Chapter Text
Like many things in Yuuri’s life, this was all Phichit’s fault.
(In Phichit’s very honest opinion, it’s Yuuri’s fault for being such a repressed nerd and for lusting over some other repressed nerd—“He has a doctorate on particle physics, Phichit! And it’s a purely academic interest!”—he met at some dumb symposium.)
.
It starts like this:
Phichit arrives at their apartment with a look on his face that has Yuuri dreading the next words that would inevitably come out of his mouth. Phichit had worn that same face when he’d bought three hamsters and almost got the two of them kicked out of the student dorms way back when. He’d worn that very same expression when he’d signed both of them up for a pole dancing class. He’d had the same look on his face just a month ago when Yuuri found him outside their apartment building, wearing a pair of bloodied scrubs and a N95 face mask and refusing to confess why their apartment had smelled of formaldehyde for weeks.
(It was a rabbit cadaver. Phichit needed to dissect one for class and he forgot to turn on the exhaust, hence the formaldehyde haze lingering in their apartment. Yuuri spent the majority of that week sleeping at the lab.)
“Don’t be mad,” Phichit starts and Yuuri has honestly lost count of how many conversations they’ve started with that line. He collapses on their ratty couch—which had seen its fair share of Phichit’s one-night stands and none of Yuuri’s because he never takes anyone home—his body already bracing itself for impact.
“What did you do now?” Yuuri asks because he always has to know how terrible things are. Because he’s a masochist. And ignorance is never bliss when it comes to Phichit.
Digging his trusty phone out of his bag, Phichit sits down on the overstuffed arm chair and faces Yuuri determinedly. “Okay,” Phichit says, taking a deep breath that Yuuri finds himself taking one too, because if Phichit needed that much air in his lungs to explain what exactly he did, then Yuuri was definitely going to need more to help him process whatever it is Phichit did. “So, remember how I said I was going to make you a Tinder profile?”
Yuuri does not, in fact, remember.
He nods anyway.
“And Yuuri,” Phichit continues, this time taking his hands and looking soulfully into Yuuri’s eyes, as if he’s confessing some life-changing thing instead of admitting that he’d gone and made Yuuri an online-dating profile. “Yuuri, remember how you said that I should, and I quote, knock yourself out, Phichit?”
Again, Yuuri does not remember. And if he did, he’s 99.9% pretty sure that he’d said it sarcastically.
He ends up nodding again anyway.
“Yes?”
“Good,” Phichit nods, satisfied, and hands Yuuri his phone like he’s bestowing his first-born child. “Because I made you one and your inbox is blowing up like crazy.”
Crazy because no one who saw him would ever leave a message, Yuuri thinks flatly as he unlocks Phichit’s phone (0-4-3-0) and is immediately bombarded by a photo of him on the barre and—
“Looking for a challenge?!” He shrieks, lobbing a pillow at Phichit who’d doubled over in laughter at his outburst. He sneaks a peek back at the screen, and yeah, the 23. M. Looking for a challenge. is still there, right under a photo of him stretching in an arabesque penché and Yuuri is going to murder his best friend. “Why would you write that there?!” He demands, getting to his feet with another pillow and hitting Phichit repeatedly with it. “You made it sound like I’m—“
“Thirsting for dick?” Phichit cackles like the madman that he is, “because you are, Yuuri! You are!”
Yuuri is not thirsting for dick.
Honest.
(Okay, he’s maybe thirsting for one particular dick.
But it’s purely an academic interest.)
“I am not thirsting for dick!”
Phichit, the asshole, doesn’t even put up a fight when Yuuri starts hitting him in earnest and just laughs until he’s crying. There’s a short scuffle where they both end up on the floor and Yuuri ends up sitting on Phichit who’s gasping for breath and still giggling hysterically. Yuuri socks him on the face with the pillow.
“You should see the messages you got, though.” Phichit wheezes, sending Yuuri a shit-eating grin that doesn’t disappear even when Yuuri pinches his nose. “I counted like, maybe ten dick pics.”
Yuuri despairs. “Why are you like this?”
“And there are like seven people who want you to sit on their faces which is very understandable,” Phichit continues blithely, grabbing his phone back from Yuuri and tapping something. He shoves the screen back to Yuuri’s face who has to squint to see that yeah, the inbox is fit to bursting.
Yuuri can already envision fifty variations of heyyyy dtf? and shudders in horror. He’s about to fling Phichit’s phone to the general direction of the trash can, where it so clearly belongs, when it beeps with a message alert.
Several things happen at once:
- Phichit bucks Yuuri off of him in a very practiced move (that Yuuri refuses to think about because ew, Phichit’s like an annoying baby brother)
- Yuuri falls face first to the floor (oh, so that’s where the last cheeto went)
- Phichit scrambles to the couch making excited noises and;
- Yuuri rolls to his knees in a very practiced manner (that Phichit really wants to examine further because, damn son, that transition looked really smooth).
“Phichit!”
“Yes!” Phichit yells, launching himself up on the couch and jumping up and down like a kid on a sugar high. Yuuri looks on in mild amusement and dismay. “It’s that European-looking guy who looks like he’d have a large dick!”
“That—that doesn’t even make sense!” Yuuri blusters, getting up and pulling his still-jumping roommate to the ground so he can look at the phone screen. Not that he wants to see, of course. It’s just to make sure that Phichit doesn’t do anything incriminating. “Not all Europeans would have sizable penises.”
Phichit blows a raspberry, tilting his phone screen just as he taps on the message from some guy named Viktor. “Uh, Chris with the nice butt is European and has a big dick.” He points out and Yuuri colors at the thought of their pole-dance instructor, who really does have a very nice butt and, as evidenced by Yuuri accidentally walking in on the man while he was changing, a not inconsiderably-sized cock.
“Chris is one man,” Yuuri huffs, “and one man does not a sample size make, or do they not teach you how to use adequate sample sizes in biology?” It’s one of their most common not-arguments (i.e. the physical vs biological sciences debate) and mostly enacted when they’re both feeling petty. Which is all the time.
“Fuck you and your electrons, Katsuki.”
“They’re subatomic particles, Chulanont!”
“Electrons,” Phichit repeats with the conviction of someone who passed his mandatory physics course by the skin of his teeth. “Anyway, biology is still obviously the superior science because,” he pauses dramatically, “natural selection has aided you in finding a suitable mate and this one actually sent a math problem!”
Once again, the phone screen is pushed close to Yuuri’s face so that all he can see is the reflection in his glasses.
“A what?” Yuuri asks, batting Phichit away and grabbing the phone. He pointedly places it an appropriate distance away from his face and sees that someone named Viktor sent an honest-to-god math problem. And a fairly decent one, too, Yuuri muses absently, eyes tracing the equation with practiced ease.
Viktor: [image]
Viktor: Enough of a challenge for you?
Peering over his shoulder, Phichit asks, “Is it like a super hard question?”
Yuuri taps out a quick reply before shrugging Phichit off and sauntering to his bag, which he’d thrown haphazardly at the kitchen counter when he’d arrived from class.
Yuuri: give me five minutes
“Not really,” he calls out, rifling in his bag for a pen and paper. “Kinda tricky, though.”
Because depending on how you look at it, the problem has three possible solutions that all pivot around a central variable. It reminds Yuuri of the problems Dr. Baranovskaya would write on the whiteboard every start of the semester without fail—a challenge, she’d claimed, for anyone smart or clever enough—promising anyone who solved it an exemption from finals, a perfect quiz grade, and once, during Yuuri’s first year in the Master’s program, an opportunity to attend a conference on quantum physics held at Sochi.
Yuuri’s never solved anything faster in his life like he did back then, so really, a tricky problem from someone on Tinder doesn’t even hold a candle to Dr. Baranovskaya’s challenges. He’s about to scrawl down the first equation, sharpie at the ready, when Phichit’s phone beeps again with a message.
Viktor: Take your time.
Which, of course has Yuuri furiously solving the damn thing under four and a half minutes.
He thinks he hears Phichit whistle softly under his breath, but Yuuri’s too busy scrawling out his solutions as intelligibly as he could, and it’s not as if it’s the first time Phichit’s seen him solve a math problem like his life depended on it.
Once, when they’d first started out as roommates, Phichit had the opportunity to watch the Japanese participate in an interstate Quiz Bee because he wanted to be a nice and supportive roommate and Yuuri looked like he needed a friendly face in the crowd.
Yuuri, as it turned out, did not need a friendly face.
His competition, however, did.
Phichit had thought that the university picked Yuuri because he was smart. And he was, is very smart. Ridiculously smart. Maybe Mensa levels of smart. But Yuuri is also a fucking savage and apparently hates losing so much that he made a grown man twice his size cry by systematically and scathingly explaining in front of a crowd of people how the man was obviously and irrevocably wrong.
It had been both beautiful and terrifying to watch.
Kinda like now.
“Take a picture,” Yuuri barks out to a wide-eyed Phichit who hastily complies in the face of what he personally calls the nerd zone. “Take your time, my ass.” Yuuri mutters under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest as Phichit gingerly takes his phone back and finds an angle to capture everything.
He takes three pictures, making sure to get all of Yuuri’s writing and sits back down on the floor next to Yuuri, watching and waiting for a reply.
Yuuri: [image]
Yuuri: [image]
Yuuri: [image]
Viktor: Impressive.
Viktor: I promised my class an exemption from finals if they managed to solve this and you got 2 out of 3 right.
“Two out of three?” Yuuri chokes out, incredulity writ plainly on his face.
He grabs Phichit’s phone with his right hand while the other reaches blindly for the sheet of paper where he’d scrawled the solution, eyes frantically scanning each line. The phone beeps again while Yuuri’s squinting at a squiggle he made next to the square root symbol—was that it?
Viktor: You have a tiny arithmetic error in the second one.
Viktor: You added instead of multiplying.
Oh.
“Fuck me,” Yuuri groans, finally seeing the mistake, and taps out a response just as Phichit quips out a no thanks that he ignores.
Yuuri: fuck
Viktor: Still very impressive, though! I’d exempt you from finals if I could.
Yuuri startles at the reply, eyes widening behind his glasses.
Exempt him from finals?
“Phichit, who did you say this guy was?”
Phichit shrugs in response. “I think he teaches here? I forgot. Just know that he’s hot.” Because the man’s attractiveness was obviously the most important thing here. “And besides, if he turns out to be a professor, you’re already in the Master’s program, so it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”
“Right.”
Yuuri: can you exempt me from doing my master’s dissertation in front of dr baranovskaya?
“Really, Yuuri?” Phichit asks, levelling him with an unimpressed and perfectly manicured eyebrow and Yuuri bristles.
“What? You’ve met Dr. Baranovskaya!”
And during Thesis Defense season too, which is honestly the worst time ever to meet the woman.
“Okay, point.”
Viktor: Ah, sadly, no.
Viktor: My powers don’t quite extend to Dr. Baranovskaya’s realm.
He’s just about to tap something out in commiseration when Phichit leans over and practically screams into his ear. “Ask him for a date!”
Jerking away, Yuuri coughs out, “what? No!”
“Yuuri!” Phichit says, grabbing his phone back and swiping at the screen quickly. “Trust me, you’re gonna want to date this guy.” He punctuates the statement by turning his phone around to reveal the man’s profile page and Yuuri short-circuits when he sees the picture. “See? Come on, I dare you to say no to that face—Yuuri? You okay?”
Yuuri is not okay.
Because, there on Phichit’s phone screen is Yuuri’s idol.
“That’s Dr. Nikiforov,” he says, heart hammering out a staccato beat inside his chest. He’d gone and made a simple arithmetic error in front of Viktor Nikiforov D. Sc., who is a hairsbreadth away from the biggest breakthrough in particle physics and receiving a Nobel Prize, and Yuuri wants to die because he can’t even multiply properly.
“Who?” Phichit asks like the terrible biology major he is, squinting at the gobsmacked expression on Yuuri’s face. “Ohh, he’s your weird science crush!” He crows before dancing away with a cackle, fingers flying over the phone’s screen. “All the more reason to ask him for a date!”
“No! Hey! Give me that—“
There’s another scuffle and Yuuri barely avoids getting a knee to the spleen before Phichit allows the phone to be pried away. When he turns the phone in his hands and sees the message Phichit had sent, Yuuri’s stomach drops.
Yuuri: how about a date then
Yuuri: one for every solution i got right
“Phichit Chulanont!”
Their next-door neighbor is probably going to be filing (another) noise complaint against them but Yuuri cannot find it in himself to care.
From his sprawl on the floor, Phichit leans back on his elbows and says, “Yuuri, I’m trying to be a good friend here and get you laid with the guy you have a weird science boner for.”
“I do not have a weird science boner for Dr. Nikiforov!”
Because Yuuri’s interest is purely academic. He’s honestly more interested in the man’s research than he is about how well Dr. Nikiforov looks in a suit (i.e. ridiculously good). And if the ridiculously gorgeous Dr. Nikiforov has starred prominently in Yuuri’s fantasies ever since the conference in Sochi, where Yuri barely managed two words in front of the man, then that’s for Yuuri to keep to himself, preferably forever.
Phichit’s phone beeps again and Yuuri is really starting to hate that stupid notification tone.
Viktor: Sure.
Viktor: I’d love that.
Viktor: Let’s make plans later, shall we? ;)
Viktor: [image]
“Oh my god.”
On second thought, that stupid notification tone might just become his next favorite thing especially if it continues to herald the arrival of a picture of Viktor Nikiforov, D. Sc., naked and glistening wet from a recent shower, a strategically placed bottle of shampoo the only thing preserving his modesty. It’s a mirror selfie, Yuuri notices absently when he finally manages to drag his eyes away from the delicious cut of the man’s perfectly sculpted abs, and as if to prove that it’s recently taken and that he is in fact the real deal, a HI YUURI was scrawled on the fogged mirror.
“Damn,” Phichit remarks, suddenly appearing at Yuuri’s side and compounding his impending heart attack due to Viktor Nikiforov’s entire existence. “I’ll save the picture and send it to you.”
Flushing up to the tips of his ears, Yuuri squeaks and shoves the phone back to Phichit’s waiting hands. “Ohmygod.”
"I can't believe you got a date out of being an unapologetic nerd." Phichit says lightly, as if it wasn’t his fault why Yuuri will be going on not one, but two dates with his weird science crush. "With a hot guy too."
"He has a doctorate on particle physics," Yuuri mumbles weakly into his trembling hands, as if the man’s academic credentials were the most important thing.
Phichit pats him on the head.
.
Like many things in Viktor’s life, this one could be blamed on Chris.
Probably.
Not really.
(In Chris’ defense…well, Chris has no defense. Why would he even need one? But if he did, he’d cite Viktor’s preoccupation with small balls—“Subatomic particles, Chris!”—and infatuation, nay, obsession on some cute grad student he’d met at a symposium and who had maybe dry-humped Viktor’s leg and whose number Viktor failed to get.)
.
It doesn’t quite start like this:
“Dr. Nikiforov,” the man says, mangling his surname utterly and completely and Viktor, who mutters and mumbles sourly under his breath whenever they get his name wrong and threw a tantrum once when an international journal misspelled Nikiforov as Nilforov, could honestly care less. Not when he has an armful of a beautiful and very, very drunk Japanese man with eyes the color of cognac, singing his praises and wriggling all over his front. “Your papers are a—mazing! I could—oh—I could read them all day.”
“Oh,” Viktor exhales, cheeks coloring because no one’s ever said that before and mean it so sincerely.
“You know what we should do?”
Go to my hotel room? Viktor thinks dazedly when the man throws his arms around his neck and pulls him down so that dark lashes brush against his cheeks and—
“We should—we should work on a study together!”
It almost starts like this:
“Are you sure you can’t take Katsuki on?” Lilia asks, voice tinny over the terrible reception. “His study is almost parallel with yours and he’s my best one.”
Viktor sighs, nursing a cup of tea and a cold. “Sorry, Lilia. I’ve got my hands full right now. I’d love to read his paper though.” Because if Nobel Laureate Lilia Baranovskaya is saying that someone’s the best, well, then it means that they’re the fucking best.
Lilia huffs. “Drink some medicine for that cold of yours, Vitya.”
“Wha—“
“I know what you sound like when you’re congested, silly boy.”
“Thanks, Lilia.”
It (finally, finally) starts like this:
Viktor has a Tinder account mostly because Chris stole his phone during a drunken night out, downloaded the app, and made him a profile (27. M. Searching for meaning.) for shits and giggles. He hasn’t bothered deleting it, finding no harm about the whole thing. He did, however, change his profile picture to something more respectable (a selfie by the beach with his hair artfully tousled by the wind) because Chris had uploaded a picture of Viktor after a particularly grueling defense for his dissertation and he had been ugly crying.
Thus, Viktor has a Tinder account that he uses to blow off some steam, by which he means that he uses the app to eviscerate other people’s grammar and, occasionally, disparage their dick pics. Because Viktor is terribly, terribly bored and, as his baby cousin constantly reminds him, a terrible person.
It’s on one such jaunts that Viktor stumbles upon Yuuri’s profile.
“Oh, hello.” Viktor hums appreciatively, straightening up in his seat, because it’s a very, very nice picture. Yuuri, 23, M, and apparently looking for a challenge, is poised in an arabesque penché, showing off a lithe body, and Viktor’s eyes cannot help but trace the line of a shoulder, the perfect arch of a back, and finally, the delicious curve of a hip leading to what can only be described as a perfectly perky butt.
If asked, Viktor will tell you that his type is drunk grad students with eyes the color of cognac whose name and phone number he never got because despite his looks, Viktor is as smooth as gravel. It’s oddly specific and Viktor wouldn’t have it any other way. He is also, Chris would cheerfully quip, an ass man—don’t even front Viktor, I bet your banquet boy has an ass to die for too—and Viktor has to grudgingly agree as he swipes right.
It’s a Match! flashes in a bold white font and Viktor taps eagerly on the screen just as Chris’ familiar scent—expensive cologne and cheap alcohol—assaults his nose and an elbow settles heavily on his shoulder. Viktor’s not sure how Chris still manages to look put-together even after a night of drunken revelry when the rest of the population (i.e. Viktor) would be nursing hangovers. It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries that Viktor, after years of knowing Chris, still hasn’t solved.
“Oh, what’s this?” Chris hums, peering down at Viktor’s phone with naked amusement. “Wait a minute,” he mumbles, squinting down at the screen from behind his glasses and Viktor lets out a sigh as Chris climbs up on the couch. “I know that butt.”
Raising an eyebrow, Viktor gives Chris an incredulous, “what,” to which Chris just shrugs in reply and plucks the phone out of his hands. “Christophe,” he says, and means: how do you recognize someone just by their butt and give me my phone back, because Viktor is, in fact, nursing a hangover from last night’s ill-advised drinking session and is not yet fully cognizant to manage full sentences.
Chris just hums again in response, tapping at Viktor’s phone with a growing smile.
After a solid minute where Chris makes increasingly pleased noises at the phone, he announces, “Ah, I knew it. Yuuri Katsuki’s your cutie with a booty.”
“Who?” The phone finally makes its way back to Viktor’s hands, the screen revealing that Chris had perused the man’s gallery—something that Viktor had been saving for later—and pulled up a photo that reveals Yuuri’s face, and oh, oh, he knows those eyes. He didn’t notice Yuuri’s eyes in his profile picture, what with the brunet’s face being in profile and the photo obviously meant to draw attention to the sleek lines and curves of his body, but Viktor can see them now (as well as the rest of his beautiful face) and he knows those eyes and he cannot believe his life right now. “Who did you say he was?” He asks, once he’s swallowed down the dryness in his throat.
“Yuuri Katsuki.” Chris answers and Viktor finds himself mouthing the name experimentally. “I’m surprised you haven’t met him. He’s in the physics program.” Chris continues, confirming the fluttery feeling in Viktor’s stomach, because Yuuri Katsuki is definitely his Banquet Boy, he’s sure of it.
“Chris, it’s him.” Viktor says in a hush, as if saying it any louder than a whisper would shatter the reality that he’s gone and found his Banquet Boy on Tinder.
What are the odds?
(There’s probably a formula for it somewhere, but Viktor, for once in his life, could care less about the numbers.)
Chris’ eyes widen in realization behind his glasses, and then he’s leaning over Viktor again to peer at the screen. “Him, him?” He asks with an incredulous grin on his face that Viktor can’t help but mirror back. “Yuuri’s your Banquet Boy?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s him.” Viktor gushes, going through Yuuri’s gallery like a man starved. He stops at a picture of Yuuri nose-to-nose with a toy poodle and feels his heart grow three sizes bigger and honestly, can Banquet Boy get any more perfect? “I’ve been dreaming about those eyes for months, Chris.”
“His eyes,” Chris says flatly, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow at Viktor. Because Chris has seen Yuuri Katsuki in real life wearing a see-through white shirt and tiny, tiny shorts, and while his eyes are indeed beautiful, they’re definitely not the most eye-catching and memorable thing about him.
“He has very pretty eyes!”
Chris really worries about Viktor sometimes.
“Right,” the blond mutters under his breath because arguing with Viktor when he’s fully in the throes of Banquet Boy’s or rather, Yuuri’s charms, is not an activity Chris wants to subject himself to in the middle of a hangover. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get to the romancing, Vitya.”
“What should I say?” Viktor asks after a few seconds of fumbling helplessly with his phone.
“Just ask him out.”
Deciding that he’s had enough of Chris’ eyebrow of judgment, Viktor swallows down the but I don’t know how to bubbling up his throat, and opens up his gallery. He quickly scrolls through his photos before deftly selecting a photo of his whiteboard bearing what his students have dubbed as a daily reminder of their inadequacy.
(Which Viktor doesn’t understand because the problem isn’t even that difficult and maybe if his students would stop playing Candy Crush during his lectures, they could actually solve it and save Viktor the trouble of checking papers.)
“Are you seriously sending him a math problem—ohmygod, you are.”
Viktor: [image]
Viktor: Enough of a challenge for you?
“He says that he’s looking for a challenge!”
Because if Viktor remembers correctly, and he does, Yuuri, aside from gushing about Viktor’s study that fateful night at Sochi, had been excitedly rambling on about being in the midst of solving a Millennium Prize Puzzle, and surely that means that he would be up to solve a silly math problem, right?
Right?
Chris, in true Chris fashion, politely disagrees and can only watch in horror and say, “a cute boy with an ass like that says he’s up for a challenge and you send him a math problem? This is why you can’t get a date even with that face of yours, Vitya.”
Except, well, Viktor does.
(Chris firmly posits that the picture he urges Viktor into sending helped a lot, because really, a math problem. Viktor is so lucky that he has Chris for a best friend.)
.
<3 Yuuri <3
Are you free this Saturday?
I have a lecture in the morning, but
I’ll be free by 11:30
How about lunch at Stammi Vicino?
Sure. I’ll meet you there?
***
[photo: a candid shot of Yuuri with his back towards the camera; he’s looking into a mirror without his glasses on and slicking his hair back. He’s wearing a dark blue sweater over a white button-up, and a pair of jeans that look like they’ve been painted on.]
397 likes
phichit+chu LOOK AT MY HANDSOME SON #imsoproud #datass #bestfriendduties #BABYBOYSFIRSTDATE
sara-crispino <3 <3 <3!!!
mila.babicheva @phichit+chu you are a god among men [peach emoji] [heart eyes emoji]
christophe-gc No need to ask if this cutie got the booty, because damn [peach emoji] [peach emoji] [peach emoji] [peach emoji] [peach emoji]
.
Stammi Vicino is one of the nicer and pricier cafés around campus that serves everything from espresso shots to sinfully cheesy lasagnas. They also have an impressive array of cakes and pastries, plus a decent selection of teas. Along with décor that skirts the line between minimalist and pretentious hipster bullshit and a strict policy against loud noises, Stammi Vicino is something of a favorite for anyone and everyone wanting to avoid crowds of excitable first years.
It’s also the café where Yuuri always, always gets free stuff. All the time. Because all the baristas are in love with him.
(Especially the blond first year with the permanent scowl on his face, who sighs after Yuuri like some sort of tragic Victorian heroine. It's all kinds of unfortunate because Phichit knows for a fact that Yuuri totally sees the kid as a little brother figure.)
“They are not in love with me.”
“Yuuri,” Phichit starts, with the tone of someone who never gets free stuff at the local coffee shop. Or any coffee shop for that matter. It’s a damn travesty because Phichit is a gift. “You get free coffee all the time. One time, after you facetimed your dog and you were crying because you missed him so much, one of the baristas gave you a free muffin. A free muffin!”
Yuuri scoffs. “They’re just nice. I’m sure they do it for anyone who looks like they need a free muffin. And I do not get free coffee all the time,” he says, nibbling on a free oatmeal cookie with a free caramel macchiato held loosely in his hand.
Phichit just narrows his eyes and takes a noisy sip of his latte that he paid for with actual money.
Unlike some people.
Swallowing down the argument he’s been spouting off ever since Yuuri started receiving free coffee from Stammi Vicino on the daily, Phichit clears his throat and says, “Okay, so if he seems like a serial killer, you get your ass out of there. Like immediately.”
Yuuri just cocks an eyebrow in response.
“You do realize that this isn’t the first time I’ve met up with someone from the internet, right?” Yuuri says slowly. “I met you on the internet.”
Phichit flaps a hand in dismissal. “Yes. But I’m me and you know I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
If anything, the dubious look on Yuuri's face deepens at Phichit's pronouncement. “Just last week, I saw you pith a frog while cackling. You didn’t even have the decency to laugh normally. It was a straight-up Disney villain laugh.”
Only because that frog had given Phichit so much trouble before he caught it, and he’s allowed to be vindictive especially after he’d been forced to hunt the damn thing down around the quad after it had escaped.
“It was for science.” Phichit firmly maintains just as he had with Guang-hong who still looks at him with dead eyes after the whole rabbit cadaver episode. He's just about to take another pointed sip of his latte when his eyes fall on the distinctive platinum-blond locks of Tinder user Viktor, 27. M. Searching for meaning who is also apparently Yuuri's weird science crush. Seriously, what are the chances? "Oh my god, he’s here! And he’s with Chris?”
Yuuri, like the awkward turtle he is, scrambles to turn around in his seat to look. And just as Phichit had said, Viktor Nikiforov D. Sc., is indeed here and is looking devastatingly gorgeous as he makes a beeline to the counter. God, even the man's ass is a work of art and Yuuri doesn't think he'll survive this day without spontaneously combusting.
"Phichit, I changed my mind. I can't do this. I shouldn't have agreed to this. I mean, look at him! He’s gorgeous! Why would Dr. Nikiforov even want to go on a date with someone like me?”
Four years of being Yuuri Katsuki official best friend and long-suffering roommate has more than adequately prepared Phichit for Yuuri's self-depreciating spiel that he actually has a speech prepared. Just in case. There was no harm in being prepared for the very likely chance that Yuuri will need a little pick-me-up of self-confidence. He's practiced this little speech in the mirror countless times and has several variations prepared for an almost infinite number of situations.
Phichit effortlessly lets variation fifteen—for when Yuuri eventually goes on a date and questions his own attractiveness—roll out of his tongue.
"Yuuri, he'd have to be both blind and mentally-addled to not want to date you. Hell, I'd date you if we weren't totally platonic bros. Every single person in this cafe would date you in a heartbeat. Because you are beautiful and smart and deserve all the nice things and you, my friend, deserve to ride that hot Russian stallion into the sunset."
The last bit is a last second addition, but worth it for the way Yuuri flushes a deep red and lets out a decidedly hysterical giggle. "Russian stallion?"
Phichit, who'd accidentally seen Yuuri's modest collection of not-inconsiderably sized (i.e. really fucking big, as big as a baby’s arm, etc.) sex toys when one of his hamsters went missing, just waggles his eyebrows. Words were inadequate when one's best friend was an unrepentant size queen. Also, Yuuri might actually die and throw his coffee at Phichit's face if he utters the words size queen in public.
Before Yuuri can say something scathing and bitchy as he is wont to, Chris Giacometti stops in front of their table with a wave and a bright smile.
“Yuuri! Phichit! Fancy meeting you two here.”
Yuuri plasters on a smile, red clinging stubbornly on his cheeks. “Hey, Chris.”
Phichit does a little wave of his own, grinning up at Chris. “Are you also here to make sure that Yuuri’s not a serial killer?”
“Oh dear, no. I know Yuuri’s not a serial killer." Chris says as he gives Yuuri a lingering once-over, before slinging an arm around a startled Viktor who'd just sauntered over from the counter and who, Phichit notices with barely-concealed glee, is totally staring at Yuuri with the kind of awe and reverence one would normally see inside a church. Which is honestly the proper amount of awe and reverence Yuuri deserved.
Chris turns to Yuuri with a warm smile. "I’m just here to tell you that if this one,” Chris pauses, giving Viktor a pointed look, “does anything you don’t like, call me immediately and I will put the fear of God in him.”
And this, is why Chris is Phichit's favorite pole dance instructor.
(Granted, Chris is his only pole dance instructor, but it’s the thought that counts.)
“Christophe—“
“Anyway," Chris begins, cutting off whatever a flustered Viktor was about to say. "You boys go have fun. Don't do anything I would do.” With those parting words, Chris whispers something to Viktor that makes the other man roll his eyes, before strutting off.
A sudden hush of decidedly awkward silence falls over them as Viktor and Yuuri proceed to gaze into each other's eyes, and Phichit sincerely hopes for all of their sakes that this was not a preview for the rest of their date. He mentally counts to three before hopping to his feet, grinning at the startled expression on Viktor's face before leaning over and plucking the cup of coffee and the half-eaten cookie from Yuuri's hands.
“I’m taking these." Phichit quips, winking at the confusion on Yuuri's face. He side-eyes Viktor appraisingly, lips pursing in consideration as he takes in the perfectly combed hair and the outfit that looked like it came straight out of a magazine. "Your date can pay for you, right?”
Viktor blinks, surprise flitting minutely on his face, before he nods. “Yes, of course.”
“Good." Phichit nods, expression thoughtful before suddenly morphing into a look that Yuuri unfortunately knows very well. The Thai gives Viktor a heavy-handed pat on the shoulder and a smile that can cut diamonds. "Try to get him in bed by nine and home by eleven."
"Excuse me?"
"Phichit!" Yuuri hisses, kicking him lightly on the shin.
"Anyway!" Phichit deftly dodges another kick with a bright laugh, quickly moving away because he wouldn't put it past Yuuri to tackle him to the floor for his next words. "Have fun. Be safe. Use lots of lube. Bye!" And then he's running away, slowing just a bit to hear the beginnings of Yuuri’s flustered apologies and Viktor assuring him that it’s fine, really, before finally escaping with a laugh bubbling up his throat.
One of these days, Phichit is going to wake up with pink hair, or worse, no hair at all because Yuuri can be vengeful to a fault, but it was going to be worth it when he’s best man to the wedding that is definitely going to happen sometime in the near future. Hell, he’ll wear the pink hair proudly because Phichit is already calling this, and he knows with a bone-deep certainty that the final victory will be his and it will be sweet.
Ha.
Victory.
Phichit is a fucking genius.
***
Yuuri is going to kill his best friend, see if he doesn’t.
“I am so, so sorry,” Yuuri blurts out, face burning as Phichit’s cheery little quip of use lots of lube echo in his ears, and Viktor Nikiforov’s ears too, what with the faint blush coloring the man’s cheeks, and oh my god, Yuuri cannot believe his life right now. “Phichit has no filter and he’s terrible, and oh god, I’m so—“
“It’s fine,” Viktor says and adds a quick, "really," when Yuuri, who is as beautiful as he remembers, and whose pictures can never hope to do him justice, raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I mean, it’s nothing compared to what Chris whispered to me just now.”
"Ah." Yuuri grimaces because he knows how Chris can be. "Well, at least he didn't announce it to the entire room."
Viktor huffs, shaking his head and Yuuri is suddenly helpless to the way his silver hair falls just so. "Yes, but if Chris said it out loud, I fear he'd be thrown out for public indecency." Which is something that's actually happened far too many times to count, especially during that one semester they both swore never to talk about ever again because it did not in fact happen.
A small smile quirks up on Yuuri's pink lips and for a moment, he looks like he's about to ask what Chris had said, but seems to decide that he's better off not knowing.
"So, um. What—how do—“ Yuuri falters, chewing on a plump bottom lip. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this."
"I don't really do this often either," Viktor confesses, earning himself a surprised look from Yuuri, which is flattering, because Viktor’s dating game is, as Chris loves to say, completely nonexistent, please stop trying Vitya, it’s embarrassing for all of us. “But how about we start with introductions? Hi, I’m Viktor,” he plasters on a smile; not the press smile and definitely not the smile he uses when he’s eviscerating his students’ thesis presentations, but a real one that reaches his eyes, holding out a hand towards Yuuri.
Yuuri dimples adorably, clasping Viktor’s hand in his and shaking it. “Hello, Viktor. I’m Yuuri.”
Deciding that he would not be able to get away with holding onto Yuuri’s hand indefinitely, Viktor lets go, but not before giving Yuuri’s hand—which fits so perfectly in his—a parting squeeze. “Well, Yuuri,” he says, letting the name roll smoothly from his tongue, “I know I said lunch at Stammi Vicino, but would you mind terribly if we go somewhere else to eat?”
“Not at all.” Yuuri answers easily, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly when he catches sight of Phichit and Chris watching them intently near the counter. “I uh, know a sandwich shop nearby?”
A sandwich shop that’s being manned by a grumpy Michele Crispino where Phichit and Chris are still banned from until further notice because of an incident that involved Sara Crispino and way too much male nudity for everyone’s comfort. Sara hadn’t really minded, but Michele did and Michele had been very close to actually filing a restraining order, but had eventually settled for banning them from the premises instead for an indefinite amount of time. Yuuri’s been picking up their sandwiches for an entire month now and Michele has yet to budge on his ban hammer against the two.
“Crispino’s?”
Yuuri nods.
“I love their sandwiches!” Viktor says and it’s all Yuuri can do not to quip, and I love you, like the human disaster he truly is. “Shall we? If we head there now, we can avoid the lunchtime rush.”
Yuuri, who’s been caught in the sheer chaos that is the lunchtime rush at Crispino’s far too many times to count, nods, already reaching for his bag only to have Viktor grab it instead and sling it over his shoulder, easy as you please, as if Yuuri’s bag didn’t contain a laptop, a heavy hardbound, four journals that Yuuri has yet to return to Dr. Cialdini, and a small army of markers and pens.
“Viktor!” Yuuri’s already reaching for his bag, trying to tug it out of Viktor’s hold, but Viktor only spins and does a weird maneuver that ends with Yuuri pressed tight to the side not bearing the bag and Viktor’s hand a warm and constant weight on the small of his back. Yuuri may or may not have squeaked. “It’s heavy!”
Viktor only grins, already steering him out of the café with a cheery wave to where Chris and Phichit were watching with amused expressions. “It’s fine,” Viktor says, very close to Yuuri’s flushed ear, “I can use the workout, anyway.”
“I really don’t think you need it.” Because Yuuri swears he can feel the flex of Viktor’s arm muscles against the layers of cloth separating them and he’s admittedly looked at the photo that Viktor sent over Tinder so many times that it’s practically branded into his retina to know that Viktor has the physique of a Greek statue, minus the tiny penis.
(At least, Yuuri hopes so.)
He gets a wink in response and Yuuri is suddenly hyperaware of Viktor’s hand and where it’s migrated to his waist, Phichit’s hard and fast rule about not putting out on the first date, Yuuri, you have to keep them waiting and wanting, slowly but surely going down the drain in the face of Viktor’s large, warm hand that’s making Yuuri feel all kinds of safe and taken care of, and making him think about just how easily Viktor can pick him up and pin him against the wall and just go to town. And really, it’s not as if Phichit has a leg to stand on after he’d practically pushed Yuuri into breaking said rule.
“So, Yuuri,” Viktor starts, fighting the very tempting urge to squeeze at Yuuri’s waist. It’s a bit of a walk to the sandwich shop and Viktor intends to know everything about his adorable and gorgeous date on the way there. “Tell me something about yourself. I’d really like to know more about you.”
“Me?” Yuuri scoffs, looking as if he’d just swallowed a bug. “There’s nothing to tell. I’m just a dime-a-dozen physicist working on my master’s degree. Nothing interesting.”
“Nothing interesting,” Viktor echoes, turning incredulous eyes at Yuuri. “Correct me if I’m wrong but you solved the Yang-Mills. I’d say that’s plenty interesting.” Plenty interesting being a gross understatement because Viktor’s heart stopped beating for a few seconds when he saw the results Google spat out after he typed ‘Yuuri Katsuki physics’ on the search bar.
“My solution to the Yang-Mills hasn’t actually been vetted by the Clay Institute so it’s not an official solution.”
“Yet. And honestly, who cares if they haven’t vetted it? Ten independent studies have already used your solution and got consistent results each time.” And Viktor would know because he read all of them in one sitting after he’d gone and read all the other researches that Yuuri’s been involved in.
Needless to say, he’d had to use his glasses for the rest of the day whilst combating a pounding headache.
“Wait. Did you read up on me?” It’s Yuuri’s time to turn incredulous eyes at Viktor, slowing down so he can raise his eyebrows at the other man, who’d apparently read enough of Yuuri’s work to know that his solution for the Yang-Mills has been cited by ten articles already.
“Of course, it was a very good read.” Viktor had turned to the scientific community after a quick search on social media yielded nothing Yuuri’s Tinder profile didn’t already offer, and he wasn’t disappointed. “Your paper on the Higgs-Boson was particularly inspired.”
“Ohmygod,” Yuuri manages weakly. The Higgs-Boson paper only exists because Yuuri got into an intense pissing contest with another scientist and he’d written the damn thing out of spite. He doesn’t really know how to feel about anyone, much less Viktor Nikiforov D. Sc. reading what basically amounts to a callout post.
“And aside from that, you also dance ballet and are the proud owner of an adorable toy poodle. So I honestly have no idea why you’re saying that you’re not interesting and that there’s nothing to tell because you, Yuuri Katsuki, are very, very interesting and I want to know every single thing about you,” Viktor murmurs, thumb tracing along the fullness of Yuuri’s bottom lip.
Lip tingling and body thrumming with a confidence that could not possibly belong to him, Yuuri leans in close and gives Viktor a heated look through his lashes—a move that Phichit calls the sex kitten gaze—and says in a slight drawl, “well, you’re gonna have to earn it, Dr. Nikiforov. I don’t bare my heart and soul to just anyone.”
“And pray tell, how do I earn it?” Viktor asks when he finally unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
“You can start with lunch.”
***
Milaaaa
[image: Viktor and Yuuri in the distance]
UHHH SO THIS JUST HAPPENED
RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE SHOP
dr nikiforov is yuuri’s date??????
holyshit
Wow, Yuuri looks so smitten!!!!
dude, when did dr. n even get game????
***
“—and well, when I moved here for university, it felt weird to not dance, so Minako-sensei called up one of her friends at her old dance company and got me set up at the local dance studio, which is how I met Chris.”
Because Chris owns the local dance studio, a fact that Viktor knows intimately, having helped with the horrific moving-in process when they’d been fresh graduates and Chris had impulsively bought a dance studio saying, what else am I supposed to do with my double major, Vitya? And now Viktor’s regretting never taking Chris up on his invitations to drop by anytime he wants because Viktor could’ve met Yuuri earlier.
“I’d love to see you dance sometime.”
“Maybe I’ll invite you to a recital.”
After making a quick stop at Crispino’s, where a giggly Sara Crispino rings them up, they end up at the quad, sitting cross-legged on the grass, as Yuuri obligingly answers Viktor’s questions. And Viktor has plenty, because Yuuri is endlessly interesting and getting more and more relaxed as he talks. It’s the first time Viktor’s spent so much time just talking to a date; all his former dalliances had all been physical, feeling more like transactions than relationships.
And god, does Viktor want a relationship with Yuuri.
“But enough about that,” Yuuri says once he polishes off the last of his lemonade, “I just need to say this because I’ve been thinking about this for months now, and no offense to Dr. Lambiel and his team, but you deserved last year’s Nobel Prize.”
It’s prudent to say that no one has ever said those exact words to his face and Viktor experiences a sensation not unlike heartburn. He’s overheard it enough times during the aftermath of last year’s awarding ceremony, but no one’s ever come out and said it face-to-face like Yuuri just did. Not even Yakov’s said it to him so plainly and Yakov had nearly bent himself out of shape when the prize had slipped past Viktor’s fingers for the second time in a row.
Yuuri leans back on his arms and lets his head loll back, treating Viktor to the tempting line of his throat that he very much wants to run his tongue over. Taste salt and skin and bite marks into the thin skin on the hollow of his throat. “I mean, it’s a great discovery, but they just found something that’s already there that we’ve been overlooking because we didn’t have the right tools.”
Viktor hums, swallowing down the flood of saliva in his mouth as Yuuri’s throat bobs and has to remind himself that it’s only the first date and more importantly, they’re in public and it would not to do to pop a boner right then and there.
“But what you found,” Yuuri is saying when Viktor tunes back in and finds that Yuuri’s moved closer, hands braced on his thighs, and looking as if he can easily while the day away talking about Viktor’s research. “Has the potential to turn everything we know completely upside down.”
“Not exactly just a potential anymore,” he quips, delighting in the way Yuuri’s mouth falls slack at the revelation.
“No way.”
“We found it.”
“Fuck me.”
Viktor transcends into a different plane of existence just as Yuuri realizes what he’d just said. And then he’s waving his hands around, cheeks a bright, fire-engine red, because while true, Yuuri cannot believe he just said that out loud.
“I mean—! Not like that! Just—!” Yuuri squeaks, burying his face into his hands. “That’s amazing,” he says, almost reverent, once he’s recovered enough to meet Viktor’s wide eyes, “you’re amazing.”
“I still have to check with my colleagues back at CERN to get the last run and to finalize our findings, but we do have solid evidence that there’s a fifth particle,” Viktor is saying nonchalantly, as if the discovery isn’t the biggest breakthrough in decades, when the first few drops of rain start to fall, a warning for the coming deluge.
“Oh no,” Yuuri says in a slight hush, just as thunder booms in the distance, “I don’t have an umbrella.”
And neither does Viktor.
So the next few minutes finds the both of them scurrying and scrambling underneath a nearby bookstore’s awning, breathless with laughter as rain starts to pour down in sheets, petrichor thick in the air. Thick, heavy clouds hang from the sky, rain gushing down in torrents, quickly transforming the previously crowded quad into an empty landscape with a few stragglers trying to find shelter from the sudden downpour.
Pushing his hair away from where it’s plastered down on his forehead, Viktor turns to look at Yuuri and feels his breath catch in his throat.
Yuuri’s taken his glasses off, wiping them on his undershirt and without them, Yuuri’s eyes—the eyes that Viktor’s fallen in love with and gone ass over teakettle for, that fateful night in Sochi—look even more beautiful, almost impossibly so. There’s a stray droplet of water hanging on for dear life to Yuuri’s eyelashes and Viktor’s so busy staring at it that he doesn’t notice how Yuuri’s moved closer until a warm hand is cradling his cheek and then Viktor’s heart is suddenly attempting to burst out of his chest.
Viktor doesn’t dare breathe, afraid that he’ll break this moment somehow if he talks. And he wants Yuuri to keep on touching him, to keep on looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world that matters.
“You have freckles,” Yuuri says wonderingly, swiping his thumb along Viktor’s cheekbone and marveling at the spray of freckles it reveals.
The rain must have washed off the concealer he’d slapped on earlier and Viktor is going to have words with Chris later, because the other man had sworn that the concealer would hold. “It’s genetic,” Viktor blurts out, embarrassed.
“They suit you.”
The words leave Yuuri’s lips in a whisper that almost gets lost in the rush of the rain around them that Viktor really has no choice but to step into Yuuri’s space until they’re breathing in the same air, until Viktor’s close enough that he can see his own reflection in Yuuri’s glasses, until he’s close enough to see the tiny flecks of gold in Yuuri’s irises, until all he has to do is lean down a fraction of an inch to taste Yuuri’s lips—
“Hey, Yuuri! I—ohmygod!”
And just like that, the moment shatters: Yuuri flinches away with a gasp and whirls around to face their interloper while Viktor nurses a tiny heart attack.
“Guang-hong!” Yuuri says loudly, panic writ clearly in his tone. “Hi!”
Guang-hong, who looks vaguely familiar now that Viktor turns and looks, holds out an umbrella. “I um, I saw that you two didn’t have an umbrella and the shop has an extra one so I just—” he squeaks, avoiding Viktor’s eyes as he all but shoves the umbrella into Yuuri’s hands. “Anyway! I’m just gonna, uh, go back in now. Bye! Sorry!”
With that, he escapes back into the bookstore, leaving Viktor and Yuuri to stew in a decidedly awkward silence.
An awkward silence that Viktor’s about to make even more awkward depending on how Yuuri responds to his next words.
“My apartment’s just around the corner,” Viktor says after a few more seconds of convincing himself that his intentions are completely and utterly pure, really. “We can go there and wait for the rain to let up?”
Glancing out into the heavy rain, Yuuri nods and says, “yeah, okay.”
***
Leo
leo im going to fail physics
Dude, GH, you’re not gonna fail.
Yuuri’s tutoring you and he’s like a god of
physics
Also, Dr. Nikiforov only fails ppl when
they really really don’t study
YEAH BUT THAT WAS BEFORE I
INTERRUPTED HIS KISS WITH YUURI
WHAT?????
THEY WERE GONNA KISS AND I
INTERRUPTED AND NOW IM GONNA
FAIL
***
If someone (i.e. Phichit) had told Yuuri that he’d end up in Dr. Nikiforov’s shower at the end of the day, he’d have laughed and flipped the bird because in what universe will something like that actually happen?
But here he is, as naked as the day he was born in Viktor’s sleek shower and wondering how the hell he ended up here, right now, at this exact moment, because Yuuri honestly just expected a polite lunch and perhaps a promise from Viktor to look up Yuuri’s work if he has some free time and then they’ll part ways and Viktor will forget that he’d promised to go on two dates with Yuuri and that will be that.
What Yuuri gets instead is Viktor Nikiforov D. Sc. reading everything he’s ever published in a scientific journal and then some—even his cringe-worthy Higgs-Boson paper that was the academic equivalent of a shitpost—and acting like he’s sincerely interested in Yuuri, and okay, he absolutely does not want to get his hopes up, but now that he has some time to himself to properly process this afternoon’s activities, it’s starting to become really clear that Viktor may, in fact, be attracted to him.
Which is the most insane thing ever, right next to the discovery of a fifth elementary particle.
The inside of his arm is still smarting from where he’d pinched himself earlier, so Yuuri decides to just take everything as it is and just accept the fact that he’s now living in a reality where a respected and gorgeous physicist may be attracted to him. He’s still not entirely sure on the why, but Yuuri thinks he can live with that.
“Yuuri?” Viktor calls and Yuuri fumbles with the shampoo, the bottle falling on its side with a small clatter. He can see Viktor’s silhouette through the frosted glass of the shower and has to force himself to continue breathing. “I’m leaving you some clothes by the sink, feel free to use the towels in the cabinets.”
“Thanks,” Yuuri eventually gets out, voice breaking like some newly pubescent boy’s.
Viktor’s silhouette makes to leave before hesitating by the doorway leading to the master’s bedroom. “How do you feel about hot chocolate?”
Honestly? Yuuri would bathe in chocolate if he could. But that sort of talk probably isn’t first-date material so, “I’d love some,” is what Yuuri ends up saying.
Viktor makes a pleased hum that echoes inside the bathroom before ducking out.
Yuuri waits for the sound of the master’s bedroom door closing and finally allows himself to relax. He makes quick work of washing up, steadfastly ignoring the fact that he’s going to be smelling like Viktor once he’s done with his shower. And then he’s stepping out, making sure to land on the bath mat, and reaching into a cabinet for a towel to dry himself with.
There’s a small pile of clothes by the sink as promised, and a pack of disposable underwear that Yuuri can’t help but raise an eyebrow at. He dresses quickly, body moving by rote. When he’s done, he gives his reflection—dressed in a striped shirt that’s threatening to slip down a shoulder and a pair of soft, gray sweatpants—a perfunctory glance and lets out a soft huff before he pads out barefoot into the hallway and towards the large open area which houses the sitting room, kitchen, and dining area.
A sharp intake of breath heralds his arrival, and Yuuri turns to see Viktor staring at him with pupils blown wide, lips parted in a soft and perfect o that Yuuri very suddenly wants to become thoroughly acquainted with.
“You look great,” Viktor blurts out, finding it difficult to focus on anything else aside from Yuuri’s collarbones peeking out of the wide neck of the shirt—Viktor’s shirt. “I mean,” he amends, tongue-tied for the first time in years, “not that you didn’t already look great, it’s just—my clothes. They fit you.”
Biting down on a smile, Yuuri fingers the neckline that’s slipping steadily down a shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen, stopping just shy of where Viktor was standing in front of the stove. “Mostly,” he says, “you’re much broader around the shoulders than I am though.”
In all honesty, Yuuri means it as a statement of fact, because Viktor is much broader than him around the shoulders. He does not mean for his words to cause Viktor to scald himself with the hot chocolate bubbling away in the pot.
But that’s what happens anyway.
Viktor’s pained hiss has Yuuri stumbling towards him in a mild panic, hands already twisting the faucet on so all Viktor has to do is let the rush of cold water soothe the burn.
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he says when Yuuri continues to hover, long after the burn has stopped tingling and Viktor is gingerly wiping his hand dry. “It’s my fault for being distracted.”
Distracted by how Yuuri looks in his clothes—adorable and far too tempting and so different from how he’d looked like earlier with his slicked back hair and tight jeans that showed off thighs that could kill a man. Yuuri looks softer with his hair down, vulnerable somehow, like a lost forest creature that Viktor wants to protect and bundle up in the softest blankets and keep away from the horrors of the world.
“Maybe I should take care of this,” Yuuri says, already going to the stove and putting out the flame with a sharp twist of the knob. He turns to Viktor who’s still cradling his scalded hand to his chest. “Where are your mugs?”
In lieu of answering, Viktor reaches for the overhead cabinets and takes out two mugs, setting them down on the granite countertop just as Yuuri carefully lifts the small pot from the stove. It really shouldn’t be as mesmerizing as Viktor’s brain is making it out to be—Yuuri is literally just pouring hot chocolate into mugs—but it somehow is and Viktor has enough self-awareness left to know that he’s getting in way too deep very, very fast. Not that he minds, of course. This thing between them has been simmering since that fateful night in Sochi and Viktor will be damned if he doesn’t see this through now.
Before Yuuri can reach for the mugs, Viktor takes them, expertly maneuvering them away by their handles. “I can’t let you do everything,” he explains to Yuuri’s chagrined look, “you’re my guest.”
He leads them to the sitting area and onto the couch, where Yuuri’s dry bag is resting against one of the cushions. The mugs are deposited on the low table, and Viktor sinks down on the couch with a protracted sigh, hyperaware of Yuuri sitting down right next to him.
“I didn’t want to check on your bag without your permission,” Viktor begins, nodding at Yuuri’s bag, which had miraculously remained dry even with the rain battering at them relentlessly on their way to his apartment. “But it seems dry enough.”
“It’s actually pretty waterproof,” Yuuri says as he rifles through the contents absently. “I invested in a waterproof bag the moment Phichit started preserving frogs and leaves in our kitchen.” So he’s pretty confident that a little rain won’t be enough to cause any lasting damage.
Viktor looks appropriately confused as he reaches for his mug of hot chocolate. “Frogs and leaves?”
“He’s a biology major,” Yuuri offers as an explanation.
From the way Viktor grimaces into his mug, he gets it, and they have a brief moment of commiseration about the natural sciences and their messy experiments.
“I guess I should be thankful that Chris double majored in business and economics,” Viktor muses.
Yuuri laughs, nodding as he does so. “Definitely,” he says, remembering all the times he came home only to head straight back out the door because he really, really didn’t want to watch Phichit preserve an entire rabbit while Ke$ha’s voice blasted from the speakers. “Frogs aren’t even the worst things he’s brought back to the apartment,” Yuuri admits, wondering if he should tell Viktor about the pig heart incident (“Wait! It’s just a pig’s heart, Yuuri! Don’t call the police!”), when a familiar whuffing sound catches his attention.
It doesn’t take long for Yuuri to identify the noise, as an adorable standard poodle ambles towards the couch, and Yuuri feels his breath catch and his heart melt at the sight. The poodle looks so much like Vicchan that Yuuri resolves to pester Mari for a new picture that he can add to the dedicated folder he has of The Most Adorable Dog™ in the entire universe.
Although, it has to be said that this poodle is definitely in the Top 10 and if Yuuri thought his heart melted at the sight of the dog, it’s definitely turning to mush now when the poodle settles beside Viktor’s legs.
“Hey, girl,” Viktor croons, as the poodle lays her fluffy head on his lap, what can only be described as a heart-shaped smile spreading slowly across his lips and it is honestly so unfair that this man be even more attractive than he already is. Yuuri wants to file a formal complaint. Yuuri wants to press charges because Viktor Nikiforov’s ever-increasing attractiveness has to be a criminal offense and honestly, who allowed this man to be gorgeous and smart and have a dog, all at the same time? “Makkachin,” Viktor continues to croon, oblivious to the way Yuuri is losing his mind and simultaneously thinking about how Viktor would be such a good dog dad to Vicchan. “This is Yuuri,” he says, before turning his devastating gaze to Yuuri. “Yuuri, this is Makka.”
“Hello, Makka,” Yuuri manages to croak out, reaching out a hand for Makka to sniff and is quickly rewarded with an enthusiastic lick. “Nice to meet you.”
Making a mental note to shower Makka with even more treats later, Viktor asks, “You have a poodle too, right?”
“I do,” Yuuri nods, moving closer so that he can brush a hand through Makka’s soft brown curls. “I have a toy poodle but he’s back in Japan with my family.”
Heart squeezing painfully in his chest, Viktor subtly urges Makka to clamber onto his lap so that she can move closer to Yuuri. He can’t imagine being so far away from Makka for so long a time, which is why he hates having to attend international conventions, and Viktor idly wonders if it would be presumptuous of him to offer to have Yuuri’s toy poodle flown in from Japan. He’s seen people do it for pandas, so getting a toy poodle on a plane shouldn’t be too hard.
“What’s his name?”
“Uh,” Yuuri starts, visibly faltering before looking up at Viktor bashfully. “Victor.”
“Yes?”
Face flushing, Yuuri shakes his head and wishes that wasn’t such a huge nerd when he’d gotten Vicchan all those years ago. To be fair, he’s still a huge nerd, but his twelve-year-old self had been something else entirely. “No, I mean—that’s—his name’s Prince Louis-Victor Katsuki,” he blurts out, watching in trepidation as Viktor quickly makes the connection and falls into helpless giggles.
“You named your dog after Louis de Broglie?”
“It was my sister’s idea!” An idea that twelve-year-old Yuuri had been totally on board with, because oh, wouldn’t it be super cool to name your pet after a Nobel Prize-winning physicist? “But we really just use Victor for simplicity.” That, and Takeshi started using Vicchan’s full name as a tongue twister and there may have been a lot of crying involved on Yuuri’s part.
“That means we’re namesakes!” Viktor cheers, giddy at the discovery. He inches closer to Yuuri until their thighs are pressed tight together and Makka is now resting on both of their laps.
“I guess? My mom has a nickname for him, so we actually call him Vicchan.”
Swallowing down the breathless I’d let you call me anything you want ready to slip off of his tongue, Viktor shifts in his seat so that he’s facing Yuuri and can fully appreciate the really fetching blush that has taken an almost permanent residence on Yuuri’s cheeks. And god, Viktor would pay an exorbitant amount of money to find out how low that blush goes. “Please, please tell me you have pictures,” he pleads, throwing in a pout for good measure, before continuing, “I will cook dinner for you in exchange for them.”
“Is this your way of asking me to stay for dinner?” Yuuri asks slowly, peering up at Viktor with a mystified expression.
As previously established, Viktor’s dating prowess is completely nonexistent on the best days and absolutely horrific on the worst, so he hasn’t really been anticipating that Yuuri would want to stay for diner or that he should even attempt to ask in the very first place. But it appears that Yuuri does, and well, Viktor’s never been known to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he lets a grin unfurl on his lips, and says, “That depends. Is it working?”
From the way Yuuri’s eyes go dark and heavy-lidded, it is.
***
Chris
Can you send me that chicken recipe
you were telling me about the other
day?
oh my god
you’re cooking for yuuri?
vitya that’s adorable
Chris! Recipe! Now!
fine. here you go: http://www.delish.com/coo
king/recipe-ideas/recipes/a55218/lemon-pepp
er-baked-chicken-breast-recipe/
Merci
tell me how it goes!!
[eggplant emoji] [peach emoji]
.
Viktor can count on one hand the number of times a date has ended like this.
This, being him driving a date home instead of into the mattress. It should be disappointing, he thinks, that he has Yuuri in his car instead of his bed, but he can’t really muster up the frustration for it, especially when Yuuri is looking at him as if Viktor is the most beautiful thing he will ever see. It’s heady, that look, and it feels far more potent than the bottle of wine they’d shared over dinner. He doesn’t mind that this date doesn’t end with them tangled up in his sheets, because Yuuri deserves more than a rough tumble and Viktor has already been creating a list inside his head for all the things he intends to do to woo Yuuri Katsuki.
“I had a great time,” Yuuri says quietly, like a secret, voice just a smidge louder than the hum of the engine.
“I did too,” Viktor says, leaning over the center console so that he can brush a hand along the line of Yuuri’s jaw. “You are infinitely more interesting than what you give yourself credit for,” he murmurs, tracing Yuuri’s bottom lip with his thumb, an echo of his earlier action.
Just as he’d done earlier, Yuuri leans close, but instead of stopping just a few centimeters away, he bridges the gap and presses a lingering kiss to the edge of Viktor’s lips. It lasts half a heartbeat, maybe even less, before Yuuri pulls back, spearing Viktor with a gaze that sets him ablaze and says, “Good night, Viktor.”
***
Chris
CHRIS I AM GOING TO MARRY THAT BOY
maybe get that second date first
WELL HAVE A WINTER WEDDING
Or maybe a spring wedding
Do you think he wants to get married in
Japan????
omg go to sleep vitya