A/N: Much love to all my readers. I hope I didn't take too long with this update.

Some of you have been wanting to see a little more of dancing Yuuri, so here you go. I live to please. It comes with the addition of one of our beloved characters, as well.

Happy Wednesday, guys!

Viktor had yet to meet Minako, though his head was filled with Yuuri's stories of her. She was like a mythical goddess etched into reality as a statue that the villagers all met beneath to praise and glorify, to project flesh onto stone. Except instead of villagers there was just Yuuri and instead of a broad sculpture there were giant pink letters, MINAKO scrawled along the studio walls in shimmering satin. The woman's presence swallowed the room even when she wasn't in it.

Yuuri held one of the few keys to Minako's studio, in which they sat. They'd crept in at the indecent hour of three in the morning, the only time Yuuri had been able to schedule with Viktor lately. Yuuri had to sacrifice sleep before his early shift for this little rendezvous and he wore that sacrifice on his skin. Viktor felt the early air like a child cozying back into his arms. It burst energy within him, the slowly lightening sky brightening him along with the valley. Yuuri less so. He was still groggy, crooked indents beneath his eyes and his hair ruffled around his ears. Coffee helped. The studio helped more. An instant mindset shook him alive. Yuuri opened the doors, felt the barre beneath his palms, and reached a level of shine.

In only a matter of moments, after Yuuri had stretched, wrapped up his feet and stopped fidgeting in nervous, maddening fear because someone was watching, because Viktor was watching - and he was no good, surely rusty, and had never been very good in the first place – he danced in a splendid display of dominance. He owned the floor on which he swept his feet across. It was an outstanding show that Viktor couldn't have bought with all of the wealth the world offered.

After the incident with Valeriya, it only took a short while before Viktor remembered an earlier agreement they'd shared, an 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' deal that he had been ready to cash in on. He'd shown Yuuri his skating, even yanked him out onto the ice, and now it was time for Yuuri to reciprocate. It was a payment Viktor fully enjoyed. Yuuri indulged him with dance, with fluid movements and deliberate steps. Viktor adored watching Yuuri bake, but it was a secret he'd take to his grave that he enjoyed watching Yuuri dance much more.

He marveled at the length of his body, at the shape it could take on as he danced to different beats, took on different personas, and showed off the wide girth of knowledge in dance styles he had housed in his mind. His dance held no hesitation, authentic in its delight.

Ballet kept Yuuri regal and true, too royal for meager peasants to touch. His feet were arched, his toes strong, and Viktor felt that sting he knew when he was on the ice, every kilogram of his body weighted on the tip of his toes, like an ant that carries its own weight and more. The mere length of time Yuuri could hold himself there, on the precipice of true height and falling, while keeping his face a serene composure, spinning on toe nails that could split with the wrong amount of pressure, was enough to leave him stunned.

There appeared to be no limits to the way Yuuri's body could move as he danced right into each style with the simple change of the song. One moment he was an elegant swan, reaching for the limitless sky, the next he was spinning his body on his thumb. A Latin number had Yuuri using every curve his body had to offer. Viktor was all for that one.

Yuuri gave a suggestive bop of his hips and Viktor couldn't help it as he interrupted. "Do that move again, Yuuri."

"This?"

"…Yeah, that."

He strutted across the floor in a way that had Viktor salivating. Yuuri was oblivious to his sex appeal, as usual. But that was just fine with Viktor. It made it all the more charming and genuine. Besides, if Yuuri actually tried… Viktor shivered at the thought. Yuuri could have him begging and lavishing his feet with devotion after one look alone.

When Viktor's mind didn't wander away with Yuuri's hips or his muscled thighs that spoke volumes of desire, he observed Yuuri's steps the most. His feet spoke stories of their own, carving out words into the floor as Yuuri's body voiced it into the air. Viktor tried to translate it down, worked it into a language he could understand and convert into his own routine. It was the first time he'd taken notes in months. It had been too long since he'd felt moved enough to replicate and incorporate the movements of another's into his sport.

Viktor halted his scribbles when the entrancing steps suddenly came to a stop. "You aren't done, are you?" He sounded devastated in his own ears, and he found it funny, reminded him of when his father would finish a painting, all smiling and proud of the outcome, but all Viktor wanted was to keep watching the strokes of the brush.

"I just thought that it was time you joined me."

Viktor gave a tilt of the head, pouting, "but I… it… Yuuri~" He stretched out the vowels, the name a pearl in his mouth. He gestured to Yuuri's feet, which were still delectably bent. "Those steps would look gorgeous on the ice. I must see more of them."

Yuuri flushed with a small squirm that had him tugging at the tights over his thigh, on the lobe of his ear. But he composed himself, quick enough to cause whiplash, and held out his hand in a show much like Viktor had done at the rink. "But this dance requires a partner, my Viktor."

Wide eyed and at a maximum high, Viktor clicked out of his notepad app and dropped his phone without ceremony, the cell saved by its case alone, before taking the hand he could never resist. "As you wish, my Yuuri."

They danced. And danced. And danced. Viktor could never tire of feeling Yuuri's chest against his, his body entwined with his, powerful thighs locked around his waist, guiding hands on his shoulders, arms, hips, ankles, as Yuuri and he pieced themselves together on the dance floor. But his body tired. He was by no means a bad dancer, nor was he particularly inexperienced. He was one of the best ice dancers the world had come to know. But when dancing next to Yuuri, on land instead of a winter-thickened lake, he couldn't compare. He was clumsy on his feet, improperly balanced with his weight in one move, tripping into Yuuri's space in the next. It wasn't like Yuuri's beginning on the ice, but it was bad enough that even he felt a little embarrassed for himself, laughing and huffing when one move was particularly tricky. Yuuri was sweet as always, tender in his explanations. Viktor picked it up quickly enough, but his body ached with a new soreness that a comparable amount of time at the rink couldn't manage. He slumped down onto the floor, laughing as Yuuri still danced circles around him.

Yuuri finished with a twirl that brought him directly behind Viktor's sitting form. He bent forward, curving around Viktor and sliding his fingers along the edge of Viktor's hairline to tilt his head back and greet him again, this time with a kiss. It was just lips and strong gusts of breaths. Their mouths didn't match the angle and Viktor's neck stiffened after a time, but it was a heaven he didn't think he deserved.

Yuuri sat down beside Viktor, his ass sinking heavily onto the wood as his legs nearly gave out beneath him. "I haven't danced that much in ages. I think I might have thrown something," he said as he rubbed his calf.

"I am honored to get to see dancer Yuuri. Your dance speaks of trial and triumph, just the way your pastries do."

"Liar," Yuuri said, pinning Viktor down with his eyes. "That can't have been that entertaining. I'm not even in shape."

Viktor knocked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he spun on his ass before laying his head down on Yuuri's lap. "I happen to be particularly fond of your shape." He leaned in and nipped at the give of Yuuri's stomach. Yuuri shrieked at the sensation, expression scandalized like such a thing wasn't expected from him.

"How can you just… like it's so natural for you, too." He dissolved into laughter, now rubbing at the teeth marks and the wet spot left behind on his tank top.

"Oh, but it is." He turned and nuzzled himself into Yuuri's middle, nosing the hardness of muscle and the round of indulgence. "I can't help but want to devour what I admire."

Yuuri snorted, but the flare to his irises told that it hit a smooth spot inside him. "Too much. That one was too much, even for you." Yuuri fell back, arms flopping to his sides as he laid out on the floor. Viktor stayed where he was, perfectly cushioned on those damned dance-hardened thighs. Left perpendicular to each other, in a formed T of exhaustion, they stared at the ceiling, counting the tiny poke holes in the tiles and listening to the light buzz of the studio bulbs.

"What are your dreams, Yuuri?" He felt Yuuri's discomfort as his thighs tensed, muscles twitching with the cool down.

"I'm not sure I have any."

"Nonsense. Surely, you've dreamt of something, now or as a child. Even something silly, like being a fairy that gets swept up in an illicit love affair with a human prince."

"That is silly."

"I was eleven," Viktor grumbled with a pointed sniff. It was a dream that half came true. While he hadn't been blessed with fairy blood, he'd been swept off his feet by his very own prince. Yuuri had yet to put him down.

"I… suppose I've always wanted to own my own bakery… where I could serve whatever I want. My customers could enjoy flavors from all over the world. I could even give them a taste of my home." Viktor smiled at how Yuuri's voice was so open and wondrous at the prospect. It was a dream Yuuri wanted, and Viktor wanted to help make it come true. "But I could never do that. I'm not…" He held his hands up in front of his face. Viktor watched how the fluorescent light filtered through his fingers before his arms fell back at his sides. "I could never," he finished, defeat dulling his fire.

Viktor sprang up and turned to Yuuri, eyes burning seriousness into his placid form. "You could so have your own bakery! You could even have a chain," he emphasized with his arms spread wide as if his arm span could encompass the grandness of his ideas, the breadth of possibility, "and a line like Cake Boss. Ooooh, and a show like," He grasped the underside of his chin, pinching and stretching the skin in thought, "Yuuri on Baking! I would watch-"

"Viktor-"

"-it every day. And all night long," he continued with a suggestive baritone before flipping back into untamable excitement. "You could enter competitions and tournaments. You could even host them! Give others the opportunity to become like you. Teach your own gaggle of students to master the fine arts of salt and sugar-"

"Are we even talking about baking anymore?"

"Imagine my amazing pastry chef Yuuri with his own fans and lights and-"

"Viktor." Yuuri sat up and cupped his jaw, easing him out of his fevered fantasy. Viktor took note of the wariness in his eyes, the insecurity swallowing his expression and keeping him confined.

"Don't be afraid to dream, Yuuri."

"Dreaming is one thing. Hoping is another."

"You can start out small, as we all do. Everyone loved your clip on my account. We could start with videos online. Little tutorials that teach viewers, and also ones that showcase your skill. Think about it. Phichit doesn't think your boss would mind if we used the bakery after hours-"

"Aha!" Yuuri exclaimed as he flicked Viktor on the nose. "So this is your guys' end game. What, you want me to become an internet sensation? A youtuber or something?"

"Nothing so trite or temporary," Viktor reasoned, protecting his nose with a fence of fingers. "But it's a stepping stone to bigger things. Gives your culinary expertise its due exposure and also brings more business to the bakery. C'mon, Yuuri." He shook Yuuri and his overwhelmed, ghastly face. Was it too much to hope that one, simple action could decimate his reservations, his bone deep anxieties, and make him see his potential? Probably. No, definitely. But Viktor couldn't stop himself. He wanted this for Yuuri. So much so that his fingers were indenting the other's arms.

"I-"

"And here I thought I'd come to find my little dancer ready to grovel at my feet, begging me to continue his tutelage. Instead, I see he's canoodling on my dance floor." A woman entered behind Viktor, voice a mixture of disappointment and affection. He could guess by the words, and Yuuri's 'kill me now, I'll die anyway' expression, that it was the famed Minako-sensei.

Viktor spun around, charm and appeal oozing from his pores as he slipped into his practiced, media-winning self, even as his head was still lost in the musk of sweat and joy. "I finally get to meet Yuuri's most esteemed teacher. Only a true master can instill such elegance and proficiency into their students. I have witnessed as much in Yuuri this morning." Viktor stood tall before bowing low. "I am without a doubt in the presence of one of the greats."

Minako narrowed her eyes at him and Viktor thought that maybe his approach had been a tad too saccharine, he had heard from Yuuri that the woman could call bull shit in any form, but then she gawped at him, jaw low and eyes popped out as she pointed a sharp finger at him. "You! You're-" her finger swung over to Yuuri, who flinched back, "and you! You two were-!" The finger fell as her shock fizzled out. "So… I suppose the rumors are true. What a way to find out, Yuuri." She sent an accusatory look his way, one that was reminiscent of a mother who'd been denied a customary meet-the-family dinner with a new suitor. Viktor opened his mouth to continue his greeting, but Minako swiped her hand at him. "Cut the crap, little Nikiforov. You can take those schmoozing words and direct them at the wall. The son of Valeriya Nikiforova praising me? Hah. You can reserve that sly tongue for servicing Yuuri."

"M-Minako!" Yuuri scolded, hiding his face behind a hand, but Viktor only laughed.

"It's alright." Viktor relaxed back, easing himself into the mirrored wall. "Means my sly tongue can take a break between requests."

"You are both going to give me gray hair."

"Knocking your lover's hair color, Yuuri? My, my, you're already at that stage?"

Viktor scoffed and jumped to defend one of his most prized assets, which was also one of his most insecure areas. "It's silver. Like starlight."

Minako full on cracked up before she made her way over to him and tugged on his fringed bangs, hip checking him into the mirror. "Whatever you say, old man."

Minako was like a typhoon crashing onto land. She swept Yuuri up off the floor, demanding that he prove his aforementioned prowess, even as Yuuri whined about his soreness. Minako just parried back by grabbing a finger full of the squish at his hips.

"And what is this, Yuuri? This is not the build of a dancer. How dare you speak about being under my instruction when you showcase such laziness. Up! Up! You aren't leaving until I see blood."

For a woman in her fifties, she was in excellent condition, her body long and nimble. She was beautiful. Beautifully terrifying. He no longer questioned Yuuri's previous statements of her being dragon-like. Flying high in the clouds with her grace, but spewing venom like fire. She had the feminine mystique that Viktor could see in Yuuri, but she utilized it like a whip, keeping those beneath her in line. She was a vicious instructor, and one could almost feel sorry for Yuuri. Almost. Hidden beneath the strict coach-student exterior was an attachment and familial bond that Viktor felt instantly. It was like looking at his relationship with Yakov from an outsider's point of view. Both coaches knew exactly what they were doing with their students. For as heavy handed as Minako seemed, those hands caressed Yuuri's needs with expert care.

"I thought I heard death throes."

Viktor turned around to find another woman, much younger and much, much different than Minako. She looked at each of them with a passive expression, talking with a cigarette between her lips.

"How many times have I told you to keep your death sticks out of my studio? I don't need my dancers losing their stamina to cancerous smoke, no thank you," said Minako as she shoved her hands over Yuuri's nose and mouth.

Yuuri said something to the newcomer, but it was garbled behind Minako's protective hands. He gently removed himself as he stepped away. "Mari nee-chan, you're already up?"

Mari… wait, as in… his sister, Mari!? Viktor's gaze oscillated between the two of them. They looked nothing alike. Mari was tall, especially for a woman. Her hair, while matching Yuuri's at the roots, was bleach blonde and shoved behind a purple head band. Her clothes showed a lot of skin, displaying mismatched tan lines and an extensive collection of tattoos. Her ears and the bridge of her nose were pierced. Even when discounting all of that, from their facial structures down to the way they carried themselves, there was very little resemblance.

"Unfortunately. I have an early client coming in. It's step three of four on his tattoo so I'm in for a long sit." She took her vice from her lips and blew the smoke directly in Minako's direction with a smirk. The older woman fanned the air in front of her face with voracious intensity before glowering back. "It's not like you to be in here this early, Yuuri. What gives? And who's the newbie?" Before anyone could answer, she stopped, cigarette paused to her lips, "Ah! Silver!"

"Silver?" Minako and Viktor parroted.

Yuuri's eyes widened and he ran over to Mari faster than a bullet. There were conspiratorial whispers before their language shifted and Viktor couldn't dream of understanding what they were saying.

Minako walked over to him with a dancer's grace that kept her gait light and her hips asway. He could see where Yuuri's more feminine dancing came from. "So, pretty boy," she started with a gruff pat on the back, "how's your mother? Still stabbing her heals into the hearts of men?"

Viktor acted like he wasn't still livid over the stunt she tried to pull with Yuuri. "You know her too well."

"She was always the woman to beat, I'll give her that. And now I hear you've taken over that title in the figure skating circuit. Congratulations. I hope all that fame and adulation hasn't gone to your head. I've heard things, but tabloid gossip is garbage." She turned to more fully take him in. Viktor didn't meet her piqued stare. "I won't question Yuuri's choice in men, but he doesn't need some selfish prick who's only in for a good romp on a layover."

That pill was hard to swallow, mostly because it hit a spot inside of him that hadn't healed over yet. "I used to be one."

"Huh?"

"A selfish prick who slept with anyone interesting and met my adoring fans with haughty smiles. Always acting too pretty and conceited for my own good. I enjoyed the company of many, spent whatever I had, and lived high. The tabloids aren't always right, but they aren't always wrong." Minako stared, head tilted at the blunt honesty. He gave a flash of bright teeth like it was easy to admit. He'd been an ass hole in his youth, possessed by the idea that he was superior, a bright star that outshone the galaxy, but he liked to think that he'd grown better. "Did you know that it's been six years since I've been with anyone? Everyone thinks that I've just gotten better at hiding my affairs... And you, Mrs. Okukawa? Yuuri didn't mention that you were married."

Her hand twitched, fingers toying with the ring on her finger. "Married is a strong word."

"Not a good one?"

She scrunched her lips over to the side, glancing at Viktor as she considered her words. "Marriage is complex, little Nikiforov," she patted his cheek with the demeaning name. "Very complex… and there are many motives behind it. I wanted to secure my livelihood and save my family." Her eyes shined as she looked on at Mari and Yuuri, the two now squabbling over something in Mari's hand. "He wanted a trophy wife, someone with a title and a name. We both got what we wanted, in the end."

Spat now over, Yuuri made his way back over to him, the word hesitant describing his every movement. Beneath full lashes, Yuuri looked up at him and Viktor felt the ba-dump of his heart with startling intensity. "Would you like to meet my sister?"

He ignored the jittery twitch of his nerves. "I would love to."

Mari soon stood in front of Viktor, eyeing him much like Minako had, though her face was harder to read. Viktor matched her disinterested expression with one of his own as his insides roiled unpleasantly. Meeting Minako was all well and good, but this was Mari. Yuuri's beloved sister. Viktor had a feeling that her impression of him would weigh greatly on Yuuri's decision to be with him. That was a deeply concerning thought.

"I like him," she said with a pat to his face. Viktor wondered if that was a Japanese thing, or if the two women shared some mannerisms out of closeness. "You gotta tell kaasan and tousan, though, Yuuri."

"Speaking of your parents, they've been worried about you. You better get to calling them," Minako warned.

"Hai, hai, I will," Yuuri replied sheepishly from Viktor's side, but he was beaming. Viktor liked to think that it was because he'd been more formally accepted into Yuuri's life. It was why Viktor suddenly felt more spirited.

"Okay! Back to work," Minako exclaimed.

"Hah!?" Yuuri collapsed right there and refused to get off the ground. "I have to get ready for work in an hour, Minako~" She was already hefting him off the floor and putting him in position before her name had even formed in Yuuri's mouth.

"While they deal with that, why don't I show you around the parlor, Silver?" Viktor rose a brow at the name that Mari seemed so keen on using and the devious smirk that accompanied it. He still had no idea why she called him that or why it drew such a reaction from Yuuri. It was most likely about his hair, so at least the name wasn't gray… "Ever think about getting some ink?"

They left through the doors, Yuuri's call of "Don't you dare think about tattooing him, Mari!" fading out.

It was hot. It was hotter than hot. Yuuri felt like a bug frying on sun-bleached pavement. He was currently laid out flat on the kitchen floor of his apartment, the only cool place left as the heat sank in from all sides, air left stagnate around them. Phichit was next to him, his face squashed into the floor for relief. Viktor sat against the cabinets, one of their last ice packs stuck to his forehead. Yuuri had two under his arm pits, already warm and useless. Phichit had one somewhere in his clothing.

"Isn't San Francisco supposed to be one of the cooler cities in the summer?" Viktor asked.

"Our average," Yuuri started, before sloshing his tongue around in his mouth. It felt like a desert wasteland. "On average we're in the high sixties, but we get a few horrible, sweltering, blistering days every once in a while. It's uncharacteristic, but with the heat wave hitting most of California… it was only a matter of time."

"I was hoping we'd stay out of the nineties," Phichit complained.

"Be grateful we haven't hit triple digits." Yuuri tried to pool the saliva in his mouth to moisten his tongue. It didn't do the trick. He stared longingly at the sink from his position on the floor. Nope, too far. Toooooo hot. "My mouth tastes like ash."

Phichit bubbled up with laughter and Yuuri wondered where he found the energy. "Your mouth tastes like ass? Dude, what have you guys been doing?"

"I said ash!" He could barely rouse up a blush, his skin already flushed.

They were a pretty picture. We should put up a sign. Dead Fish Frying. We could be an exhibit. God, was the heat making him delirious?

"I heard that people in L.A. fill their baths with ice to cool down. We could try that," Phichit suggested.

Yuuri flopped onto his back, cringing at the way his clothes stuck like another layer of his skin. "Have you seen the price of ice lately? Besides, the ocean is right there. We could jump in that if we wanted."

"Right."

Viktor's ice pack plopped onto the floor with a warm water squelch as he sat up more only to slouch back down. "Anyone up for a trip to the beach?"

Three seconds passed before they gave a collective groan.

"Way too far," Yuuri said.

Phichit chimed in with false cheer. "We have a shift in forty minutes to look forward to. No time for the beach when you have a hot oven waiting! ...Wait." His voice dramatically changed, lowered before the big reveal. "The walk in fridge!"

"Please. Yes. Now." Was Yuuri's response as they both roused themselves up, slow and zombie like. The ice packs fell off of Yuuri. He didn't bother with them. He slunk over to the sink and shoved his head under the faucet. The water was warm. Of course.

"Here, I'll slick your hair for you."

Yuuri watched Viktor retrieve his gel and comb from the bathroom before he settled on the couch, the man waiting for Yuuri to take up residence on the floor in front of him. Yuuri did so, as had become their little routine. Viktor liked styling Yuuri's hair for some odd reason. Yuuri didn't question it. He kind of liked it.

These were the moments that brought realization to Yuuri. Viktor was buried into their lives, effortlessly and completely. He could navigate around their home like he owned it. He no longer had to ask where the silverware was kept, or open four different cabinets just to find a cup. He knew where Yuuri kept his hair styling supplies, batteries, light bulbs, anything necessary and even trivial. He cooked meals and helped with chores when he wasn't at the rink. He'd already cleaned out Phichit's hamster cage once, becoming acquainted with each of them, though not as well as Makkachin. They all snuggled up against her while the cleaning had been done.

Yuuri stared at the vase that still sat on the bar counter, a new bouquet of flowers feeling the heat just as much as the rest of them. Viktor liked to keep it full and lively. Whenever the flowers would wilt away, petals spilling their life onto the floor, he'd buy more. "Something beautiful for someone even more beautiful," as Viktor said.

When fingers descended from his hair, having fully fulfilled their duty, Yuuri looked back. Viktor looked dashing, as always, even as the weight of summer dampened his skin, leaving him disheveled and exhausted. He could have been lost in the cold wonderland of the ice rink hours before, but he'd waited around. For Yuuri.

Viktor saw them off and Yuuri and Phichit made their way to work. The weather hit them like a wall when they opened the doors, all smiley sunshine promising a slow and painful death. Yuuri loved the fact that he lived a hop, skip, and a jump away from the bakery, but it felt like miles under the murderous sun. He wiped the sweat from his brow, realizing that it did nothing as more just dripped down in its place, and glanced at his strangely silent companion. Phichit was tapping away on his phone. "Screaming about hamsters on Instagram again?"

Phichit got weirdly serious as he dropped his phone from his vision. "I'm going to be home late tonight."

"You don't have class. Did someone cancel their shift?" Yuuri took his phone out from his back pocket and scrolled through the notifications. "Sara didn't notify me of anything. If they did, I can take it for you."

"It's not that."

They walked at a slant to make it up the hill to the bakery, bodies practically at a forty-five degree angle with the pavement. Both of them looked too worn out from a simple jaunt down the street. To be fair, so did everyone that they passed. Yuuri was still feeling the previous day's dance sessions with Viktor and Minako.

"I have a date," Phichit announced with a bop of his chin in the air.

Yuuri missed a step. "But I thought you said you were over dating. That 'a hamster's love is all I need.'" Yuuri said, cutting the air with his fingers. "What changed?"

"You."

Yuuri stopped. They were right outside of the bakery, just a mere twenty steps from blissful cold, but Yuuri's brain couldn't compute the movement. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Phichit began slowly with too much thought behind the lone word. "It's just that seeing you so happy now has made me realize that I kind of want that, too. I mean, sure, I don't need someone to make me happy; I'm happy as I am right now," he said, putting a hand on his chest and looking fully self-assured and self-respected. Phichit always carried himself well, put together and radiating good will. It was something Yuuri admired, and was more than a little envious of considering he was a broken mess on his best day. "But it would be nice to have a companion. Someone that could make me happier, or someone that I could share my happiness with.""So… You want a Viktor in your life. Is that what you're saying?"

"So… You want a Viktor in your life. Is that what you're saying?"

"I suppose."

Yuuri thought back to how he'd been before Viktor. He didn't think too much had changed about himself. He hadn't gone through a metamorphosis or anything drastic like that. He was still the same caterpillar climbing up the same leaf, but there was no doubt that he was happier. Viktor makes me happy. Phichit deserves to have someone who brings light into his life, too.

"I've been talking to this guy over the phone and I figured that I should just go for it. He's as in love with his dog as I am with my hamsters, so at least we share a love for our pets. His picture is even one of him and his dog, which is adorable. I haven't gotten too good a read on him over text. He's nice, a little serious, and we agreed easily on a restaurant. He's got odd shift hours, though… And he doesn't understand sarcasm over text at all. Emojis just confuse him. And he can be dour when he's… how should I put it? It's like-"

Yuuri put a hand on Phichit's arm, stopping him from his nervous babbling. It was like he was looking for Yuuri to tell him no. That it wasn't smart. That the guy wasn't right. That he really didn't need anyone new in his life. But Yuuri didn't believe any of that. This was a great thing for Phichit. He might not have been lonely, and he certainly didn't need a romantic partner, but it wasn't wrong of Phichit to want one. Yuuri brought him in for a hug. It came naturally to him, comforting Phichit this way. Yuuri wasn't a hugger, but he couldn't think of a time when hugging Phichit felt wrong like it did with other people. "I'm happy for you. He sounds… well he sounds pretty generic, but I hope it goes well." Phichit gave an off-key chuckle and hugged him tighter. Yuuri could feel the mixed emotions coming from his best friend, and even from himself. He tried to ease it away with humor. "Dave will just have to wallow in sadness as the love of his life goes off the market."

"Oh, hush."

"Maybe he'll make another fondant figure of you to catch your attention."

Phichit made a gagging noise that tickled his ear. "Now you've reminded me of why I hate fondant. Thanks, Yuuri. Thanks."

"Okay, okay. I'm dying in this heat and you're only making it worse. We're going to get stuck together, at this rate." They laughed as they let go, both cringing at the way their skin peeled apart.

"You act like that's a bad thing." Phichit smiled before he stuck out his tongue.

"Meh," Yuuri added with a shoulder bump, "You'll always be stuck with me."