author's note: this AU is based on the 2007 film and 2012 musical, "Once". It's an angsty, heartfelt, musical masterpiece. If you've never seen it, firstly, what are you doing with your life? And also, don't stress it, as I've done my best to make this a stand alone story, so you won't have to rely on previous knowledge of the original film/musical. However, there will be lyrics throughout the fic, and the music is Key to getting a feel for the story, so I will include the titles of the specific songs so you can find them and listen along. Enjoy!
chapter song: Leave - Glen Hansard (Once)
Leave
It was cold. Bitterly cold.
The sun had set hours ago, and the stars were out - if anyone could actually see them in the glow of the city lights. The shops and bars were all closed for the night, their open signs dimmed and their gates locked tight. The littered streets were empty. Completely and totally empty.
Except for one lone street musician.
He didn't want to go home that night - not like this. But he didn't exactly have anywhere else to go. So he stayed out, playing on that sad street corner next to a broken payphone and the dumpster from the pub next door, fighting the loneliness and the cold and the wind.
It's not like he actually wanted to play the streets like some washed up twenty-something-year old, dime-a-dozen struggling artist.
But the irony was that he actually was a washed up twenty-something-year-old dime-a-dozen struggling artist - with nothing but his worn-out guitar and a dozen notebooks worth of song lyrics to show for his efforts.
His career was dead - not that it actually started. And Yuuri Katsuki had accepted that fact a long time ago.
But what else was he supposed to do? Go home to open arms like some sort of prodigal son?
Pathetic. That's what he was.
The chords on his old guitar rang out into the night as he strummed away, the ghost of an abandoned, half-written song hanging on his lips. He could remember every word, every line. And it was slowly killing him.
Can't wait forever…
It's all that you said…
Before you stood up…
He remembered it like it was yesterday - sitting in that cafe, face-to-face with his more-than-supportive agent. She was so helpful, so willing to push him ahead in the local market.
But it was no use.
No matter how hard he'd tried, his ambition was dead. His inspiration, his drive, his passion…
And you won't disappoint me…
I can do that myself…
He'd pushed so many people away; his friends, his family. For almost six months now, he'd turned in on himself, content to give up on his dreams. But recently, things had changed. And it almost felt like things might get better.
His family, especially his sister, were the cause of his recent awakening.
As Mari had told him that night some weeks ago, when they sat together on the apartment balcony, sharing a cigarette - his family wasn't going to stand by and watch him fade away, so he either had to find his own place or start to help pay the rent.
Mari didn't care what he did to make money, as long as he was trying to get out there and be a part of the world again.
And so here he was. Singing aloud on the streets with an open guitar case at his feet.
Leave, leave,
I don't understand, you've already gone...
He'd been on that exact street corner for hours, every day, for the past week. It was a ritual now, singing to the passing crowds, hoping to make a few extra bucks and to make up for being a failure of a son.
He hated it, though - those hours in the day. But night was different. Night was usually better.
At night, the street lamp flickered above him, so close to giving out completely, but he didn't care. He didn't want the extra spotlight anyway.
At night, his hands ached, his fingerless gloves and hand-knitted scarf doing little to keep the November evening chill at bay. This was a bit of a hinderance, but he pushed through the pain.
But the best thing was, at night, no one would hear him. When there was no one to impress, there was no one to let down, either. It was better that way. And so, he played.
But everything still felt wrong.
Some nights were better than others, but tonight was not one of them.
Leave, leave,
And please yourself at the same time...
God, how he hated those lyrics now. He'd been so angry. So lost. And he still was. But that anger had changed to a sort of sadness he couldn't really explain with words.
Those crushed hopes, that lingering unhappiness… It was a constant state of being for him now.
Let go of my hand…
You said what you came to…
Now leave…
His voice ached as he fought back the urge to cry.
God, he was a mess. He didn't want anyone to leave, like the song suggested.
He wasn't confident or charming or cool. He didn't have anything worth offering to people. He was uneasy, anxious, and flighty - preferring to run away from his problems rather than face them like a well-adjusted, responsible, normal person.
Leave…
Leave…
If anything, he was the one who kept leaving. He'd left his agent, his friends...And if he ever got low enough, he probably would leave his family too.
But he didn't exactly have anything to run towards. And he knew he'd never find whatever it was he needed to get out of this slump. Because he didn't even know what he wanted anymore.
His voice wailed into the darkness as he sang through the unfinished melody, his fingers strumming a harsh mash of chords with little-to-no direction or purpose. But he didn't really care. He was getting it out there. Out in the open. And he almost felt better about things.
Almost.
His song ended quietly, the notes faded into the darkness around him, and a dark silence fell once again on that cold street corner.
But it wasn't silent for long.
There was a faint, muffled clapping coming from his right, and Yuuri blinked in surprise before turning, slowly. There, shrouded in darkness, stood a single man in a long tan coat, his leather gloves dampening the enthusiasm of his claps.
Yuuri was embarrassed, to say the least. He never thought anyone would actually stop to listen to his night songs, and it was a little unnerving. He nodded in thanks anyway, only to stare in wide-eyed shock as the man quickly dug around in his coat pockets before tossing a few coins in the guitar case at his feet.
It couldn't have been more than ten cents.
Yuuri laughed.
"T-thanks. I may go home early, now," he chuckled nervously, glancing up to see the stranger tilt his head in amused confusion.
"I'm sorry?"
The short phrase was enough to give away the man's accent, and Yuuri feared his anxiety-driven attempt at sarcasm was lost in translation.
"It's nothing…" Yuuri replied with a small smile. "But thanks. For listening."
The man smiled in return, and Yuuri suddenly felt his breath catch in his throat.
It was the first moment he'd actually stopped to look at the guy. His bright, easy smile was warm, and genuine, and Yuuri couldn't remember the last time he actually felt moved by something as simple as a smile.
The guy was obviously well-to-do, though. That coat was probably worth more than Yuuri's entire life savings. And the guy was tall, too. Incredibly tall, with the figure of a swimwear model, and hair that Yuuri could only describe as spun-silver. And those eyes, those crystal blue eyes…It was like jumping in a frozen lake. Burning and chilling and dazzling all at once.
"Did you write that song?" the stranger asked suddenly, a sort of breathlessness in his voice.
Yuuri blinked, the question wrenching him out of his reverie.
With a quick nod of his head, Yuuri shrugged and looked at the ground, "Uh… Yeah…"
"It is incredible, you know," the guy continued warmly. "Much better than the other songs you sing. The famous ones."
"Oh…uh, y-you've heard me before?" he asked, lifting his hand to awkwardly twist a strand of his dark bangs between his fingers.
"Yeah. I hear you sometimes during the day when everything is crowded," the man explained offhandedly, but Yuuri could hear a nervousness in his tone too,"Your voice is really good, so I was sad when you only sang popular songs," his voice lowered and his eyes met Yuuri's, "But now I see you have something really special."
Yuuri felt oddly elated. This random guy really thought his music was good? Was that even possible? He was totally dreaming, right?
"So, tell me," the stranger went on, with another smile so blinding that Yuuri had to look away in embarrassment, "Who do you sing for?"
It was Yuuri's turn to be confused.
"Sorry...What?" he muttered as he lifted his head to meet the man's curious gaze.
"Who do you sing for?" The man repeated gently, stepping forward, "A lover maybe?"
At that, Yuuri had to blush, "No…" he looked away again. "It's not like that…"
"I see," the stranger paused a moment and Yuuri almost hoped he would drop the subject, but he just continued quietly, like he was walking on thin ice. "Did they leave you? Or... die, or something?"
"What?" Yuuri yelped, "No! It's really nothing like that!"
The stranger tilted his head, the curious glint in his eye silently urging Yuuri to go on.
"It's…" Yuuri paused, not quite sure why he felt compelled to explain his love life to a complete stranger, "I haven't...I mean, I don't really have...someone."
"Oh..." The man seemed shocked, his eyes blinking as he, too, looked away.
Yuuri only nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, "No girlfriend, or boyfriend…Or anyone, really…" He grew quiet, the reality of his lonely existence hitting him like a ton of bricks.
The guy was silent for a moment, and Yuuri could sense his mind at work, like he was trying to find the right words.
"It surprises me," the stranger mused finally, his piercing gaze turning soft as he took another cautious step forward, "You sing so beautifully; it would be difficult to not fall in love with you."
As if by providence, a delivery truck passed by before Yuuri could think of a response. The truck's blinding headlights, the rumbling of the tires on the cobblestone, and the sudden gust of wind - it was all a welcome distraction. Like a knife cutting through the tension. And Yuuri was thankful. He wasn't exactly used to such abrupt compliments, and gaping like a fool was all Yuuri could manage to do in that moment.
But the stranger's patient eyes held Yuuri frozen while the truck sped by, sending a scattering of dried leaves flying in the air around them.
The street grew quiet again.
The stranger still stared, expectant, waiting.
"I don't…" Yuuri began quietly, hoping to dig his way out of the awkward silence, "I don't really sing for love either- "
"So you sing for money," the guy mused with a stern huff and an elegant toss of his perfect hair.
"No, I- I mean..." Yuuri's mutterings continued as his fingers picked lightly at the strings of his guitar, "I don't really...I mean, it's kind of just a side gig...thing..."
He glanced up, seeing from the stranger's distant smile that his answer was far from satisfactory.
Yuuri sighed, feeling a little dazed as he struggled to answer for his art. "T-this isn't my real job or anything. It's not like, I mean," he gestured to the nearly empty guitar case, "I don't exactly make money like this-"
"You could, you know." the stranger stated happily, his honesty blunt yet encouraging, "Why don't you try to make money? You can make records and sell them. Get famous. Or do you have another job? Other responsibilities?"
"Well…" Wincing, Yuuri looked once more to the ground, hating the timely reminder of his failed music career and how lame he was about to become in this stranger's eyes. "My family runs a repair shop. For appliances. You know...microwaves, vacuums, washing machines-"
"What, really?" the sharp, almost electric question shot through the air as Yuuri glanced to see the man's eyes widen in sheer, utter delight, "Vacuums? You really fix vacuums?"
"Yes?" Yuuri replied quietly, his brain suddenly making the connection. "Do...Do you have a broken vacuum or something?"
The man brought a hand to his eyes and nodded as a deep laugh rose from his lips.
"You're kidding...Right?" Yuuri asked, uneasy with the way his heart warmed at the sound of the stranger's laughter. "You are kidding?"
The man shook his head as he beamed, "No, it's true! It broke only yesterday! Crazy, right?"
Yuuri was too jaded to blame God, or fate, or anything like that. But in that moment, what else was he supposed to think?
"This is impossible…" he groaned, letting his head fall back as he silently debated whether to curse or thank the universe.
"How about this: I will bring my vacuum tomorrow around noon, and you can fix it, yes?" The stranger simply smiled and held out his hand for Yuuri to shake.
Yuuri glanced to him, and then to his outstretched hand. It was friendly,expectant, kind and…
Well, it was his parent's business, after all. How could he possibly turn away a new customer?
So, he gingerly accepted the stranger's hand in his own.
"Alright!" The man stated happily as their hands clasped together tightly, "I look forward to doing business with you!"
A business deal. That's all it was.
Right?
"Right…" Yuuri let out softly, but his pulsing heart told him otherwise.
The man nodded before withdrawing his hand slowly. Yuuri suddenly felt very, very cold.
It was a sensation he could not help but ponder on, even as the man turned and headed down the street. Yuuri watched after him, noting the slight skip in the stranger's step, when he suddenly saw the man turn and wave his arm above his head.
"Viktor!" the man shouted, "My name! It's Viktor! What's yours?"
Yuuri took a deep breath, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted back.
"Yuuri!"
He heard the man laughing again, bright and cheerful and warm.
"Okay, Yuuri!" the man yelled in return, "Till tomorrow!"
"Till...till tomorrow," Yuuri whispered, more to himself than anything.
He held his hand to his chest. His heart...He could feel it beating even through the fabric of his coat.
What was this? Who was this guy?
No, he wasn't just some guy.
Yuuri smiled.
He was Viktor.
And Viktor was late.
Yuuri wasn't exactly mad. He was just a little disappointed, is all.
It wasn't every day that he stood on a street corner singing to a crowd, waiting for a new acquaintance to come along for a vacuum repair.
Well, the singing on street corners was normal, but Yuuri was pretty downhearted that Viktor was breaking their arrangement. It was well after seven before Yuuri considered calling it quits and heading home.
But he waited.
He waited, singing top 40 love songs and pop covers like some A-list wannabe.
He waited, even when the shops closed around him and the foot traffic died down.
He waited, feeling the temperature slowly falling as he wrapped his fluffy blue scarf around his neck.
He waited until he felt the weight of disappointment collapse in his chest, and he slowly began to pack away his things for the night.
As he adjusted his scarf and slowly buttoned up his coat, he looked up to the night sky, counting the stars as they twinkled for a moment, and then died again behind the glowing skyscraper lights.
He knelt down, and carefully set his guitar away in its case, snapping the clasps shut and slinging it over his shoulder as he stood and let out a long, slow sigh, his breath turning visible in the cold.
He paused a moment, his feet rooted to the concrete, unable to move. There was no use waiting around any longer. He knew that. But he couldn't just leave like this.
The church down the street rang out the hour. It was almost nine now. The street wasn't entirely empty, the bars were still open, and there were a fair bit of traffic in the road. Somewhere a karaoke bar was playing gaudy Christmas music, and a few shops had already begun hanging lights and garland in the windows. But Yuuri's heart was numb to all the city's holiday hubbub.
What the hell was he doing there, anyway? Waiting for some stranger to walk into his life and change everything? Like that was going to happen.
He turned slowly, his feet dragged along as he stood to wait at the crosswalk.
"Yuuri!"
Yuuri hated it, the way his heart leapt at the sound of that voice calling to him. Still, he couldn't help himself as he turned around to see Viktor - tall, handsome, brilliant Viktor - racing in his direction from across the street, dragging along a bright red Hoover canister vacuum.
It was a sight, that much was for sure. And Yuuri had to force back a laugh.
"Vi-Viktor?" he stuttered under his breath as he watched his new acquaintance slowly come to a halt and buckle over from exhaustion, panting like he'd run a marathon.
And he probably had, judging by the sweat that dripped from his head as he bent over, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
"I'm so- I'm sorry I'm so late," he tried to say between breaths. "I had...I had to arrange some things. I am very sorry, Yuuri…"
Yuuri shook his head, although the sting of disappointment still pained him."Oh, really, it's nothing."
"It's not nothing," Viktor sighed as he stood, his eyes revealing just how sorry he was. "It's not nothing to me. Please, I must make it up to you."
"You don't-"
"Oh! I know!" Viktor suddenly perked up, reaching out to take Yuuri's hand. "I can play for you! Come on!"
In a flash, he was suddenly dragging both Yuuri and the vacuum behind him as he headed off down the street.
'Wait, Viktor…" Yuuri argued as he struggled to catch up, "Where are we going? And, hang on, what about your vacuum? We need to go to the shop-"
"Don't worry about it. We can fix it later!" Viktor laughed, gently pulling him along to walk beside him, "But there's a music shop I know. The owner lets me play after hours. If we hurry he should still be there," Viktor explained with a smile as they turned the corner and continued on.
Yuuri was still incredibly confused. His world was turning upside down and his heart was racing and he didn't want it to stop. But he kept quiet as Viktor let go of his hand and they walked on together.
It was nice, just walking through the city, and Yuuri couldn't help but notice how Viktor slowed his pace until their strides were in tandem, and how Viktor would glance over at him through his silver bangs, as if he didn't think Yuuri would see.
It was nice.
It was quiet.
It was… too quiet.
"So...Viktor," Yuuri began, trying to think of some subject to keep the silences from suffocating them both, "You play an instrument, I'm guessing?"
Viktor hummed in thought, "Yes. The piano."
"I see…" Yuuri mused.
"I learned when I was very young," Viktor continued and Yuuri found himself hanging on every word, "My father played with the orchestra back home in St. Petersburg. The violin. But his hands hurt because he played for so many years…" he paused to think of the correct English term, his eyes lighting as he remembered. "Arthritis, I think."
Yuuri nodded to himself. So Victor was Russian. That made sense. His accent had been the biggest clue, though Yuuri had trouble placing it during their first encounter.
He snuck a glance over when he realized how quiet Viktor had become, and he watched as Viktor's eyes looked up to the dark sky which opened above them as they left the sophisticated hustle and bustle and glitter of downtown and entered into a quieter, historic walking street.
Even without the bright lights, Yuuri could still see Viktor's bottom lip quiver as he let out a long, shaky sigh.
There was something there, inside that deep sigh...Something dark and sad and lost.
But Yuuri had to be imaging things, right? This guy couldn't possibly be as hopeless as he seemed in that moment. He was cool and charming and handsome and-
"He died when I was sixteen," Viktor smiled fondly as he looked ahead, his eyes glazed over in deep thought. "Cancer. But he taught me the piano before he passed." He sighed again and held out his free hand, extending his fingers and wiggling them lightly. "He said it was better for the hands. Silly, huh?"
Yuuri's stomach tightened. God, he felt like an idiot.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he whispered as he tried to look at anything besides Viktor's small, sad smile.
"Thank you," Viktor replied, his attitude turning cheerful again. "But what about you? When did you start to play the guitar? Who taught you?"
"Oh, um, well…" he cleared his throat as best he could and then continued."I began when I was seven. A family friend gave me a little child's guitar for my birthday and she taught me how to play…"
It was Yuuri's turn to reminisce.
Minako, his mother's dearest friend and his closest mentor. She had inspired him so much in those early days. She taught him everything he knew and he wished he could have made something of himself, to prove that she had changed him for good.
Yuuri's memories were put on hold as he caught Viktor leaning closer to him, looking at him with a squinty, suspicious expression.
"This family friend…" he asked slowly, his eyes blinking. "Was she your first love, perhaps?"
Yuuri's jaw dropped.
"Wh-what!? Are you crazy?" he shrieked in horror. "She's just a friend! I swear! A-and she's old enough to be my mother! She's like an aunt or a godmother or-"
Viktor laughed and stepped away, shrugging defensively.
"I was just curious! Forgive me."
Yuuri huffed and nodded. "Fine. But seriously, she's just a really great person. She's in New York now, doing work with a big record label…" he shrugged, trying not to make a big deal out of it. "And I haven't heard from her in years."
"I see…" Viktor nodded and they both fell silent.
They made it another few blocks before Viktor stopped suddenly and Yuuri turned to see him standing proudly in front of the darkened shop wedged between a bookstore and a Baby Gap.
"Well," said Viktor, his eyes beaming. "We're here."
Yuuri looked around, and quickly realized that this was, indeed, a music shop. The window display was overboard with a complete drum kit, a stand-up base, a few guitars, cases of old records, and a dozen loose stacks of sheet music. It was charming, old school, and Yuuri loved it instantly.
He read the banner over the double-doors and stammered with the pronunciation.
"Yuh-Yakov's?" He muttered as he watched Viktor banged on the door and peered through the fogged windows.
He smiled and waved wildly at someone inside, then pointed to the door before giving a thumbs-up.
"He's going to let us in," he explained to Yuuri and just as he did, the doors opened on one side.
Inside was a stout, older gentleman with balding hair, sagging eyes, and the expression of one in desperate need of a straight whiskey.
"Vitya…" The man grumbled angrily before muttering off something in Russian.
Viktor quickly cut him off, gesturing to Yuuri and begging like a child. Or at least that's what Yuuri could make of their short conversation. Whatever was going on, Viktor was doing his best to plead and bargain with the man, and Yuuri felt surprisingly giddy over it.
Finally, as Viktor made his best pouty face, the man nodded and opened the door further, beckoning them inside with a forced smile.
"Welcome, welcome, please come in," he insisted through his teeth. "I'm Yakov. This is my shop. It's closed. But if you're a friend of Viktor's, then please, by all means, come at all hours of the night. It's no problem at all. It's not like I have a family or friends or a regular sleep schedule-"
Viktor laughed him off and pushed Yuuri ahead of him inside while Yakov went to turn on a few more lights.
Yuuri thanked him profusely, but as a flood of lights warmed the room, his jaw dropped and his thankful mutterings were cut short.
The sight was incredible. The room was simply filled with every instrument imaginable. Guitars, violins, trombones, pianofortes, accordions, ukuleles, everything. There were some impressive, antique pieces, too. With deep, dark wood and shining brass. It felt like a magic shop. There were tables of records and crates of sheet music and shelves of tapes and CDs and…
There was just so much music.
As he moved forward slowly, carefully moving between tables, shelves, and music stands, Yuuri felt his heart constrict, like he was drinking in water after months in a desert.
But a sinking feeling in his stomach forced him to stop dead in his tracks.
He was a fake, a fraud. He didn't deserve to be there. Not really.
He wanted to turn tail and run far away; away from music, away from everything that reminded him of his failures. He wanted to drown out the wild beating of his heart and to dive deeper into the depths of despair he'd dug for himself over the past months. But he was frozen, his whole body stuck at the crossroads of fight-or-flight, and he couldn't breathe.
"So, Yuuri..." Viktor's voice called to him gently, luring him from his fog of doubt, blue eyes meeting brown from across a room of music and harmony and light. "Shall we begin?"
Thanks so much for reading! More chapters to come!