Author's Notes: A slightly longer chapter this time, partly because of plot things and also because the next chapter is likely to be delayed with finals hell descending upon me. Just two more chapters to go, folks! Please enjoy, and as always, let me know your thoughts! :3
Yuuri is confused.
Viktor has always been kind to him, that's nothing new. Viktor has always been a little – and sometimes rather openly – flirtatious with him, that's not new, either. What is new, however, and quite befuddling, is Viktor's sudden tendency to be close to him and in his personal space nearly every minute of the day.
When Yuuri's changing the displays in the storefront, Viktor's by his side, a hand resting on the small of his back as they chat. When Yuuri's in the backroom, picking out a fabric piece for Guang Hong, Viktor's there, a hand on his shoulder. Even when Yuuri's at his desk, trying to craft the guest list and invitations, Viktor appears, reaching out to smooth in a loose cowlick that refused to be tamed.
It's not that Yuuri doesn't like Viktor's presence. On the contrary, the proximity of that musky cologne and light, gentle touches drive Yuuri to a point of nervous distraction, so much so that he's no longer able to concentrate without thoughts of the handsome Russian invading his brain.
So when Leo announces one afternoon that the product distributions are ready for delivery, Yuuri nearly topples off his seat in his haste to volunteer for the errand. Carefully packing the products into custom-made Lyublyu bags, he resolutely ignores the knowing look Leo tosses his way.
"I think the boss is going to miss you while you're away," Leo remarks lightly.
"He's an adult, he'll be fine," Yuuri mutters, trying (and failing) to keep his cheeks from flaming in embarrassment.
"You're getting a call," Guang Hong points out, not looking up from his work.
"From Viktor?" Yuuri laughs, loud and nervous, "Surely he has more to do than just – "
"No, I mean, your phone's ringing. I can feel the vibrations on my desk."
Okay, he was definitely blushing now.
Snatching up his cellphone, Yuuri turns away, mostly to avoid seeing Leo's wide grin. "Hello?"
"Yuu~ri, my bestest best friend," Phichit's voice singsongs, "You are so going to love me for this. Well, no more than you love Viktor, but still."
"I don't – " Yuuri glances surreptitiously at Leo and Guang Hong, but the Lyublyu designers thankfully have their heads bowed, absorbed in their work. "What's this about?"
"Ever heard of Michele Crispino?"
"I think you've mentioned him at some point. He's the stage manager for some Broadway plays…?"
"Yeah, just 'some' Broadway plays that happened to win a couple of Tony awards. He's one of the best out there when it comes to running and organizing a stage, any stage."
"Right," says Yuuri, hunching his shoulder to awkwardly keep his phone pressed against his ear, using his freed hands to tie the Lyublyu ribbons to the bag handles, "So why are we talking about him again?"
"Yuuri," Phichit laughs patiently. "He's willing to meet with you to talk about managing your fashion show."
"Oh!" Yuuri almost drops his phone in excitement. How could he not have connected the dots? (He blames Viktor.) "That's, that's fantastic! When?"
"Can you get out of work at three this afternoon? He said he'd be at a Starbucks on Lexington Avenue… I can text you the address."
"I actually have deliveries to make on Lexington Avenue, so that works out great."
"Perfect. I have to go now, but tell the grouch I said hi~!"
"'Grouch'?" Yuuri asks, but Phichit has already hung up.
Yuuri's last stop is The Hanger, where Sara is just as sweet and bubbly as Yuuri remembers. Welcoming Yuuri with a delighted squeal, the store manager tugs him into the store to show him more pictures of her favorite model, and to proudly announce that her best friend is now officially at "Lee Seung-gil status". As they flip through assorted fashion magazines, Yuuri can't shake the vague feeling that something's missing from the store.
"Look at her," Sara sighs, patting the flat two-dimensional spread of a beautiful, sultry-looking redhead, posing for some denim ad and showing off legs, legs, and more legs. "Isn't Mila amazing? I'd so do her if I weren't straight."
"She's very pretty," Yuuri agrees politely, eyes darting about, trying to spot the missing item. Not the displays, no. Accessories section, check. Pants, check. Tops, check. Suit pants, check. Jackets, check.
"Do you know, she said she'd try to get Seung-gil's contacts for me? Best friend ever. Not to mention all the swag she shares from her modeling work."
Absently, Yuuri nods, gaze falling on the coat rack.
Oh.
"Your brother's not here today?" Yuuri notes the missing figure skulking about in the shadows.
"No, thank god," Sara says, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation to the ceiling. "Mickey's got some meeting at three today, but he's being all hush-hush about it for some reason."
"At three?" says Yuuri, blinking. "Where, um… where at?"
"The Starbucks two blocks down the street."
… Oh.
Suddenly, the nickname 'grouch' makes so much sense.
"You're supposed to be out delivering products, not finding men," Viktor says in clipped voice, arms folded across his chest.
"It's not like that!" Yuuri flushes, waving his hands, "It's just that, Mr. Stalker here is – "
"I have a name, dammit," Michele snaps.
"I'm sorry, Mickey is – "
"Michele. Only Sara gets to call me that."
"Michele," Yuuri hastily amends while the Italian man scowls darkly at him, reminiscent of their young intern's angry expressions. (It's probably a good thing Yuri has taken the week off to work on his senior project.) "He's, um, a stage manager, and he's open to helping out with our runway show for free!"
"Michele Crispino," the Russian man drawls, eyes narrowing, long fingers drumming slowly on his arms. "You've managed award-winning Broadway stage plays. Why take on a short, closed fashion show without a fee?"
"Love your work by the way," Leo comments. Clutching Leo's arm, Guang Hong nods vigorously, eyes sparkling.
Apparently, Yuuri realizes with chagrin, people in fashion also know their way around Broadway theatres. He really has a lot to learn about this industry.
"My sister loves fashion," Michele sniffs, averting his gaze with a sulk. "Just thought she'd like it if I managed a fashion show, at least once."
A beat.
Then, Viktor brightens, his mood taking such a complete 180 that Yuuri wonders if there's an on-off switch hidden somewhere under those exquisite features. "Wonderful," he says, slinging an arm round Michele, who hunches into his stalker coat with wide-eyed shock at being touched by another human being. "Why don't we discuss the details in my office?"
As Michele is forcibly led through the double doors, Guang Hong turns to Leo. "I don't get it," the smaller man says.
"A man with a sister complex would have no eyes for our Yuuri here," Leo explains. "Or, if you want to put a more professional spin to it, Michele's motivations sound pure enough. From a business standpoint," he adds when Guang Hong stares at him in horror.
"You could've started with the professional reason first," Yuuri flushes instantly.
"I could have," Leo agrees, grinning.
"Yuuri!" Viktor calls from his office.
"But that wouldn't be the boss's primary reason," Leo continues, as Yuuri scrambles to the office, slapping at his heated cheeks and shoving Leo's words out of his mind. Work, damn it, he has to focus on work.
It turns out that Michele the 'grouch' Crispino is incredibly professional, and oddly more self-aware than he lets on. After hearing about the theme and concept for the runway – "Figures it'd be some fruity shit like 'Rejuvenation'," the Italian snorts – he snatches a color pencil from Viktor's desk and sketches out a quick layout of the venue and stage on a notepad. "I'm thinking, purple lighting on the stage, yellow glitter on a white runway… gives a soft yet edgy sort of feel."
"Also the colors of chrysanthemums," Yuuri chimes in.
"About that," Michele taps the pencil tip on his drawing, "Did you want a backdrop? Like a sketch of a chrysanthemum with the show title on it, or say, some stock photo of a chrysanthemum field?"
"I have a sketch," Viktor says smoothly, "We'll use that."
"Good, all right. How big is this show, how long is the guest list?"
"It's pretty small," Yuuri says, "Just fashion editors and our business affiliates. And we're um…" He glances hesitantly at Viktor, who nods, and Yuuri feels his confidence spike. "We're set to produce ten new lingerie pieces for the commercial line, and we're hoping to include some of our more popular designs from past collections, so we're looking at maybe… six to eight models. We'll have a number once we've held auditions next Friday."
"Okay," Michele nods, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied air. "Give me the final number when you have it. I'll work out the cues, but I'm not a people person, so my assistant manager will deal with the actual coordination."
"Emil Nekola?" Viktor asks. "I wondered why you came alone."
"Whatever the damn press says," Michele growls, "We're just work partners."
"Is this not a work matter?" Viktor says, lips quirking.
"Yeah, but – that's – what's your point?" Michele splutters, turning a dark shade of red.
Oh, thinks Yuuri for the third time that day.
"In any case, we need to settle on a venue," Viktor says, ignoring Michele's question, voice tinged with amusement. "I know of a charming little gallery that might just suit our purposes. Why don't we scope that out together after work, Yuuri?"
"Oh, uh, me?" Yuuri snaps to attention, before shaking his head rapidly; what kind of a stupid question was that? "I, I mean, yes, of course."
"I have some business to attend to, so I'll meet you there as soon as I'm done. Shall we have dinner after?"
"Sure," says Yuuri. He tries to quell the odd flutter in his stomach as he watches Viktor shake hands with Michele, thanking the other man for his time.
Viktor asking to see him outside of work – that's definitely new, too.
By the end of the day, Yuuri is no longer confused.
He's a wreck of nerves.
The gallery that Viktor has suggested is an elegant space that's perfect for a Lyublyu fashion show, especially with its special exhibition of Renaissance art lining the walls. It's quiet, the only sounds coming from the whispers of couples as they linger at various art pieces, arms linked and pressed intimately close to each other. On his way to their rendezvous spot, he also noticed the rows and rows of romantic, dimly lit European restaurants on the street leading up to the gallery, ranging from French to Italian, and even the occasional Mediterranean.
The more Yuuri thinks about it, the more it's starting to sound like Viktor has asked him on a date.
Repeat: his ridiculously, ethereally gorgeous boss, Viktor Nikiforov, might have asked him on a date.
Yuuri tugs self-consciously at his shirt collar, finding it difficult to breathe, even with the top two buttons loosened for more air. Had he known he'd be in such a situation, he would have worn something less casual than his favorite spring shirt: a collared midnight blue shirt with little cherry blossom petals fluttering across the front. He's also starting to doubt if the white skinny jeans and dark brown belt he had selected actually did go well with the shirt, or if he had simply hallucinated a complimentary set in the mirror.
What he needs right now is a distraction, something to take his mind off Viktor, something to calm his heightening emotions, something to –
A flash of gaudy purple catches his eye.
"Oh, JJ, this is lovely."
Oh no.
Of all the millions of art galleries in New York City, Jean-Jacques and his fiancée just had to visit the exact same gallery on the exact same day at the exact same time.
Take back the distraction, please take back the distraction, thinks Yuuri, as he flattens himself against the wall, mentally shrieking a prayer to every possible deity and god above that the couple will, by divine intervention, walk straight past him without noticing his presence.
Unfortunately, the higher beings must have a twisted sense of humor, because the designer turns just enough for his eyes to meet Yuuri's across the corridor.
"Yuuri…?" Jean-Jacques cocks his head to the side while Yuuri struggles to right himself and look like a normal person who wasn't just attempting to blend into the gallery wall. "What are you doing?"
"Just uh, just… looking at that painting, you know, to see if distance adds a new perspective," Yuuri says, pointing vaguely at a painting on the opposite wall.
"Right," chortles Jean-Jacques, clearly convinced. He turns back to his fiancée, who's eyeing both of them with curiosity. "Isabella darling, could you give us a minute?"
Isabella raises an eyebrow at Yuuri, but nods once. "Only a minute," she warns, leaning up to peck Jean-Jacques on the cheek, before sauntering off to study another painting further down the corridor.
"So." Jean-Jacques sticks his hands in his pants pockets and lowers his gaze, rocking slightly on his feet. Yuuri realizes, with amazement, that this is how the great, confident creator of JJ Styles looks when he's… uncertain. "From 1 to 10, how mad was Viktor?"
"Um," says Yuuri, "Three…? He said he was expecting it."
"Ouch," the designer chuckles. "Guess that says a lot about his impression of me."
Yuuri swallows, clasping his hands awkwardly in front of him. "Why did you do it?" he asks quietly.
White teeth flash in a roguish smile. "Would it matter if I told you?"
"It'd help me understand."
Jean-Jacques hesitates – JJ, hesitating – before he idly lifts a hand to trace the rim of his fedora hat, eyes flicking over to his fiancée. "Let's just say the contract guaranteed the life that Isabella and I wanted."
"I see," Yuuri frowns, worrying at his bottom lip between his teeth. Though he can appreciate Jean-Jacques's wish to provide for his future family, he doesn't really understand, not fully, because he's fundamentally a different person from the Canadian designer. (Yuuri Katsuki would never have broken his word.) A part of him is also annoyed – no, disappointed, actually – that he has yet to hear a single apology from the other man's mouth.
A part of him wants to show Jean-Jacques Leroy just exactly what he has sacrificed and thrown so easily to the wayside.
"Well, I think my minute's up," Jean-Jacques grins, tipping his hat, "I'll see you – "
"Come to our fashion show," Yuuri blurts out.
Startled, the blue eyes widen. "What?"
Yuuri inhales deeply; he's taken the plunge, so it's time to dive in deep. "We're holding a closed couture show." He lifts his chin in a show of confidence. "For our new commercial line, 'L Designs'."
For a moment, Jean-Jacques doesn't respond. He stares at Yuuri, hands back in his pockets, an unreadable expression on his face. And then, after what felt like years, the designer throws back his head in a loud laugh. "Throwing down the gauntlet, huh?"
"Oh, um, I was just – "
Jean-Jacques stretches out a hand, winking. "I accept your challenge, Yuuri Katsuki. Just let me know when."
Yuuri pauses, before he takes the designer's hand with a firm shake. "You'll receive an invitation shortly."
Nodding, Jean-Jacques takes his leave, still chuckling to himself. From afar, Yuuri hears Isabella remark, "That's the happiest I've seen you in a while. Good talk?"
"Great talk," Jean-Jacques drops a kiss on the crown of his fiancée's head as he steers her deeper into the gallery.
A hand to his heart, Yuuri lets out the breath he was holding the entire time he waited for Jean-Jacques's response. He wasn't sure how the Canadian would react, but it seems to have worked out well.
That is, assuming Viktor isn't opposed to the idea of Yuuri inviting a traitor to their fashion show.
"Yuuri," a low voice purrs into his ear then, and Yuuri nearly leaps out of his skin. "Well done."
"Viktor?" Yuuri whips round, flushing. Even with the golden era of art displayed across the walls, Viktor's beauty still manages to stand out in a simple black polo shirt and faded jeans, silver hair gleaming magnificently under the bright gallery lights. "W-What do you mean, 'well done'?"
"Inviting Jean-Jacques Leroy to our runway show? I never would have thought of that," Viktor says, blue-green eyes glittering with such pride that Yuuri feels his chest warm with elation.
"So you're okay with it?"
"More than okay."
"Great – wait," Yuuri blinks, eyebrows furrowing, "You were listening the whole time?"
"Just the tail end of it," Viktor's lips curve, as he presses a hand on Yuuri's hip. "Come, let's determine the suitability of this gallery for our show quickly so we can make our dinner reservation at seven."
Yuuri's cheeks flare pink at the feel of Viktor's hand searing through his jeans. "R-Reservation?"
"Is that all right?" Viktor asks, tilting his head just enough for his hair to fall artfully over one eye.
"Yes," Yuuri gasps, before slapping a hand over his mouth, stunned by the breathlessness of his own voice. He's acting like a giddy teenager and he really needs to get a hold of his excitement in front of his boss – his very, very good-looking boss. Who is kind of, maybe, suggesting a dinner date? "I mean… yes, that's all right."
"Good," says Viktor, looking extremely pleased.
"Oh my god," Phichit cracks up on the other line, "He actually sang? Like in front of the whole restaurant?"
"He did!" Yuuri rolls to his side on the bed, burying his burning face in the pillow at the mere memory of it. "He just, took the microphone they offered him, and… went at it!"
"Wait, okay, wait – " Phichit chokes on his laughter, "Walk me through this again. So some musicians come up to perform for you guys, and then?"
"It was like this romantic Italian love ballad or something, and it was all really nice, bit embarrassing, but it was nice, you know, until… until the singer holds out the microphone to Viktor and goes like, 'You try now, eh, you try' – "
"Is that your Italian accent?" Phichit gasps; Yuuri can practically envision the tears streaming down his friend's cheeks. "Please do it in front of Ciao Ciao, please."
"Shut up," Yuuri laughs, "So anyway, Viktor takes the microphone, whispers something to the guy holding the keytar, and then starts singing. I swear to you, I almost died choking on my pasta."
It takes a moment for Phichit to recover. "Was he any good?" he finally manages, audibly sucking in deep breaths of air.
"He was, he was so good. God Phichit, is there anything he can't do?"
"Confess his love to you like a normal person, apparently," Phichit snickers.
Yuuri frowns. "Wait, what? What does that have to do with anything?"
"Seriously?" There's a heavy sigh on the other end. "He sang an Italian love song. On a date."
"We never actually established it to be a date," Yuuri mutters.
"Let's review the facts, shall we? He made reservations at a trendy, Michelin 3-star Italian restaurant downtown, serenaded you and the rest of the restaurant for part of the meal, and then, correct me if I'm wrong, paid for the whole evening. How is that not a date?"
"Because… Because he's Viktor Nikiforov. Why would he want to date me, some rookie nobody from nowhere?"
"Yuuri," Phichit says gravely after a long pause, "As your loving best friend, it is my duty to inform you that you are, occasionally, the biggest idiot I have ever had the privilege of knowing."
"Okay well, assuming you're right, why won't he just say he likes me then?"
"Because you're both idiots."
"I'm so confused," Yuuri sighs into his pillow.
"It's like rats in a maze," says Phichit reassuringly. "You'll get there eventually."
Notes:
For reference, the song that Viktor sang, in my head canon, was Tu Per Me (You Are For Me) by La Voce Del Nord. ;)
PS: It is my firm belief that in every au and every setting, Viktor Nikiforov will always be extra.
Next chapter:
"We still need a second model to replace the other one," Michele says, frowning, "Or you're pretty much fucked."
"Do we know anyone who's about 5'7, 5'8?" asks Emil, flipping through the model profiles. "Preferably someone with a build that can pull off frills and lace."
As one, all heads turn to Yuuri, who stares back at them with wide, wide eyes.
"Wow," says Viktor brightly, "A whole new market just opened for us."
Yuri wonders for the millionth time why he chose to intern at Lyublyu: the filthiest place on earth.