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Viktor stares intently across the crowded room. So intently, in fact, that he loses track of the waves of bright bubblegum sound rolling back and forth from one speaker to another, of the bright pink disco ball above his head. All he can see is black and blue. All he can hear are his own fuming thoughts.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Chris says, gently removing something from Viktor’s right hand. A glass. A martini glass. That’s right, Viktor was drinking and enjoying himself before he turned and saw the Worst Person Imaginable standing near a table on the other side of the dance floor. “That thing where you’re too much,” Chris continues, nonplussed. Chris is amazing. Chris understands Viktor. Viktor would drown anyone who hurt Chris, probably. There’s certainly enough water around for him to do it.
“Who invited him,” Viktor demands. It’s not so much a question as it is a verbal expression of his deep disgust. The words don’t matter. He could have said ‘I would love to scrapbook this moment as I’m living in it’ and the sentiment would have been the same as long as his eyes were forced to rest upon That Man.
Chris rolls his eyes. Beautiful, wonderful, sea turtle Chris. So innocent, so naïve. “You did,” he says. “You wanted to gloat, remember?”
Oh yes. That’s right. He wanted the state auditors from Tallahassee to see just how wrong they were about Viktor’s gala in person so he invited them himself. And now he’s standing in the main event space at the St. Petersburg Aquarium in a three piece suit, and aside from having to look at The Painfully Attractive Accountant From Hell everything is going his way.
The room is done up in pink, and hearts, and twinkle lights, and everyone who isn’t strolling around the softly lit aquarium grounds is out on the dance floor. They’re all having a wonderful time. The power hasn’t gone out since seven and that was only for five minutes, and the candles made it seem like a purposeful atmospheric choice. The food hasn’t made anyone sick, which is surprising since Georgi chose it. Viktor hasn’t needed to open any of his contingency planning binders, which, that one’s a little bit disappointing because he does love a good planning binder, but.
One year ago the St. Petersburg Aquarium noticed two male penguins had become attached to each other. When Viktor found out he immediately began making arrangements. By the end of the week he had shortened his proposal presentation down to 100 brief pages with 30 minutes of discussion points. Yakov spent the entire 30 minutes rubbing his temples, but he didn’t tell Viktor to go back to sending memos to the Arts Alliance and that was as good as permission. That Sunday Viktor officiated the wedding between penguins Albert and Frederick, and he only called them lovebirds twice. Three times. (Four.)
The city loved it.
The anniversary gala tonight is a phenomenal success. Albert and Frederick are still together. So far they’ve raised almost thirty thousand dollars for the city. No one will need to be fired from the Department of Cultural Affairs even though the city is otherwise deep in a budget crisis. Viktor brushes a little glitter off his shoulder and basks in how, for once, everything is going so smoothly.
“Viktor?” Chris gestures with the hand still holding the remains of Viktor’s drink. “He’s looking over here.”
Viktor follows the line of Chris’s finger and sees red. Well, pink because of the strobe lights. But pink is in the red family. Viktor essentially sees red. The Passionless Jerk With An Amazingly Tight Butt is looking in Viktor’s direction and that’s all the invitation to go over and gloat that Viktor needs. He thinks he hears lovely manatee Chris cheering at him to be professional as he walks away, but that might just be his imagination.
“Do you enjoy being wrong?” he asks once he’s close enough to be sure he’s being heard.
“Not usually,” Yuuri ‘Completely Heartless’ Katsuki replies. “But I’m happy for you. And Albert and Frederick too.”
Viktor had an entire speech prepared about how Yuuri should leave immediately and never slash another budget again. He can’t remember any of it. And when Yuuri loosens his tie and starts to talk, Viktor finds himself listening.
“I never wanted you – this – to fail,” Yuuri insists.
Viktor sends him a perfect toothy smile. “I have a hard time believing that.”
They stand there, two lone still points in a sea of cheer. Viktor shifts his weight and prepares to go back to Chris and the party and fun when Yuuri speaks. “I’m from a small town on the Oregon coast,” he blurts out. “It’s called Hasetsu.”
“I see,” Viktor demurs aggressively. He doesn’t need to know where Yuuri is from. The details only humanize him, and his cute nose, and his sharp laugh.
Yuuri takes a pull from his beer. There are several empties on the table behind him, all from the same brand. “Right. When I was eighteen I did a lot of figure skating. It was fun, you know? There was this girl a year older than me who would practice with me. I liked her so much.” Yuuri takes another drink. “But Hasetsu didn’t have its own rink. She had to drive over an hour east to get to the nearest one in Corvallis every day so she could train. Between that and the coaching fees, it was a lot on her parents. I thought,” he combs his free hand through his hair. Viktor watches his bangs fall lightly back into place. “I thought if I could get a rink built in Hasetsu she would stay close.”
That sounds like the kind of plan Viktor would have thought up at that age. That Viktor would still think up now, to be honest. He’s never been one for small gestures. He finds himself grudgingly appreciating this thing they have in common.
“My sister told me to write a petition,” Yuuri continues. “Instead I ran for mayor.”
Viktor has dreamed of public office since he was four years old.
“I won.”
What a fairytale. Boy grows up with girl. Boy pines after girl. Boy serves his community for girl. No boy has ever served his community for Viktor. He is not jealous. “And you built a rink for her?”
“Well, I was in charge when it started. Construction took a long time.” He sways in Viktor’s direction. Viktor leans a little further towards him. “I called it the Ice Castle. An entire winter sports complex.”
He’s close enough to touch. “And how did she like it?”
Yuuri’s mouth twists into a crooked little grin, and he slumps up against Viktor, arms around his neck. The extra warmth seeps through Viktor’s suit. “That’s the funny part. In the fall she went off to OSU anyway so no one ended up using the Ice Castle at all.”
A slower song drifts in to replace the faster dance beats and the vibrant pink lights mute down to a soft glow. They are so close to the edge of the dance floor they’re practically on it. Viktor places his hands on Yuuri’s hips, but resists moving to the music.
“No one?” Viktor asks.
The bottle in Yuuri’s hand thumps against the back of Viktor’s neck twice. “The town went bankrupt doing the project and then the revenue stream I was relying on to clear back expenses never materialized. It turns out Oregonians don’t really care about sports.”
Now Yuuri’s nuzzling against Viktor’s chest. Possibly Viktor is nuzzling back. He’ll have to request the formation of a committee to investigate whether he is or he isn’t. Yuuri’s hair smells like a Holiday Inn.
“The headline was ‘Ice Fort causes town snort (we don’t do sports)’,” Yuuri sighs. “They recalled me after six months and I ended up starting a year late at a school in Michigan. Now I’m doing this auditing thing with Phichit to prove I’m more responsible than I was when I was eighteen.”
“And this girl…?”
“She ended up dating another skater from her history class. She’s married to him now. They have three kids.”
Viktor doesn’t know what to say to that, so he keeps silent and starts to sway. The music changes again, but Yuuri doesn’t pull away so Viktor doesn’t pull away. Yuuri is drunk, Viktor realizes once they’ve made their way to the middle of the dance floor. He’ll likely be very embarrassed by this in the morning. By getting drunk at a work function, by spilling his personal history in front of his budgetary adversary, by holding onto Viktor so tightly in front of so many people. Viktor, who has a cramped house full of old copies of the St. Pete Times dating back to the sixties. Viktor, who doesn’t sleep more than four hours a night. Viktor, who definitely isn’t a pretty female figure skater.
Eventually the crowd thins.
At midnight the DJ begins packing up and Viktor finally, reluctantly, stops. “I think it’s time to go, Yuuri,” he whispers.
Yuuri leans back up to look at Viktor with a moony expression. His eyes drift left to Mila breaking down tables and then widen drastically. He jolts backward. “Wow,” he says, voice too loud. He’s still holding onto an empty bottle. It’s very endearing. “Um. Wow. Okay. I’m just going to—”
“Would you like to go get waffles?” Viktor asks.
They go get waffles.
“Earlier,” Yuuri says once their orders have been taken but before their food has arrived. His hair is sticking up oddly. His collar is flipped up in the back. Viktor could collate an entire binder about his eyes. “I only meant to say… I know what it feels like to put your whole self into something risky. And to be so worried that all the people you’re meant to take care of are hurting because of you.” His skin is blotchy. Viktor pushes his plastic cup of water towards Yuuri, nods at him to drink it. He drains it.
Viktor watches his throat move.
“In fact, I’m really… You really… You really inspire me. When things are difficult you keep pushing until you end up with something amazing. I envy that,” Yuuri’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “I wish I could be like that.”
“St. Petersburg is important to me,” Viktor says. “I’ve been here all my life. I never plan on leaving it.” Also, “Do you still love that girl? The one you built the Ice Fort for?”
“Ice Castle,” Yuuri corrects, then blushes wonderfully. “Love? Yuuko? No! No she’s a good friend. That’s it. I’m. No.”
Viktor unrolls his knife and fork from the paper napkin around them. “And are you seeing anyone now?”
“I barely spend two months out of the year in my apartment.” When Viktor raises a single eyebrow at him Yuuri looks down at the formica tabletop and clears his throat. “…I’m not.”
Viktor nods to himself. He’s made up his mind. “How do you feel about binders?”