Hasetsu could be beautiful after dark, but instead it's just... nice. It's probably the lack of lights. Tokyo is always lit up like Christmas Day after dark, but out here in the sticks people go to bed early and don't tend to waste electricity on all-night luminary displays. Still, the fishing boats in the harbor make a decent backdrop and the castle always keeps a few lamps burning. It isn't much, but it's nice. It's home.
Yuuri is a little uncertain about this… new superhero. Snowcap, he calls himself. As far as Yuuri knows, Snowcap made a name for himself fighting organized crime in St. Petersburg. He isn't sure what brought him to Japan-a lead maybe, or just boredom-but whatever it was, it's serious encroachment on Yuuri's territory.
After all, Yuuri only took up the mantle of Eros a few years ago. He's having a difficult enough time keeping up with petty crimes on the streets of his home town, and he hasn't even turned his eye toward Tokyo yet. How is he supposed to make any headway at all with some Russian hothead-coldhead?-blowing in and turning the whole world upside-down?
Also, the way Snowcap looks at him makes him nervous. Really nervous. He looks at Yuuri like he wants to eat him alive.
He should be used to it, he reasons. People always get a hungry look under Eros' trademark Silken Thrall. But, he thinks, Snowcap is the first person who's done it without the help of a magic spell. The first person who's done it like it makes more sense than breathing.
Shaking his head hard, Yuuri takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long hiss. He has enough to worry about, he really does. His parents have taken on Victor Nikiforov-Victor Nikiforov!-as a lodger at their hot springs, and Yuuri really doesn't know what to do with himself. Which is understandable, he argues internally, given that he's been desperately in love with the man since the first time he saw him skate. It's a miracle he can speak to him at all, really.
Yuuri stifles a humiliated groan as he slides down an inclined roof into a narrow alley that allows enough privacy to change into his civilian clothes. If he's going to make a fool of himself, he might as well change out of the skintight spandex first.
Eros. Eros, Eros! Victor loves the name. That shimmering costume, all black and silver and lean. That heart-shaped face, all warm eyes and sweet, mocking mouth. He loves the way he moves and the tilt of his hips, the gentle turn of his hands when casting the Thrall.
The problem is, Eros can barely spare the time of day for Snowcap.
Victor huffs, hunkering down a little deeper into his yukata. A soft scraping sound behind him informs Victor that the serving boy-what was his name-Yuuri, has returned with his dinner. Yuuri is a part of the family who owns the hot spring that Victor made his unofficial (secret identities, etc.) headquarters upon his arrival in Japan. Under the guise of continuing his figure skating training, which is more of a hobby now that he's discovered the wonderful world of vigilantism, he packed up and moved all the way from Russia to this rather humble backwater in Japan. And all for the chance of meeting Eros, who barely seems to notice him.
Another soft cough, and Victor starts. He turns to face Yuuri, smiling apologetically and waving a little in acknowledgement. "Oh! Sorry, yes, set it anywhere. Thanks Yuuri."
The boy flushes a dark crimson. Victor realized early on that he probably wasn't going to get much in the way of conversation out of Yuuri, who seems painfully shy and even more painfully inarticulate. Still, he's sweet and clever and has a good head for cooking.
Yuuri moves into the room in an awkward sidle, trying to maintain as much distance between the two of them as possible, and sets the tray down carefully. Victor wonders, a little sadly, if the two of them are ever going to be friends. Yuuri seems almost afraid of him, and it really is lonely not to know anyone in this town.
"Thanks," he says again, just to fill the silence.
Yuuri has already moved back to the door, but he glances up when Victor speaks and for a moment their eyes met.
And god. His eyes are so familiar…
"It's nothing," he manages to stutter out, and then the door slides shut with a decisive click.