Viktor took his time preparing the coffee; although he could no longer drink the stuff himself, he enjoyed the routine, and relished the rich scent that suffused the kitchen. He could feel Otabek's eyes tracking his every movement, but the werewolf never moved a muscle, except to flinch slightly when the moka pot's sharp whistle cut through the air. Viktor poured two cups (after checking that Yuri hadn't slacked off on dishwashing duty), and set both mugs on the kitchen table. He slid one across the table, and cupped his hands around the other. Its heat seeped from the smooth ceramic, driving away some of the inescapable chill from his pale fingers.

"Sugar? I don't have any cream, I'm afraid."

Otabek jerked his head, the gesture more of a spasm than a nod. He's a talkative one. Viktor retrieved the sugar bowl from its dusty exile, stuffed away in the back of an unused cabinet, hoping it wasn't stale. Did sugar get stale? He couldn't remember. Otabek peered at it with suspicion, but apparently it passed the brief inspection, because he stirred a heaping spoonful into his coffee, before taking a tentative sip. Viktor inhaled the steam rising from his own cup. He was trying to remember to keep breathing, in the hopes it would put the werewolf somewhat more at ease.

It seemed to be working. Kind of.

Otabek's mouth began to form a question. Viktor put a finger to his lips, shushing Otabek before he could begin to speak, and turned to call softly into the hallway.

"Yuri, I'm going to throw out your hoodie. The cat peed on it." The rest of the house was silent. Otabek lifted an eyebrow, noting the distinct lack of soiled jackets.

"Also, I've decided to adopt an entire litter of puppies. We'll go pick them up tomorrow," he added. Still nothing. He turned back to his coffee. "Yuri's asleep, judging by how the kitchen door is still on its hinges. I didn't think you would want him to be a part of this conversation."

Otabek's mouth opened again, and then closed. His eyebrow was still arched - he seemed to have stalled out entirely. Viktor hurried to continue before the man broke any furniture or jumped through the kitchen window and vanished into the woods.

"Anyway, you can sleep in the guest bedroom! It's set up for emergencies, so there are locks on both sides. You don't have to worry about waking up dead tomorrow."

A soft huff. It could have been called a laugh, if one was able to extract all implications of humor from the word.

"Why did you let me follow you?"

"I was curious. Besides, I don't think you're much of a threat."

"I almost killed Yu- your… friend."

Viktor scratched absentmindedly at a ring on the table, considering his options. "Well, I don't know much about werewolves-" another flinch- "Yes, I did notice, you weren't exactly subtle, Mr. Altin. Anyway, as I was saying, I don't know much, other than that you shouldn't corner one, because that's how you get eaten."

Otabek's face was still carefully blank, but he leaned forward slightly.

"From what I've been told, changing- with the exception of the full moon, of course- is primarily a defense mechanism. Now, I didn't see the beginning of your… meeting, but it didn't look like Yuri had you with your back to a wall."

"Maybe I was getting rid of a future threat." Viktor stifled a laugh; even Otabek didn't look convinced by his own words.

"Your wolf isn't that stupid, even if you are. You wouldn't have lasted a week if you went around biting everything that could turn out to be a threat." For the first time, Viktor looked straight into Otabek's eyes – not as a threat, but a challenge. "I think you saw your friend, your pack, but not like you remembered him. Your internal conflict forced a change, and your wolf took over, but its instincts couldn't cope either. All it knew was that something was wrong.

"If I had believed that you intended to hurt him, you would have never left that alley. Now, please correct me if I'm wrong here-" that was a threat- "but I don't think you were really trying to attack him. You were trying to protect Yuri from… Yuri."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Over the past twelve hours, Viktor's invitation had started to seem less like their first major breakthrough, and more like what was colloquially known as a 'terrible fucking idea.' But Yuuri and Phichit hadn't flown to Germany after almost a year of writing grant proposals to throw away their first – and possibly only – chance.

"Of course I am," Yuuri replied. He threw more clothing onto his bed. "How formal do you think this is? And which of these says 'please don't eat me?'"

Phichit rested his chin in his hands and considered them. One was a slim blue button-down, the other a long-sleeved black pullover. "Depends on what you mean by 'eat me.'"

"Phichit!"

"I'm just saying, we don't even know if this will be useful. He could just be some guy trying to pick up the cute Japanese tourist."

Yuuri considered this idea. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. Phichit sighed, his expression torn between excitement and anxiety.

"I mean, he could also be planning to lock you in his murder basement."

"It's a risk either way. We can chance losing the only contact we might find for months, or I can go and spend the evening with someone who is probably just a nice, normal man who happens to study vampirism in his spare time. Besides, you have the address, and if I stop texting, you can call the poli- shit." Yuuri's stomach tightened into a knot, and he covered his face with his hands.

"What? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Phichit was halfway out of his chair before the words left his mouth. Yuuri groaned.

"I forgot to pack dress shoes."

"Please put on some decent clothes, Yuri, you look like you just crawled out of your own grave. And I swear to god, if I find one more bloodstain in this kitchen…"

"So what? It wipes off just fine."

"I can't have someone over when there's blood on the dining table." Viktor kneaded his temples gently, trying to massage away the tension headache that had begun to form. At least Otabek hadn't joined them, instead opting to order takeout and disappear back into the basement with a stack of books. Viktor wouldn't have to explain why the two boys were staring daggers at each other the entire evening.

"Yeah? Maybe you should cancel," Yuri spat back at him.

"We talked about this, Yura, I'm just trying to find out more." Admittedly, that reasoning had sounded better before he said it out loud. "Why would a team of hunters be in Berlin, of all places?"

"You mean, besides all the vampires?" If looks could kill, Viktor would be in pieces on the tiled floor.

"Vampires who don't do anything other than cuss out little old ladies and break their cars. Besides, he has no idea what we are. I was very careful."

"Which is why you invited him to dinner. At our house. With food that we can't eat."

Viktor blinked. His little plan suddenly seemed a lot less foolproof.

"Oh no…" he whispered to himself. Yuri smirked.

"We don't have any food!"

Yuuri stepped off the train – the S-Bahn, Phichit had called it – and checked the directions on his phone. According to his map, it was only a ten minute walk from the tiny station to Viktor's house. He put the device away, blinking against the bright spots that floated across his vision, and slowly made his way down the narrow street.

It was slightly shocking how quickly the center of Berlin had faded into the countryside. After just a few minutes on the train, the landscape outside had shifted from packed buildings to peaceful suburbs, which had faded into trees and fields, with no more than lighted windows from the occasional house dotting the darkened landscape. Yuuri found himself relaxing despite his daunting task, comforted by the peacefulness of his surroundings. The city was beautiful – like so many others, he had been immediately taken in by its glamor, how everyday life was surrounded by anachronisms of shabby buildings and breathtaking grandeur – but it was also a lot. He missed Hasetsu, with its small-town charm, though he hadn't lived there for quite a few years.

He was almost sad when he reached the long gravel driveway that led up to a yellow stucco house. The number written on the mailbox matched the address scribbled on the slip of paper he still clutched, which was, by now, slightly damper and greyer than it was last night.

Yuuri lifted his hand to knock on the front door, and hesitated, leaning back to take another look at the house. It was larger than he had thought at first, but not huge, its two stories cradled between huge sycamores. The small garden in front consisted of rose bushes, skeletal in the November chill, and several small evergreens. An outdoor table with two chairs stood next to one of the trees. He turned back to the house and took a deep breath. At least he'd gotten enough sleep to be able to hold a coherent conversation.

Before he could knock, the door swung open. Yuuri started, his fist still hanging in the air. Viktor stood in the doorway, the hall light creating a halo as it shone through the edges of his silver hair.

"Yuuri! Come in, please!"

"Ah, he-hello!" The top two buttons of Viktor's burgundy dress shirt were unbuttoned, revealing a hint of pale skin and prominent collarbones, making Yuuri feel at once overdressed and informal in the grey v-neck sweater, white collared shirt, and black dress slacks Phichit had finally nagged him into choosing.

He gulped, and brandished the bottle of wine he had picked up before he left the city.

"Thank you." Viktor took the bottle gingerly, and his fingers brushed against Yuuri's wrist. Their touch was soft, and still held the chill of the previous night.

Yuuri slipped off his shoes, which had been hastily borrowed from Phichit and were half a size too small for his feet. Thank god this isn't America, he thought, wincing as the blood flowed back into his toes. I'd have had to keep them on all night. He followed Viktor through the hallway and into a gleaming kitchen, resisting the urge to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of light. After a moment, he realized that it wasn't so much the brightness of the room as it was the cleanness, every surface sparkling as if carved from diamond. He couldn't quite believe that anyone had ever cooked anything on the shining stove. Even the dark wood of the table seemed to give off its own glow.

One thing seemed out of place, though.

A blond teenager in torn jeans and a black t-shirt sat on the kitchen counter, slouched against the wall behind him. The boy didn't move a muscle as Yuuri walked into the room, but he could feel a pair of eyes watching him from underneath the pale fringe of hair.

"Ah, Yuri! This is Yuuri Katsuki. Yuuri, this is my brother Yuri."

Yuri pushed himself off the counter, his bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thump and stepped closer, until they were nearly nose to nose. Although the teenager was no more than a hair's breath taller than him, Yuuri felt himself shrinking against the doorframe as piercing green eyes met his.

"We don't need two Yuris in this house," the boy snarled.