Chapter Text
Perhaps it was the weather, or simply because he only had four hours of sleep in his system, but the swarm of nerves that refused to simmer down made disappearing very likely. Where he would, he had no idea, considering he was in another country, very far away from the island of Japan.
“Yuuri. Please stop.”
“I never stop.”
Yuko gasped and feigned a scandalized pout, hand on her hip. It was a sunless morning, the clouds streaked completely gray. Sidewalks were littered with leaves and peeled bark.
“Someone's quite saucy this morning.”
He took a big gulp of his coffee. Stared at the dark liquid in his cup and idly wondered when was the last time he had properly brewed sencha. If he'll ever brew it like his mother does. “I haven't found a roommate yet." It was all he could think about ever since Phichit left the States two weeks ago. A much needed break that Yuuri almost agreed to join as well, but college wasn't cheap and neither was a vacation to Thailand. And Yuuri knew that once he had a taste of freedom, he wouldn't be coming back very soon. It didn't help that the end of the month loomed closer with each passing day, and that meant he had to summon up the remaining rent money somehow. Like most deadlines on a syllabus, it didn't worry him initially until he remembered his landlord existed.
“The tips at the bar aren't enough?”
Her genuine concern was comforting, it made him want to cuddle with his giant poodle plush and buy Yuko a friendship necklace. He had three jobs, more like two and a half if you wanted to be technical. He bartended at the local university pub, was a barista at Yuko's father's cafe, and sometimes gave ice-skating lessons at the ice rink whenever Mr. Feltsman left for vacation. He made good money at the bar, something he omitted from his weekly calls to Hasetsu. If his mother knew he was an amazing mixologist, she would question other unconventional choices (mostly his wardrobe and weight). She probably wouldn't even believe him either, or acknowledge that her son was remotely interested in alcohol. If she knew, a casket would definitely wait for him after graduation.
“Yeah. But that would empty my savings account.” Yuuri wiped down the tables, scraping off the gum people left behind. Hopefully the day would end quickly so he could start putting up flyers for potential candidates. Phichit had offered to pay his half this month's rent regardless if he lived there or not, but that was out of the question. Then again, he knew Phichit didn't struggle much with money since Phichit saved every penny like a monster. Hoarded every crumb of food and mastered frugality in ways that made extreme couponing on a Friday perfectly normal.
Yuko popped her bubble gum with a loud snap. “You could always move in with me and Takeshi,” she offered. He bit down the urge to snort. Him, third wheel his best friend and her boyfriend? She glared. “Don't be gross!”
He laughed. “No thanks.”
“Watch it, Yuuri. Or I'll scar you.” He didn't doubt it. Whether Yuko was tired or not, she could pack violence in her small fists. She had her hair tied in a loose ponytail, some strands slipping into her mouth. This semester had been brutal and recovering from many sleepless nights was not an easy feat.
It wasn't any sunshine for him either. Sometimes the urge to just leave the States, drop out of college and head back home to an endless supply of katsudon was extremely strong, but then he would look at his term bill and remember that thousands of dollars went into this already. He came as an international student, most of his scholarships due to his smartie smarts (his mother loved to remind anyone who dared question Yuuri's academic standing). His English and threading of words wasn't as bad now, but he still missed speaking Japanese. The lingo here has become part of his vocabulary, which was terrifying sometimes when it slipped out in his phone conversations. For the first year, he gained weight faster than he could manage, but his daily runs and dedication to cardio meant he could fit in his jeans again. “I got fat after finals, right?” He asked. "Like fat fat?"
Yuko stopped sweeping, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Not really. You're not pudgy-pudgy. You're filled in, but like in a good way. Your ass though,” she whistled, motioning a cupping gesture. “Those buns are the real thing, Katsuki-san.”
He covered his face. “I regret asking, Nishigori-san.” Yuko blushed.
“Shut up, or I'll make you do register.”
-
For the remainder of the week, he tried to focus on finishing his homework. As a bio major and vet-to-be, the library was his second home. His third home would be the bar, where the shot glasses had their magic and he had no reservations. And Celestino was a great manager, but his co-workers were interesting. To some degree.
He's using the word loosely. JJ was one of them he would not hesitate to impale happily. He didn't even work there, but his girlfriend Isabella did. Handling his obvious and disturbing lust for her every night she performed made Yuuri want to self-implode considering there's enough patrons who do that already.
Otabek was great. A treasure, a silent treasure. As a security guard, no one dared rile something up. The others, well-
“Um, Yuuri,” Minami whispered. He raised his eyebrows, bracing himself for the worst. That was his I-messed-up voice. It amused him to know that others felt slightly intimidated by him. Yuuri? Terrifying? His mother and Mari too would laugh like hyenas in his face, like the time they realized his idea of seduction was eating slowly.
“What's wrong?” Mistakes were allowed since he was a new hire, but it still made him cringe whenever Minami looked at him with a little too much admiration. By no means was he exceptional, but his time at the pub definitely meant seniority mattered.
“That person over there keeps bothering me.” Minami whispered. “Keeps saying he usually gets drinks for free.”
Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “Who exactly?” He asked sharply.
“That guy.” The burst of laughter couldn't be helped. A repeat offender was the best, and Yuuri appreciated some entertainment on the clock. "That guy's'' appearance was a child trying to look like an adult. His shoulder length blond hair made him seem older, but twenty tops. The scowl on his face deepened as somebody elbowed past him to see the performance, a rendition of Lady Gaga's 'Poker Face'. Isabella was absolutely captivating in that sequined dress, so he understood. At this instant, her dance partner Mila whipped her hair free from her bun, her hair fiery under the yellow spotlight.
Yuuri sighed, a smile on his face. “Head back and get more vodka. I'll handle him.” Minami bowed before scurrying away. He waited five minutes, and just as he expected, the young man walked towards him. The moment they made eye contact, Yuuri couldn't help but grin. “Again?”
"Fuck. Where is he?”
Ignoring the vulgarity, Yuuri shrugged. “Who knows? ID, please.”
Yurio wrinkled his nose, eyes scathing. “He was smart to get you, I'll give him that. You damn pig.”
Now that nickname had history, but Yuuri knew to take anything Yurio said with a grain of salt. It was a bit amusing how Yurio never gave up, still hoped for the day that he would sneak by and finally get a cocktail. Persistence could be endearing. But first and foremost, there were laws, and Yuuri liked his freedom. He took carding very seriously, could distinguish a fake ID from a real one in a heartbeat. When he met Yuri Plisetsky in his basic comp class, they were often paired up together for peer reviews. He wasn't used to such hostility (he's well aware he's been a friendly marshmallow his whole life and any type of negativity is gut-wrenching), but he knew how much it irked Yurio whenever his grade was lower than Yuuri's. “How are you?”
“So no margarita? Not even a lemon drop?”
“Apple juice, maybe,” Yuuri said dryly. “Do you need anything?” He tried not to sound condescending. Every time Yurio came to the pub, it was either to a) visit Mila and give her a ride home, or B) ask Yuuri for help on editing/revising his papers.
“My essay's due in a week, and I want you to look at it,” he said bluntly.
“You know my email, though.” Before Yurio could say anything (and Yuuri knew he always had something to say), he held a finger up as someone came up to him.
“Just a cherry bomb,” the woman requested.
“ID?” She fished for it in her wallet, sliding it towards him. “Alrighty.” He could feel Yurio's glare penetrate him, enough to slice him in two. The urge to hand him a glass of apple juice was strong, just to tease him, but he didn't want to push it when he knew how quickly that temper promised mass homicide. He handed her her drink, and the woman blew him a kiss, stuffing a crisp bill in the tipping box.
“She has terrible taste,” Yurio sniffed.
“Thanks. But don't make me ban you. Otabek memorizes faces like a pro.” He pointed to the security guard, an expression of utter disgruntlement as he eyed the tiny puddle of vomit. Yurio stayed quiet, looking suspiciously enchanted. “He's single,” Yuuri added helpfully.
“Shut up. Anyway, I needed, uh, something extra besides you looking at my paper.”
“A favor, you mean,” Yuuri said. He hated to admit that he actually looked forward to Yurio's visits. It's great to meet someone who hates you just as much as you hate yourself.
“I was wondering if you could also look over someone else's paper. He's someone I know.”
“A friend, you mean.”
Yurio rubbed his face, which was quickly reddening. “Fuck you. Seriously. So?”
Yuuri blinked. “So what?”
His own murder flashed before his eyes as Yurio grabbed his tie and pulled him close, voice rasping. “Will you look at his paper? Yes or no.”
Goodness. “Uh, yeah. I mean you're not giving me much of a choice. Just email it to me.” His voice wavered slightly, and he was glad Celestino wasn't here to see this. Yurio would be banned in less than a second, Otabek-dragged.
“Okay. But when you fix his paper, destroy him. Hard.” He didn't say yes or no to that, because Yuuri happened to love giving critiques.
“I believe in equality.” The dance sequence had people cheering, and Mila blew kisses, giving the sultriest of smiles.
“Before I forget, Yakov also wants you to fill in next week. He's heading to Russia.” With that said, Yurio gave him a final customary glare before heading for the exit.
How he loved to be hated sometimes.
-
His eyes burned, hands cramped, but he continued. He despised being in front of the computer, his glasses slipping down, his back aching. At least Yuuri knew a desk job was out of the question.
He should be doing his usual evening run, but the overload of homework had him drowning in nothing but a sea of sadness and coffee. Keeping busy was always something he could do, especially when there really was so much to do. Balancing school and work takes time, but he knew his capability. Could he really do this? (who knows). Was he going to get his degree? (definitely, shouldn't even be a question). So he soldiered on, skimming through those emails, deleting those that only wanted to take his money. His inbox was never cluttered, and that was because he prided himself in having folders, followed by subfolders for those folders.
A new email popped in his inbox, no subject. The two attachments were named 'shit 1' and 'shittier 2' so he knew which one was Yurio's. He opened 'shittier 2,' skimming through and glad to see it was only five pages. 'Shittier 2' had a name: Viktor Nikiforov. Clearly Russian as well, he noted, and probably another international student if he was in the same class. It slightly pleased him that Yurio was expanding his social circle. That boy sure needed to. Especially with that attitude.
He started typing immediately: wrong font, supposed to be times new roman. Spacing is wrong, refer to mla website. Awkward syntax, word choice here should be looked at, strong thesis, a little too broad though, topic sentence completely irrelevant to the concepts being presented in the paragraph. Good essay, just work on connecting your ideas more cohesively :)
He followed Yurio's advice slightly, destroying Viktor, but in a constructive way. Satisfied with the comments and glad he had a distraction besides anatomy, he tried to be nice when emailing it to the address at the bottom of Yurio's email.
Before he could open Yurio's essay though, Yurio emailed him again, in all caps this time.
How fucking DARE you, you fixed HIS essay first. I WILL end you, feel my wratH !!!
how did you know??
He called me crying. It was ugly.
Oh, goodness. He decided a nap was necessary.
-
Maybe being tired would be his default stage, after hungry. He can't recall the last time he had the luxury of taking a nap, because he was always on the move. Heading to class, cooking enough for leftovers, running, studying, working, catching the local bus. The most strenuous time span of his life before college would probably be high school, but other than that, he still managed to wonder how he was gaining weight. Just a little, not enough to demand his immediate attention. If his mother saw the state he was in, she would send him those rice masks and a whole stash of lollipops. A momma's boy to heart, her scolding could still make him fear for his life even if she was thousands of miles away. Existing will always make him unbearably tired, that was indisputable. Yuko noticed and patted his back, then butt, and kept walking towards the brewer. He only wept a little, knowing that today also meant the register, and well, talking to people.
Yuuri was a man of many talents. He can cry at will, eat fast, sleep long. But it wasn't so bad. People ordered their drinks and stayed to use the wifi, some being business people and others being college students. He loved this cafe, its atmosphere, the fact that he could eat lemon loaves and no one could stop him. He wasn't a bad barista either and seeing regulars, like at the pub, made him happy.
Except today was slightly exceptional. He loved friendly customers, but he also loved beautiful people. Looking but never touching was his policy. And a very friendly, very beautiful human being walked in with the cutest bell chime he's ever heard.
The man had ash blond hair, sleek and parted, his eyes just as stunning as the entire structure of his face. They were the palest of blues, reminding him of the skating rink, and if Phichit was here, he would call dibs. Since Mr. Nice Eyes was the only customer at the moment, no name would be asked and that was a shame. “Hello and welcome to the Ice Castle Cafe. What would you like to order?” He smiled, never betraying the absolute mess that melted inside his flesh prison.
“Hello. Uh, I'll have a caramel latte. And a blueberry muffin.” His words were tinged with an accent, and being around Yurio, he knew this man had to be Russian as well.
“Size?” He asked, punching it in the system. The man's eyes widened and Yuuri couldn't help but suppress his need to laugh. Where was Yuko? “Small, medium-”
“Medium,” he said. His cheeks were slightly pink, Yuuri noticed. He remembered when he used to be embarrassed speaking English, his thick accent made him stutter and blush madly with every uttered syllable. And for some reason, he found that oddly charming.
“Alrighty.” Not that big of an order, and hopefully people don't come as he prepares the latte. “Total is five-fifty.” Mr. Nice Eyes nodded, taking out a nice bill from a really nice wallet. His gray scarf hinted towards a chiseled chest, athleticism created that body. Yuuri could feel that man curiously watching him shuffle around to make his drink. Of course the moment he realized this, he dropped the carton of milk and watched it spill mercilessly over the counter. So much for that casual exchange. The horrendous full body inferno of embarrassment happened as he grabbed a mop and a stack of napkins. “Sorry about that!” His awkward laughter was cut off by the man's broad grin.
“Not a problem,” he assured.
Yuuri regained control of himself, hating how hot his face felt as he prepared the latte. He capped it with whipped cream, and took the two muffins out of the oven. Why he wanted to give him an extra muffin, he didn't know, but the decision had been made by his treacherous impulse and weak soul. “Thank you, and come again.” He actually meant it, too.
The man paused, before putting two dollars in the tip jar. “You were wonderful,” he said, smiling.
Yuuri gaped, and the man left with a final bell chime. He didn't know how long he stood, unable to function. “Get back to work!” Yuko yelled.
He could almost hear Yurio's words: “He has terrible taste.”
-
Although the bitter cold bothered him and absolutely sucked every ounce of moisture from his lips, Yuuri loved to bundle up. His collection of scarves only grew each fall, as his fluffy sweaters swallowed him whole.
A text from Mr. Feltsman told him to show up at the rink later after class. This was the season children typically signed up for ice skating and ballet lessons. Yuuri often alternated, since he loved both and happened to be good if he said so himself. Back in Hasetsu, he remembered his old dreams of being a professional ice skater conquering rinks worldwide. Of course, he had always been practical, even as a child, and he absolutely adored animals. So being a vet it is.
Absentmindedly, he typed the notes from the slide as his professor spoke, wondering if there would be any new faces to see. Some of his students always came back, and it always scared him how wonderful he could be with children. Children were like katsudon, everything kind of was. You treat and cherish katsudon until it becomes a wonderful meal. He wouldn't eat children, necessarily, but they do have to be cherished to become wonderful people.
His excitement threatened to overflow as he saw the familiar building, probably one of his best discoveries in the States. Perhaps the best, besides his friendship with Yuko. Georgi stood at the reception's desk, his eyes downcast and concentrating on fixing the stapler that for some reason was always dysfunctional. “Yakov is waiting for you,” was his standard greeting.
“Thanks.” He barely glanced at the door to his favorite studio, the one with the beautiful view of the sky and stream of clouds, and dropped his stuff on the love seat. Mr. Feltsman was hunched over, wiping the bars with disinfectant. “Sir.” His voice echoed, but the man only glanced at him briefly before he grunted.
“Yuuri.” How he missed the smell of lemon polish and stretching his core. Every muscle loosened for optimal form. “I'll be leaving in a few days, but you'll be doing the dance workshops, correct?” Mr. Feltsman used to intimidate him, amusingly so that even the staff knew.
“Y-Yes.”
The man raised a questioning eyebrow, continuing his daily check on the mats. “Just email me the times you're available, I'll squeeze ya in.” It amazed his that this man could work with his ex-wife, but when they clashed, oh they clashed. Those were days of darkness and the entire staff disappeared. Today wasn't a crossfire zone, so he knew he could live.
“Fair enough.”
Yakov zipped up his jacket, cracking his knuckles and back. “You live on campus, right?” He asked.
“Yeah, but in an apartment. It's off-campus housing technically,” he said slowly.
Clearing his throat, the man squinted as he looked outside. The trees themselves eased into bare dormancy. Sweater weather officially began and no one was complaining. October barely fleshed out, but its claim on the trees and wind already demanded people to cover up. “You don't know anyone looking for a roommate or something? Some kind of vacancy.”
Maybe he wouldn't have to sacrifice his savings to pay this month's rent. Maybe someone for some reason would want to live with him. He knew he wasn't difficult to live with. He got up early for his morning runs, showered, went to class, and didn't get back home from work until the evening. The absolute joy in his chest made him want to thank whoever timed this. “Uh, yeah,” he said a little too quickly. “I'm actually looking for a roommate right now.”
Mr. Feltsman finally perked up, his mouth pressed thoughtfully. “Interesting. I am trying to find a room for my neighbor's son. Starting this semester, but needs a place. Dorming is too...expensive.”
Yuuri wasted no time, scribbling his last name and number on a post-it in his pocket. “Great, um, you could tell him to give me a call. Maybe show him the place if he's interested.” The urgency in his tone made Yakov smile wryly. He's been often told he's an open book, but he really needed a roommate, and as the saying goes, the early bird gets the worm. He can't possibly wait for people to respond to his ad, if they even saw it.
“I'll let him know.”
-
The glasses left an indentation on his forehead. Red angry lines complemented the pink puffiness of his eyes, which burned every time he blinked. The dry drool on the side on his cheek earned a cringe, but at least his textbook had been spared. It was a rental after all. Maybe falling asleep on his desk would doom him for an entire day of back pain, but what else does he have to lose? The assignment was submitted, done, left in the dust from his need to have a degree. His barely conscious mind recognized his ringtone. An incoming call from an unknown number. At this time no less.
“Yuuri!” Only Phichit could sound that chipper at such a godawful time. “How are you?”
“No.” His voice sounded terribly hoarse, and dawn was not the time to even have human interaction. Who invented that anyway? Being part of the human race had certain stipulations he hated. “How did you know I'd be awake?” He asked instead.
“Yuuri, honey, you forgot I lived with you for two years. I knew you'd be running or waking up from a sweet all-nighter,” he said, laughing. Laughing. Laughing usually equates to happiness and humor. Something he was not familiar with right now. Yuuri wanted to drown at the bar, with a piña colada if life decided to be kind.
“I'm actually going to head out for a run. Being home sounds better though.” His running shoes have seen better days, but they were his favorite. The t-shirt he was wearing would suffice.
“I love being home, never knew how much I missed it. But go run, don't forget your keys. Make sure to be aware of your surroundings.” That warmth bloomed in his chest and he couldn't be any happier knowing Phichit wouldn't be able to see how much his mothering was welcome. Phichit could make him emotional instantly, or maybe he was a big baby (it was both). They exchanged heartfelt goodbyes, the remaining silence reminded him how alone he was. There were still remnants left all over the apartment. Phichit's toaster, his Disneyland snow globe, his giant hamster plush. All of which Yuuri sometimes slept with on particularly lonely nights.
But the steady rhythm of his breathing, although labored, soothed the slight ache in his chest. In, in, out, knees rising slightly, elbows tucked in but relaxed. Oh, he loved running. His body was his compass, the wind pinched his skin, the warmth in his cheeks pulsated as he reached his peak. But that was the battle in running, always a battle between the body and mind. The mind yelling to stop, but the body aware that it can still surge ahead. And his limitations, well, they were quite difficult to confront when he's the one responsible in the first place. He closed his eyes, craving more than a run.
The pure oxygen and steamy fog in Hasetsu, in the family hot spring always coursed tranquility like a bullet through his body. But here, he wanted to grow. Expand and take risks, be bold. Craft and construct the unknown future he could possibly be satisfied with.
So when his phone buzzed, he looked at the message.
Hello is this Katsuki? Yakov gave me your number and I was wondering if you would like to meet up bc I am looking for a room
Panting and loving the pain in his legs and chest, his lungs desperate to breathe, he smiled.
of course!!! Is 2pm at ice castle cafe okay?
In less than a minute, a reply waited for him.
Perfect :)
He didn't even ask for a name.
-
Why that time would be perfect was because that's when his shift ended. Yuko seemed suspicious, but this was Mr. Feltsman, he wouldn't recommend a criminal.
“What if he's a slob? Or worse...very sexually active.” His face was on fire as he shushed her.
“Don't be like that,” he wheezed. She shrugged, unconvinced. We'll see, her stare said. Although she was a year older than him, her tendencies bordered on to Christian mother levels. He's been in this country long enough to notice how strange these Americans were. Of course, Yuko's doubts seeded his mind with questions of his own.
What if he was too social, and he brought too many people over? All the time. Or listened to music loudly. Don't do that, his mind yelled. You don't even know this person.
It was five minutes before two when the bell jingled again, and his mouth lost its supply of saliva. The tip jar was only half full today, he lost count, because that man from the other day, Mr. Nice Eyes, was heading towards him. He noted that instead of all gray, he wore a burgundy sweater.
And Mr. Nice Eyes remembered him as well, his eyes crinkling as he smiled broadly. Yuuri smiled back, heart stuttering like a failing engine. Familiarity was fatal. “H-Hello. Welcome to the Ice Castle Cafe, what can I get you?”
“Hi. A caramel latte. And a lemon loaf...medium,” he said, a little more confident this time. He glanced at his phone with a frown and typed something as he handed over a bill. Yuuri nodded and handed him his change, a little nervous when he looked at the clock. But as he handed over the latte and loaf, Mr. Nice Eyes didn't leave. Instead he made himself comfortable at a table near the window, his eyes persistently glued to his phone. Yuuri counted the register before cleaning the counters, trying to rush and remove his apron before another customer showed up. Yuko should be back in a few seconds, so...
When his butt made contact with the soft cushion, his back stopped throbbing. He chose a booth a little far from Mr. Nice Eyes, the only person in the cafe. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he checked his notifications, seeing two texts.
I'm here at the cafe
Where are you?
Leaving became an option. He could flee right now, away away away. How his mind didn't connect the dots, he didn't know? Wasn't he supposed to be smart? That person, Mr. Nice Eyes, was texting him. Oh. Nope. It was three minutes past two. And a few bites from the lemon loaf have been taken. Should he dare?
I'm here too
He dared. He watched. He died. In that order. Observed the man check his phone, his shoulders hunched over. Yuuri decided to cut the act, because the rent had to paid, he was too young to be having this many melt downs, and because, well. What would Mr. Feltsman say if he stood up his neighbor's son?
But the man was already looking around, and if it weren't for the horrible pain in his back, Yuuri would burst out laughing, fake bravado aside. He approached the table slowly, still extremely tempted to just leave, but he didn't. The man, Yakov's neighbor's son, frowned, then looked at Yuuri's phone, eyes widening enough for Yuuri to see how crystal blue they were. “Hi,” he said, letting it hang awkwardly in the air. “Uh, sorry for being late.”
“Oh! You're Katsuki?” He asked, clearly still disbelieving. But not disappointed, if Yuuri wasn't mistaken.
“Yuuri, actually. Yuuri Katsuki.” Yuuri flopped on his seat, shifting around to at least be comfortable. “Sorry, I should've probably written my first name down.” He sheepishly pulled his sleeve. Maybe he should have made himself drink, it'd give him something to do.
“Yuuri? Your name is Yuuri?” The caramel latte abandoned, Yuuri couldn't help but not really like where this was going.
“Yeah. What's...yours?”
That broad and dazzling smile reappeared, and Yuuri had half a mind to ban smiling in the apartment if this would be a frequent thing. “Oh, sorry. I'm Viktor Nikiforov.” Even his name was perfect. “But if you're Yuuri, do you know Yuri? Yuri Plisetsky.”
And his instincts told him that his answer held a lot of weight, and whether it was because he loved to suffer, he nodded numbly anyway, still wanting to bolt out the door. What did Yurio have to do with this?
Everything. Because-
“You're the one who revised my paper! To the T, if I may add. Murdered it.” Viktor said, amused and bashful. “I've never seen anything like it.”
His double life as a tomato sometimes invaded his life as a human, and the horror on his face must have been obvious because Viktor grabbed his hands, which made things worse really, a lot worse, you just don't touch Yuuri when he's melting in shame, but Viktor did, and if there was an award show, Yuuri's vocal cords would win 'Most Useless' by a landslide.
How many big revelations was he going to have in one day? Mr. Nice Eyes was his customer, but he was also Yakov's neighbor's son, but also Yurio's 'shittier 2' in his email inbox, but also his maybe new roommate, but also still smiling in that handsome, movie star way. “Oh,” he croaked, stretching his lips painfully. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be so...critical.”
Viktor laughed. “No, Yuuri. It was great, got a solid B plus for once in that class. You were great. Thank you. I was actually thinking about emailing you again, but I was too embarrassed since I didn't really know you.” Yuuri couldn't help but actually give a faint grin. Because Viktor was friendly, as nice as his face, if he may add helpfully. His random bouts of embarrassment weren't ridiculed. “Anyway, I don't really have to see the place. You're exceptional. When can I move in?”
It was happening. It really was. He inhaled. “Whenever you want to.”