Chapter twelve


"Howdy, partner."

Yuuri is hardly dressed for this occasion. It's still young in the night, and Yuuri hasn't yet remade the helmet, so it's a plastic bag around his head with a pair of breathing holes. The new mic makes his voice sound like a male Siri. The cast on his foot is gone but he's still a bit heavy on his feet – perhaps not in the best shape to chase around speeding cars.

Regardless, he watches the Ice Guy's – Victor's – face brighten at the sight of him. "I thought you'll never return." Victor gets up to his feet, stumbles in the hurry to approach him. "I'm sorry about what I did – I shouldn't have broken the rules and – and look, my identity is my responsibility. You are in no way obliged to tell me who you are –"

"Calm down," Yuuri mumbles, his heart throbbing, guilt lurching in his stomach like some unborn demon. It's oddly ominous how Victor's words echoed Phichit's from their conversation in the afternoon.

It started when Phichit told him how a few people on Reddit posted this huge analysis explaining why star figure skater Victor Nikiforov is one of the Detroit vigilantes and that the post is getting viral. Yuuri never verbally disclosed Victor's identity to anyone – he could've sworn on it with his life, but when the news sent him straight into a panic attack, there was little left to guess.

"It's okay, Yuuri, it's just a theory, for them anyway," Phichit said, "You need to talk to him. About this, about that. About everything."

Yuuri knew that. He'd been postponing it because that was what he did best; he has been so scared to lose Victor to this confusion that keeping him in the dark sounds convenient, selfish. Selfish.

"Do you know cops who are married are often posted at different places?" Phichit began out of nowhere.

Yuuri looked at him confusedly. He could catch on what Phichit's trying to say but he'd like to be sure.

"I mean, I think you're in the right to take your time thinking about this. If Victor knows it's you behind that mask, he might start messing up? You might start messing up? I mean, I don't know, but I guess you guys are almost always stuck in high pressure situations, where you need a calm head? If you decide to keep your secret for the sake of the city, it's your decision. You guys love each other anyway, there's never been a third party in this weird love square! But then, Victor deserves to know too. I don't know, Yuuri, my man, this is a tough one. It's like Sophie's Choice."

"Hey, Eros, if you don't mind me asking, what's with this getup? You know plastic bags are not very durable."

Yuuri stifles a laugh. "I ruined my helmet."

"Hence you took that vacation? I really thought it's because of me. Anyway, I have loads of new info," he ushers Yuuri to sit opposite him before pulling out a notebook – Yuuri can't help but think whether he'd have figured Victor's identity right now what with his handwriting staring him in the face, had that mask-ripping stunt hadn't happened – maybe not.

"The Wanted Man is probably a cyborg," Victor starts. Yuuri answers in compliance, "I know, I kind of had an encounter with him two weeks back. He broke my ankle."

Yuuri doesn't know what he's trying to do throwing that glaring hint at Victor's face but it just ricochets off his hood and disappears into nowhere. It may not be as obvious as he thinks, after all. "Are you okay now?" Victor asks, and when he nods, he continues, "anyway, I found this from the police. He's not just a cyborg. He's probably been human at some point, or maybe he still is. More shockingly, he's probably a child."

"A child?"

"Remember that trafficking ring we busted? They weren't trafficked for the sex market. They were all children prodigies, and they were all brought to be experimented on. I guess whatever that gross experiment was, it worked better on kids. Ugh. Another thing, remember that officer's house that was blown up? There was a black box with a message in it. Apparently some Russian cult is scrawling the same message all over the city. Not sure what it means, but I get a feeling that it's all connected."

"God, I feel the same," Yuuri tells him breathlessly, his heart racing, "How did you find all this anyway?"

"Remember that cop that tried to shoot you? Jean Jacket something?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so I kidnapped him in his own office and duct taped his mouth shut and kept him on gunpoint, then asked his partner to tell me everything. It went pretty smoothly."

"You did what?!"

"C'mon, it was an empty threat!" Victor protests light-heartedly.

"Okay, but stop threatening police officers, they already don't like us! Also, you need to lay low. The internet people are sharp."

"That Reddit thing? Yeah, I saw it," he waves it off, "They've got it all wrong. My hair is not silver, it's platinum."

How in the world couldn't I realise this guy is Victor? "Okay..."

"Um, Eros, not like it affects you but there's one more thing that happened to me while you were away."

Yuuri tenses up. What happened that he doesn't already know about? Did that Wanted Man attack Victor as well? Is he hiding any injury? Yuuri tries not to be frantic – goddamn Phichit was right – even as his voice shakes when he asks, "Wh-what is it?"

"I found love." There's an unmistakable softness in his words. It makes Yuuri so giddy and light that he thinks he'd fall over. He wishes if he could've been like Victor, committing grand gestures, whispering sweet nothings, making him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Instead, Yuuri is the moron of the weirdest kind, and just like him he answers, "Congratulations. I'm happy for you."


For a week, Yuri has tried not to think about it. Hasn't spoken much either. After Otabek told him about some kind of nasty experimentation, he shut up for good as well, maybe out of guilt. Maybe for rubbing Yuri's old wounds raw. Or maybe just for Williamson's death. In fact, there has been a strange distance between them the whole week. They need to sort things out, soon, before things start spiralling down to the point of no return.

Man, relationships are hard. And it's not even a legitimate relationship. Is it? Yes, they kissed and all but that was it. Otabek asked if he wants to be friends. Friends. They don't even know each other well enough. Do they? Yuri knows Otabek likes cats, he likes sitting to the left, he likes clicking his fingers and that the undercut was a mistake but it suited him so he kept it.

Most importantly, Otabek is the policeman and he is, or at least was, a criminal. It's a star-crossed love and no matter what, Yuri can't get that out of his head. If they, for the lack of the better word, start dating, Otabek will lose his reputation. In the same vein, the police shall always be the assholes that they are and make errors in judgment, and Yuri will lose people from his side.

"Yura, can you bring that guy in red an Americano and a pecan pie? I have my hands full at the moment," it's Yuuri Katsuki, appearing from nowhere – or maybe from his right, he doesn't care.

"Trash," Yuri snaps. Katsudon looks up from his notepad with that deer-in-the-headlights face, then whines, "Right, I know that's my middle name, but can you just –"

"No, I'm taking out the trash," he clarifies, lifts up the pudgy plastic bag in his hand, then turns before a response, almost skids through the narrow kitchen pathway and slams the exit door behind his back.

No wonder as soon as the pig got back on his two feet he has begun to annoy him. He can't complain, however, because the last two weeks have been dreadfully boring. At the same time, he's helped in three arrests. Wow, he guesses his one-track mind actually works when not around that stupid mobile crossword game that'd only load on Katsudon's phone. Yuri can't believe he got himself addicted on something as boring as crossword, damn that idiot

The world tilts as a sudden punch sends him crashing into the wall beside the dumpster. Yuri flings his own fist on instinct, and before he can look a strong hand grabs it. Yuri glares, "Motherfucker –"

He doesn't dare to say – or do – anything else now that he finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun. The moment of indecision takes away any upper-hand if he had any, a muscled arm goes snaking around his neck - he can't see who it is. Four men are in front of him – two suited up, and two carrying an axe and a rifle too big to notice what they're wearing.

"You gutter rat," and with it comes another punch to Yuri's face – he feels a line of blood trickling down his cheek, "betraying your own family? I want to hit your fucking filthy face until you choke on your own blood and die."

Yuri has a vague feeling – not that it matters – that he has seen the talking man before; he used to be a peddler just like Yuri was. Seems like he got promoted up the ranks. The fact that a brawl long back had led Yuri spit on his face doesn't help the situation either.

From the corner of his eye, he sees one of the men lock the café's exit door with a metal rod. That's bad, now he can't call for help... he'd have alerted Mila but his arms are locked behind this broad-chested mercenary, too far from his phone pocket...

"Now listen here," the man talks like he suddenly wants to negotiate, "I wish I could kill you right here and now. But I've got to take back what you told the police. The faster you spit it out, the better."

Yuri smirks. He knows there's no surviving it, so he might as well take it head-on. He tries not to stir the deep pinching in his chest; he's not going to see anyone again. Otabek, or... Katsudon or Victor. It's been a good while – perhaps the best he could've asked – not that he'd have ever said it aloud. He did love Otabek – despite their problems – and his only regret is perhaps he should've worded it better.

That being said, Yuri was just asked to spit, and he does, right on the man's face.

"You little –" the man cocks the gun in rage, the muzzle pushing into his forehead and imprinting on his skin. Yuri stares at it, defiant. He'll not close his eyes, not this time. There's no silencer either – there's going to be a loud bang, just the way he'd like to go out.

But then the man removes his gun and points it at Yuri's knee instead. "But I have a job to do. Would you like to speak before or after I blow your kneecaps apart?"

Yuri's insides tilt in discomfort. He knows that's not a negotiation. He tries not to think about the pain of a bullet imploding into bone. He's not going to die instantly – he doesn't want to die, he doesn't, he doesn't want to die – he's about to feel his nerves squeaking in his ears. "Go fuck yourself, why don't you."

"Let him go."

Yuri's heart leaps out of his chest. It's fear, dark and terrifying and clawing up his insides as he hopes – prays – that he just hallucinated the voice. No, no, please don't be –

And he's there. Just standing there. Apparently unfazed at the sight of so many weapons. Asking them to let Yuri go. This is just like him, this idiot, ramming into a situation he doesn't belong to.

"No, no! What the fuck are you doing?!" Yuri screams before he thinks, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes before he can think, struggling against the iron grasp of the mercenary. What the fuck is Katsudon thinking? He's unarmed and – wait, is he trying to buy time before the police arrives? Is he trying to distract them? No no no no – Yuri is not going to let him Yuuri is not dying because of him, no –

When the man, whose face Yuri spat on, turns to Yuuri, Yuri's screams get more incoherent, more desperate. "No, please – don't hurt him he has nothing to do with this! I'll give you the names, please just – "

It doesn't matter what Yuri does – Yuuri sealed his fate the moment he stepped in here: he's a witness and the mafia won't leave one behind, especially one who has crossed them. Yuri senses a streak of rage seething through his head like a white-hot wire – why is he doing it, why – what about his family – what about Victor

"Are you going to kill me?" Yuuri asks the gunman, almost naïvely – and yes they are, Katsudon, you stupid noble fuck, and now Yuri will have to watch it all over again – watch someone he cares about drop dead to the ground – it's Yuri's fault – this is the second time Yuuri threw himself in front of the bullet for him and this time all too knowingly –

A series of shots ring out and Yuri shuts his eyes tight, tears pricking his eyes like acid. He can't watch a friend die. A guttural sob escapes him. No. No no.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were going to kill me?"

Yuri blinks. What?

Yuuri is still standing, just the way he was, unhurt, undaunted, and probably a little annoyed. Whatever happened when the shots were fired and Yuri closed his eyes seems to have scared the men instead. It's a deadlock, but they have inched closer to Yuuri, guns at the go.

This time the rifle fires, and Yuuri dodges the bullet – did he just fucking dodge it how is that humanly possible what the fuck is happening – as it strikes the axe-wielding man right opposite him who flops to the ground, axe flying out of his reach. The rifle guy fires again – Yuuri dodges again – before grabbing the muzzle and bending it – like, like something out of a Bugs Bunny movie.

At this point, Yuri wonders if he is dead and all this crazy shit is just a pain-induced dream in his head, before it dawns on him. He knows, he knows who that is. He has seen those moves before, it's his signature style – the vigilante who's been mysteriously missing in action for the last two weeks, because – oh god everything makes sense now

"I think I speak for everyone when I say we stop fighting and take this bleeding gentleman to the hospital before he's sent to prison for the rest of his life," there's an odd calmness – cockiness? – to Katsudon's voice... he doesn't even sound like himself anymore, he sounds like – like someone who has a regular habit of flinging criminals left and right. Yuri can physically feel the circuits of his mind fuse out one after one.

Soon Yuri is dropped to the ground as the mercenary holding him joins the ambush. As his face smacks the earth, dirt sticks to the cheeks that are wet from those needlessly spilt tears. When he looks up, the fight is over, the men are knocked unconscious, and Yuuri Katsuki stands alone like it was no big deal, like it was written at the back of his hand.

Yuuri rushes to him. "Are you okay?" he asks, fervently, nervously? – Yuri doesn't think he could've used nervous to describe him again but there it is, like a flip of a switch. Katsudon's eyes search him up and down for injuries and there's one on his cheek, but before he can dab his handkerchief on it, Yuri flinches back. Then freaks.

"Fuck, fuck! Fuck! Fuck –"

"I know –"

"Fuck you, you – you're – you're –"

"I am, sorry you had to know this way, Yura –"

"You freak! I thought – I was so sure you were gonna die – you psycho!"

Katsudon just stands there, apologetic, not knowing what to do or say. Yuri eventually calms down, sniffing, sighing, letting things register in his head. In spite of that heart attack, Katsudon did save the day. Katsudon's a fucking superhero. He's a fucking outlaw. He's the coolest person in the city. Yuri feels... surreal. Katsudon knew his shit when he said the t-shirt line got the helmet wrong. More importantly, Yuri owns that t-shirt. A t-shirt with Katsudon on it. Yeughh. He needs to burn it. But it's also fluffy and comfy so maybe not...

Well he'd just say he burnt it but not actually burn it. That is so not the point right now –

"I called the police and the ambulance," Katsudon tells him, eyeing a minivan that zoomed past them, "let's get out of here. My place. After that, we need to go to Victor's apartment."

That reminds him.

"Wait, Katsudon."

He turns a bit, "Yeah?"

"Does he know? Who you are?"

"Does who know?"

"Don't act coy, dumbass. You know I'm talking about Victor."

Katsudon stiffens, then looks away. His face flushes down a shade. It's hardly embarrassment – it's more like – concern.

"No. I thought it goes without saying, but here it is. It's still a secret. If it gets out, it's gonna throw everyone in danger. People are gonna get hurt, Yura, and I'm not even talking about the police –"

"Why haven't you told him?"

Yuuri sighs in defeat, guilty of dodging around the subject.

"I - I haven't had the chance to."


Back in that cramped apartment, when Yuri glances up, Katsudon is still examining his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. "It think it's done," he says, then adds cheekily, "I'm scared that the band aid's gonna snap from the cheek if you smile too much, but I don't believe that's gonna be a problem."

Yuri wants to glare, but his mind is too unfocused. Instead his mind does something Yuri had warned it against; Yuri starts to sob. He's pathetic now, and he can't even hide it because it's not like the slow-forming film of water in his eyes he occasionally has to deal with. It's the hideous fat blobs of tears running down his face and dropping down his chin. His face is crumbling up, he's jerking back and forth with every sob.

Katsudon panics. "Oh god, I'm so sorry! Please, it was a joke, I don't know how to joke! I'm a stupid, horrible person!"

This dumbass.

"Yura," Katsudon approaches the second time more tactfully, "I know it's scary but those people are not gonna put a hand on you. We'll – I'll – I'll keep an eye and besides, the police is on their tail. Trust me, I know."

He rubs at Yuri's shoulder cautiously more than comfortingly, as if he's worried that Yuri might combust in flames at too much provocation, trying to look through the mess of Yuri's long hair to see if he's still crying.

"I sometimes miss my Dedushka," Yuri chokes out, unable to look up, ears flaming in shame for breaking apart in front of someone he's only known for about six months, "My grandpa. He was my world."

"I'm sorry, Yura," Katsudon mumbles sincerely, "I can't imagine how hard it must've been you, everything that you've gone though –"

"– I don't want your pity," he growls, "You don't even know anything!"

"I know you used to be a brilliant skater. I know you got kidnapped and dragged into the mafia ring. I know you're yelling at me all the time and you need to look hard as nails because you think you're fighting alone, but let me tell you something Yuri, you're not alone. It may mean nothing to you but Victor and I always have your back."

It doesn't mean nothing. He isn't invulnerable to emotions and he's already making quite a show of it. He sobs harder, clutches onto the sleeves of his own shirt and melts under Katsudon's warm, firm, familial grip on his shoulder.

"Breathe, Yuri," Katsudon guides him through it, "Breathe slowly. In and out."

Soon the sobs subside and they make a pact to never mention this episode in the apartment or back at the coffee shop ever again. Yuri waits on the pavement as Katsudon locks the door and saunters down the stairs, lost in his thoughts.

"Gah," Yuri tries to lighten the mood, "you take so much time, Katsudon. You can just jump down from the tenth floor!"

Katsudon gives him that annoyed-yet-amused sideways stare which is always too blocked by his specs to have its effect. "You know you need to keep quiet, don't you. My secret in return for yours."

Yuri scoffs, "If I tell everyone you're some vigilante freak, you'll tell everyone I cried? Yeah, fair bargain, superhero."

"Howww did you make superhero sound like an insult?"

"Okay, Katsudon," he plants his fist into his palm, as if readying for a fight, "I need answers to a few questions now."

Yuuri sing-songs with a sigh. "Shoot."

"Was there any banana peel?"

"Wha – oh," Katsudon deflates as he remembers, "No. I knew about the bullet."

"I knew that was fishy. Next, you weren't mugged, were you. What really happened?"

"Yuri, do we really need to –"

"You owe me answers!" Yuri declares dramatically.

"What?" Katsudon raises a confused brow, "I don't, really. But I'll tell you. No, I wasn't mugged. I got into a fight with that Big Man, you know? – the wanted murderer? I lost real bad, but I managed to escape before he could kill me. That's all there is to it. I lost my mask, and Phichit saw me without it, and so – um, now two people know."

"Oh," Yuri finds his mind reeling, but ignores it and moves on, "okay, next question, how do you pee in that spandex suit thing?"

"Okay, people need to stop asking that!" he blushes an alarming shade of red, "There's – there's a zip. Of course there's a zip!"

"Last question, Katsudon. Who is that dumbass you hang around with?"

Yuri notices him visibly flinch. "I don't know," he answers too fast, "he's never shown his face."

"You know the internet thinks it's Victor Nikiforov."

Yuuri lets out a nervous laugh at that. "Phichit told me."

"You know, I think so too."

Yuuri doesn't say anything.

Yuri tries to explain, "I was mad at the dumbfuck for a while because I thought the bastard's two-timing, with all those vigilante stories I see on TV and stuff the magazines make out, and at the same time leading you on. But I guess it was you all along, so that solves it."

"It doesn't solve anything!" Katsudon almost shouts, then steps backs as if he spoke too much, "I mean, look – um, Victor's never led me on. He told me from the beginning that he liked someone else. But then things changed, and we fell in love – I guess. As for the Ice Guy – the Wizard or I don't know what people call him – we only have a professional relationship. The papers – they're lying – there's no real picture of Eros out there in the media."

"I believe you," Yuri says, "but you have to consider he's Silver Shot. Like, haven't you noticed, he never wears gloves. And Victor always wears gloves! If the old man is the ice man, it's always been the two of you waltzing around each other's lives in the dumbest ways possible. That's some crazy shit right there. If I write a book on it, I'll be famous! "

It's right then that they reach Victor's place and Katsudon grabs that opportunity to not answer. "Are you ready?" he asks instead, halfway through twisting the doorknob, a mysterious smile cropping up on his face.

"Ready for what -"

"Happy birthday, Yuri!"

There's a loud cheer from the living room as soon as the door swings open – are they addressing me – what the fuck is this upside-down world where Katsudon is a superhero and people celebrate my birthday – it's not even my birthday – from the huddle at the centre. Yuri finds his breath reeling – dammit, crying once a day is enough – when he notices Otabek, the softest smile on his face.

"Otabek did this," Katsudon whispers to him. Yuri knows how much Otabek hates interacting with strangers, and how busy he's been – in fact, he has a flight this night itself – and yet to arrange all this just to make Yuri happy, heck, for all of them to be there –

Without thinking, he runs into Otabek's arms. He doesn't remember the last time he's spent time with family, and hell he's not going to miss this one.


"You know, it's not like you to leave the ice to find someone you want to protect."

When the statement comes, it irks Victor. The conversation didn't start from there; it held up a pretty friendly-teasy tone until then. He'd only been gushing to Chris about how much in love he is with Yuuri. Chris doesn't question much, doesn't even bring up the vigilante. As if Chris knew this was going to happen. Too bad they all knew and they did nothing to help Victor figure it out. Of course, Victor chuckles to himself, he can only be so strong. Anyone will fall for Yuuri.

It was then Chris drops a bomb: he asks about Victor's plans to return next season, he talks about long distance, he says only a handful of relationships survive that crisis.

"I'm not leaving." Victor says automatically. He's had enough of gold medals for himself. He doesn't want to live apart from Yuuri. He wants to live with him. He wants to wake up to his face every morning.

"What?" Chris does a double-take, "You only said it was a break!"

"I know I did but," he trails off. I didn't expect to fall in love...

"Oh, I see."

"Don't tell him about this," Victor beings to ramble, nervously, warningly, "If he hears a word of this he'll think it's his fault and he's going to –"

"You know, it's not like you to leave the ice to find someone you want to protect."

Victor clenches his jaw and fills his glass for another drink. He thinks that is weirdly judgemental of Chris, and then it dawns upon him like a life-altering epiphany – Chris has always been just a friend. The friend he shares drinks with. A friendly rival, and a sort of enabler. Chris doesn't know what's like Victor and what isn't. How would he? Chris had never been that close. Victor has never let anyone come close.

No-one knows Victor's doomed two of his past relationships because he couldn't keep things casual. No-one knows he has stayed up all night reading a Nicholas Sparks novel and then cried into his dog's fur. No-one knows he likes to slow dance to kill time. Heck no-one even knows he likes Beyoncé because it never fit with his image.

No one except Yuuri.

(In all honesty, he ran his mouth too much and the vigilante knows too, but he'll just call him a pen-pal.)

It's almost as if Chris senses his annoyance. "Look," he concedes, "I'll word it better. I wasn't talking about skating. It's yours to decide what you want to do and I'll say come back! – but it's okay if you don't want to. I was talking about the city. I've seen that – that man you're dealing with on TV. I think that vigilante made you feel like it's your responsibilities to get rid of it, not the police's. You're only trying to protect Yuuri by staying back. Aren't you?"

Oh, right.

Protecting Yuuri. He's done everything but that.

He can only imagine how it'll go down. He's not scared anymore that Yuuri won't understand – of course he will, if Victor knows him well then he'd want to bend over backwards to help him. Victor can't – won't – allow that. Not like he can keep Yuuri off the streets. Yuuri is reckless and stubborn and... so, so selfless. No, Victor can't even picture it, he can't see him in the midst of the battle, he can't picture Yuuri get hurt...

He's got to tell him who he is and break it off. He doesn't deserve Yuuri. He has to keep him safe.

The thought alone feels like someone punched a knife in his gut and twisted it. His vision swims with tears. The alcohol has to make it worse, he senses this sudden need to reach out to Yuuri, to dive into his arms, to cry –

"Victor!"

There's music, and Yuuri is dancing. His cheeks are flushed, his shirt is coming undone, there's a scarf wrapped around his head for some reason. He's grinning, he's huffing, and he's genuinely out-dancing the birthday boy.

"A dance-off?" Victor repeats when Yuuri says it aloud.

"Yes," Yuuri laughs again, almost tumbles on him. He's clutching onto Victor's sweatshirt like his life depends on it. He's so drunk. "Dance-off. I... I won, so I get... I get to choose. I choose you! Dance-off with me!"

Victor thinks this is vile torture. He just allowed his head to entertain a possible, practical – perhaps inevitable thought to breaking it off, and he deserves at least a miniscule of success. His heart needs to stop palpitating. He needs to stop getting nervous at Yuuri playfully nudging his head against his chest. He needs to stop staring at the curve of his smile. He needs to stop getting surprised by his drunken brashness.

He needs to stop falling.

He can't win against Yuuri. Before he knows it, he's pulled into the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the room. From the side of his eye, he sees Yura grumbling about the dance-off and threatening to leave his own party. The song shuffles and he hears some more drunken clapping at the back, and he's suddenly engaged in a happy dance. Yuuri's hand is on his waist, and his brown glassy eyes are gazing into his.

"I have a secret to tell you," Yuuri giggles, and unexpectedly scoots closer, hands reaching up to Victor's neck and pulling him close. Victor can feel his breath against his ear. He isn't spared a second to prepare for the storm that this man is.

"I love you," Yuuri whispers into his ear, then laughs like he made a bait-and-switch joke. "I love you. Do you love me?"

He does. So much it hurts. He never fails to mention it. Why is Yuuri asking again? Did he read Victor? Can he guess something's going on in Victor's head?

(Maybe Yuuri's just drunk.)

Yuuri's expression crumbles when Victor hesitates. "Do you not love me?"

He's drunk.

He's drunk.

It doesn't matter what Victor says. He probably won't remember.

"Look at me," Yuuri insists, "Just look at me."

"I am looking at you." I can look at you forever.

Yuuri nudges his forehead against his, and Victor wonders what's suddenly got into him. Perhaps Victor's drunk as well. "Never take your eyes off me," Yuuri says. They may drunken words, but they are intense. Victor always knew that Yuuri has a certain rough edge, this intensity that keeps smouldering at the surface of his usually bumbling self, and now, suddenly it's just – out there, bludgeoning Victor in the face. Sometimes Yuuri feels like a different person. Like an unsolvable mystery.

And really, Victor can't look away.

"I should call a taxi," Phichit suggests an hour later as the party began to disperse, staring concernedly at Yuuri's form laying passed out on the couch. Yuri and Otabek left early because apparently Otabek has a flight to catch, which Victor half-wonders is just an excuse for them to get some alone-time. Chris told him he'd be taking the last train to Cleveland, and is packing up his things right now.

"I don't want to wake him up," Victor thinks he should get Yuuri a blanket. As soon as the alcohol wears off, he's going to get cold. "He can stay the night here."

"Oh, right. You're his boyfriend now."

"Planning to give me the shovel talk?" Victor asks cheekily.

Phichit laughs lightly. "I know you, Victor, and I trust you. I've seen the way you look at him. In any case, I don't need to protect Yuuri. If you hurt him, he can hand your ass back to you himself, I promise that. And if he ever needs a hand to hide a body, I'm always there."

"Frankly, I'm now a little scared."

Phichit grabs his coat, pats Makkachin who's been nipping at their feet for attention, and then leaves for the door.

"Just be careful with your words. His glass heart shatters real easy."

Eventually Chris leaves (with a wink and a thumbs up, whatever the hell that meant), and two of them are left alone, one awake and one asleep. Victor fetches a blanket to cover Yuuri. He's been sleeping in a really awkward position; that arm trapped under him is going to be really sore in the morning. Victor tries to pull it out – and succeeds, only to roll him over and drop him to the floor. Good thing that the blanket cushions the fall, but it startles Yuuri awake.

"Victor!" he gasps out, looks around in alarm, "Where's everyone else?"

"Everyone left," he replies, "I'm sorry I dropped you! Are you hurt?"

"No," he trails off, sitting upright on the floor, back against the couch. "Victor, we're alone."

"I know," Victor turns away, shuffling the pile of blankets and carrying them back to the bed, "You had a lot of champagne. Are you feeling sick?"

"I'm okay," he drawls, still slurring on his words and occasionally phasing out, "Will you come close to me?"

Victor's heart almost leaps out of his mouth. He trots back to Yuuri, then kneels before him. And then pecks on his hand like a grand gesture of love. "Are you dizzy? Can you not stand? Do you want me to carry you to bed?"

"No," Yuuri falls against his chest and Victor suspects Yuuri can probably feel his heart ramming against his ribcage, "I'm afraid of losing you. I love you so much. Will you kiss me?"

"Not tonight, solnyshko. You're drunk."

"Oh right," Yuuri stares at the floor, disappointed, "who's... who's solnysh... who's that?"

"It's a term of endearment. Ty moyo solnyshko."

"What... what does that mean?"

"You are my sun. My sun. Moyo solnyshko."

"Is it... is it for me? Is that me?"

"It's always you," Victor whispers in his ear like a lullaby, supporting Yuuri as he staggers up to his feet, "Only you."

"So... do you love me?"

Just be careful with your words. His glass heart shatters real easy. "I do, Yuuri," he says, in spite of himself, "Never doubt that."

"Will you still... will you still love me if I'm not what you thought I was?"

Victor glances up, unsure why Yuuri asked that, then laughs sadly because whichever drunken thought propelled that question, it resonated with him all too much to just ignore it. "I love you. Whoever you are, I accept all of you." He tucks in the sides of the blanket and adjusts Yuuri's pillow. "I hope you'll do the same for me?"

"Uh-huh. I already did," Yuuri slumps over on the bed and shut his eyes with a wide, satisfied smile, "I'll tell you... all about it..."

"It's just sometimes, some things just aren't meant to be," Victor mumbles, almost to himself as he takes the other side, blinking back his tears, "Go to sleep, solnyshko."

After a while Yuuri gives out an adorable giggle in the quiet of the night. He's still awake. "Are you going to call me... that... from now on?"

"Do you like it?"

"Mhmm. I do."


sorry I've been gone awhile, I kind of had issues with my mental health, and also I'm really grateful to those who keep reviewing and following this story. Thank you for having faith in me.