"I've got to catch his interest for a moment, and then it will be easy." Yuri was observing his target from the water, his nostrils just above the surface, and his toes digging nervous circles in the sandy bottom of the sea. Slightly away from the crowd playing in the water, the only person whose interest he was attracting seemed to be the well-tanned group of heir psycho-fans, who had tried to break into their sleeping quarters the previous night. Luckily, the memory of the fight that Miss Baranovskaya put up in boys' defence kept them at a safe distance.

"Focus! What do you do... what do you do, when you're trying to get a cat to get in the water?" For all he knew, it was easy enough with dogs, Victor used to love baths just as much as getting his hair cut or chewing rubber ducks. "Maybe if I just get out and try to talk to him, and be really cheerful, and... " He felt a cold shiver running down his spine at the thought of how he other might react. "He'd probably say I'm being childish and ridiculous. This is humiliating. I haven't even talked to him yet, and I'm so embarrassed already." He looked at the clouds. The sun was still high in the sky. "I think... I need some more time to think it over."

"I... Yes! I just need to practice for a bit to calm myself down." Just like he always did. His gaze fell on a bunch of yellowish seaweed growing on a rock nearby. "I think this will do."

...

"Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Shit. How the fuck did this happen?! WHO DID THIS?" Yuri was seriously pissed off. Lying in the shadow of the big straw beach umbrella, covered with a towel, he cursed his mysterious prankster. Normally, Yuri wouldn't care. He would not. Give. A damn. He was Yuri Plisetsky, the foulmouth Russian punk, the first ice-skating senior-debut world champion-to-be, loved all over the world by skating otaku and cat enthusiasts alike (although he wouldn't show off with the last one, it still proved a point). Normally, he would normally walk into the water, the tan marks running across his chest embarrassing every person on the beach except for him.

But apparently nothing could be normal any more.

Yuri put his head under the towel to look again at his sunburned body. Yes, the tan lines created a very clear pattern, almost fluorescent against the red tissue, in the semi-darkness of the improvised one-person private towel-fort. This was definitely not the way he would confess his feelings for the first person in a very long time that Yuri felt respect for.

He had his own plan. He would become the world champion in their category, and then, when they're on more even ground, expressing romantic interest for the other Yuri seemed like a more acceptable idea.

For now, he would wait. And throw a fit ,and curl up in a towel cocoon. Inside which it has been unbearably hot for a while now. The irony of the situation – what with his excuse that it's kinda chilly that he made up on the spot when he noticed the disaster on his chest – annoyed him even further.

Speaking of which, if this moron stays out in the sun for much longer, he might get a heat stroke or something. Yuri looked around for the familiar black hair. He realised that, to his horror, it might be too late. Yuri Katsuki was standing a bit to the side of the people playing in the water, having a chat with a rock. A very personal chat, if his body language and blush were anything to go by.

Here Yuri decided that it was the time for drastic measures.

Not that he was jealous of the rock.

He was definitely. Not. Jealous. Of the rock.

Heat strokes can be very dangerous. It can even kill the brain. And although it shouldn't normally affect healthy young people, athletes are at a particular risk. Or something similar that Lilia lectured them about when Yuri determinately ignored the bottle of sunscreen she put in his bag.

But he thought the other Yuri dutifully put it on afterwards.

It wasn't even a good-looking rock, for fuck's sake.

...

Yuri was really getting the hang of it. "I can do this. Yeah, I might really be able to manage." The thought of impressing the other Yuri with his newly acquired confidence and small talk ability made him blush. "Oh, I mean, are you sure? Thank you, I, I don't know what to say." He looked from the corner of his eye at his crush-impersonating rock. "Although, there is something I wanted to ask for a long time now. Would you like to..."

He turned slightly to meet the gaze of the rock... and instead decided to keep turning as he noticed Yuri Plisetsky speeding towards him, insanity in his eyes, and the thought "HE'S GONNA FIND OUT. HE'LL KNOW I WANT TO INVITE HIM TO DINNER." crossed his mind, determined to do his best to keep his secret, Yuri turned another 30 degrees and finished the sentence, yelling:

"HAVE DINNER WITH ME!"

He didn't mean to turn the question into a command, but in the split second he had for thinking fast, he decided than rather than grammar intricacies, more important is that the person he eventually turned to could hear him. And, well, there was more than 5 meters distance between him and the closest person in the water. Closest besides Yuri Plisetsky, that is.

"But inviting Yuri on a date wouldn't hide that intention from him, would it?" retaliated Yuri's mind. Coming up with a comeback to that was, however, too much for Yuri's synapses.

...

"Dinner would be lovely."

"That would be great words to hear, I suppose, though... Yuri doesn't really seem the type to say something like that, right?" But... isn't he really hearing them? Yuri blinked a few times, starting to distinguish a familiar face from the blinding white.

He relaxed a bit as a familiar voice cut in: "He's still out of it, psycho."

That did suit the face a lot more.

Sky and sand appeared, and steady buzzing of people all around them on the beach filled the background. On his other side Yuri found a lovely, cheerful, smiling beach beauty, in which he recognised, to his horror, the most daring fan, the one who came back to the floor their rooms where on even after the earful Lilia Baranovskaya gave them, and was only discovered when Yuri went out to get a warm drink from the kitchen because he couldn't sleep. After hitting her with the door, where she was eavesdropping, even warm milk with ginger wouldn't help.

"Before that, let's go shopping." she said, and added, not waiting for an answer, "don't worry, I have so many ideas for outfits for you. We'll find one that matches my dress and hides that baby fat of yours."

...

A good-looking foreigner was contemplating the results while looking at the cheerful composition of colours the layers of his drink created while mixing. Someone else could assess the situation as a failure of his first match-making attempt, but he liked to focus on the bright side.

Some excitement to get the adrenaline going, a love confession, and a dinner proposition. Addressed to the wrong person, perhaps, but otherwise, very successful.

Victor's head was full of ideas.

And summer days are long.