Appetite Comes with Eating
An LLS Production
A/N: I know about the debate on how to spell 'Viktor Nikiforov'. Official merchandise says Victor, cultural context claims Viktor, and the YOI wiki puts both plus Виктор Никифоров. The canon spelling of his name is "Victor", as seen in various official art and on the official website, though "Viktor" is more culturally accurate. I use Viktor myself, though I personally accept that each author can spell the name however they like – it's not like the meaning changes. – LLS
Pirozkhi
I hear a voice calling from far away...
The golden pastry was a warm weight in his hand. It was supposed to be a pre-banquet snack – by Russian standards. It was weighty enough to qualify as a meal on its own back home. Celestino had pressed it into his hand just before.
"Eat," had come the terse command. "It's all going to be alright, Yuuri."
Unbeknownst to Yuuri, that golden sphere was a sign, a toss from chaos into his life and a tangent. Outside of the hotel, Yakov was yelling at two of his best skaters, the junior and senior men's singles champions respectively, for sneaking out to buy street food just before the banquet. Viktor gave his own pirozkhi a look, like it was calling to him.
Katsudon
Katsudon, Viktor murmured as he bit down, and the golden crust gave way under his tooth into juicy fried pork.
"Vkusno!~"
Shōchū
Viktor glared at the dark bottle with its obnoxious label. Minako had translated it obligingly on his urging; Invitation to Hell made drinking sound like a sin.
Viktor took a drink, and the too-sweet shōchū crossed his tongue, unlike vodka.
"Really?" He complained.
The bottle did not respond.
Ika-no-ikizukuri
The squid still had its eyes. Sure, it was dead, but Viktor had just seen Yuuri's mother – sweet, lovely Hiroko – slice into it while was still alive and wriggling. It loomed, big bulging beady ocular palls of doom.
Doom, Viktor thought. That about sums up the persistent feeling that came with Yuuri avoiding him. Onsen on Ice was already over, right?
"I'm not afraid of you," he snapped at the dish.
Mari gave him an askance look, polishing a glass.
Dango
It was September, they were in Okayama, and even the aftermath of the Japanese qualifiers wasn't enough to dissuade Viktor from dragging Yuuri to the nearest festival, and to eat their foods, because this was his season off, with his possible retirement looming, and by God, Yakov – and all the skating gods – was not going to stop him from-
"This is dango," Yuuri handed him the skewered dumplings, at which Viktor dipped his head down and ate off of the stick directly, thankful that the position meant that he got to see Yuuri's face as he bit into the soft sweetened doughy surface.
Mala Hotpot
Compared to Japanese food, Chinese was... definitely flavourful. Well, Viktor had eaten wasabi, and Japanese curry was an experience. Japanese hotpot was like Chinese – there was rice, and meat, and Hasetsu being a seaside town also meant plenty of seafood, thankfully limited to molluscs that could fit in the pot.
Chinese hotpot, though. Even with rice, it burned and numbed his lips, and all Viktor wanted was Yuuri to kiss the feeling back into his tongue instead of talking and talking-!
Shanghai crab
Increasingly, Viktor was associating Days with grimacing seafood. The squid had had a good reason to be pissed off. Then there had been the grouper. And the pickled mackerel on that morning when Yuuri had fallen down again. And the tiny octopi that made him choke and cost them six hours.
The Days were not... bad, per se. Glaring Squid had at least seen Yuuri open up to him. The Grouper was the only time, perhaps, that Yuuri willingly laid hands on him – which was slightly pathetic. Tiny Octopi gave them six hours of companionable silence, sadly interrupted with a tiny gastropod launching its counter-attack in the evening.
None of it, though, would ever match the dismembered Shanghai crab in Beijing, because that was the day that he'd accidentally made Yuuri cry, but was also the same day that he'd kissed Yuuri.
On hindsight, maybe he should have felt bad for the crab.
Borscht
"This is terrible." Viktor grimaced, and ate the borscht that wasn't thick enough to support a spoon.
Viktor had bought borscht at the airport. It was terrible, but he downed it anyway, because soups were the best way to receive all the nutrients according to Yakov's lectures. The stewed beef and beets would help.
Frankly, he couldn't down anything else with Makkachin choking at the vet's and Yuuri, oh, will Yuuri be alright by himself-
Puff pastry soup
-and when Makkachin was alright, Viktor went to Fukuoka International Airport and waited. And ate puff pastry soup – the soup was thinner than anything he'd eaten in Europe, and the puff cracked sadly.
Viktor sighed, but made himself swallow the soup, crust and bread-bowl and contents. There was a long time to wait for Yuuri's return.
Paella
The little pearls of rice was starting to be a sign of extremely good fortune, Viktor started to realise. The pearlescent short-grain at the bottom of the katsudon bowl. The smaller bowl of rice standing next to the hotpot at the dawn of Yuuri's excellent short-program at Beijing.
The little dots of yellow that made up that delicious paella was here now, in the glow of stars and the ropes of fairy lights in Barcelona. Around them, a choir sang the Rocking Carol, and the bells of the Barcelona Cathedral tolled as the love of his life slipped a gold ring on his finger.
If seafood meant the Days, Viktor decided, then rice was definitely Good Luck. Pluralised, because it came from Yuuri's country, and meant nothing but good fortune.
Grilled shrimps
Viktor's stomach dropped and his appetite joined it when the grilled prawns glared at him from their artfully presented plate at dinner. What did he forget this time? Yuuri had done well, not at +3 GOE but good enough, the free-skate could make up for it, please not the Seafood Curse-
Wait. Yuuri wanted to talk to him. Talk about what-?
"After the Final, let's end this."
…Seafood Curse.
Tapas
The Seafood Curse came and went – Viktor declared his comeback, possibly to be reviewed since Yuuri was finally standing up for himself to win gold instead of retiring at the end of the Barcelona Grand Prix Final.
This being Spain, the banquet had red wine instead of champagne with the tapas – AOC and EU regulations on food and whatnot. More gleefully than he had a right to, Viktor swiped the Rioja and a platter of tapas, prepared to ambush Yuuri with them and feed his beautiful fiancé, by hand if needed.
Come now, let's empty this glass of wine soon. I'll start getting ready, now be silent.
Critiquez, s'il vous plaît !