Author's note: Sorry about the extensive hiatus! School has been craaaaaazy busy.
But luckily I have some downtime so I will be able to update more frequently. Thanks for hanging in there for me!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter Song: Broken-hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy by Glen Hansard
"Our stop is coming up," Yuuri muttered softly as he stood to his feet and slinging his guitar over his shoulder.
Viktor only nodded before he grabbed his things and began to follow Yuuri to the front of the bus. His Hoover rolled along behind him as the bus came to a halt at the corner.
Yuuri absentmindedly swiped his pass for the two of them as the doors creaked open onto the street. A gust of cold winter wind bit through his coat and he tightened the scarf around his neck as Viktor joined him on the sidewalk.
The metal doors closed with a sharp clang before the bus continued down the street, rattling and groaning along, it's creaks and mutters the only sounds to echo down the cold, dreary city block.
"Before we get to my place, I should probably warn you about my family..."
Yuuri began, but he sensed he was speaking to the empty air. He turned, inhaling sharply, as he glanced back to the bus stop. He saw how the wind fluttered through Viktor's hair, and the way those blue-eyes gazed about, an endearing spark of curiosity flickering there.
A moment passed before Viktor noticed Yuuri's silent starring.
"I've never been here before," he admitted with a smile before quickening his step to reach Yuuri, "I am surprised there are not more people out."
"Yeah, well," Yuuri began quietly as they walked together, "It's not exactly a social hub…"
It was true, though. The east side was a worn, quiet part of town, with dozens of dying shops and boarded-up houses. How anyone managed to live here after decades of brain-drain was a miracle. So it was no surprise that there were no people around that evening.
"And there isn't much in the way of sightseeing," Yuuri explained lightly, trying to joke.
But the further they walked, the more obvious it was that his little neighborhood was, quite literally, dead.
They passed the bodega on the corner, it's windows barred and lights flickering on the Open sign. Then there was the primary school, it's once brightly colored mural-wall now cracked and faded.
They took a shortcut through the park, an ironically picturesque spot with a duck pond and a gazebo. But the former community gathering place was in complete disrepair; there were no more festivals, no events, nothing. It was like a graveyard.
"It's really just a sad, little neighborhood with nothing to offer anyone…" Yuuri finally stated with a laugh as he looked to Viktor, only to see the taller man staring back with a confused, sad sort of expression in his eyes.
"How can you say that?" He asked quietly, turning away to look out at the empty streets, "You live here. That must count for something, right?"
Yuuri fell silent as they stopped at the far corner of the park, briefly waiting for the crosswalk light to change, before they walked up to a block of brownstone store-fronts - all vacated, except one.
Repairs by Kastuki was printed on a worn blue and white banner hanging over the entrance, where a collection of various home appliances decorated the display window - a dishwasher, a fridge, a hand-crank washing machine. It was a rather depressing sight, but beyond the appearance of the place, there was more to Yuuri's sudden spout of panic.
As they waited together for a moment in front of the shop, Yuuri contemplated his next steps. Before him stood two doors - the entrance to the shop and a side door leading upstairs to the second-floor apartment.
If he brought Viktor upstairs first, like a polite host would, there would be questions and whispers and embarrassment. But if they went into the shop first... Either way, he'd have to face his family at some point. They wouldn't ignore the noise in the workshop and would quickly swarm his guest.
"Yuuri?" Viktor muttered at his side. "This is it right?"
Yuuri nodded and reached for the shop door, his decision settled - to avoid family for as long as possible - but a shout from above instantly foiled his plans.
"Hey! Where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Yuuri felt his stomach drop as he saw Viktor look up and wave lightly. Of course, Yuuri didn't even have to look to know the speaker was his sister, Mari. Still, he slowly lifted his head, a crooked smile on his lips.
Mari had her torso leaned out of the second-story window, her eyes trained on Yuuri from within the cloud of dyed hair which fell around her face as she glared down, prepared to scold him for the late hour. But her retort was cut short by the sight of Viktor, and Yuuri saw her sisterly aggravation melt away into passive mischief.
"Who's the swimwear model?" her curt question sent a blush racing up Yuuri's neck, but luckily it was in Japanese, so Viktor stood blissfully unaware of the jab to his good looks.
"He's not a model!" Yuuri tried to explain, "He's a..."
Yuuri had no clue what Viktor really was… Hell, he really could be a model.
But more importantly, Yuuri didn't know what else to introduce him as.
A friend? Hardly. They'd just met.
But he definitely wasn't a stranger, either, or just some customer. Not now, anyway.
"Hello! My name is Viktor." The taller man waved, breaking the awkward silence with a smile on his face as he gestured to the vacuum at his feet. "Yuuri offered to fix this for me. It doesn't suck right."
Mari's eyebrow raised, no doubt catching Viktor's thick accent, but she suddenly turned back into the house.
Yuuri could hear her shouting to someone, presumably his mom. Something about a stranger and dinner and a vacuum and one-night stands. But again, the language barrier saved Yuuri from some degree of embarrassment.
"Your sister, right?" Viktor asked after a while, "She looks like you."
"You think so?" Yuuri chuckled, "Usually the dyed hair throws people off."
"It's something in the face," Viktor hummed as he glanced over with a soft smile, his eyes searching Yuuri's face, "Not the eyes, though...Maybe the jawline..."
Yuuri would have responded, a little stunned that Viktor had even bothered to notice his eyes, or his jawline, or anything at all about his physical appearance. However, Mari's head poked out from the window just as he began to speak, and she had a strangely welcoming expression on her face, which did not bode well for Yuuri's anxiety.
"Leave the vac in the shop. Our dad can deal with it," she stated to Viktor, her sisterly bossiness shining even through the English she reserved for customers.
She then turned to Yuuri, not bothering to switch back to Japanese, "You can bring up the model, though. Mom says she made enough dinner for both of you, so…"
Mari disappeared again.
"Model?" Viktor pondered aloud, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion.
Yuuri blood ran cold.
"It's nothing!" he squeaked, "Don't worry about it."
He could hear Mari laughing above them at the window, but ignored it as he and Viktor headed into the shop.
The entrance bell rang out in the empty room as Yuuri quickly flipped a switch just inside. The fluorescent overhead lighting slowly blinked on, it's stark glow brightening the grey, dingy, and wholly uninspiring Katsuki repair shop.
The place was cluttered; incredibly cluttered, but not like the Studio-Ghibli-background beauty of Yakov's music store. This shop was simply a mess, with shelves and aisles littered with appliances, modern and archaic. There were microwaves, rice cookers, televisions, blenders, and at least two dozen different vacuums. There were also parts: belts, motors, lights, batteries, tubing, etc.
Yuuri strolled passed all this chaos, so accustomed to the state of things - there was a method to the madness, after all. It wasn't until he reached the chorded-off stairs in the back of the room that he realized Viktor was no longer by his side.
He turned to see Viktor just standing there, in the middle of the room, looking around with a strange sort of admiration shining in his eyes. He was surprised to realize this expression was almost familiar to him now.
"You can leave the vacuum at the workbench, over there," Yuuri called to him with a shy shrug, "We'd better head up before my Mom storms down and drags us to dinner."
Viktor nodded, his eyes still wandering as he quickly set his Hoover at the counter in the back corner and moved to meet Yuuri at the bottom step.
"So this is where you work?" he asked, still mesmerized.
"Yeah, a bit. My sister helps out mostly," Yuuri explained, stepping aside to allow Viktor to pass in front of him. "But I grew up here, learning how it all worked, tinkering with different parts and things. So, I can fix pretty much anything."
Viktor smiled fondly as he slid past Yuuri, their eyes meeting for a moment in the cramped intimacy of the stairs.
"You really are a man of many talents, Yuuri," he stated firmly before continuing up alone.
Yuuri gulped.
"Uh...thanks?" he whispered to himself, but then shook his head sharply to clear away the fuzzy, giddy feeling there.
He had no reason to feel so happy. And he had absolutely no reason to suddenly feel like a teenager bringing his date home for the first time.
But as he stood at the top of the stairs, watching his Mom, Hiroko, pester Viktor with questions in the back hall of their small apartment, he felt a peculiar tightness building in the pit of his stomach.
"Your accent is so nice! Where are you from?" she asked as she cheerfully helped Viktor take off his coat and scarf.
"St. Petersburg-"
"Of course, Russia, yes. I understand now," she mused warmly, her eyes looking him up and down like he was a statue in a museum and not a living, breathing person with eyes and a brain. "You are so tall! And handsome, too! Yuuri!"
Her tone shifted as she turned to give her son a knowing look, even though there was really nothing to know.
"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?"
"Mom, you have the wr-wrong idea-"
His stammering was futile, because Hiroko quickly swept Viktor away into the living room.
Yuuri's dad, Toshiya, leaned in the doorway of the kitchen as Mari entered the hall. Her eyes followed Viktor with suspicion as he passed opposite her, but when she noticed her little brother's flustered state, she smirked.
"So where did you and the Model meet?" she asked lightly, crossing her arms.
"I told you he's not a model…" Yuuri tried to explain while he hung up his coat by the door, "But to answer your question...he heard me singing on Market street yesterday and he said he wanted to see me again today, so-"
"Wait, seriously?" Toshiya blurted, wide-eyed, "That's awesome!"
"Well that explains why you were swooning like a shoujo heroine all last night…" Mari added under her breath, like she'd reached some higher level of understanding.
"I was not!" Yuuri stated angrily, a blush rising from his neck, "And it's not like that. Really."
"Whatever you say, loverboy…" she turned away, glancing to Yuuri over her shoulder, that look of caution returning to her face,"But be careful. The Model might have certain expectations..."
And with that wonderfully ominous warning, she disappeared down to the shop.
Yuuri grimaced as he looked to his dad for reassurance but, loving as Toshiya was, he just shrugged innocently before retreating after Mari and closing the stair door with a soft thud.
Alone in the hall, Yuuri sighed in exasperation. They were crazy, utterly insane. Nothing was happening between him and Viktor. And nothing was going to happen.
"Yuuri! Where are you?" Viktor's cheerful voice echoed from the living room, and Yuuri felt his stomach tighten.
A cloud of dread billowed around him as he toed-off his shoes and padded down the hall slowly, a death march drumming in his head with each step he took closer to the living room.
The room was small and cold, but with a kotatsu in the middle of the rug, and a comfy love-seat covered in his mom's extensive collection of throw blankets and pillows, it felt cozy - like a real home instead of a cramped, drafty apartment.
There was the small shrine in the corner, a dividing screen with an intricate painting of the castle from their hometown, and a dozen different momentos connected to their heritage. And amongst all these novelty glimpses into his family's immigrant life sat Viktor, cross-legged at the kotatsu, looking around in awe as Hiroko flighted to and from the kitchen.
Yuuri smiled at the sight and leaned in the doorway casually, taking a moment just watching as his mother busied herself with dinner and tried to charm his guest as best she could. And Viktor, though he seemed to be a bit perplexed by the hospitality, was taking it in his stride with kind smiles and little awkward bows.
It was delightful and Yuuri wanted to join, to make Viktor feel at home, but his mind was plagued.
...certain expectations...certain expectations…
The echoing words rung in his head and he darted back into the hall and pressed his back against the cold wall. He closed his eyes to calm his nerves but his mind's eye was met with a vision of Viktor, grinning with parted lips, his blue eyes gazing intently into Yuuri's, like he was prey to be caught and eaten alive.
Yuuri's hands flew up to smack himself on the cheeks and he shook his head frantically in an attempt to chase away the fanciful thought.
Viktor didn't seem like the kind of guy who expected a hook up with someone he'd just met.
Right?
Yuuri cautiously glanced back into the living room just to see Viktor, noticing him from the corner of his eye, turn and smile brightly.
There was relief in Yuuri's heart as he smiled weakly in return. But there was something else, something bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Something deep and steady and warm.
Yuuri tried to fight it as he crossed the room and knelt across from Viktor at the table, where his mom proudly set two heaping bowls of curry and rice.
"It looks amazing!," Viktor said before deeply breathing the steam from the curry and beaming in excitement. "Ah, it smells so good! And I bet it tastes even better..."
"Y-yeah, it's really good," Yuuri let out shyly.
"But his favorite is katsudon," Hiroko stated happily before darting back into the kitchen.
Viktor cocked his head to the side, clearly unfamiliar with the dish, and looked to Yuuri for answers.
"Oh, umm," Yuuri began, feeling better about the whole thing, especially now that they were just talking about food, "It's got breaded pork and rice and egg and-"
"That sounds incredible!" Viktor exclaimed, his eyes wide and his smile blinding, despite Yuuri's half-assed description. "I'd love to try that with you someday!"
Yuuri reached for his bowl of curry and took a deep breath, easing back the butterflies that threatened to take flight in his stomach at Viktor's unexpected declaration. Yuuri have never dreamed Viktor intended to continue this relationship beyond the grey area between strangers and friends.
"I'm sorry about all this," he muttered, his hands warming as his fingers wrapped around the smooth ceramic of the bowl. "I know you probably didn't want to stay so late."
"I don't mind," Viktor shrugged lightly, taking a bite of food.
A smile instantly spread on his face as he looked to Yuuri.
"This is so good!"
And with that exclamation, he was off, wolfing down the generous portion with vigor. But Yuuri simply stared into his own curry rice, not really knowing what to do.
He was happy, flustered, but he didn't really have reason to be.
It was just dinner.
...certain expectations…
He forced his eyes shut and shook his head.
Just dinner.
Yuuri paused to clear his throat, hoping to begin some sort of conversation to play off Viktor's boundless enthusiasm for his mother's cooking. But, as if she'd sensed it, Hiroko suddenly re-entered the room, carrying two cups and a giant bottle of warmed sake - it wasn't the cheap stuff either.
"Mom…" Yuuri groaned but she just laughed.
"Oh hush," she responded kindly. "It's not everyday you bring someone home, Yuuri. Let me spoil him while I can."
Yuuri looked down, his face matching the red heap of beni shoga nestled to one side of his rice.
The room felt silent as Hiroko, too hospitable for her own good, slowly poured a glass for Viktor, who accepted the generosity with a smile..
"Please, make yourself at home," she implored in English as she quietly slipped out of the room and restrained a giggle on her way to the kitchen.
And now they were alone again. And Yuuri wanted to die.
"Yuuri, have a drink," Viktor offered as he reached for the bottle and spare cup, "I don't think I should enjoy this all by myself."
Without waiting for a response, Viktor poured the small cup and passed it to Yuuri, smiling cheerily all the while. God, why was he always smiling?
"Okay, just a little though," Yuuri uttered tentatively, holding the tiny cup in his hands.
How was he supposed to act? What was Viktor really expecting out of all this?
"You know, Yuuri," Viktor began softly as he looked down into his own cup,"I'm honored you have invited me here. And I am glad your family is fixing my vacuum, but..."
He trailed off, blue eyes raising to meet brown.
Yuuri's breathing halted.
Was Mari right all along? Was this night supposed to be…
"But I hope…" Viktor looked down again, shrugging, "I hope we can get to know more about each other. About our music."
Yuuri exhaled.
Music, of course. That's what this entire situation was all about, really - a mutual love for music.
"Alright then," Yuuri muttered to himself, shaky confidence washing over him as he lifted his cup and nodded to Viktor, "To music..."
Viktor lifted his cup in return and nodded, "To us..."
Yuuri shook his head, "To broken vacuums..."
At that, Viktor let out a laugh and Yuuri found himself smiling wider than he had in a long time as he slowly sipped his cup, allowing the warmth of the sake to spread through him, masking the natural warmth which bubbled in his core at the sound of Viktor's intoxicating laugh.
With each sip he took, he tried telling himself that they were just friends.
On his second cup, he tried to tell himself that his father could have the vacuum repaired in less than one hour and that he just wanted Viktor to leave already.
By his third, he tried to tell himself that this was a horrible idea and that he really didn't like the way Viktor's eyes gazed into his like there was no one else in the world.
And by cup four, he gave up trying to tell himself anything.
Because by cup four he knew it was all one big fat lie.
Needless to say, he was smashed.
Utterly and completely hammered.
And he didn't really care anymore.
He was warm, hot, like he had a fever, and maybe he did.
He felt Viktor lean against his side where they sat on the floor with their backs against the box-spring of his bed, their feet stretched out in front of them. He couldn't remember exactly how they found themselves sitting on his bedroom floor, but he could vaguely recall something about his dad, the television, a soccer match, and his mom giving them another bottle of sake.
Whatever the reason, he didn't care.
Oh broken-hearted hoover fixer sucker guy!
Viktor's voice sang in his ear as Yuuri harmonized to a drinking song he didn't remember existed. And maybe it didn't.
Oh broken-hearted hoover fixer sucker, sucker guy!
Yuuri cut in to bring the song to a close while Viktor sipped the last of his twelfth cup - or was it thirteenth?
Maybe I'll go there and sing out once again
But till then I'm just a sucker...of a guy
It was dumb and pointless and crazy but Viktor burst out in laughter and Yuuri felt like he was going to explode himself.
He head was spinning, his vision blurred. One moment he wanted to hurl, the next to jump up and dance. Torn between these extremes, he nestled closer into Viktor's side, resting his head on the taller man's shoulder.
Yuuri should have known better, since his alcohol tolerance was incredibly low, but having been together for so long, sharing curry rice, and talking with Viktor about anything and everything...it was intoxicating in an entirely different way.
"Yuuuuurri," Viktor hummed as he moved to sit up a little, leaving Yuuri's side cold. "I want to hear your songs...your good ones."
Yuuri paused, trying to process Viktor's request.
"They aren't really good…" he murmured, but then an idea came to him.
On the far side of the room on his desk, sat a giant stack of old cassettes. Slowly, but surely, Yuuri stood from the bed and half walked, half crawled across the room, his hands reaching to steady himself on the desk chair as he began to search for one particular unmarked case amongst the mess.
"What is this?" Viktor asked, walking to his side calmly.
He was clearly more than capable of holding his liquor, Yuuri noticed.
"Songs…my songs," Yuuri explained weakly and then pointed to the floating bookshelves above his bed.
Somehow, Viktor understood and quickly retrieved the portable cassette player and headphones he found there.
On wobbling legs, Yuuri managed to return to his seat on the bed, his face flushing as Viktor casually sat beside him. He was quiet, his eyes curious and patient as Yuuri tried to concentrate on opening the clear case and cautiously removing the cassette, then sliding it gently into the player in Viktor's hands.
"Here…" Yuuri let out, his finger hovering over the play button, "Tell me what you think…"
Viktor eagerly placed the earphones over his head and gave a short nod, so Yuuri quickly pressed play and sat back, waiting with baited breath as he watched Viktor's eyes stare ahead, constant and steady, his mind working through the opening lines of the song.
Yuuri blinked slowly, his eyes trailing over Viktor's face, a tired easiness spreading through his body as he relaxed against the wall behind him. Viktor leaned back, too, tilting his head to the side, his bangs falling lightly against his cheek, a contemplative smile on his lips. He nodded slowly, following the beat of the song as his fingers twitched on his knee, as though he were fighting the urge to play along on an invisible piano.
God, he was beautiful.
So effortlessly perfect.
With his perfect hair, and his perfect face, and his perfect eyes, and his perfect mouth, and-
"There are no lyrics?"
Viktor's simple question interrupted Yuuri's own fascinated staring, and he nervously looked down to his lap, a deep flush blossoming on his already pink cheeks.
"Uh, yeah...I couldn't...uh, I couldn't find the words…" he explained with difficulty.
It wasn't exactly the truth though. He didn't even know what the song was, since he was too drunk, and too distracted by Viktor's mere presence to remember.
And he didn't care.
He didn't care about anything anymore because at that moment the only hazy thought that came to his fading mind was the inexplicable desire to move closer to Viktor.
So he did.
Just a little.
Just enough to feel the warmth from Viktor's body as his chest rose and fell with his breathing. Just enough to see the way Viktor's eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he closed his eyes, deep in thought. Just enough to see the way Viktor's tongue darted out to moison his bottom lip. Just enough to hear Viktor's quiet humming as he harmonized to a melody only he could hear. Just enough to know Viktor was oblivious, utterly and totally oblivious.
It was crazy.
It was dumb.
And somehow, deep in his drunkard's heart, he knew this was a tragically horrible idea.
But despite that fact - and any number of other facts which would, no doubt, come to mind in the morning - he leaned in.
He leaned in, sitting up to match Viktor's impossible tallness, his hand lifting to caress Viktor's jawline, his fingers tangling in soft, silver hair. Time seemed to stop as he then closed his eyes and inhaled, his lips seeking Viktor's as if his life depended on it.
"Y-yuuri?"
He felt the ghosting of breath on his lips and heard the surprise in Viktor's whispered voice, but it took what felt like an eternity for him to wake up from whatever drunken high he'd flown to in those brief few moments.
His dark, unfocused eyes opened and were met with wide, crystal-blue ones.
"What'ssswrong?" he heard himself ask, as if it wasn't obvious.
Viktor's eyes only widened more.
"Wh-what are you…You're drunk," Viktor rambled, lifting one hand to take off the headphones and the other to nervously press back against Yuuri's chest as his furrowed eyes revealed the shock he was so clearly feeling.
But Yuuri drew closer, moving his free hand to gently push aside Viktor's soft, flowing bangs.
"So are you, Viktor," Yuuri whined, a bizarre confident washing over him as he forced Viktor to meet his eye, "Come on…What are you waiting for?"
Viktor's breathing hitched as his pupils dilated, and Yuuri felt the hand on his chest tighten into a fist, clenching at the fabric of his shirt.
Viktor wanted this. He really, really wanted this. Right?
"Afterrrall," Yuuri's slurred words hovered between them, "That is all you came here for..." he leaned in again, slowly, the tension beginning to overflow as he closed his eyes once more,"Isn't it? Viktor-"
Before the question could even espace his lips, Yuuri was pushed back. Hard.
Almost falling off the bed, Yuuri froze as Viktor held him at arm's length, his hands gripping tightly at Yuuri's shoulders, eyes closed, cold anger seething on every inch of his face.
"Vik-Viktor?" he asked softly, innocent.
"Damn," Viktor muttered, shaking his head, a brokenness in his voice, "Damn it."
That was all Viktor said before he loosened his vice-like hold and frantically stood to his feet, the headphones and cassette player clattering to the floor as he took exactly three steps to cross the room and enter into the hall, grabbing at the coat hanger to retrieve his coat and scarf, not bothering to put them on.
"W-wait...Hang on-" Yuuri muttered as he tried to stand, to walk, to follow after him, but his legs would not allow it.
He blinked, his vision fuzzy and his mind just as muddled.
He shut his eyes tightly, trying to will his drunk mind to clear enough for him to react, to call out again, to do something.
He heard the door to the stairs open and then close, followed by the clambering of someone running down the stairs, the faint echoes of Mari's confused shouting, and then the distinct clatter of the entrance bell as the shop door slammed shut.
But all Yuuri could do was slump over on his bed with a discontented sigh, as if he hadn't just ruined the greatest thing that ever happened to him by trying to seduce a man he'd just met.
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