorite pastimes as revealed in an interview from years ago--and others had some of Yuuri’s favorite song titles of Victor’s inscribed. The font was small, yes, but the present was, well, thoughtful. There was even one with Makkachin! Did he paint that himself?
“It’s not much, but I thought you could use it when you’re playing,” Yuuri told him, unwittingly using the same words that he did with his idol only hours before this encounter.
“Did you make these yourself?” Victor asked, mesmerized by the intricate details. Yuuri nodded quickly, happy to have finally found the courage to give these to him. Originally, he intended to send these in a package a few years ago, but Yuuri talked himself out of it. Victor picked up each pick carefully, looking over the details of each design. Fans became antsy to get their one-time interaction with Victor, and some of them even grew angry at Yuuri’s elongated time.
“I-I’m glad you like it,” Yuuri said over the increasingly eager fans.
“Like it? I love it! They’re wonderful!” Victor threw his arms around Yuuri. At first, Yuuri was frozen, but he eventually felt his body sink into the hug, timidly wrapping his arms around his idol.
“Thank you, Victor,” Yuuri murmured into his shoulder. Yuuri felt Victor shaking against his shoulder.
“I should be the one thanking you!” Victor detached himself from the pianist and stored the picks back into the box. “You play music as well, right?”
“Y-yes! I do! How did you know?” Victor winked.
“Musician's intuition. Keep creating,” Yuuri lit up, and Victor leaned close to Yuuri again, his breath against Yuuri’s ear. This is so intimate; why is he so close!? Yuuri couldn’t help but think, feeling his face heat up. “They’re going to riot any minute, so I’ll escort you out quickly. Mila’s a good friend of mine; she’ll help you. She can even fight them off if required,” Victor chuckled at this, but Yuuri just stared at him in disbelief, wide-eyed with a jaw hanging like an opera singer. Yuuri looked over at the strong, but sweet-looking girl with short red hair and sapphire eyes. She looked friendly enough, so Yuuri took a chance on walking towards her, still checking behind. One girl was crying, and another was angrily typing on her phone. Some even took pictures, and Yuuri darted his head back to Mila’s direction, praying that he wouldn’t get mobbed later tonight.
“It was nice to meet you, Victor!” Yuuri called out as Mila threw an arm around his shoulder, shielding his face from the fans.
“It was nice meeting you, too, Yuuri. Until next time.” Victor purposefully emphasized his name, and Yuuri squeaked, hiding his face in his hands as he walked away.
“Did that just happen?” Mila grinned, still wary of those who could sneak up on the most-hated man in the Winter Theatre currently.
“It’s not very often that Victor finds someone he wants to protect. You must be special,” She looked around and found that they were finally out of range of the debacle.
“Why, though? I’m just… Me,” Mila smirked, remembering what she overheard Victor and Yuri discussing earlier.
“I guess that’s enough for him.” Yuuri kept his gaze on the clammy hands that found the courage to give Victor a birthday present, hardly believing his eyes.
With that, Yuuri attended the concert, sang his heart out, and thought that it was all over. He would never see Victor in concert again, and he would never find Igor, the dashing stranger that encouraged him to go for it.
However, that was just the beginning because Yuuri Katsuki was memorable, indeed.