Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was misfortune that brought Victor and Yuuri together.

An unexpected summer storm, a broken carriage wheel on a muddy forest road, and only one single inn for miles around.

The Earl Nikiforov and his young son had been brought to the Yutopia Inn soaked through, mud soiling their fine clothes, shivering in fabrics too light and delicate to be caught in the rain with.

Misfortune had brought Yuuri face to face with Victor, his blue eyes bright and curious even as his fine silver hair stuck to his skin wet and dripping, hands shivering in his embroidered sleeves.

Mayhap it was a sign that they should have heeded, their first meeting taking place under such an unlucky star.

Mayhap it was an omen, if one believes in such things, for as long as they should know each other, misfortune did not leave their sides.

The Earl and his son were welcomed warmly at Yutopia Inn, provided with warm, thick robes and a room where they could change into them, while their clothes were cleaned and dried by the staff. Hot drinks and soft blanket were provided to chase the chill from their limbs lest they catch a cold, and in short order they were kindly invited into the dining room to take their supper.

They were served the best food the Inn’s cook, Yuuri’s father, had to offer, their family special, along with the finest wine in the Katsuki’s meagre store, and a hot, hearty soup at the side to warm their weary bones.

It was not a common occurrence that such high guests should reside at the inn; in fact, nothing of the sort had ever taken place, beloved though the waystation was with travelers passing through and locals from the nearby villages alike. The Katsukis were not prepared to entertain an Earl, someone who was used to the variety and culture that the city had to offer, the luxuries of ballet and theatre and opera.

The only humble offering that the Yutopia Inn had to give was a performance by their son, Yuuri, whose grace and musicality despite his young age was a point of pride for his parents.

While Yuuri was nervous to perform before the strange, imposing Earl and his beautiful young son, with their striking silver hair and bright blue eyes and their strange manner of speech, he was young enough still to not fully realise the pressure of a performance such as this, and at the same time experienced enough in dancing before the inn’s customers in hopes of a little extra coin.

He danced his best, or close enough to it, so that young Victor was left enchanted by the performance, and the Earl intrigued. The rest of the evening was spent with the boys lost deep in conversation in one corner of the room, and the parents in another.

Victor spoke bright-eyed of the ballet performances he had seen in the city and how the grace with which Yuuri moved had reminded him of the danseurs on stage, while Yuuri patiently answered all his questions about how he was learning from a friend of his mother’s who had once been a prima herself, and demonstrated some of his favourite moves with a shy determination.

The Earl, in the meantime, was involving Yuuri’s parents in quite a different discussion. He had seen quite enough talented performers in his day, rising and falling stars, to recognise that Yuuri’s talent was unusual. Even more so his potential: he was a well-mannered and a pretty child, qualities, he knew, that were at least as important as talent in order to make a star. If given the chance, he knew, Yuuri could rise through the ranks to the very top of the city’s cultural scene, to be a celebrated darling of the ballet.

But he would not do so by remaining in this inn, in the forest, in the middle of nowhere.

The Earl knew plenty of other aristocrats who took in promising young talents, musicians, singers, performers as well, becoming their patrons and helping them prosper by providing them with plenty of opportunity to learn and the right connections with the right people. Though the Earl was a prolific supporter of the arts and gave generously to the city’s establishments, he had never before seen the need to take on such a protegé of his own.

Yuuri however… Yuuri had caught his attention.

The Earl was an observant man. He could see the places where the inn, while well-kept, was in dire need of repairs. He could see where the rooms needed refurnishing, where the roof needed mending, could see the rough, calloused hands and deeply lined faces of owners who were too used to working too long hours, could see the way in which the children, despite their youth, were well accustomed to serving the inn’s guests.

He could see that the family had not eaten anywhere as well for supper as he himself and his son had.

If Yuuri came with him to the city, he said, he would receive the very best education that money could pay for, on top of the most excellent dance teachers and choreographers. He would be well-housed and fed and instructed in all the etiquette of high society so as to be able to make his own way in life. He would be able to freely write home of course, and visit, too, when there was time. Once he got his own roles on stage, he could also send money home in order to help his parents’ finances out. The Earl did not ask for any recompense for this; he knew—though he did not tell the Katsukis in so many words—that the prestige and recognition of having discovered and sponsored such a talent would be enough payment in its own right. In the meantime, it would leave the Katsukis with one less hungry mouth to feed, one less charge to look after, and the safety of knowing that their son would lead a better life in the city than they would ever be able to offer him at home.

The Earl could see the hesitance and the worry on the parents’ face as they watched their son demonstrating steps to the young Lord, so much excitement and genuine passion evident on his face.

When the Katsukis begged leave to talk about it with their son and think the decision over until the Earl was scheduled to leave the inn the next morning, the Earl granted it easily. He had no desire to forcibly tear a child away from his parents. He also knew, if the Katsukis were sensible people—and he believed them to be sensible people, if perhaps a little sentimental—they would make the right decision.

So it happened that come the next morning, with a little knapsack filled with his few possessions, Yuuri took a tearful leave from his parents and his sister. Their guests left them their privacy for long hugs and whispered promises and encouragements, until Yuuri finally boarded the newly mended carriage along with the Earl and his son, leaving the Yutopia Inn to fall away into the distance.

Chapter Text

“Well, Yuuri, how are your lessons going?”

Yuuri jumped where he was standing in front of a bookshelf, tracing his fingers along the titles printed on the spines of the volumes, head tilted slightly to the side. He pulled his hand back as if had been stuck in the sweets jar rather than exploring the bookshelf and turned around, eyes wide.

“Sorry, sorry”, Victor said with a laugh as he strode further into the room, his riding boots clicking on the polished floorboards. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, uhm”, Yuuri began, his nose scrunching up in thought for a moment, then he bowed stiffly towards Victor. “Good evening, my Lord.”

Victor blinked at him. “Yuuri? What are you doing?”

“Oh”, Yuuri hesitantly lifted his head too look at Victor, slowly like he wasn’t quite certain he was allowed to, “We’ve been going over titles and forms of address. And Mr. Feltsman’s said that I have to bow to everyone with a title and address them in the correct form and… well. You’re the son of an Earl, right?”

Chuckling, Victor stepped closer until he could put his gloved hand on Yuuri’s arm, pulling him fully upright again. “Yuuri!”, he said, “You’ve never needed to do that with me before, why start now?”

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders and grimaced, like he was remembering something unpleasant. “Well, I didn’t know before. I’m sorry! But I’ll do it right from now on!”

Victor shook his head. “You can just call me Victor, Yuuri! Or even Vitya, if you want. We’re friends! And you don’t have to bow to me either, not unless we’re at some formal event.”

“But—”, Yuuri pulled his lower lip between his teeth, “Mr. Feltsman said that it’s very impolite to not use the right form of address. And you… if you’re my friend, I don’t… I don’t want to be impolite to you.”

“No, Yuuri”, Victor said, shaking his head, “it’s not impolite between friends! It’s just a sign of closeness. You know, just like you wouldn’t address your sister as Miss Katsuki, yes?”

Yuuri looked up at him uncertainly, still worrying at his lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure!”, Victor said, throwing his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and leading him toward a sofa in the middle of the room. “I wish that you address me by my first name, as you do among friends, Victor or Vitya, whichever you like best!”

“Alright”, Yuuri said, ducking his head in a nod as they both took a seat, “I… I can do that, Victor.”

“Good”, Victor replied with a smile, “You know, I don’t want you to think of us like that. Yes, you don’t have a title, but… You’re my father’s protegé. You live under the same roof as me, you’re almost the same age, only a year younger. You even have the same tutor! So why shouldn’t we be peers? At least here, in private.”

Yuuri nodded again, slowly, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. His eyes trailed over Victor’s frock. “What are these clothes you’re wearing? I haven’t seen you in any like them before.”

“Ah”, Victor said, reaching up to pluck the hat off his head, “I’ve just come in from my riding lessons! So these are my riding clothes.”

“Riding?”, Yuuri asked, wide-eyed again, “on a horse?”

“Of course!”, Victor said, and then amended, at Yuuri’s open-mouthed stare, “A small one, for now.” His father’s big steeds were still a little too much for him to handle.

“Is it fun?”

“It is! Well, once you’ve settled into it.” Victor lifted his shoulders. “Have you ever been on a horse?”

He wasn’t surprised when Yuuri shook his head.

“Do you want me to ask father about getting you riding lessons, too? If that’s something you would like?”

Instead of the smile he’d expected, Yuuri’s face darkened.

“I don’t think I’ll be allowed”, he mumbled, and before Victor could protest, he added, “You know I can’t do anything where I might injure myself. They wouldn’t even let me go skating in the winter.”

“Oh.” Victor hesitated, rubbing his kidskin gloves. He knew Yuuri was likely right; his father and his dance teacher had been very careful to keep Yuuri away from any activities that might hinder his progress in dancing. His father was even wary of letting Yuuri play with Makkachin too much, even though he knew how gentle of a dog she was, despite her size. Still, he put on a smile. “Well, it can’t hurt to ask, anyway! We could ride out together sometime, wouldn’t that be fun?”

Yuuri gave a weak smile.

“Yes. It would be.”

Yuuri had been walking stiffly along the hallway, ushered by the governess.

Try as he might, he couldn’t quite get used to the firm, unyielding fabric he was clothed in, the high, tight collar of his shirt and the cravat wrapped around his throat. His trousers were cut much closer to his body than his everyday ones, but without the soft yield of his dance tights. His shoes were stiff and hard, without any give.

But all of this was forgotten when he turned the corner and saw Victor standing at the bottom of the stairs with his father, clad in a magnificent white and gold ensemble, a shimmering cape flowing off his shoulders and collecting in folds around his body like a dress, underneath which Yuuri could see a glimpse of an intricately embroidered waistcoat, the gold thread worked into the fabric glittering in the lamplight as much as Victor’s long silver hair, braided into a delicate design over one shoulder.

The Earl was dressed in similar attire, matching colours with a somewhat more mature style, but Yuuri barely registered it, could barely tear his eyes away from the glowing vision that was Victor.

The effect was only enhanced when Victor spotted Yuuri coming down the hallway, and a wide smile spread on his face.

“Yuuri, there you are!”, he beamed, “Look at you, so handsome!”

Yuuri only just managed not to laugh at the statement. He knew Victor didn’t like it when he talked badly about himself.

“It feels strange”, he said instead, tugging at his sleeves.

“You’ll get used to it!”, Victor said with a chuckle, smoothing down the fabric of Yuuri’s vest over his shoulders. “I’m excited that you can come with us to this ball! They are usually so boring, but having you there it will be so much more fun!”

Yuuri nodded, still too distracted to answer properly, taking in all the details of Victor’s outfit, his pale skin contrasting with his bright blue eyes, the easy poise with which he carried himself in all those layers of fabric.

“You look so beautiful.” The words slipped out before Yuuri could hope to hold them back. “Like an angel.”

“Oh.” Victor took a step back and looked down at himself, as if he was noticing his own clothes only now. “I—thank you, Yuuri.” A hint of colour was creeping into his cheeks, making him look even more angelic, but then he laughed and waved Yuuri’s words away.

“If anyone here is an angel, it must be you, Yuuri! With the way you move on the dance floor, as if you’re flying.”

Yuuri shook his head, looking down.

"No, no", he said, "that's not... I'm just me. I'm nothing special."

"Nonsense", Victor insisted, "You're very special! And now let's stop with this talk and head out, lest we end up being late. Isn't that right, father?"

Victor turned around, looking up at his father who smiled at him approvingly.

"That's right, Vitya", he said, "as much as some people like to arrive at these functions fashionably late, if you want to show your host respect, you should endeavour to be there on time."

With these words he led the two boys out of the town house where a carriage was already waiting for them. Yuuri climbed up on his seat with a mixture of excitement and apprehension fluttering in his stomach. This was the first society event he was allowed to attend with the Nikiforovs, the first time he had ever been to any kind of event like this.

The Earl had said that, after more than a year in the city, more than a year of his lessons, Yuuri's grasp of the strictly reglemented etiquette was firm enough that he was allowed to test his skills outside of the classroom. Yuuri was still worried about messing up, about saying something he wasn't supposed to or using the wrong title or forgetting to bow, but both Victor and his Lordship had expressed their confidence that he could do it, so Yuuri would try his best.

It was his chance, his Lordship had said, to make a first good impression with many of the city's notable figures in the arts. As it was a fundraising ball given by Madame Baranovskaya's Ballet Academy, everyone who was anyone in dance would be there. Patrons, directors and choreographers, the city's most famous dancers and of course Madame Baranovskaya herself. It was, in short, an event that no one in Yuuri's position would ever have the slightest chance to attend, if they were not the personal protegé of the Earl Nikiforov.

Yuuri spent the ride through the city with his hands twisted in his lap, fidgeting, barely listening to Victor telling him about all the wonderful food that was served at these affairs and instead went over the forms of address once more in his head. Mr. Feltsman had reviewed with him the ones he would most likely need during the course of the night, judging by the list of attendants, but even if Yuuri knew the correct way to address a Duke, how should he know whether the person standing before him in that moment was a Duke or a Marquess? He knew he would be introduced by the Earl to anyone he was supposed to speak to, thus providing him with the title, but still Yuuri couldn't help fretting.

Despite the fact that the clothes his Lordship had bought for Yuuri specifically for this event were the finest that he had ever worn, Yuuri felt quite inadequate next to Victor and his father in their finery. And once they reached the venue, this feeling was only solidified in him. Everywhere around there were men and women in elaborate coats and tails, gowns and dresses, in glittering gold and silver and delicate pastel tones. The dresses with their slim, flowing silhouettes and their intricate embroidered designs, the tails with their sharp, clean lines in contrast... there wasn't a person here who didn't look beautiful and untouchable and carried their status with confidence.

Yuuri, on the other hand... his light shirt, dark trousers and dark blue waistcoat were of fine quality, the subtly patterned deep red cloth of his cravat complimenting his eyes, according to the governess, but.. there was no doubt that Yuuri would be immediately recognised as what he was at this event: an outsider.

Yuuri stuck close by Victor's side as they made their way from the carriage to the entrance and inside the hall, and Victor seemed to notice his nerves, giving him a reassuring smile. Yuuri knew they had to keep their distance here in public; it wouldn't do for them to appear too close, and he would have to address Victor as My Lord, too, when there were others around. He did not particularly like it, but he did not want to reflect badly on the Nikiforovs, who had done so much for him.

Walking through the still gathering crowds just a step behind Victor and his father, Yuuri tried his best to pay attention to their surroundings, take note of the people who bowed to the Earl as they passed, who he nodded to in return. There were so many of them, and yet everyone seemed to know instinctively what to do, how to react, while Yuuri was just trying to not let himself be overwhelmed by all the people, all the noise and sensory impressions. Everyone seemed to recognise the Earl and his son on sight without a doubt, and Yuuri couldn't help but notice that many cast curious glances at him, too.

Some, he assumed, had already heard about him, judging by the way they whispered or smiled amongst themselves when they saw him. Others looked more openly surprised or intrigued, and Yuuri tried to resist the temptation to pull up his shoulders, curl in on himself. Poise and confidence, his dance teacher had said, was what set you apart from the crowd. People would not care about where you were from, as long as you could hold an interesting conversation and look graceful while doing it. Yuuri wasn't quite sure he believed it, but nonetheless he tried as he could to fall into the upright, self-assured posture he had been trained to assume on stage.

He tried to hold on to this poise as he was introduced to aristocracy, dancers and other people working in dance, bowing and smiling and shaking hands when it was offered to him. His Lordship never failed to emphasise his talent and hard work when he introduced Yuuri as his protegé, and though it never quite failed to make Yuuri blush with embarrassment, he knew he was not supposed to contradict him. Instead he patiently answered questions about his training and when he first started dancing, and promised to keep working hard.

Of course, not everyone's reaction was entirely positive; some of the older dancers he was introduced to shot him doubtful glances, something sour in their faces. In other people's voices he could hear their condescension, could feel in every one of their words that they were just humouring him. It made his stomach churn. It was these moments in particular that made him wish Victor was next to him, but he had wandered off in search of refreshments a little while ago, and now Yuuri could see him occasionally in another corner of the room, talking to other children their age, while Yuuri was still shepherded around the room by the Earl.

It wasn't that Yuuri didn't appreciate all His Lordship was doing for him; he did, truly. But speaking to all these strangers, having to mind his Sirs and Madams and pay attention at all time was wearing him out, and he found himself longing for a break. Sometimes he would be granted a break of sorts, when one of the people he was introduced to heard of his aspirations asked him to dance. Though it was nerve-wracking in its own way, it allowed him to work off some of his nervous energy. Ballroom dancing was something he had always enjoyed, and it required less focus than ballet, certainly less focus than navigating his way through conversations with all these people.

He had learned to lead and to follow, and he left the choice up to his partners. Some of the women seemed delighted to be easily led around the dance floor by a young man that barely reached their shoulders. Others seemed eager to jump at the chance of leading. The men usually prefered to lead, though sometimes they surprised him. Yuuri didn't mind either way; besides, he barely dared to speak without the Earl's direct oversight, let alone tell his partners whether they should lead or follow.

Perhaps, despite his best efforts, his apprehension had shown on his face, because one lady slightly squeezed his shoulder as he led her over the dance floor.

"Don't worry", she murmured with a smile, "You're doing well!"

Yuuri looked up at her, surprised. She was middle-aged, fine lines etched into the skin around her eyes, and her smile was wide, painted lips stretched around bright teeth. The generous folds of her skirt swirled around their legs with every turn.

"It's your first time at one of these events, yes?", she asked, when Yuuri did not find any words to reply. He nodded slowly.

"Well, you're doing just fine! You'll get used to it soon enough." She glanced around the the people surrounding them, "I'm sure it's intimidating now, but... most of them are decent people, really, judgemental though they may seem at first."

When Yuuri still looked up at her, wide-eyed, she gave him a conspiratorial grin, leaning closer to whisper in his ear.

"I wasn't born into this either, you know? My father was a country solicitor, and I married into my husband's family years ago." She chuckled. "And you're a natural, with that grace of yours? Oh, give it a few more years, darling, and you'll be right in your element."

Yuuri inclined his head in a nod. "Thank you", he murmured back.

"Don't mention it, darling. You know, we were all so intrigued to hear that His Lordship had taken on a protegé. He's so exacting, someone who catches his attention must be someone quite special indeed, we thought."

Lifting her hand from his shoulder for a moment, she tapped under his chin, making him look up at her, another wide smile on her face. "And looking at that sweet face of yours, I think we were quite right. And those lips... I'm sure the girls and boys are after you already, no? Well, if not then they will be soon."

She dropped her hand, running it down Yuuri's arm, and Yuuri suppressed a shiver as he looked away from her intense gaze as soon as he could.

"A dancer's physique won't hurt either, I'm sure, you know... once you've grown into that body of course. I quite look forward to seeing it."

She squeezed Yuuri's upper arm, not painfully, but firmly, just as the song ended and Yuuri stepped quickly back, out of her hold. Over her shoulder he could see that the Earl was deeply immersed in a conversation, his back turned towards Yuuri. He bowed quickly and forced a smile onto his face.

"Thank you for this dance", he pressed out, a little breathless, "If you would excuse me..."

"Of course", she said, with a smile that made Yuuri itch, "I look forward to repeating the experience soon."

With another quick nod Yuuri hurried away through the crowd, hoping to use this chance to find Victor again. He couldn’t quite help the shudder that ran over him once he was sure he was out of the woman’s sight. He could still feel her touch on his chin, his arms, and it felt uncomfortable on his skin. He didn’t quite understand why; dancing always involved touching your partner, being in close physical proximity to them. But none of his other dances tonight had left him with quite that same nauseated feeling.

He felt a little bad—he was sure the woman only tried to be friendly, to put him at ease, perhaps. Just wanted to pay him some compliments. But by the end had hadn’t been able to get away from her fast enough.

He weaved his way through the crowd toward the corner where he had last seen Victor, hoping that he might still be there now. He really just wanted to see a friendly face, and it wasn’t like the Earl wasn’t friendly, but… the Earl couldn’t see him like this. So… discomposed. Unbalanced. Yuuri needed to show him that he could handle this.

Finally Yuuri spotted the shimmering white and gold of Victor’s cape through the crowd, quickening his step a little more to get to him. Victor was standing, leaning casually against a wall, looking more relaxed than Yuuri had ever seen him, except maybe that night they had first met, at the Yutopia Inn. He was talking with two other boys around their age, one standing, one sitting. They were laughing, and Victor was gesturing broadly, mirth in his eyes as well. He looked so natural there, so at ease. Like he belonged.

Which he did, Yuuri realised. This was where Victor belonged. Yuuri was the only one here who was out of place.

Sure, not everyone at this event was nobility. There were plenty of commoners too, the dancers, many of the people involved with the theatres and opera houses. But all of them had done something to deserve their attendance at this event. To earn it. Except for Yuuri—Yuuri, who had just had the sheer luck of being in the right place at the right time when the Earl’s carriage just happened to break down.

There was nothing deserved about his being here, and everyone could tell just from looking at him. Seeing Victor and the other two boys in their finery, all of them glittering and perfect, Yuuri felt it sink deep into his heart.

Even with all the gifts he had so generously received from the Earl, Yuuri was nothing compared to Victor and his peers. Without all those gifts, Yuuri was less.

Still frozen a few meters away, Yuuri way trying to decide what he should do now, when there was nowhere he cold go and be wanted. But before he could come to a decision, Victor happened to look up and see him, rooted to the spot as he was. His face lit up with a smile and he waved Yuuri closer, and Yuuri was unable to do anything but obey. After all, what else could he do? Turn and walk away?

No; it was impossible. He stepped forward automatically, until he was within speaking distance.

“Yuuri!” Victor grinned. “Did my father finally let you off?”

“Uhm, I”, Yuuri began, swallowing, “I sort of slipped away.”

Victor laughed. “Good for you! I’m sorry I left you alone out there, but it was just so dull.”

Before Yuuri could open his mouth to dismiss Victor’s apology, Victor already went on. “Yuuri, meet Christophe Giacometti, son of the Baron Giacometti”, he gestured toward the fair-haired boy standing next to him, watching Yuuri with bright eyes, “and Georgi Popovich, son of Sir Aleksander Popovich”, he continued, gesturing toward the boy sitting, with dark hair and a more serious expression. “Chris, Gosha, this is Yuuri Katsuki.”

Yuuri bowed carefully to both of them, even as Christophe was already approaching him, hand extended for Yuuri to shake.

“A pleasure, Yuuri”, he said, his smile wide and friendly, “Victor has been telling us so much about you!”

“He has?”, Yuuri asked, tentatively taking Christophe’s hand, who shook it enthusiastically, and flicking his gaze between Christophe and Victor, trying to read something in their expressions.

“Certainly”, Christophe replied, “It appears you’ve been providing quite the diversion in the Nikiforov house this last year.”

Victor laughed. “You don’t have to say it like that, Chris!”, he said, and, turning to Yuuri, added: “I’ve just been telling them how good it’s been to have you in the house. You know, someone my own age. And how terribly dull it was in the winter when we were in the country.”

“I see”, Yuuri said and licked his lips, trying to think of anything more to say. Out of the phrases he had learned were appropriate for casual conversation, none seemed quite fitting. “Well”, he finally settled on, “I do try my best to be pleasant company.”

It made Christophe laugh for some reason, but Victor frowned, stepping closer to Yuuri.

“Are you quite alright, Yuuri?”, he asked, voice low. “No one has been rude to you, have they?”

“No, no, not at all”, Yuuri said, “E-everyone’s been very pleasant.” When Victor’s frown didn’t smooth out, he added, barely more than a murmur, “It’s just a bit overwhelming, is all.”

Victor nodded thoughtfully. “I understand”, he said, “it can be quite a lot.” He thought for a moment, then brightened up. “How about if we dance? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Yuuri felt a small smile tugging on his lips and nodded in relief. “Yeah”, he said, “that sounds good.”

Waltzing across the dance floor with Victor felt easy. It felt effortless.

Victor was a very good dancer, and they were matched fairly evenly in height, with Victor being just a few centimeters taller than Yuuri. They moved with the music naturally, weaving through all the couples taller than them, not bothering with any fancy turns and twists, just letting the melody carry them.

Thankfully, Victor did not feel the need to fill the quiet between them with chatter. They danced in silence, but Yuuri could see from the look on Victor’s face that he was enjoying himself.

Yuuri would have happily spent the rest of the evening like this, but it was not to be; after only a couple of songs, the Earl approached them from the edge of the dancefloor.

“There you are”, he said, “I have been looking for you, Yuuri!”

“Oh”, Yuuri said, dipping his head in apology, “I was just—I was just dancing with V—with Lord Victor.”

“I can see that”, the Earl said with a little huff, “but you will have plenty of time to dance with Victor later. For now, there is someone you need to meet. We should not let this opportunity pass.”

He turned and walked away, Yuuri following with a regretful look back at Victor, who, as Yuuri noted with some relief, trailed after them curiously.

It wasn’t long before they stopped, Yuuri almost walking into the Earl before him, hurrying to catch himself and quickly regain his balance. Before him stood a tall, thin, imposing looking woman with sharp eyes and her hair tied back in a severe bun. She bowed politely to his Lordship as he came to a stop before her, uttering a greeting.

The Earl gave her a friendly nod.

“Madame Baranovskaya”, he said, “what a lovely event you’ve put together here. It’s been really rather enjoyable.”

Yuuri stared up at the woman before him, sharp gaze and sharper cheekbones, hands clasped primly before her, pale skin standing out starkly against her deep green gown. So this was Madame Baranovskaya, the woman of whom everyone in the dance scene spoke with awe, the director of the city’s most prestigious dance academy. The academy that should be, this much had Yuuri already learned, his ultimate goal if he wanted to get anywhere in ballet.

“I don’t think you have met my protegé, have you?”, the Earl was now saying, gesturing for Yuuri to step forward as he’d done with all the other people he had introduced Yuuri too, except that this time, he clapped a friendly hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Discovered him out east, in a charming little inn run by his family. He’s been with us for a little over a year now. Very talented.”

Madame Baranovskaya turned her eyes on him, and Yuuri dipped into a polite little bow, despite the fact that she was not nobility.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame”, he said, and she pursed her lips.

“Ah yes, I had heard of your little project, My Lord.” She ran her eyes over Yuuri, considering, assessing, and did not say anything more for a long moment.

“Well”, his Lordship said, “You should see him when he dances sometime. It is quite the thing to behold from one so young.”

Madame Baranovskaya clicked her tongue. “Yes, I saw him on the dance floor just now”, she said, “his musicality is decent, but his posture is barely acceptable and his movements sloppy.”

Yuuri tried not to flinch at her words, not at the sharp gaze still fixed on him. He could feel Victor’s presence just behind him, and wasn’t quite sure if it was a comfort or an additional humiliation.

“Say, boy, where did you say you learned?”

“Ah, I’ve been having him train with the best teachers the city has to offer”, the Earl cut in, “outside of your own respected establishment, of course.”

Madame shook her head, making his Lordship fall silent, her eyes still trained on Yuuri.

“Where did you learn?”, she asked again.

Yuuri swallowed against a dry throat. “I’ve trained with Minako Okukawa before I came to the city, Madame.”

Madame Baranovskaya nodded, short and sharp. “Yes. I remember her. A talented prima in her day. Her musicality was good. However, she did not have a lacklustre posture and sloppy movements. You have a lot left to learn, boy.”

“Yes, Madame”, Yuuri whispered, looking down, eyes fixed on her perfectly manicured hands.

“Now, now”, the Earl spoke up again, “some waltzing at an event like this, I should think, is hardly representative of his skill. I’m sure if he performed for you, you would be able to really see his talent.”

“I never said the boy wasn’t talented”, Madame Baranovskaya said, and Yuuri’s gaze snapped up. She was regarding his Lordship with a raised eyebrow. “There is certainly one thing he excels in more than you: he doesn’t try to make excuses and instead humbly accepts his flaws for what they are. That’s the only way to learn.”

She turned her eyes on Yuuri again, who barely kept himself from jumping.

“Am I to assume, young man, that you are aiming to learn at my academy?”

“Y-yes, Madame.”

“Not this autumn, I presume?”

“No, Madame”, he said, “Next year.”

Right now, Yuuri was still too young to be accepted into the Academy, but his Lordship and Yuuri’s dance teachers had already determined that he would apply as soon as possibly, so that he would have the chance to improve and try again the next year should he be rejected. The window for a dancer to be accepted into Madame Baranovskaya’s Academy was small, and while it wasn’t the only dance academy in the city, it was certainly the best.

“Well, young Mr. Katsuki, you had better work hard on yourself in the interim, then. Work on your forms, mind your posture, and continue to hone that musicality of yours. If you do, then…”, she paused, and her mouth appeared to curl up at the corners just ever so slightly, “I don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t consider you, when the time comes.”

A tense breath rushed out of Yuuri, and he wanted to slump in relief. Instead, mindful of his posture, he bowed again to Madame Baranovskaya, a little deeper than before.

“Thank you, Madame!”, he said, “I will continue to work hard!”

“See that you do”, she said, and with a chuckle from the Earl and a handshake shared between them, his Lordship led Yuuri away.

Yuuri had not yet had time to calm his nervously pounding heart when he felt Victor‘s hand on his arm, squeezing him gently, just for a moment.

“That was good“, he whispered, excitement in every suppressed syllable, "Did you hear? She liked you!“

Yuuri cast a doubtful look over his shoulder as the Earl still directed him towards a quieter corner of the room, but Victor behind him looked at him bright-eyed, wide-eyed, a smile on his face.

"No, really“, he added, "Madame is notoriously strict, if she had anything at all positive to say about you… if she even said you might make it into the Academy… that‘s amazing!“

Yuuri bit his lip, not quite certain how the fact that his—hopefully—future teacher was famously strict and had barely a good thing to say about anyone was good news.

But his Lordship, once they had made it to a quieter free space where they stopped, nodded.

"It could have gone much worse, considering“, he said, "but make sure to work hard on yourself in the interim. It won‘t do to rest on your laurels now if you want to make it to the Academy.“

"Yes, your Lordship“, Yuuri said, trying to find any excitement in between all the trepidation in his chest.

Somehow he didn‘t feel like he had any laurels to rest on.

Chapter Text

“Vitya!”

The excited shout, followed in short order by steps hurriedly running up the staircase, made Victor smile as he looked up from his school work and turned around to face the door to his study.

He knew, there were not many subjects that would provoke such excitement from the boy who was usually so reserved, so serious—unless they got to talking about dance.

The door burst open few seconds later, Yuuri flying inside, even in his haste still graceful down to every line of his body, light-footed and controlled. The dark strands of his hair, which had been growing longer lately, swaying around his face, his cheeks flushed from the exercise, he beamed. Even now, though, in all his excitement, he did not refrain from dipping down into he quickest bow before straightening up.

“I got in!”, he exclaimed, “Madame Baranovskaya’s Academy! They took me on!”

Victor felt a grin spreading easily on his face. It was not hard for him to believe; he had always been sure that Yuuri’s talents would take him to high places. As Victor pushed up from his chair, Yuuri rushed forward as well, eagerly throwing himself into Victor’s offered embrace.

“They would have been fools not to”, Victor murmured as he squeezed Yuuri in a tight hug, “and from what I know of Madame Baranovskaya, she is not a fool.”

Victor could feel Yuuri’s chuckle against his own chest, breathy with relief.

“Congratulations, Yuuri”, he went on, voice dropping even further, “I’m proud of you.”

Pulling back a little from their embrace, Yuuri dipped his head a little, bashful, but the smile on his face was radiant.

“Thank you”, he whispered, “I couldn’t have done it without you and your father. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it but… thank you.”

Victor laughed and waved his words off with a wave of his hands, the best way he knew to deal with these earnest moods of Yuuri’s.

“Save your Thank Yous for when you are sore and miserable after a hard day’s training at the Academy”, he said with a grin, “I want to hear you thank me then.”

Victor did not get any more Thank Yous from Yuuri in the next few months after that, if only because he hardly got to see him any more at all.

Victor had gotten so used to Yuuri being there in the house at all times, even if they were both wrapped up in their own lessons and obligations, that it was strange to not have him around.

No longer would Victor run into him in the halls as they went from room to room between lessons—Victor from Latin to Piano, Yuuri from Etiquette to French; Victor from Economy to Riding, Yuuri from Art History to Dance.

No longer would they take their meals together in between, no longer would they find each other in the garden getting some fresh air on a break.

While Yuuri had already been taking most of his Dance lessons outside of the Nikiforov town house, in the studios of his ballet teacher and ballroom tutor in the city, he had still always returned to the house after his lessons, had spent the majority of his time under the same roof as Victor.

Now, though, he was at the Baranovskaya Academy almost every second of every day. Dance lessons took up almost all of his day, his other classes were reduced to once a week.

Victor supposed he should count himself lucky that Yuuri still returned to the house at all—the Academy had dorm rooms available for those students who came in from outside the city, but Yuuri, having the good fortune of a residence in fairly close proximity, could return to his own room every night.

But even then hours at the Academy were long, even longer, Victor suspected, than the actual schedule called for. He wasn‘t entirely sure if Yuuri was kept longer by the teachers or if he stayed in the studios after class of his own accord—Yuuri was always a bit vague about it when asked.

When once pressed on whether he wasn‘t overexerting himself, Yuuri had shaken his head with conviction.

„The other students in the dorms have access to the studios at all hours of the day, even at night and on those days when I‘m not at the Academy at all“, he‘d said. “I can‘t fall behind.“

„So“, Victor had hardly dared ask, „do you think it would be better for you, then, if you stayed at the dorms, too?“

Yuuri had shrugged his shoulders.

„I don‘t know, no… I think…“, his face had twisted into a grimace before he‘d said, „I like coming back here in the evening. It‘s familiar, you know. Safe.“

Still Victor couldn‘t help but miss the time that he was once able to spend with Yuuri, now reduced to an occasional Sunday lunch and a few sentences exchanged in entrance halls. Admittedly, his own schedule was not faultless in this; now that Victor was growing up, he, too, was taking on more responsibilities, learning how to take care of his father‘s estate and all the duties that would be his once he became the Earl Nikiforov.

He took his task seriously, tried his utmost to live up to his father‘s good example. From a young age he had learned how many people depended on the estate for their livelihoods, and Victor did not want to be the one to let them down. So he paid attention in his lessons, listened to his father‘s advice, traveled with him when there was business to be taken care of in the country, even with the solicitors and banks in the city.

It was hard work, and not exciting. How much more Victor would have liked to hear about all the things that Yuuri must be experiencing on the daily, all that beauty and passion of the dance world.

He didn‘t have any illusions of Yuuri‘s work being any less gruelling or demanding than his own, but at least, he reasoned, the genuine love for the subject matter must make it so much easier to bear.

The most difficult times for Victor to bear were without a doubt the ones when they traveled to the Petersburg estate in the countryside, leaving the city behind for days and weeks at a time, sometimes months, in the winter when the season was out in the city.

It wasn‘t that Victor disliked the estate or the countryside, nor did he mind spending the time with his father. But spending so much time away from the city and all its life and intensity, all its culture, going for so long without seeing Yuuri or having any news from him…

They had attempted to write letters in order to stay in touch during these long absences before, but Yuuri rarely managed to return Victor‘s correspondence. Victor didn‘t blame him for it, he knew Yuuri‘s schedule left him nary a minute to sit down and write letters, and he knew how torn up about it Yuuri was whenever Victor returned to the city once again without Yuuri having written back to him.

But still there was something empty about those weeks spent without Yuuri‘s presence in his life.

Something lonely.

Victor wasn‘t quite certain how he had grown so attached to that scrawny little boy who had danced for them in a dim inn on a stormy summer night.

They were not close like brothers, despite having spent so many years of their childhood under the same roof; they had never been allowed to grow as close as that, a distance between them having to be maintained for propriety‘s sake.

Victor‘s father, with the aid of his teachers and governess, had made certain that Victor never forgot his position in life. And while Yuuri was treated kindly and never looked down upon or berated for his humble progeny, it was made just as certain that he knew being Nikiforov‘s protegé did not make him a Nikiforov.

Nonetheless Victor could not envision his life now without that quiet, humble and utterly passionate presence in his home, that boy who would share his meals and his playroom, his tutor but not his lessons, his home but not his name, who would sit next to him at the breakfast table and yet not be allowed to call him by his first name in polite company.

Yuuri was shaking as he pushed open the door to the Baranovskaya Academy. It wasn't the first time that he entered the building—he had been here before a few weeks ago for his registration, and then again for the official event starting off the school year just a few days prior. But both times he had been accompanied by the Earl, the latter by Victor, too, and now he was alone. The wide entrance hall of white marble, echoing with his sole footsteps, somehow seemed so much more imposing now.

He pulled a small packet of papers out of his bag for what felt like the hundredth time, double checking again which room he was expected in. All the new students had been told which studios and classrooms they would be using during the inaugural event, but Yuuri just wanted to make extra sure he would not end up in the wrong room, or be late for his first class.

Taking a left from the entrance hall, he walked down a corridor which was not quite so deserted, other students lingering about here and there, casting curious glances at Yuuri as he passed. He was sure they could all pick him out as a new student—while the Academy was large in size due to all the generous dance studios it housed, the number of students was small, only a dozen perhaps for each of the four years, depending on how many applicants Madame Baranovskaya deemed worthy. Surely the students all knew each other then, and Yuuri, along with the other first years, would immediately stand out to them by virtue of being unfamiliar.

Yuuri bit his lip and tried not to meet anyone's eyes, tried not to let their gazes weigh on him. He hurried down the corridor towards the room indicated on his forms, only looking up on occasion to check the numbers indicated next to the doors that he passed on his way. If he made it to his classroom at least there they would all be equally unfamiliar to each other and to their surroundings.

The room was almost empty when Yuuri arrived--he had made sure to arrive in plenty of time, in case he got lost--with only three people looking up at him in their various seats when Yuuri entered. They were vaguely familiar to him from the induction, or perhaps the auditions, and he nodded hesitantly at them as he entered the room, and carefully selected a seat that wasn't too close to any of them, just as they had apparently previously done.

The wooden chair creaked under his weight as he sat down, loud in the awkwardly quiet classroom, and Yuuri hugged his arms around his bag, trying not to move.

Over the next fifteen minutes or so, more students trickled into the rooms in ones and twos, some of them who obviously already knew each other, chatting easily, lifting the oppressive atmosphere somewhat, though the rest of the students still kept to themselves, silent in their chairs.

Madame Baranovskaya herself entered the room at exactly the time appointed for their class, the steps of her heeled shoes echoing along the hallway long before she arrived, making everyone sit up a little straighter in their seats. She swept a quick look over them as she entered and gave a quick satisfied nod, seeing that they were all present.

"Welcome to Baranovskaya Academy", she said, her voice not loud but firm and carrying easily in the small classroom. "We will lose no more words about the privilege that it is for you to be here and study at my school. We have lost plenty of words on it the weekend last. All of you here have proven in your auditions that you deserve that privilege, and you will continue to prove that you deserve that privilege from here on out.

She paused, and a few of the students gave nods ranging from tentative to determined.

"This is your classroom", Madame Baranovskaya then continued. "Ballet is a discipline of practice. As such, you will spend most of your time in the studios, honing your skills. However, ballet is also a discipline with a rich history and plentiful theory supporting it. In this classroom, you will take your lessons in History of Dance, Music Theory, Anatomy and Nutrition. Your knowledge of French should be sufficient at this time that the History of Dance and Music Theory classes being conducted in French should be of no detriment to you. If it is not, I strongly advise you to remedy this."

Some students shifted uncomfortably in their seats at these words, and Yuuri, too, felt his mouth run dry. He had spent the summer honing his French with his tutor as best he could, but he still wasn't certain his skills were sufficient to understand these classes.

"You will gather in this room before your morning practice once a week", Madame continued, "the other days you will go directly to the studio indicated on your schedule. You will be on time and changed into your gear by the time indicated. After morning practice you will have lunch, which you will take in the refectory, and you will only have the meals provided by the refectory. After lunch you will return here for your lessons, and thence to your evening practice."

Her gaze swept once more over the students seated, most of them staring down at their desks, some of the braver ones meeting her gaze.

"It is your fortune that your first morning practice will be conducted by me. I am expecting you in the Carnation Studio in your gear in ten minutes sharp. You are dismissed."

There was a moment of hesitation, and then the collective scrape of chairs under Madame's expectant gaze, as the students hurried to gather their things and scramble out of the classroom. Yuuri, too, grabbed his bag tighter and hurried down the hall with the rest of them, in search of the Carnation Studio and the changing room attached to it. He could feel his nerves building the closer he got. Not only would his skills once again be judged by Madame Baranovskaya herself, he would also have to compare directly to the rest of the students. As far as he'd been able to tell from the looks of them, Yuuri was one of the younger students in the class, though sometimes it was difficult to judge, and Yuuri was sure he would make a fool out of himself.

He knew Madame's reputation for being entirely impartial and, despite her strictness, entirely fair, but sometimes Yuuri still couldn't help but doubt. Ever since he had gotten his acceptance letter from the Academy, there had been a small voice at the back of his head, wondering if his meeting with Madame back at that ball had anything to do with his acceptance. There was just no way he had measured up against all those other dancers who were sure to have applied for a spot, not unless the name Nikiforov had somehow tipped the scales in his favour. And if that was the case, then surely it would become painfully obvious once he danced among all the other students who had earned their spots fair and square.

Fighting down his urge to run away, Yuuri forced himself to enter the changing room, picking out an empty spot for himself and his bag. The changing rooms were mixed, the students all busying themselves with changing into their gear with their backs turned to one another, so Yuuri pulled open his own bag with shaking fingers, and did the same.

It got easier once they were in the studio.

Though it wasn't one that Yuuri had been in before, it was the familiar ground of any studio: mirrors along two walls, a barre stretching the length of them, an even, polished dance floor inviting movement. Some of the students who were already out when Yuuri entered the studio were stretching along the walls and on the floor, so Yuuri did the same, picking an empty spot toward the back and carefully stretching out his muscles. He was quite sure they would start with stretches anyways, but it never hurt to limber up.

Yuuri was deep into a side split, his forearms resting on the floor, forehead resting on his hands, when he heard soft steps approaching and halting next to him. Turning his head he peered up, seeing another student looking down at him, a friendly grin on her face. She was one of the students Yuuri remembered from the auditions, with long, slender legs and reddish brown hair.

"Is that spot free?", she asked, indicating a free area next to Yuuri, and Yuuri nodded, turning his head down again and breathing through the stretch before slowly easing his body up again.

The girl was sitting with her legs stretched out before her, hands wrapped around the soles of her feet, but she looked up when Yuuri straightened. She smiled at him again when their eyes met, and it seemed to come so easy to her. “I’m Yuuko”, she said. "Yuuko Toyomura, but you can just call me Yuuko. If you want."

"Uhm… I'm Yuuri Katsuki", Yuuri replied with a small smile, waiting for a moment to see if anything else was expected from him. But Yuuko just continued her stretching and, after a moment, so did Yuuri.

Madame Baranovskaya entered the studio soon after, clapping them all to attention before walking them through basic stretches and forms. Her tone was just as harsh and expectant as it had been in the classroom, and the regimen was brutal in its speed and complexity, but Yuuri tried to keep his head down, his focus up and follow along as best he could. Yuuko stuck close to him throughout, and Yuuri didn’t mind it much when they ended up doing partner stretches together. At least she didn’t try to chatter during class and distract Yuuri, though on occasion they shared a suffering look when Madame barked another command at the class.

They both made it through the morning practice without any major criticisms from Madame Baranovskaya, which was a relief and more than could be said for some of the other students. But Yuuri was already sore to the bones by the time they all returned to the changing room, and judging by the collective groans and sighs as they changed back into their regular clothes, he wasn’t the only one. He was not quite sure how he was supposed to make it through another practice that evening.

He was surprised to see Yuuko waiting for him outside the changing room, looking up when Yuuri emerged, bag slung over his shoulder.

“You want to go to the refectory together?”, she asked, and Yuuri shrugged.

“Sure”, he murmured, and followed Yuuko’s lead down the hall.

The food they were served for their lunch was unimaginative but well-prepared, a healthy balance to keep up their energy for the rest of the day. Over their plates Yuuri and Yuuko talked, although it might have been more accurate to say that Yuuko talked while Yuuri offered occasional comments, and he learned that Yuuko was from the east too, but her parents were well to do merchants that had hired a private dance tutor for her when her talent became apparent. Since her home town was several days’ travel away from the city, she was staying in the dormitories of the Academy for the duration of her training.

Yuuri, in turn, tried to answer Yuuko’s questions as well as he could, though he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat under her wide-eyed stare when Yuuri explained that he’d been taken in by an Earl who had seen him dance and wanted to support his talents. He didn’t quite know how to explain that it really wasn’t quite so impressive as it sounded.

After their brief lunch break, the class returned to their classroom for History of Dance and Nutrition, and the former in particular was a challenge; the teacher did indeed conduct the entire class in French, though she did make sure to speak slowly and clearly at least at the beginning, a small mercy that Yuuri was thankful for. Yuuri managed to follow along with most of the material, especially the dance related terms, to his relief, which had featured heavily in his own french classes up until that point, but it was trying to focus on a language that wasn’t his own for a whole hour and try to parse the complex sentences the teachers threw at them.

He scribbled down notes in his own language as quickly as he could, hoping that he wasn’t missing anything important, and when he dared to take a moment to look around the classroom, more than a few people appeared to be rather lost. Nutrition, by comparison, was a lot less trying, though by this point Yuuri could definitely feel the tiredness settle in, his concentration starting to flag.

He was almost relieved when they were ushered into the dance studio for the second time, though his body protested the exertion, he was quite happy to give his mind a break and just let his body move of its own accord, bypassing his brain. A different teacher was with them this time, and their practice was a bit freer, focusing more on choreography than the strict forms and stretches. Nonetheless Yuuri was ready to collapse at the end of the day, when they were finally released from the confines of the Academy.

As everyone was changing their clothes once more Yuuri could hear some of the students who lived in the dorms making plans to head to the refectory together for dinner, but he just kept his head down, stuffed his clothes in his bag, and hurried out of the room. He knew he’d have to eat to replenish his energy, and there would likely be dinner waiting for him when he returned to the townhouse, but in all honesty all Yuuri wanted to do was drop into bed and fall asleep immediately.

The subsequent days, weeks and months of Yuuri’s life went rather similar to that first day at the Academy. Two practices per day, with different teachers focusing on different aspects of dance—flexibility, positions, jumps, choreography—interspersed with theory classes. There was one day of rest a week, which became half a day with Yuuri’s additional etiquette and French classes from his tutors, and it was not nearly enough to recover from the gruelling demands of his schedule. More often than not he crashed into bed right after dinner, barely able to spend a minute talking to Victor before his eyelids were heavy and drooping. His muscles were in a constant state of soreness, and his meals never seemed to be quite able to sate his hunger, despite the fact that they were adjusted to compensate for his increased energy expenditure now.

But despite all of that… Yuuri didn’t hate it. Quite the opposite, actually—he loved the dancing, and, it turned out, he was good at it. He tried not to compare himself actively to the other students in his glass, tried to keep his eyes fixed at his own reflection in the mirror when they went through their positions, trying to pick out any flaws in his posture, any deficiencies in his movements, and as time went on, he could find less and less of them. He could see himself improving, right there in that mirror that had become his daily companion, could see the way he honed his skills until Madame Baranovskaya and the other teachers had barely a critical word to say to him.

His muscles were building, too, as much as his prepubescent body could, making him lean and wiry, preparing himself for more powerful jumps and lifts. By an unspoken agreement Yuuri and Yuuko had found themselves pairing off together more often than not, as most of the other students had found a companion that they usually paired up with. Yuuko was easy-going as a person, but a hard-working dancer. She was friendly and talkative, but she didn’t seem to mind the occasional silence between them, never expected Yuuri to talk when he didn’t feel like it. Yuuri’s hands soon learned just how to lift, hold and turn Yuuko as they made their way through the choreography.

Outside of Yuuko, however, Yuuri rarely spoke to his classmates. No one really attempted to talk to him and he was certainly not the type to seek them out. A few times when a group of them had gone out to a pub after evening training he’d gone along, or sat with them for lunch at the refectory, and he listened to their conversations as he picked his way through his meal, but he had never quite found a way to actively participate.

He answered any question he was asked, and he tried to be friendly, but he couldn’t shake that creeping feeling at the back of his head that they were looking down on him, that he was making a fool of himself. So he mostly kept his head down and quietly dedicated himself to his training.

The day came when Yuuri was sitting alone at a table in the refectory, Yuuko having excused herself to run back to the dormitory during the lunch break in order to pick up her class notes that she’d forgotten. Yuuri looked up in between bites when the chair opposite him moved, thinking that perhaps Yuuko had made it back quicker than anticipated, but instead another student was taking the seat, grinning at Yuuri as he set down his tray. Yuuri didn’t recognise him, so he wasn’t from his own class, and he did look a bit older, his back broader, face more angular.

Yuuri froze, looking up at him, unsure what, if anything, was expected of him.

The other boy’s grin didn’t waver.

“Hope you don’t mind if I join you”, he said, “you were looking quite lonely over here by yourself.”

Yuuri shook his head, then remembered his manners and cleared his throat. “No, I don’t mind”, he said, “Please.”

The other picked up his cutlery and tucked into his food, and Yuuri too directed his attention at his luncheon again.

“So”, his new companion said after a while around a mouthful of food, though he swallowed the bite with an apologetic gesture before he continued, “a first year, are you?”

Yuuri nodded and the boy grinned again.

“And? Exhausted, yes?”

Yuuri looked up at him with a mixture of alarm and confusion. Was he looking so bad? The boy seemed to read some of his thoughts in his expression, because he laughed.

“Don’t worry”, he said, “the first semester is always the toughest. They’re just trying to weed out the weakest links, see if you all got what it takes. After the new year they’ll ease up on you a bit.”

Yuuri took his time chewing and swallowing his own bite, trying to digest that information. “Do… do they do that every year?”, he finally asked.

“Oh, yeah! God, I was utterly spent the whole of my first semester here. It’s just a bit of a test of your determination, I guess. Anyone in your class drop out yet?”

Yuuri shook his head, though admittedly he had heard some of his classmates complain about the tyranny more than once. And it was not like Yuuri himself had disagreed, at the time.

“You might be a good bunch then”, the boy said with another grin. “To be quite honest, the older years usually have a bit of a joke not telling anyone about this, just to see if anyone will crack. After all, we all had to make it through this same as you.” He shrugged. “But you seem like a decent fellow, figured there’s no harm in letting you know. Just don’t tell the others, will you?” He winked.

Yuuri nodded slowly, still a bit overwhelmed from all the new information. “Sure. Uhm, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m Cao Bin, by the way.” The boy extended his hand toward Yuuri over the table.

Carefully putting his cutlery down, Yuuri took it and shook it hesitantly. “Yuuri Katsuki”, he said.

And so Yuuri gained another… well, if not friend, then acquaintance, at least. On occasion, he’d see Bin in the halls or outside in the courtyard and they’d say hello, and sometimes he’d sit with Yuuri during lunch, especially once Yuuko made friends with a second year dancer called Takeshi and they started sitting together at lunch sometimes. Yuuri was sure he wasn’t a particularly riveting conversation partner, but Bin didn’t seem to mind it, just chatted endlessly about his own classes, his classmates, and whatever dances they were learning at the time. Yuuri listened patiently, offering a nod or a comment here or there. He was still a bit bewildered about why Bin had sought him out, but admittedly it was quite interesting getting a glimpse into the fourth year classes through him.

After a few weeks, Bin suggested to Yuuri after they had finished their lunch that they take a walk around the courtyard before classes resumed, and Yuuri found that after the food and the last hours stuck in a stuffy dance studio, the fresh air was quite pleasant, clearing his head before theory, so they made it a regular thing.

During these walks, Bin asked Yuuri about himself, too, just the basics at first: Where he was from, about his family, where he lived now, how he’d gotten to dance and whether he was planning to go en pointe or if he would stay base, as they called the dancers who focused on lifting rather than being lifted.

So Yuuri told him a little about Hasetsu and his parents’ inn and tried not to let the lump in his throat show when Bin asked if he didn’t miss them. He didn’t explain that, though he did write them letters regularly, he didn’t think he could go back and visit them before his training was over because if he went back now and saw his family again, he wasn’t at all sure if he’d be able to come back.

It didn’t seem like the kind of information he should share with someone he barely knew a few weeks.

Instead, he told Bin that he’d done a little en pointe training with his old teacher and in preparation for the entrance exam, but that he figured he’d probably do better if he remained base. After all, en pointe training was a lot more challenging and while his body could probably be suited to both depending on his training either emphasising his musicality or his stamina, he was also worried about being able to stay as slim as he was now as he grew older, knowing how easy he’d gained weight as a child. Now, while his body was growing, there was little extra fat on his body except for the roundness of his cheeks, but all of that might change once he was past his adolescence. But this, too, was something he did not feel necessary to share with Bin, though that did not keep Bin from remarking on how graceful he was sure Yuuri must look en pointe.

Yuuri shrugged. “We’re all ballet dancers”, he said, “I suppose being graceful is a part of that.”

This made Bin laugh for some reason. “That’s easy for someone your age to say. Just you wait until your body changes and then try and take your grace for granted. You should have seen me and the rest of my class last year. It was a disaster.”

“Oh.” Looking at Bin, Yuuri couldn’t help but think of the kind of long-limbed awkwardness that had come with Victor’s first growth spurts recently. But then, Victor wasn’t a trained dancer—somehow Yuuri hadn’t considered that it might affect him the same way when the time came. “Is it that bad?”

“Doesn’t have to be”, Bin said with a shrug, “if you’re lucky. Just be glad you don’t have to deal with it just yet.” He cast a look at Yuuri from the corner of his eyes. “Or do you, eh? You started changing yet?”

“Uhm…”, Yuuri blinked, unsure if he quite understood what Bin was asking.

“I think growing hair is usually where it begins”, Bin continued easily, “You growing hair down there yet?”

Yuuri felt himself flush. “I, uhm… I—”, all words were suddenly stuck in his throat. He had indeed found some hair growing between his legs over the summer, but he certainly didn’t want to talk about it. He couldn’t quite imagine if it would be more mortifying to admit that he had or to pretend that he hadn’t, and his mind raced trying to find a way around answering the question.

Bin just laughed again. “No need to be shy about it! We’re just two guys talking, right? There’s no shame in saying it. I certainly have.” There was a faint note of pride in his voice at his words. “If you want I could even show—”

His words were interrupted by the bell signalling the end of lunch break, to Yuuri’s endless relief, and he almost fled back to his classroom.

He spent most of his Anatomy class distracted by Bin’s words, running them over and over through his mind. In the moment he had wanted nothing less than to talk about those things with him, but had Bin been right, saying that it was nothing to be ashamed of? Was this the kind of thing boys talked about? The only other boy Yuuri had spent any amount of time with was Victor and Victor... well, he was nobility. An Earl’s son. Surely it wasn’t appropriate for someone like him to talk about something so banal. But for Yuuri and the other people at this school… maybe he was just being too sensitive, though the thought still made him shudder.

Bin kept approaching him for lunch and suggesting they take walks, and Yuuri agreed, though he didn’t feel quite happy about it. He didn’t want to be rude, after all Bin hadn’t really done anything wrong, this was just on Yuuri feeling uncomfortable. And most of the time it wasn’t that bad—they took their walks and talked about anything and everything, classes, food, their favourite ballets and music, and though Bin still did most of the talking, this wasn’t something that Yuuri really minded—in fact, he usually rather preferred it that way.

It was only every once in a while that Bin did or said something that left Yuuri feeling like he wanted to be anywhere but there, like when he remarked on how slim Yuuri’s waist was and insisted on trying if he could wrap both his hands around it, standing so close behind Yuuri that he could feel his breath against his hair. Or when he asked if Yuuri thought girls or boys were prettier, and if he’d learned about the differences between their bodies yet. Or when he asked if anyone had kissed Yuuri yet and if he was curious about how it felt.

But these instances were rare, all things considered, and Yuuri tried not to think too much about them. He already knew he was a private person, that must be why he didn’t want to talk about these things, but there was surely nothing wrong with them in themselves. There couldn’t be anything wrong with them, because every time he even considered asking anyone about it, he felt so silly. What was he even going to say? He wants to talk to me about boys and girls and kissing? Wasn’t that what everyone their age was talking about? Even talking about their bodies wasn’t anything too unusual when they were both dancers, working with their bodies every day at school. No, he was surely just overreacting because he wasn’t familiar with these types of conversations, didn’t quite know what to say.

So he just gritted his teeth and hoped with every one of their conversations that these topics wouldn’t come up, and in the meantime listened to the conversations of his classmates and fellow students in the changing rooms and the refectory, hoping to overhear something that might give him a better idea of how to act in these situations, but somehow nothing of the sort ever came up. Perhaps it was something that you’d only talk about in private—that would make sense, and after all, Bin also only brought these things up when they were taking their walks in the courtyard.

But no matter how Yuuri tried to reason with himself, he couldn’t quite shake off the uncomfortable feeling, until he was beginning to almost dread those days of the week when he had lunch with Bin. Thankfully it wasn’t all of them—Yuuko still ate with him a few times a week, and for some reason Bin never joined them when that was the case. Perhaps he didn’t want to intrude upon their time. Inevitably of course Yuuko asked about him, in that open way she had, though she took his reluctance to talk about it and his staring at his hands throughout entirely the wrong way. Yuuri didn’t know of a way to deny her assumption without reaffirming her belief that Yuuri must surely be sweet on him even more.

The longer he knew Bin, the less Yuuri liked to spend time with him, but he didn’t really know how to pull back, not when Bin was so enthusiastic about spending even more time together. He didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and Bin always seemed so disappointed when Yuuri made some excuse—legitimate or not—to not see him. He had taken to waiting for Yuuri outside the changing room after evening practice, insisting on walking him out. After the first few times this happened, Yuuko had winked at him and quickly taken to making herself scarce, and Yuuri didn’t know how to explain to her that he really wished she’d stick around.

Bin lived in the dorms, so it wasn’t even like they had a shared way home—Bin really just walked him out of the Academy and across the courtyard to the gate, where he then kept Yuuri wrapped up in one-sided conversation until long after classes had ended and the last stragglers of students and even the staff had passed them by. Yuuri usually cited the need to go back to the townhouse for dinner in order to escape, which was not untrue, but still it often took way too long before Bin let him go. Even when autumn turned into winter and the air turned bitter cold or rain was pouring down, it would not deter him. Bin would stand really close to Yuuri then, citing the need to keep warm, or crowd him back against the outer wall of the courtyard so that the would both fit under the narrow awning keeping them safe from the rain.

It was one of those nights, when the rain was almost deafening on the shingles above them, running off of them in heavy waterfalls, shielding them from sight even if there had been anybody around in this miserable weather, when Bin had gotten so close to Yuuri that Yuuri was essentially pressed up against the wall at his back and still there was hardly any distance between their bodies left. Though Yuuri wouldn’t have said he expected it, he still found that he wasn’t surprised when Bin leaned down to kiss him almost mid-sentence. Yuuri managed to turn his head away in time, so that Bin only caught his cheek.

Yuuri opened his mouth to stammer some apology, make some excuse, but before he said anything, Bin’s hand was cupping his chin, trying to turn his face back towards him.

“Come on, Katsuki”, he murmured, “Yuuri. Don’t be like that.”

Yuuri shook his head as well as he could in Bin’s grip. “I’m sorry—I don’t…”

Bin huffed a little laugh, but it did not sound amused. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Come on, I can show you everything you need to know.”

The pressure on his chin increased, and Yuuri closed his eyes, but still kept his face firmly turned away. Bin sighed, and for a moment Yuuri had hope that that would be it, but a second later Bin’s lips were on his neck, mouthing down his throat right down past the collar of his shirt.

Raising his hands, Yuuri tried to push him away but instead Bin pressed closer, pushing the entire length of his body up against Yuuri.

“You’re too timid, Yuuri”, he murmured against Yuuri’s skin, and Yuuri shuddered, “Just let me show you a good time. Loosen up a little.”

Bin’s hand on Yuuri’s chin tightened again, turning his face, too much pressure for Yuuri to resist.

“Look at me”, Bin said, voice rough, and despite his better judgement, Yuuri opened his eyes. Bin’s gaze bored into him, sharp and heated. With his other hand, Bin grabbed ahold of Yuuri’s wrist and guided his hand down between their bodies, between Bin’s legs. Still holding Yuuri’s gaze, Bin deliberately rolled his hips forward until Yuuri could feel something hard and hot rubbing against his palm, a groan falling from Bin’s lips.

Yuuri tried to pull his hand away, but Bin held him fast, releasing Yuuri’s chin now to reach down with his other hand, too, and unbutton his trousers. Yuuri was frozen, heart pounding, eyes screwed shut once more as Bin guided Yuuri’s hand under the fabric, but the second his fingers made contact with coarse hair and hot skin, something snapped.

Yuuri yanked his hand away and shoved back against Bin, somehow pushing him off balance enough to be able to shimmy out from between him and the wall, and then he ran off, blindly, into the rain.

He barely felt the cold water soaking his clothes and hair, droplets running down his glasses and obscuring his vision, barely registered the thundering splashes of his feet against the cobblestones as he ran. Only felt the fingers on his chin, wrapped around his wrist. Static in his mind. He didn’t dare look back, even though he was already several streets away.

Turning another corner, he stopped short, almost slipping on the wet stones, when a shape suddenly appeared before him between the sheets of rain.

“Yuuri! There you are!”

Yuuri sucked in what felt like his first breath since he’d stepped outside the Academy, and pressed his lips together to keep it from turning into a sob.

“Ah, look at you, you’re soaked through. Come here.”

Victor stepped forward until Yuuri was within the circumference of his large umbrella, shielding him from the rain. Reaching out, Victor pushed Yuuri’s dripping hair out of his face with gloved hands, and Yuuri was glad he was already shivering from the rain.

“Why did you try to run home in this weather? I was coming to pick you up! You’ll catch your death!”

Yuuri thought he might shatter with the effort of keeping himself together. Something of it must have shown on his face, because Victor frowned, stepping closer. “Ah, are you okay? I’m not angry, Yuuri, I just don’t want you getting sick.”

Yuuri forced himself to nod. “I’m alright”, he said. His voice sounded hoarse. “I just—thank you for coming to pick me up. You didn’t have to.”

Victor chuckled. “Well, of course I did! Did you think we would let you walk home on your own in this weather?”

“No, I mean…”, Yuuri cleared his throat, “you didn’t have to.”

“Oh.” Victor paused for a moment, considering. “I suppose that’s true. Father wanted to send one of the footmen, but I volunteered. After all, the two of us fit better under one umbrella anyway, don’t you think?”

Victor grinned, and Yuuri could feel something like a smile on his own face, too. “Of course.”

“Well then”, Victor said, turning to stand next to Yuuri and thread his arm through Yuuri’s, gloved hand resting against the soaked material of Yuuri’s coat. “Let’s get you home and out of those clothes, shall we? You must be freezing!”

Chapter Text

The winter that Victor turned seventeen of age was definitely one of the worst—it was a long, dark season, colder than the ones he had experienced previously. Or perhaps that was just how it felt to him, since he spent more of this winter in the country than he ever had before.

There had been a bad crop in the fall and the tenants on the estate were struggling, and on top of it there had been repairs to be made to the roof of the manor house lest the winter‘s harsh weather should damage its structure. So Victor‘s father was needed at the estate almost through the whole of winter, overseeing the repairs and making sure the tenants‘ needs were seen to and the fields readied to yield a better crop the next year.

It was good for Victor to see, he said, how a crisis such as this was handled level-headed even under difficult circumstances, and so he kept Victor with him throughout most of the cold season.

But apart from the servants and the construction workers there was no one else at the estate, certainly no one who was at all Victor‘s age, and the nights were long and dull with nothing to do in the evenings but play cards with his father or sit and read books.

Not that Victor minded reading books or even playing cards with his father, and his piano practice, too, saw as much improvement in this season as never before… but nonetheless it was a tedious time.

A few times the Earl invited neighbours over for a dinner, but he was reluctant to, since the manor was in such a state due to the repairs, and besides, their visitors were all much older than Victor and, if they bothered to talk to him at all, asked him only about his studies or, after enquiring with his father—never with him—on whether he was courting anyone yet, praised their absent nieces and nephews and cousins to him.

His father would grimace apologetically to him over their meals, and Victor would shrug, and when the Earl finally declared that perhaps there would not be any more dinner parties while they were in the country, Victor could not say he was disappointed.

When the holidays had come and passed and a new year had begun, both on the calendar and in Victor‘s young life, his sense of adventure got the best of him a couple of times and he snuck out of the manor in the evening, a plain hat pulled over his distinct hair, and went in search of whatever public house or bar the local youth might spend their tedious winter nights.

The first time was not particularly successful—the first pub he went into was populated by the town‘s who’s who, over half of which he was sure recognised him immediately, hat notwithstanding. It was probably not a help, either, that he kept the hat on when he went inside.

No one spoke to him, though they all eyed him, and Victor had a lonely half-pint at the bar, the barman glancing at him sympathetically, and afterwards he hastened outside and, discouraged, went back home.

His father‘s knowing smile the next morning told Victor that the town‘s grapevine had already done its job, but thankfully he did not feel the need to comment on it.

Victor held out for another couple of weeks after that before the silence of the house became too much and he snuck out again. This time he didn‘t bother with any of the public houses, instead strolling around the smaller alleys and the edges of the town, keeping an eye out for any people of his own age.

He finally ran into a small group smoking and chatting at the edge of the river, their breaths along with the smoke of their cigarettes beading into clouds in the cold winter air.

Victor approached them, hands buried in his pockets and trying to look natural, though the looks they gave him told him he wasn‘t being very successful. He wasn‘t sure if any of them recognised him, his hair being once again hidden under his cap, but he was certain as soon as he opened his mouth they could tell that he wasn‘t exactly one of the village youth.

Nonetheless they didn‘t seem to mind that he joined them, gave him a cigarette that he proceeded to cough through, much to everyone‘s amusement, and even offered him a beer, which he could down with much more expertise.

That seemed to be enough for them to at least not immediately cast him out of their midst, and they spent the rest of the evening strolling along the edges of the town, drinking and smoking. The rest of the group were chatting among themselves, talking about people that Victor didn‘t know and using slang that he didn‘t understand. No one bothered to ask him anything much more than if he wanted another beer, and Victor didn‘t quite dare chime in too much on their conversation, but when their path took them to something like a converted barn which Victor understood belonged to one of their families, they ushered him inside along with them without a second glance.

From the look of the place it was used as something of a convening place more often, cigarette butts in the dirt and booze bottles along the wall speaking of past exploits. There were even a couple of beat up music instruments in a corner, and as soon as they‘d all taken seats on the various wooden structures that served as chairs, someone whipped out a pack of cards.

Needless to say Victor had quite a lot more fun than playing cards with his father, and after a couple more beers and a few rounds of insults thrown from all sides because of lost games, the conversation flowed a little easier between them.

After a while the night lost its sharpness, fuzzing out at the edges, and Victor wasn‘t quite sure how he‘d ended up pressed against a barn wall being kissed senseless, a hand buried firmly in his hair while someone was trying rather spiritedly to play a very out of tune fiddle, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

He wasn‘t quite sure of how late it was by the time he made it back to the estate, his steps a bit uncertain but a giddy smile on his lips, but he was lucky that Cook was already up and preparing breakfast, so that he could sneak back in through the kitchens. Cook, after her initial shock, laughed at him and gave him a piece of fried bread that left his fingers greasy with butter, before sending him off to bed.

His father was a little annoyed that Victor didn‘t make it out of bed in time for breakfast (or their first appointment of the day with one of their tenants), but still he didn‘t seem to mind too much that Victor was looking for some entertainment outside of the house.

Victor went out at night a couple more times after that, and in between he met with Louis sometimes at the edge of the estate or by the river, for some more snogging in the gazebo and some hasty, fumbling experiences hidden between the trees.

It wasn‘t until Louis started whispering love to him as they were coming down, still sweaty and panting, that Victor decided perhaps it was time to pull back. As much fun as he was having with the boy, he was still going back to the city as soon as he was able, was looking forward to it more than anything, and he certainly did not intend to run away with the greengrocer‘s son.

Some clumsy apologies and a lot of awkwardness later, Victor‘s outings with the town youth dropped off as quickly as they had come, and thankfully Victor‘s father still refrained from commenting.

The rest of the winter, Victor dedicated himself to help his father with all his tasks, spent his evenings reading in his rooms or writing letters to Yuuri that mostly went unanswered.

The letters were of no import, mostly detailed the rather tedious tasks of Victor‘s days and some of his explorations at night, though he carefully left out any mention of Louis—this didn‘t seem like something he wanted to share with anyone just yet, not even Yuuri. He enquired after Yuuri‘s own days, too, how his studies at the Academy were going.

He only received a reply a few times, and then they were mostly the same. Sweet Yuuri asked after Victor‘s work with more interest and curiosity than he could possibly genuinely feel, and then mentioned his routine of lessons, practice and training. All of his days seemed to be the same, much like Victor‘s own were, despite the fact that Yuuri had the whole city at his disposal.

He never mentioned socialising with his fellow students or venturing out into the city on his own, despite the fact that he would be well allowed to, as long as he didn‘t neglect his studies, and knew enough of the city now to find his way around.

But it seemed Yuuri was not particularly keen to move outside of that small bubble of what was familiar to him.

Perhaps, Victor thought, he should take Yuuri out to see something of the city himself sometime. After all, what was the point of living in the city if you never saw any part of it? Maybe Victor could take Yuuri to the zoo, or to one of the city‘s famous patisseries to try their cakes and confections, though it would take some convincing to get Yuuri to break his diet. Perhaps he could take Yuuri to the opera. He knew Yuuri got to see plenty of ballet performances as a part of his training, but the opera must still be unfamiliar to him.

Making up these plans in his head and trying to think of ways to convince Yuuri to let Victor treat him took up another good part of Victor‘s evenings until he was finally allowed to travel back into the city. By then, the cold of winter was finally starting to lift and the repairs of the country house were finally completed.

He wasn‘t quite sure what he expected when he and his father returned to the townhouse around the middle of February, snowy sludge still lining the city’s streets, dirtied by the carriages and cars. He had been gone almost four months, Yuuri having reached his sixteenth year in his absence while he himself had reached his seventeenth, and a new year had begun, but as much as it had felt endless to Victor, it had only been four months.

Any other four months would have passed in the blink of an eye, so he had not thought about the passage of that time very much.

But he was rather insistently reminded of it when he and his father were standing in the town house‘s entrance hall, their coats and hats being taken by the butler welcoming them back to the house, and footsteps hurried down the staircase.

Victor almost didn’t recognise the young man standing there at the bottom of the stairs, bowing at first to his father and then to him, before approaching them with a wide smile on his face.

„Your Lordship“, he said, „Vitya. Welcome back!“

Victor would not have thought that it was possible for someone to change so much in such a short amount of time, and yet here Yuuri was. His hair was still long, as he‘d been letting it grow since he had come to the city, and tied back neatly at the nape of his neck, and his eyes were still large and dark and deep—but almost everything else about him seemed changed.

He had grown at least a hand’s breadth, enough that the sleeves of his shirt were a little short. The only reason the trousers were not was likely that they were new, had been purchased from the allowance that the Earl always allotted to make sure that Yuuri‘s needs were taken care of in their absence. Yuuri‘s face was leaner, his jaw sharper, no longer the face of a boy, though not quite the face of a man yet. His shoulders were broader, too, and what Victor could see of his lean forearms peeking out of his shirt sleeves was lined with stark veins, his body gaining in strength.

Victor was only speechless for a moment, or so he hoped, before he grinned and swept Yuuri into an embrace with a call of his name.

„It‘s so good to see you!“, he murmured close to Yuuri‘s ear, „It‘s been a dreadfully dull winter without you.“

Yuuri let himself be squeezed firmly before he stepped back, ducking his head bashfully.

„Yes, it‘s been… very quiet around here, too. It‘s good to have you back.“

It made Victor grin to see that Yuuri, despite all his physical changes, still blushed just as easily as he had, and was still just as reluctant with his words of affection. It was a familiar touch, a relief; though he may certainly be growing up, he was still just the same Yuuri that Victor had left a few months prior.

„You‘ve grown quite a lot, haven‘t you?“, the Earl said, giving words to Victor‘s thoughts, clapping his hand on Yuuri‘s shoulder, „I hope it hasn‘t been too much of a hindrance to your training?“

„No, Sir“, Yuuri said, standing up a little straighter, his body taking on that grace that came so natural to him now, another thing that was unchanged. „It wasn‘t too much all at once, Madame‘s been saying. She says I might gain another few centimetres, though I don‘t know how she can tell, but she doesn‘t think I‘ll be getting too tall.“

Yuuri‘s voice was level as he spoke, and quite serious, as was his expression. He seemed subdued beyond the excitement of their reunion, though Victor wasn‘t quite certain if it was his actual behaviour or rather his more grown-up appearance, the lack of his rounded cheeks and somewhat childlike features that lent his demeanour a certain gravity that had been previously absent.

Over the next few days, however, Victor‘s impression seemed to solidify itself as he spent some time with Yuuri, sitting together over tea in the library or in Victor‘s sitting room in the evenings, chatting about the time they were apart.

Yuuri, though he spoke freely around Victor and patiently answered all his questions about the last few months in the city, though Victor would still see that familiar passion and determination glimmering in his eyes when he talked about dance, definitely seemed more solemn than he had been, more thoughtful.

His energy expressed itself in a nervous fidgeting more than it had, and though he had always been careful with his words, he seemed to think through them even more now. Victor couldn‘t help but smile to see it, the way that Yuuri was inevitably growing up, just as Victor himself was. There was something nostalgic about it as well; Victor had enjoyed spending time with excitable, eager young Yuuri, had enjoyed the way his expressions were so open, his feelings showing in every one of them.

This Yuuri was a lot more shuttered, keeping his thoughts a mystery, as many thought a young man should, though Victor could still make him blush with a word, to his delight.

Whenever he did, Victor found himself thinking again how beautiful Yuuri was becoming. Not just in his body trained for excellence, a slim waist, strong arms and shoulders, powerful thighs, but his whole countenance, too, the soft angles of his face, his lips, though they were frequently bitten red, his soft-spoken voice.

There was beauty in the nod of his head and the gestures of his hands, long fingers moving with purpose, and in the sound of his laugh, when Victor could coax it out of him.

Sometimes he found himself thinking that, all superficialities like clothing put aside, Yuuri was starting to look more noble than Victor himself.

Yuuri pulled his stocking feet up onto the sofa and under him. He knew he was not supposed to sit like that, and he didn’t usually, but when it was just him and Victor it was okay. It was comfortable and familiar, still after all these years, putting him in mind of sitting at the low tables in his parents’ inn, the easy company of his family.

Reaching out, Yuuri plucked a slice of apple from the plate on the side table. Victor always remembered to have the servants bring fresh fruit in addition to the biscuits and confections he liked, knowing that Yuuri couldn’t have too many sweets.

Savouring the crunch and tartness of his apple, Yuuri watched Victor pick up another eclair and take a bit from the pastry with relish. A part of him was envious—even after several years of keeping to his diet as strictly as he could manage (he was still only human after all), he still missed indulging in richer food sometimes. But another part of him just really liked to see how genuinely delighted Victor was by good food, how much enjoyment he seemed to derive from it. His whole face lit up with a smile that tasted just as sweet to Yuuri.

“So, what did you do when you met up with those boys?”, he asked, once he had swallowed his bite of apple, “what did you talk about?”

Victor chewed slowly, deliberately, regarding Yuuri as he considered his reply.

“We didn’t really talk very much, to be honest”, he said, “You know, not about anything that mattered, anyway. We played cards, so we talked about the game. We drank beer and talked about how it tasted. Someone played the fiddle and we asked if they knew how to play the Rattling Bog.”

Yuuri lifted his eyebrows. “The Rattling Bog?”, he asked.

Victor shrugged with a sheepish little grin. “It’s this song—I don’t know. It’s fun.”

Shaking his head, Yuuri couldn’t hep but laugh a little. “I’m familiar”, he said, “people would sing it at the inn sometimes when it got late. I didn’t think you would be.”

Victor shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t. Until they showed me.”

Yuuri hummed. “And that’s it? They didn’t ask you about how it is to live as a nobleman in the big city or anything?”

Victor snorted, rather undignified. “No. Just as much as I didn’t ask them how it is to live as a greengrocer’s son in a small village. I—…”, he paused, slowly leaning his head from one side to another, like he was weighing something in his mind. “I don’t know. It was fun”, he finished, a small smile on his face, eyes fixed on something in the distance.

For a few moments there was silence while Yuuri tried to think of something else to ask, when Victor suddenly looked up at him, eyes narrowed slightly.

“Can I ask you something, Yuuri?”

Yuuri tilted his head to the side, curious. “Of course.”

“Have you kissed anyone yet?”

Yuuri felt his body run cold, going stiff in his seat all at once. Throat running dry, he swallowed, trying to find any words in the hollow of his mind. “Why do you—I mean, what… where is this coming from?”, he finally croaked out.

“Ah, I’m sorry”, Victor said with a bashful chuckle, running both hands through his hair draped over one shoulder, “You don’t have to tell me of course, I know we’ve never talked about this kind of thing, I just…”, he looked down at his knees in an uncharacteristic display of shyness. He was still smiling. “I did. I kissed someone, while I was there.”

“Oh.” The tension rushed out of Yuuri so suddenly that it felt like he had been smacked. “Oh.”

Victor was looking up at him a little expectantly from underneath his lashes, like he was waiting for Yuuri to say more. Yuuri swallowed.

“One of those boys, then?”, he asked, the only thing he could think of.

“Yes”, Victor said, pulling his lower lip between his teeth, “Louis.”

“I see”, Yuuri said, voice wooden. He took a deep breath, eyes fixed on Victor’s face to watch his smallest reaction. “Was it… nice?”

Victor’s mouth split into a wide, crooked grin at that, a hint of colour spreading on his cheeks. “Yes. Of course it was! What do you think? I mean… I’m not going to run off and marry him or anything, it was just… but yes. Yeah. It was… exciting.”

Yuuri nodded slowly, and Victor looked up at him again when he didn’t say anything else.

“Don’t you ever think about this kind of thing, Yuuri?”

His voice sounded genuinely curious. What else was there for Yuuri to do but to shrug, hoping that it seemed more light-hearted than he felt.

“Not really”, he said, “I don’t really have time for all that.”

Victor shook his head, chuckling.

“You know, there’s more in life than ballet. You should take a break too, sometime. Do something fun. Loosen up a little.”

Yuuri bit his lips so hard he tasted blood.

“I… I can’t afford that”, he whispered, and it wasn’t untrue. “If I don’t want to fall behind, if I want to finish training with a good recommendation and get a place in a reputable company, I have to focus. I have to work hard.”

Victor sighed, leaning back in his chair. “But you are! You’re working so hard, I’m sure there must be room for you to have some fun every once in while? I mean—of course it doesn’t have to be… this stuff, if you’re not interested in that. But take a few hours off sometimes. A day, even. Enjoy yourself.”

“I’m not doing this to enjoy myself”, Yuuri snapped before he could stop myself, “I’m doing this to succeed. That’s what I’m here for, right? That’s what your father brought me here for. That’s why I go through—that’s what I do all this for, right?”

It was only the resounding silence after his words and Victor’s shocked stare that made Yuuri aware of how loud his voice had become. Slapping both hands to his mouth, Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Victor, I should not have spoken to you like that.”

“Yuuri”, Victor began, but Yuuri shook his head, scrambling to his feet.

“No, I—… I should never speak to you like that, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, my Lord.”

He bowed hurriedly, but deeply, and before Victor could say anything else, he rushed out of the room.

Victor should not have been surprised when he finally found Yuuri in the room that Victor’s father had converted into a dance studio when Yuuri had first joined them.

He was dancing, though he obviously had not had the wherewithal or perhaps not the patience to fetch his gear; instead he had just shed most of his clothing and was now flying across the dance floor in only his stockings, undershirt and drawers. It did not take away from the effect at all, and this, too, should not have surprised Victor.

It had been quite a while since Victor had last seen Yuuri really dance, not only because of his long absence over the winter but also because Yuuri had danced a lot less at home ever since he had started at the Academy. Seeing Yuuri moving over the dance floor in quick, sweeping steps now, precise and poised and at the same time looking like he was lighter than air, Victor couldn’t tear his gaze away. When he had seen Yuuri practice his audition for the Academy, Victor had already thought that it could not be possible for Yuuri to become any better—at times he had even wondered what they could possibly still teach him at that school.

It didn’t matter the differences that were still obvious when comparing Yuuri to the professional dancers on the city’s stage—to Victor none of them could ever be more skilled than Yuuri simply because it was Yuuri, who had that way of moving to music that only he could hear, and yet could make everyone feel who watched him.

Watching him now… it made Victor breathless. Made him forget for a moment what had brought him here, seeking Yuuri out, in the first place, as he lost himself watching every captivating jump, step and turn.

But of course it couldn’t last, had to stop eventually, did stop when Yuuri spotted him, standing there in the door to the studio. He stopped, the sound of his soft footfalls fading, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, a sheen of sweat on his skin, droplets gathering in the open collar of his undershirt. His eyes were fixed on Victor like he was waiting to see what he would do. Like he was scared.

“Yuuri…”, Victor said, voice soft, taking a step into the room. Yuuri just kept staring at him.

Licking his lips, Victor took a deep breath and another few steps forward, close enough that Yuuri would be able to hear him without him having to raise his voice.

“Yuuri… do you enjoy dance?”

Yuuri let out a long breath, raising his hand to push back the long strands of hair that had escaped his hair tie while he was dancing.

“Do you enjoy being an aristocrat?”

Victor frowned, eyebrows knitting together. “Yuuri? What do you mean?”

“Well? Do you?” Yuuri looked at him expectantly, his expression serious.

Victor sighed and gave a shrug. “I… I don’t think about it like that. It’s just who I am. Whether I like it or not.”

Yuuri nodded, like he had expected something like that. “It’s the same for me. I’m a dancer. That’s just how it is. There are some aspects of it that I like, some that are just… normal. And some that I wish were different, as I’m sure there are for you, too.”

“I’m not… I don’t think it’s the same”, Victor said with a huff. “You have a choice. You don’t have to be here, you don’t have to be a dancer if you don’t want to.”

“Neither do you”, Yuuri said, without hesitation. “Right? Sure, you can’t stop being your father’s son, but you don’t have to do the whole aristocrat thing, right? You could just say you don’t want anything to do with it and go anywhere else, to the other end of the world or, say, spend the rest of your life in an inn in a tiny village out east, and never think about any of it again. You could make that choice. You would just have to deal with the consequences of that. And perhaps other people, too, would be affected by those consequences.”

There was a long moment of silence between them before Victor found his words again.

“I suppose so”, he said.

Yuuri nodded. “I could decide to stop being a dancer. There would be consequences to that decision, both positive and negative. I have decided that the negative outweigh the positive. So this is where I am. This is where I have decided I want to be right now.” A moment of hesitation as Yuuri licked his lips, and then he straightened, like someone had pulled him upright by the shoulders. A moment ago, Victor would have thought it impossible for Yuuri to stand any straighter, but now it was like every line of him was steel. “Since I am going to do this, I am going to do it right. I am going to do it well.” He lifted his chin the lightest bit, not enough to scream defiance, but just enough to whisper his pride. “Do you understand?”

For a moment, Victor wanted to protest, wanted to argue further out of concern for Yuuri, but there was that stubborn certainty in Yuuri’s eyes… Besides, the way Yuuri had moved just now was still vivid in Victor’s mind, the way he had made the whole room his own with the movement of his body alone, muscles and nerves as bone working together to create something that was more than physical, something sublime. That kind of dance could not be done half-hearted.

“Yes”, he said, “I understand.”

“Good.”

Yuuri’s posture relaxed just a fraction, his shoulders dropping, tension bleeding out of his muscles.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice before”, he said, his voice, too, softer again now. “I should not have spoken to you like that. I am very thankful to what your father and you have done for me, please don’t think that I’m not.”

“Yuuri….” Victor shook his head with a sigh. “You shouldn’t think like that. In general, yes, of course it could be better if we could talk about these things without fighting. But you need to… You are allowed to speak your mind, Yuuri. You are allowed to speak openly to both my father and myself. You shouldn’t have to and you don’t have to hold yourself back for fear of retribution, or anything of the sort. How many times must I tell you that you should consider us equals?”

“But we are not.” Yuuri’s voice was absolute, a statement of fact. “We are not equals. No matter how kindly you treat me. No matter that we are friends. I say the wrong thing before the wrong person, and I—”, cutting himself off, Yuuri ran both hands through his hair, pushing it back.

"I will always be just this", he continued, gesturing vaguely to himself. "A nobody."

"You're not!", Victor pressed out, teeth clenched in frustration, "You're not a nobody, not—"

"Not to you, I know. To everyone else, though. Even if I should graduate with the highest recommendation, and get the best roles in the best companies, I will never be...", he broke off, shaking his head. "I'm alright with it, really. I'm alright with being... somebody... just to you. But you... you need to stop trying to make me believe that I am more than I am. It only... makes me feel like what I am now is not enough."

Victor stepped forward slowly, until he could rest both his hands on Yuuri's arms.

"Only if you will stop believing that you are so much less than you really are. I just want you to see how amazing you are, Yuuri. I have never seen anyone dance like you. I have never seen anyone like you, period. You are someone to a great many people. Anyone who has ever seen you dance has been touched by you. A big estate or a lot of money or an important name.. these are not the things that make people matter."

"Neither is how well they can dance", Yuuri muttered.

"Perhaps not", Victor replied, a weak smile quirking up his lips, "but certainly the way in which they touch others' lives. What they make them feel. Yes?"

"Yes", Yuuri whispered.

"Yes. Okay." Victor took a deep breath. "Good. Now, let's fight no more. Do you want to keep dancing for a while longer or are you going to come back with me?"

Yuuri sighed softly and raised his arms, gently dislodging Victor's hands as he pulled his hair free from its tie. "I suppose I should stop", he said, "But I should still stretch before I come back."

The smooth curtain of his hair fell around his shoulders, reaching just past his shoulder blades, before he started brushing it back again to tie it off more neatly. Since Yuuri kept it tied or braided almost constantly, Victor rarely saw him with his hair open. It made him look softer, but stranger too, so different from the careful control of dancer Yuuri, something a little more wild.

The impression was gone as quickly as it came as he bound the dark mass of hair again at the nape of his neck.

"You don't have to stay", Yuuri then said, looking up again, "I'll get back as soon as I'm done stretching."

Victor hummed. "And if I want to keep you company? Would you mind?"

Yuuri regarded him for a moment, considering, then he shook his head and sunk to the floor right where he stood, stretching his legs out before him. "I don't mind."

Chapter Text

Victor found he couldn't quite stop thinking about Louis.

Though that wasn't quite it; it wasn't Louis per sé that was on his mind.

It was those memories, that feeling of being kissed, being touched and touching in return, that heat and excitement, the thrill. It was this that kept him up late into the night, remembering, that made him eye the young men he encountered around the city just that little bit closer, considering.

He knew with some certainty quite soon that he wanted to repeat the experience, but he didn't quite know how to go about it. It wasn't like he could just go and hang about by the river in hopes of encountering someone, the way he had done in the country. That kind of behaviour got a very different result here in the city.

But he also couldn't say he had ever caught wind of any such goings-on in his own circles so far. With all the parties and gatherings occurring among the younger generations of aristocrats in the city, Victor could not imagine that everything was quite innocent, but perhaps they were just being somewhat more discreet about it.

Keeping his eyes and ears open during these very events did not yield any results. Sure, he was being flirted with liberally, was never short on attention, but even when he flirted back in a way that he thought must be quite obvious, nothing more ever came of it than perhaps an offer to meet his conversation partner's parents, which was decidedly not what he was after.

In his desperation and bewilderment, he finally decided to approach Christophe about the issue. After all, Chris had grown quite rapidly in the last couple of years, both in body and in... personality, and his salacious remarks became more frequent and more scandalous with every time they met. If anyone would know how to go about finding what Victor was looking for, it must surely be him.

"Say, Christophe", he began one evening, as he and Chris were reclining on the chaiselongue in Chris's parlour, each a glass of sweet wine in their hands, and Chris immediately raised an eyebrow at him.

"Christophe?", he asked, "Are we about to have a serious conversation, Victor dearest?"

Victor huffed, shaking some loose strands of hair out of his face. "Not too serious, I should hope. If this ends up being a serious conversation, things are much worse than I anticipated."

Christophe's other eyebrow joined its companion high on his forehead. "Colour me intrigued", he said, sipping his wine, "What's on your mind?"

Casting a quick glance around the room to make sure no servants were within earshot, Victor cleared his throat. "You are... a man of the world, yes? A modern man?"

Christophe chuckled deep in his throat. "I am not sure if this is your way of coming out to me or coming on to me, dear Vitya, but I must tell you you are doing it rather badly."

Victor pursed his lips in a pout. "It was neither of those, as a matter of fact, but thank you ever so much for your kind words."

Laughing again Chris raised his hand in apology. "Alright, alright, let's say then, for the sake of the argument, that I am, in fact, a man of the world, a modern man, as you so eloquently put it. What of it?"

Clicking his tongue, Victor gestured vaguely, emphasising words that had not yet been spoken. “Say… say I wanted to… gather some experiences. Dip my toes into the pond. How would I go about that?”

“My, Vitya”, Chris said, and his grin turned positively wicked, “Are you asking me to find you someone who will take your flower?”

Victor scoffed, though he could still feel the heat rising into his cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous, Chris, my flower is well taken care of.”

“Oh?” Chris’s eyebrows rose again. “Is that so? Who by, may I ask? Not that pretty little dancer you keep in your home, by any chance?”

“Wha—Chris, no! Of course not.”

“No? Why not? And don’t tell me it’s because you are not attracted to him because you would quite certainly be the first person I met who isn’t. I mean, I certainly wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him if I lived under the same roof.”

“Chris, please! He’s practically still a child.”

Chris chuckled. “Hardly! He’s only a year younger than us, well, less than a year, really. And no one’s been able to stop talking about him since this winter, since… well. You’ve seen him, I’m sure.”

Victor huffed. “Well, yes. But he’s my friend. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about him like this.” He paused. “And what do you mean no one’s been able to stop talking about him? I haven’t heard any talk.”

Chris laughed, full-bodied, jostling his wine glass enough to almost spill the dark red liquid all over himself and the chaiselongue. “Of course you haven’t! Didn’t you just chastise me for the way I spoke about him in the same breath? Everyone knows you’re protective of him, they’re not going to speak of him when you’re there.”

Pressing his lips together, Victor felt a warmth suffusing his body that he wasn’t quite sure he could parse. He took a long gulp of his wine, feeling like a hypocrite. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had those same thoughts that likely went through these people’s minds when he had looked at Yuuri recently. What right did he have to be upset when other people agreed with him?

“Well, I don’t think about Yuuri like that.” The lie had passed his lips before he could quite understand that his tongue had formed it. “So no. It wasn’t him.”

“Well, then who? Do enlighten me, darling.”

Victor sighed. “It was just a boy I met in the country. No one important, but…”, he trailed off, getting lost in thoughts.

“Handsome?”, Chris guessed.

“Very. In that country boy kind of way, you know? A little bit rough around the edges. Strong.”

“Ah.” Chris grinned knowingly. “I see. And now you’ve tasted blood and you want to repeat the experience. But you’re not in the country anymore.”

“Something like that.” Victor swirled his wine in his glass, watching the pale pink rim the liquid left along the clear surface as it slowly fused back into the body of the wine. “And I’ve tried to put myself out there, you know, I’m not completely clueless, and I like to think of myself as charming but… no one seems to be buying what I’m offering and I’m—” gritting his teeth in a grimace, Victor gave Chris a helpless shrug.

“Frustrated?”

“Just a tad.”

“Well, I’m not surprised”, Christophe said, leaning back.

Now it was Victor’s turn to raise his eyebrows at him.

“Oh, don’t worry darling”, Chris said with a crooked grin, “I’m not just flattering you when I tell you you’re more beautiful every time we meet. And you are quite charming, too, with everyone you meet, quite disarmingly charming. But, well….”

“Well…?”, Victor asked, eyes still fixed on Chris like he could read the reply that Chris didn’t want to give on his face.

“I believe”, Chris said slowly, “that everyone is a little intimidated by you.”

“Intimidated?” Victor could feel his forehead crease with a frown. “But why?”

“Well, being the eldest and only child of the Earl Nikiforov certainly doesn’t help. To be quite frank, most of the so-called society people couldn’t hope to hold a candle to you even if you were the most homely man in the city. But you’re quite gorgeous, too, and, as you said, quite perfectly and nauseatingly charming with absolutely everyone. You’re something that most of those people could never even hope to put their finger on. And then….” Chris looked at him from the corner of his eyes, and took a sip of his wine, considering. “Ah, let’s say, you don’t really socialise a lot, outside of my own humble self. At least to my recollection, I have never seen you have a conversation with any of them. And I mean a conversation, not chatter. Or am I wrong?”

Victor stared at him, dumbstruck. Now that he thought about it, he supposed it was true that he never talked to anyone at these events except for Christophe in any way that wasn’t completely superficial. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, or that he didn’t care, but… there was always a distance between him and almost anyone else, a certain wall of formality and awe that he never quite managed to break through. And of course, now that he thought of it, breaking through that formality had to come from him as the higher ranking person in the conversation—after all, in the eyes of society it wouldn’t do for lower nobles or even commoners to be too familiar with him, as Yuuri liked to remind him. And how were these people to know that he didn’t really care much for formality?

“I… suppose so”, Victor finally said, lamely.

Chris hummed. “That’s what I thought. So of course none of them would dare to be too forward with you. And even if you did take the initiative to flirt a little, I doubt any of them would suspect that that is what you’re after. Again, you have a reputation for being a bit…”, he hesitated, eyeing Victor as he weighed his words, “untouchable.”

With a huff, Victor slumped in his seat, throwing back the last of his wine. “So, what, am I doomed to lead a chaste life until I am married then?”

Chris chuckled, reaching for the wine left for them on the side table by the servants and immediately refilling Victor’s glass. “I don’t think it needs to be quite as drastic as that”, he said, “Now that you’ve confided in me, I’m sure we can find someone who is to your taste and arrange something. Or, you know…”

Chris took his time, filling up his own wine glass as well and then polishing off the small rest left over straight from the bottle. Victor watched him from the corner of his eyes, still slumped deeply into the cushions. “Or?”

“… there’s always me”, Chris said, after having replaced the bottle on the side table.

Victor said up a little straighter.

“Oh? Didn’t you rather roughly rebuke me just a little while ago for coming on to you?”

Chris clicked his tongue. “I believe, darling, that I rebuked you for coming on to me badly, which is quite a different matter.”

Victor pulled himself up a little more on the chaiselongue, twisting his body to face Christophe properly, and ran his gaze over him, trying to see him from a fresh perspective. He knew, of course, that Chris was no longer the rosy-faced blond child that he had first met years ago, but Victor had never thought to look at him as a potential prospect. Now he tried to take him in, his soft, thick curls and long lashes contrasted with his angular face and slight stubble, a handsome mixture of boyish and masculine.

Christophe seemed to preen slightly under the attention, throwing Victor a grin and a wink that suddenly felt a little more laden with meaning than his usual flirtatious behaviour.

“I don’t know”, Victor finally said, “Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“I don’t think it would be, for me”, Chris said, easily but decisively, like he had thought about it before. “But if it would be for you, I understand.”

Victor considered it, chewing on his lower lip. “What if it changes things between us? Destroys our friendship?”

Chris raised one eyebrow, doubtful. “Do you think you’re in any danger of falling madly in love with me, Vitya?”

“No”, Victor said immediately; this was something he did not have to think about. As much as he liked Christophe as a friend, they were certainly not compatible as romantic prospect.

“See, the same is true for me”, Chris said, “I do adore you, darling, don’t get me wrong, but there’s not an army in this world that could entice me to marry you. Therefore I think our friendship is quite safe.”

Victor laughed; he couldn’t even feign offence at the vehemence of Chris’s rejection, not when he felt quite the same.

“We could just give it a try”, Chris continued after a moment, “a one-off, if you will, just to see if we’re compatible. If we’re not, we’ll call it quits, no hard feelings and no harm to our friendship. If we are, however… well, I think we could have quite extraordinary amounts of fun.”

Victor took another moment and a long, thoughtful sip from his wine, recalling his adventures with Louis and trying to picture Chris’s hands on him instead, Chris’s lips on his. He found he could imagine it quite easily, and a thrill ran through him at the thought.

“Alright. Alright! Let’s give it a try.”

A lazy grin spread over Chris’s face. “With pleasure.”

“I should hope so”, Victor said and, suddenly eager, reached out his free hand to place it on Christophe’s thigh.

Chris took it in his own and, after squeezing it briefly, pushed it gently back toward Victor.

“I’m afraid”, he said with a real note of regret in his voice, “that the city requires a little more discretion than the middle of nowhere in the country. So you’ll have to practice a little more patience, Vitya. But I think it would not be too far out of character for you to spend the night in one of our guest rooms after having a few glasses of wine, don’t you agree?”

Victor’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes”, he said, “I’m afraid I am rather too tired to still make my way home tonight, so I will have to rely on your hospitality for tonight.”

“You know you are always quite welcome”, Chris said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And if there should be anything you need tonight, you always now where to find me.”

Yuuri wouldn’t have come if the Earl hadn’t insisted.

After his and Victor’s argument, Victor had started accepting it more easily when Yuuri declined to accompany him to some soiree or another. Victor still asked him if he wanted to come each time, but Yuuri felt it was only done out of politeness and habit now, not really expecting any other answer than a polite refusal.

But this time, as Victor had asked him over lunch whether Yuuri wanted to join him for a small affair hosted by Georgi Popovich, the Earl had chimed in.

“You should go, Yuuri”, he had said, “it will be good for you to socialise more with people your own age, outside of your peers at the Academy. You know ballet is a highly competitive world. It wouldn’t hurt to make use of the opportunities Vitya gives you to establish some connections with families who may very well turn out to be patrons in the future.”

“Ah but”, Yuuri had said, a bite of his salad halfway to his mouth, “won’t it interfere with my training? I have classes in the morning.”

The Earl had waved his words away. “Nonsense! It’s not going to be every night, just every once in a while. And Vitya will make sure not to keep you out too long, won’t you, Vitya?”

When Victor had assented, the Earl had given a satisfied smile. “There you have it. You’ve reached an age now, Yuuri, where it’s healthy for a young man to socialise and spread his wings a little. Learn something of the world. I trust you to know how to keep it from interfering with your studies. You’ve always been very diligent in that regard.”

So Yuuri had swallowed and nodded and now here he was, standing at the edge of the drawing room in the Popovichs’ town house, a crystal glass with a sharp, amber-coloured liquid in his hand.

He didn’t really know anyone here, outside of Victor. He was familiar with Christophe Giacometti and Georgi Popovich, had encountered them a few more times over the course of their friendship with Victor, but he’d never had a real conversation with either of them. The rest of the few guests Yuuri had maybe seen from afar at some function or another, and might be able to remember their names if pressed, but that was all.

He’d attempted to cling to the etiquette he’d learned to get him through the night, but it turned out he wouldn’t get far here with meaningless small talk and rehearsed quips. There were only young people here, people Yuuri’s own age, with not even a chaperon to oversee them, and it seemed none of them cared much about the formalities. They all called one another by their first names, drinks flowed freely, raunchy jokes abounded, as did bold flirtation.

Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He didn’t think he was the youngest one here, but he certainly felt it. Everyone else seemed to know perfectly what to do, what to say. Yuuri was too worried about saying something wrong to even open his mouth; he wasn’t even sure he wanted to talk to any of these people.

When they had arrived Victor had pushed a drink into his hand and told him about the other guests in a rapid fire whisper that Yuuri had been barely able to follow. But little later, Christophe had arrived and Victor had excused himself to go greet him, and hadn’t returned since.

So Yuuri had stuck close to the wall, nursed his drink that burned in his throat when he took a sip, and decided to just wait it out.

Once or twice someone had tried to talk to him, a boy who leaned way too close to him, a girl whose high-pitched giggles smelled of alcohol. Somehow they had known his name and had talked to him like they were familiar, but Yuuri could not have returned the favour even if he had dared. He stammered his way through an awkward conversation, staring down into his drink, and thankfully both of them soon got bored with him, and left.

What was more difficult to bear was to see them, and other people, too, approaching Victor, whispering something to him and seeing their heads turn to blatantly eye Yuuri in his corner. Sometimes they were frowning and sometimes they were laughing, and Victor would grin and wave his hand dismissively and whisper something back to them. It made Yuuri ache, to see that almost apologetic grin, that dismissive wave, like he was indicating that Yuuri wasn’t important at all. He couldn’t hear what Victor was saying, but nonetheless he felt it echo in his mind. Oh, ignore him. He’s no one. My father made me bring him.

Then he would go back to his conversation with Christophe seamlessly—if indeed it could be called a conversation. It mostly seemed to involve a lot of laughing and leaning a lot closer to each other than one would in polite society. And then Victor whispered something to Christophe, so intimately that Yuuri was sure his lips must be brushing over Christophe’s skin, and Christophe grinned, his hand curling around Victor’s waist. Yuuri felt something in his throat constrict.

He knew it shouldn’t be a surprise to him—Victor had told him about his flirtation in the country with so much excitement. But it turned out it was one thing to hear about it, and quite another to see it first hand. Even now, Victor’s excitement was evident, his smiles easy and his eyes shining. Yuuri knew he should be happy for Victor, but instead his mouth tasted like ashes, and he couldn’t suppress the thought that it seemed like not even a single aspect of Yuuri’s life should not be spoiled by this wretched thing, this thing that made people claw and push and tear at each other. That made people hurt.

Yuuri tried his best to tear his eyes away, but he couldn’t quite keep his gaze from wandering back toward Victor and Christophe, fixating on every brush of fingers against skin, curling around fabric. His eyes were drawn to it by an unseen force, unable to look away. He tried to let his attention stray, to not listen too closely to their laughter and their murmured words, being unable to understand them through the noise in the room anyway. Still he couldn’t quite seal his ears against the so familiar pitch of Victor’s voice, an anchor in this place where everything was strange.

Reluctantly Yuuri turned his head when another face appeared close to his side. How come, he dimly wondered, taking in the young man with sharp, curious eyes leaning against the wall next to him, that none of the people at this party seemed to be able to keep their proper distance?

“You’re Katsuki, are you not?”, the boy asked, peering at him, “Nikiforov’s dancer?”

Yuuri nodded vaguely and a grin appeared on the other man’s face, not really hostile, though it wasn’t quite friendly either.

“I bet you’re really flexible then, aren’t you?”

Yuuri sighed, and downed the rest of his drink.

The drink helped.

It softened him, swathing him in comfortable folds of silk.

Made it easier for him to interact with the people who approached him next, talk to them like he was a normal human being almost, not a doll that had been left in a corner by a child who had found something more interesting to play with.

And it wouldn‘t stay the only time.

Yuuri wasn‘t sure what Victor had told his father about that night, or perhaps it was just that Yuuri‘s assurances that he had enjoyed himself after the Earl enquired had turned out to be less of a lie than anticipated.

In any case the Earl had decided that the outing had been a success, and that Yuuri should accompany Victor more often.

Mostly, Yuuri didn‘t mind very much.

After a while, it became almost easy.

He soon learnt the kind of conversation that was accepted at this kind of gathering, learnt which topics were popular, learnt the right non-committal phrases that could be interjected whenever he didn‘t know what else to say.

He learnt to blend in among the crowd of people he felt were so far above him, and as he learnt to talk to them he also realised that perhaps not all of them were.

He talked to other people like him who seemed to have been brought by other noble folk who had taken a fancy to them or were their friends through some circumstance. There were other performers and artists, there were scholars and writers, athletes and people who were simply particularly beautiful or charming.

These Yuuri found it easier to talk to, after some adjustment, and the free flow of sharp-tasting liquor that heated him to his core made it easier still.

It made it easier to dismiss when people stood too closely to him, or touched his arm too much. It made it easier to rebuke them, when he felt like it. It made it easier to ignore it. It made it easier to pretend he liked it.

And Victor… it wasn‘t like Victor ignored him completely when they were at these affairs. Not at all—Yuuri was pretty sure that he was doing his best to help Yuuri integrate himself into these crowds. He introduced Yuuri to people he thought Yuuri might get along with. He encouraged him to talk, to drink, to flirt even.

He sat with Yuuri for a while at least, he danced with him if there was dancing.

But sooner or later, Victor would always flit off to spend time with Christophe, or, as the weeks wore on, disappear somewhere with other boys that Yuuri didn‘t even know.

He told himself there was no reason to begrudge Victor his fun. Of course Victor had friends outside of Yuuri, and of course it couldn‘t be expected of him to constantly nanny his younger friend, his father‘s protegé that he was made to bring along.

Victor should get to enjoy himself too.

And enjoy himself he obviously did.

Sometimes Yuuri found himself wondering what had become of the sweet, innocent boy who had first accepted Yuuri into his home as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

But he knew he wasn‘t being fair, so he downed another drink and focused on the person in front of him as he once again saw Victor slip out of the room in the corner of his eye.

He nodded along to whatever it was they were saying, laughed in the right moments and tried not to let his eyes wander through the room, checking if Victor had returned yet.

When his conversation partner crowded him back against the wall little later and tried to kiss him, Yuuri let him, closing his eyes obligingly.

At least now he didn‘t have to see.

Chapter Text

“Happy Anniversary, Yuuri!“

Yuuri stopped short just inside the door of the dining room, arrested by the sight that greeted him there.

A host of candles atop a lavishly decorated cake suffused the room with a warm glow, breaking through the gloom of a late November dusk the way even the modern electric light had been unable to.

“My lord?“, he asked, taking in the carefully wrapped presents stacked around the cake on the long dining table, “Vitya? What is this?“

Victor laughed, and the Earl, too, gave an indulgent smile.

“Did you really think we would let the occasion of your coming of age pass by unremarked?”, Victor said, “Something like this needs to be celebrated of course!“

He stood and bounded over, grasping his hand and pulling him closer to the table.

“Oh“, Yuuri breathed, “I didn‘t think… it‘s just a birthday. It‘s not a big deal.“

“Of course it‘s a big deal! You‘re turning eighteen! Don‘t you remember the party we threw for my birthday last year?“

Yuuri nodded. “Of course“, he said. “But that was… you. I‘m just me.“

“Don‘t be silly! You deserve to be celebrated too.“

Victor grinned, and when Yuuri cast a hesitant glance at the Earl, he gave him a smile and a nod as well.

“Well, um…“, Yuuri dipped into a shallow bow, “Thank you so much for all your efforts. I appreciate it.“

“So formal.“ Victor chuckled. “Are you already turning into an adult on me? Come, sit, sit. Tell us, how has your birthday been so far?“

Yuuri dropped into the chair Victor pushed him towards, his muscles giving a silent answer to Victor‘s question as they ached, relieved to be finally able to relax.

Training had been gruelling today—there was no reprieve for birthday boys. To be honest Yuuri wasn‘t sure anyone at the Academy even knew it was his birthday today, or, if they did, particularly cared about it. And Yuuri certainly wouldn‘t be the one to tell him.

So he had gone through his training as he did every day, the demands only growing more intense now that he was in his final year at the school.

He‘d had a companionable lunch with Yuuko, listening to her talking about Takeshi and how she was sure he would propose once she graduated.

He had been looking forward to a quiet evening, perhaps a long bath to soothe his aching muscles. But he could already tell it would be a long time tonight before he would be able to retreat to his own room.

“It‘s been fine“, he said, “just… school, training, as always.“

“So?“, Victor asked, eyebrows raised, “No celebrations then? No cards or gifts from secret admirers?“

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Certainly not.“

“Well, then it‘s high time, don‘t you think?“, Victor asked, grinning, and gestured towards the presents on the table. “Go on, open them! Dinner will be out soon, and then of course there‘s cake!“

Yuuri‘s eyes flickered towards the many-candled confection in the center of the table. It looked delicious—all cream and chocolate and marzipan.

“I‘m really not sure I should be having any cake“, he murmured, “my diet…“

Victor nudged his arm. “Come on, surely you can make an exception one time, for your birthday! When are you going to indulge yourself a little if not today? Right, father?“

“Certainly“, the Earl assented, “a little bit of cake won‘t hurt, I‘m sure.“

Before Yuuri could protest any further, Victor unsubtly nudged the pile of presents a little closer to Yuuri, causing it to lean over, the topmost packages tumbling right into Yuuri‘s lap. He couldn‘t help but laugh at Victor‘s wide grin at this certainly completely unplanned turn of events, and took the hint to finally pick up his gifts.

Little later he was two books, a beautiful dark blue waistcoat of paisley complete with matching necktie, new ballet shoes, an engraved timepiece and two tickets to the opera richer, and almost hoarse from all his protestations that it was “too much, really, you needn‘t have.“

Both Victor and the Earl just laughed and waved his concerns away.

The last package he picked up, the Earl informed him, had been sent by his family.

The mention of them alone was enough to make emotion sit hot at the base of his throat, and he could barely will his hands to move to open the parcel.

When he finally did, fingers shaking, a colourful array of items was waiting for him inside. There was a small box of homemade biscuits from his mother, the tempting smell of ginger, sharp and sweet, wafting up at him. There was an intricate little figure of a dancer, carved from wood and polished until it felt smooth and warm like a pebble from the beach in Yuuri’s hand. This, he knew, he had to thank his sister for, who had been telling him of her recent adventures in whittling in their letters. There was another one of those, a thick envelope of several pages that Yuuri tucked back into the parcel to read later, when he was alone, lest he burst into tears at the dinner table. There was a recent photograph of the three of them, and Minako at their side, their expressions serious but their faces full of love.

Yuuri swallowed against the burning in his eyes and hurriedly tucked this away, too, focusing on the final item in the package, a dark bundle of fabric. When he carefully unfolded it, it revealed itself to be a yukata of soft, dark blue fabric, stitched with an intricate koi fish pattern in shining silver thread that shimmered in the light of the candles.

Yuuri sat for long minutes silent, the garment pooling in his lap as he ran his fingers over the embroidery, trying to will away his tears. The yukata was so beautiful, but Yuuri hadn’t worn a yukata since he had left his home, and he wasn’t sure when he would next get a chance. It made him miss his family like a physical burning in his chest.

Victor and his father and watched him quietly as he unpacked his gift, but now, as the silence drew on, Victor slipped out of his chair and to Yuuri’s side, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Yuuri swallowed the emotion welling up in him and gave Victor a watery smile, gratefully letting his casual commentary about the fine quality of the fabric and the skill of the embroidery wash over him until he felt he had control of himself once more. Taking a deep breath, he squeezed Victor’s arm in return before carefully folding the yukata back up and stowing it away in the parcel.

Neither of the men commented on Yuuri’s reaction, smoothly picking up the conversation again and allowing Yuuri to join in when he was ready, and Yuuri was thankful.

Dinner, when it was served, was expectedly delicious, as was the cake, a decadent concoction of chocolate sponge, delicate apricot and light, sweet cream.

Yuuri gladly let the food distract him from his thoughts, and once the last crumb of his piece had been devoured and Yuuri set down his fork, he was feeling heavy and satisfied and ready to fall into bed.

The Earl seemed to have other plans, though, nodding to the footmen to clear the table, and little later the butler himself entered, carrying a bottle, followed closely by a footman with a tray on which sat three tall, narrow glasses.

“Some champagne to celebrate the occasion, I believe“, the Earl said, gesturing to the butler to pour.

Yuuri took his glass with a hesitant smile.

It wasn‘t his first time drinking champagne, though he suspected he‘d probably never had one as fine as this one. He didn‘t particularly care for the taste, but it was an easy drink to sip without thinking about it.

This one, he was sure, was the kind of champagne one was supposed to think about as you drank it.

Once they had all been handed their drinks and the servants had retreated, the Earl rose from his seat, Victor and Yuuri quickly rising along with him.

Yuuri felt heat suffusing his cheeks under the keen attention of both men looking at him, and dipped his head, staring at the table.

“I feel I should say a few words on this day of your anniversary, Yuuri“, the Earl began in his calm, soothing baritone voice. “We have had the privilege of your company for many years now in this household. I have watched you grow up along with my own son, I have watched you thrive and strive for things that were formerly beyond your reach. I think I speak for Victor too when I say that our life in this big mansion all by ourselves has been enriched by having you in it. Your kind nature, your insight, your talent. You have become very nearly part of our family, and seeing you grow up into this self-possessed young man that you now are, I feel very proud.“

Both Nikiforovs smiled at him then, a mirror image of each other, both with the same gleaming silver hair, the same sparkling blue eyes, the same mouth tilted into the same smile, in spite of their difference in age and style.

Yuuri felt a lump forming in his throat once more under their fond gazes, threatening to dissolve into hot tears. He swallowed against it.

“You were remarkable as a child, astounding as a youth in your discipline and skill. You are no longer a child now; you have entered adulthood, and I, for one, cannot wait to see all the things you are yet to become. To you, Yuuri.“

With this, the Earl raised his glass, Victor mirroring him with an enthusiastic “Hear, hear!“

Yuuri too lifted his glass a fraction, blinking rapidly and giving both of them a deep nod, sure that embarrassment must be colouring his cheeks. Then he took a long gulp of his champagne, letting the bubbles burst on his tongue and trying to chase away the bitter thought that he couldn‘t remember the last time he had felt like a child.

The rush of applause was heady.

An intoxicating feeling, being bathed in the gazes of hundreds of people, all of their enthusiasm directed at him.

Well… not solely at him. Not even mainly at him, Yuuri knew. Most of the applause that washed over the stage was of course aimed at the principals who had braved their solos with grace, but even as only an insignificant ensemble dancer, Yuuri felt aglow with the knowledge that he had helped create the emotions that were now humming throughout the theatre.

It was his first role in a ballet that wasn’t put on by the Academy itself, a small part in a small company. Just an opportunity to dip his toes into the pond of the professional dance world while he finished up his last year of training, but nonetheless it was terrifying and exhilarating, the most amazing and the most unsettling thing Yuuri had ever felt.

In the harsh glare of the lights in the theatre he couldn’t see much of the audience, but their applause was still pouring on stage with undiminished enthusiasm, and Yuuri felt a deep sense of pride and satisfaction settle into his core. He took one final bow along with the rest of the ensemble before they hurried off stage, leaving the principals to follow after them just a few moments later.

As soon as they were out of sight, the group devolved from their upright, dignified steps into a tangle of hugs, exhilarated laughter and whispered congratulations, pats on the back. For once, Yuuri let himself get caught up in the flow of it, hugging back and laughing along with them. Joy and relief buoying him, he felt like his feet were barely touching the floor.

An hour later he was washed and dressed in a simple suit, his hair released from its tight, strict bun to flow in a plain braid down his back. A champagne glass in his hand he was mingling in the theatre’s reception room along with the rest of the troupe and crew, sponsors, patrons, guests of honour and various family and friends, celebrating a successful opening night.

It was a large crowd and the buzzing of countless voices prickled a little on Yuuri’s skin, but for now he was still letting himself be carried on the thrill of the performance. Taking small sips of his drink, he looked around for familiar faces.

There were his fellow dancers of course, sharing little conspiratorial smiles with him whenever he caught their eyes, all of them still high on the music and the movement. He also knew Madame Baranovskaya and a couple other teachers from the Academy were around somewhere, though he had yet to find them. As was Earl Nikiforov, a prominent sponsor of the theatre, though to Yuuri’s disappointment Victor had not been able to join him for the premiere. He tried not to dwell on it, knowing that Victor would make up for it the soonest he was able.

Yuuri took another turn about the room, keeping an idle eye out for the Earl, but otherwise content to just weave between the guests and listen to their raving praises of the show.

He knew his own part in the premiere’s success had been a small one, insignificant almost, paling in comparison to the hard work of the principals and the innovation and talent of the choreographers, but nonetheless he allowed himself to bask in the feeling of having been part of something special.

One or two people here and there even recognised him as one of the dancers and gave him a friendly nod or offered congratulations in passing. Yuuri acknowledged them with what he hoped was a gracious smile, then moved on, until someone actually stopped him to talk to him.

A middle aged man crossed Yuuri’s path, his eyes gliding over him at first, then gliding back for a double take.

“Ah”, he said, stopping in his step, “you’re of the ensemble, are you not?”

“I am”, Yuuri replied with a smile.

The man’s pale eyes were sharp under thick eyebrows, trained on his face. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dance before. I’ve been supporting this company for more than ten years, and I never forget a dancer.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. My name is Yuuri Katsuki.” Yuuri tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I’m only with the company for this production. My first role. I’m still finishing up my studies at the Baranovskaya Academy.”

“I see”, the man said, his eyes lighting up with some recognition, and he gave Yuuri a slow once-over, lips curling. “Very nice. You did a good job out there.”

Yuuri felt his smile turn a little strained, hoping that it didn’t show. “Thank you, sir”, he said.

“You’re in your last year then, I assume?”

“I am. I graduate in the summer.”

“Lovely.” The man nodded. “I look forward to seeing a lot more of you in the future, then, Yuuri.”

Yuuri carefully returned his nod. “Thank you for your support, sir.”

Holding out his hand in a chivalrous gesture, the man indicated for Yuuri to continue on his way first, so Yuuri gave him another weak smile and edged past him in the crowd of people.

A hand giving his bum a firm pat as he walked past made Yuuri flinch, just for a moment, before he held his breath and hurried on, careful not to release it as a sigh until he was well out of reach of the man. Swallowing against his suddenly dry throat, he took another large gulp of his champagne.

It proved not to remain the only incident of the sort this evening.

There was the woman who asked him all kind of very detailed questions about “those very, very tight costumes you wear up there”, passing it off like it was the biggest mystery she had ever encountered in her life. Were they uncomfortable to wear? Weren’t they cold, the fabric looking so thin, showing off every movement of muscle underneath? And then those downright scandalous bulges on all the male dancers… Her fingers kept skimming along his hips, his thighs, her thumb pressing into the crease of his groin as he gave her the most polite explanation of a dancer’s belt that he could muster.

There was the man who kept running Yuuri’s braid through his fingers, holding on just tight enough that Yuuri wasn’t sure he would let go if he tried to step away, while he murmured to Yuuri, leaning so close that Yuuri could smell his wine breath, about all the passion and excitement watching the ballet always lit in him. Asking if Yuuri felt that same passion and excitement when he was on stage. If it was a thrill to dance before so many. If he liked people watching him.

There was the woman who pulled him into her embrace like they were old friends as soon as she spotted him, pressing lingering kisses to both of his cheeks before pulling him along into a group of her friends, presenting him like a new treasure. Five tittering women gathered around him, they then continued to expound to him in great detail all the beauty of his bodies that they seemed to have discussed before extensively, hands all the while touching his arms, his waist, his chest, his neck, his ass.

Throughout all of it Yuuri did his best to deflect, excuse, and retreat, all the dubious skills he had picked up in all those parties over the last few years. He accepted compliments with a smile, no matter how inappropriate, laughed off innuendos and made light of anything that got too serious with a jest, carefully memorised for many occasions. He never flinched away from touches, though he sometimes redirected them to more innocent places, and he never returned any touches of his own. He never made any promises, never answered anything with a clear yes or no.

It was exhausting and left his skin crawling after a while, all the elation of a show well done long since worn off. But at least no one had been insulted or offended, no one had felt rejected.

At the same time, though, this was different than the usual parties he was taken to. It felt different.

None of the people he had talked to were even close to his own age, and all of them were important in some way or another. At least at the gatherings that Victor took him to, Yuuri had learnt, few people were really bothered by a friendly rejection. Sure, some were more insistent than others, some would lash out with their words, defending their hurt pride. But Yuuri had learnt how to deal with these.

Here, though… he had a distinct feeling it would not go over well if he were to outright reject any of the more explicit offers he had gotten throughout the night.

It was a relief when Yuuri finally spotted the Earl—a friendly face at least among all of the strangers.

When the Earl spotted him in return, a wide smile spread on his face, followed in short order by the wide spread of his arms as he invited Yuuri over to his group.

“Yuuri!”, he exclaimed, almost boisterous, unusual for a man who was usually so serious, “The man of the hour!”

Yuuri dipped into a bow to him and the others around him as he approached.

“Hardly, my lord”, he said, “I’m sure that honour must go to the principals and the people who made this production possible.”

“Ahh, still so humble.” The Earl clapped him heartily on the back. “As I always tell you, my lad, don’t question the praise, just accept it. You were fantastic out there, congratulations on an excellent premiere.”

There were assenting murmurs and nods all around, and Yuuri went through the usual forms. A smile, demure but sincere, a dip of his head, a soft word of thanks.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the show, my lord”, he said, “thank you for your support. I would have never gotten here without you.”

“Ahh”, the Earl waved his words away, “let us not talk about me. This is your night, Yuuri. Celebrate yourself tonight. You deserve it.”

Yuuri gave him another smile, which was returned with a grin.

“Well, me and the old folks will talk business a little while longer”, the Earl said, gesturing to the group around him, “so feel free to go off and enjoy yourself with your fellows. Don’t let us bore you. Just come and find me when you’re ready to go home.”

Yuuri looked up at Earl Nikiforov’s kindly face, the smile lines around his eyes, his silver hair streaked with true grey, but still looking so much like his son, and he made a decision. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward a little more.

“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment”, he said, lowering his voice, “ask your advice about something.”

The Earl raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he nodded and, making his excuses to his companions, led Yuuri off to the side, to a somewhat less crowded corner of the room.

“What is it, Yuuri?”, he asked, voice low and peering at him with concern, “Is there any trouble?”

Yuuri lifted his shoulders, tucking his head between them. “No. I mean, I don’t know”, he murmured. “It’s just… this is new for me, and there are some things I’m not quite sure how to handle.”

“Alright.” The Earl nodded his understanding. “What did you want to know?”

“Well…“, Yuuri cleared his throat, trying to steel himself for what he was about to say. “It‘s just that… a lot of people here have been wanting to talk to me and they‘ve been very… friendly and—I‘m just not sure how to deal with that.“

The Earl gave him a bemused look.

“I just told you Yuuri. Just accept their compliments, be gracious, say thank you. I know you know this by now.“

“No, that‘s not…“, with a sigh, Yuuri ran a hand down his face, trying to collect himself. “That‘s not what I mean. I mean…“ He felt the heat rising into his cheeks, but he forced himself to keep talking, voice strained. “Some of the guests have been making certain suggestions, or… maybe propositions, I should say. To me. And considering their positions, I have a feeling it would be… unwise for me to reject them. I was hoping you would have some advice for me.“

To Yuuri‘s surprise, the Earl broke out into laughter.

“That‘s what this is about? Oh, my boy…“, a large hand landed on Yuuri‘s shoulder, presumably meant to be reassuring. “There is nothing wrong with a few dalliances for a lad your age, no need to worry about that. Go off and have a bit of fun. You‘re grown up now, I won‘t keep you.“

Yuuri stared at him, for a moment speechless. “No, but I—“, he stammered, “I don‘t—… I don‘t—“

The Earl waved his words away before he could even finish the sentence.

„Don‘t worry about that now. Just go and do what comes natural. You‘ll catch on in no time. Just be careful when it comes to the younger ladies, yes? We don‘t want any unexpected complications, no?“

Yuuri made a pained noise in his throat. Scraping together the last of his courage, he decided to just go all out.

“But what if I… don‘t want to go with them?“

The Earl‘s eyes softened a little at his words, and for a moment, Yuuri allowed himself to hope. Then a mischievous smile appeared on his lips.

“Well, I‘m sure a handsome lad like you can afford to be choosy. You can take your pick, and make your excuses to the others. It always helps when you‘re already spoken for. It will just make the rest of them even more eager, you know?“

The Earl winked at him then, and Yuuri felt like he was going to be sick.

“I see“, he said, voice hollow, the fight draining out of him. “Thank you for your advice.“

“Don‘t mention it. You‘ll get the hang of it soon, you‘ll see. Now go off and enjoy yourself, yes?“

Yuuri merely nodded, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, and the Earl turned away with a final clap on his shoulder, returning to his previous group.

Yuuri took a few deep breaths, trying to fight down the nausea roiling in his stomach, before he too went off in search of another drink.

He didn‘t get far before there was an arm thrown over his shoulder and a voice close to his ear.

“There you are! You got away from me earlier, cheeky boy. Have you had time to think about my offer, then? I’m sure we can have a lot of fun together.“

As it turned out, the Earl had been right about one thing at least.

In this, too, Yuuri quickly learnt all the right things to do, all the right words to say, all the little indications and veiled hints the people in this corner of society used.

He learnt to pick and choose his inevitable bed partners, not only for their attractiveness and sympathies. By necessity he also learnt quickly to discern the sharp gazes and harsh touches, the demanding words that indicated someone was not looking for companionship for a night, but for something to play with. The ones who were not interested in sharing but in taking.

He learnt the right words and smiles to placate the ones spurned; never offending, always leaving hope for the future, always an excuse at the tip of his tongue.

He learnt the ways to gently steer his partners away from the acts he didn’t want and towards the ones he could bear more easily, learnt how to encourage in them the belief that it had been what they wanted all along.

He learnt the right words and touches to leave them feeling treasured and special, when in reality Yuuri had no intention of ever letting them touch him again.

After a few nights paralysed with terror in a strange bed, he always took his leave quickly, those magic words on his lips—”I have rehearsals early in the morning”. The reminder of his dancing, his career, rarely failed to make them pliant, almost eager to release him back into his world of glamour and beauty and art—as they saw it in their minds. After all, to possess a piece of art only meant something if it could seen and envied by others.

They all fancied they possessed him.

Afterwards, if there was enough left of the night, he snuck back into the Nikiforov’s house, praying every time that Victor would not be up to catch him.

Other times, if there had been too many minutes and hours scattered between the sheets, he went straight to the Academy, and danced away the early morning until his classes began.

Victor had been looking forward to this event for weeks.

Not that it was a special event in itself—it’s just that it was his turn to host the regular parties he and his friends had taken to organising. Victor liked being able to invite them into his own home and provide them with the best food and drinks and music, spoil his friends a little. He liked receiving their compliments and, he didn’t mind admitting it, he liked being the centre of attention as host.

Most of all, however, he liked that with the event taking place at his own home, even Yuuri’s busy schedule would allow him to attend.

They were well into spring now, and what with Yuuri’s first roles with various ballet companies vying for his attention and hoping to sign him on after his rapidly approaching graduation, his schedule was busier than ever.

Victor felt like they had hardly seen each other for months, and he was looking forward to hopefully spend some time with him tonight.

Not that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the rest of his friends, of course, but he wouldn’t have suspected that the one who lived under the same roof as him would end up being the most elusive.

At this point, Victor almost felt like the rumour mill of the city knew more about Yuuri than he did himself—most of what he knew about how his budding career was going he had heard not from Yuuri himself but from the lips of some busybody or another.

Of course he made a point of attending the shows in which Yuuri had a role, multiple times if he could. But that didn’t give him any insight into how Yuuri’s name, along with a couple of his fellow students, was increasingly whispered about as one of the most sought after new dancers in the city. He knew that if Yuuri stayed on track until his graduation, he would be able to take his pick among almost all of the city’s most reputable ballet companies.

Today he hoped he would be able to hear more about it from Yuuri himself, more about how he was enjoying his first experiences in the ballet world.

Yuuri arrived late—there was no performance that night, but a late rehearsal after his classes had finished. So the party was already in full swing by the time he returned, the atmosphere lively enough that most people didn‘t notice him slipping inside the room.

He must have taken the time to change in his own quarters before he joined them, looking fetching in a dark blue waistcoat and his shirtsleeves, not particularly dressed up, but more formal and less rumpled than he was usually looking when he returned from rehearsals.

Excusing himself from Christophe with a wordless gesture and a look, Victor bounded over to him immediately, making his way through the crowd.

“Yuuri! You made it!“

His shout drew the attention of a handful of other guests now, following Victor‘s line of sight to look at Yuuri, who was already accepting a drink from one of the footmen. Giving Victor a quick smile, he downed the amber-coloured liquid with practised ease and had already indicated for another to the footman before Victor even reached him and drew him into an embrace.

“I‘m so happy to see you!“

He squeezed Yuuri tightly, and Yuuri‘s arms too came up to wrap around him, and his voice was low but amused in Victor‘s ear.

“You say that like you don‘t see me every day, Vitya.“

Victor grinned and shrugged as he pulled back.

“I know I do, but it‘s hardly enough these days, is it? Seeing you briefly at the breakfast table or for a night cap is really not the same. I feel like it‘s been forever that we really talked.“

“And were you hoping to remedy this tonight?“, Yuuri asked, indicating the crowd and the noise around them with a raised eyebrow, but he was smiling, too.

“Well…“, Victor looked around, “Come on, come on.“ He ushered Yuuri away, the footman reappearing just in time to hand Yuuri his second drink, and together they made their way through the crowd, back toward the armchairs in a quieter corner of the room, where Victor had just left Chris behind. The way many of his guests‘ gazes trailed after them on their way did not escape his notice.

His hand wrapped around Yuuri‘s elbow, he steered him toward one of the armchairs before letting him go and dropping into another one himself. The third was still occupied by Chris waiting for them.

“There!“ Victor released his breath in a satisfied sigh. “That‘s better, don‘t you think? At least here we can hear ourselves think.“

Yuuri nodded as he sunk down in his own chair, leaning back into the overstuffed cushions as he took another sip of his drink.

“You still remember Christophe, I‘m sure?“, Victor said, indicating his friend, who smiled at Yuuri and inclined his head in a mock bow.

“A pleasure as always to see that face of yours, Yuuri. And other parts as well, naturally.“

Yuuri flashed a quick smile at Chris.

“Ah, yes“, he said, voice soft-spoken as he still always was, turning his glass slowly in his hand, “I do think I vaguely recall having met the gentleman once or twice before.“

Chris‘s grin grew even wider, if such a thing was possible, but the offended tone of his voice could almost be believed. “Oh, you injure me, Mr. Katsuki! After all the drinks we‘ve taken together and all the dances we‘ve shared, to think that the fame and glory of the ballet would make you forget me so soon.“

“What can I say?“, Yuuri returned, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, “I have met so many more interesting people since I last saw you, someone like you is bound to be forgotten.“

Victor followed the exchange with wide eyes, noting that not even a hint of a smile was curving Yuuri‘s lips.

Chris clutched at his heart, a grimace of grave insult replacing his grin.

“I never knew you thought me so far beneath you.“

Yuuri looked up at him now, the light reflected from the gold liquid in his glass making his eyes spark.

“Oh? My sincerest apologies, my lord. I was under the impression that you rather enjoyed being underneath people.“

For a moment there was silence, and Victor found himself staring at Yuuri, mouth slack.

Then Christophe broke out in a roaring laugh.

After a moment, the surprise having passed, Victor couldn‘t help but join in, and Yuuri‘s lips, too, tilted up in a small smile.

“My, my“, Chris finally said, in between trying to catch his breath, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “I should have learnt by now not to underestimate you, sweet boy. How good to know that the things I‘ve been hearing about you have not been exaggerated.“

Yuuri went still for a moment, before raising his eyebrows in a wordless question.

Victor, too, turned his eyes on Chris, curious. “Oh? What have you been hearing about my Yuuri then? And how come you‘ve kept them to yourself and haven‘t shared them with me?“

Yuuri‘s eyes flickered over to him for a moment, but then Christophe huffed a laugh and they both turned their gazes on him.

“Oh, you know“, he said and gave Victor a meaningful grin that made the heat rise into his cheeks, “just that our sweet boy has rather grown up into a man.“

He turned his eyes back toward Yuuri, a little more intent now. “And you‘re not so sweet anymore either, are you?“

Yuuri just shrugged in response, seeming to prefer to seek an answer at the bottom of his glass.

Christophe, too, did not seem inclined to add anything more to his remarks, and so the three of them remained in silence momentarily. Victor, too, found himself out of things to say, too lost in his own thoughts as he kept a careful eye on this Yuuri that seemed so different from the one he knew.

It wasn‘t like Yuuri never spoke to him freely. Even though they didn‘t get to spend as much time together as they once did, they were still comfortable with each other. Well, perhaps not as comfortable in the last couple of years as they had once been, as they both changed, growing up and constantly redefining who they were.

But they were still comfortable, they were still close.

Still—or so Victor had thought—he knew Yuuri better than anyone else.

But he had never heard Yuuri speak like this, joke like this.

He knew Yuuri had a sense of humour, but when it was the two of them it had been something more subtle, something more considered than this.

This sharp wit was something unfamiliar to him.

He tried not to let it surprise him too much.

Of course Yuuri would develop other facets of his personality as he was around other people. Of course he wouldn‘t treat everyone the same as he treated Victor. This, Victor was quite sure, he didn’t want.

And Yuuri spent so much of his time now not just at the Academy surrounded by other students his age, students who were of his own station, around whom he didn‘t have to be so careful with his words as he had always been around nobility. He was also around a fair number of cultural and societal functions now, in his role as a dancer, and Victor had already found out years ago that if there was one thing that was appreciated in those circles in this day and age, more than beauty, more than wealth and status, it was wit.

Victor had learnt long ago how to keep up with the banter, the veiled allusions and the profound sounding witticisms. For some reason, he hadn’t considered up until now that Yuuri would have learnt, too.

Victor watched Yuuri carefully as he signalled to a footman for yet another drink (and that was another thing—when had Yuuri started to drink so easily? Victor still remembered him coughing around his first scotch and soda a couple of years ago), listened in quietly when Christophe struck up another conversation, one less fraught with tension this time.

He tried to read the set of Yuuri‘s shoulders, the tilt of his mouth, his gestures, but it was like they were a foreign language to him now. Once upon a time, Yuuri had been so easy to read, an open book. Now Victor couldn‘t even discern if Yuuri‘s mood was good or bad, if he was enjoying himself or if he‘d rather be anywhere else.

It made Victor shiver to see him like that, his Yuuri, who was so expressive, who felt so much, so deeply. He pushed to his feet, suddenly unable to bear it, making both men look up at him in surprise.

“Yuuri“, he said, giving him a smile that he hoped wasn‘t too strained. “Would you like to dance with me? You don‘t mind me stealing him for a bit, do you, Chris?“

Yuuri looked around the room, eyebrows raised, taking in the other guests milling about, sitting and standing in groups and pairs.

“Dance? But no one‘s dancing“, he said.

“Well“, Victor said, holding out his hand towards him, “then I think it‘s time we start, don‘t you?“

He pulled Yuuri to his feet, and Yuuri smiled then, a wide and bright thing, clear as Victor‘s mother tongue on his face.

“I‘d love to“, he said, “lead the way.“

Chapter Text

After Yuuri graduated, it all went so quickly.

The final showcase of his class after the exams, his evaluation and recommendation from Madame Baranovskaya, which, to his surprise, spoke of him in the highest tones.

The graduation ceremony and subsequent gala, which seemed to devolve into a downright bidding war, all the directors of all the most elite ballet companies in the city, and even throughout the country, trying to scout the young talents fresh off the Academy.

Yuuri, too, had more renowned names after him than he would have thought possible, offering him places in their troupes. And not just ensemble, either: some of them even offered him small solo roles outright, so open in their pursuit of him that he almost didn’t dare accept, for fear it could be too good to be true.

But after a few short and nerve-wracking weeks of negotiations, tryouts and introductions, aided by the Earl’s expertise, Yuuri accepted a position with the renowned Cialdini Company, with a small solo in their fall production of On Love: Eros.

And just like that, Yuuri’s life fell from one tightly controlled routine into the next.

Instead of early morning practices and afternoon classes it was now morning and evening rehearsals and conditioning in the afternoon.

Instead of lunch at the mess hall with Yuuko he now got to take his meals with Victor at the house again, though he was always occupied during dinner time.

There were still a couple of months ahead of them before the piece would premiere with the begin of the fall season, but nonetheless the demands of Yuuri‘s schedule were unforgiving.

Director Cialdini was a demanding master, expecting nothing but the best from his dancers, and Yuuri was no exception to that rule. He was not a student anymore now, he was not just dipping his toes into the pond of big time ballet; he was here, trying to make a career out of his passion. He was supposed to be a professional, and thus he was expected to act.

Of course no one expected perfection at the first try; there was a reason why these pieces were rehearsed ad nauseam for months on end before they ever met the public eye. It was an arduous honing process of slowly carving away at the performance a step, a turn at a time, until nothing but the ideal essence of movement remained.

And so Yuuri too was expected to work hard on himself and polish himself until he was the best self that he could be for his role.

The problem was that Yuuri seemed to be unable to find his essence.

It wasn‘t that the dance was too demanding; after a couple of weeks he had the steps of his solo down to a t - at least in theory. In practice however, his role continued to elude him, his movements remaining mechanical and without emotion to the point that he lost all confidence in his portrayal and committed the most clumsy blunders.

He could feel it, and everyone else could see it, and Director Cialdini didn‘t hesitate to let him know: he wasn‘t up to scratch.

It wasn‘t that he was cruel about it; Yuuri rather thought him very patient, compared to his own frustration with himself. For the first weeks, Cialdini gave him helpful hints and encouraging words. Yuuri was a talented young dancer, he assured him, he had already proved as much in his budding career. He only needed to find his stage legs. It was understandable for him to be nervous.

But as the summer wore on and Yuuri‘s performance continued to show no marked improvement, throwing the entire act containing his solo out of balance, Cialdini‘s irritation grew.

He even had Yuuri sit down with the choreographer one humiliating afternoon, talking him through the story of the ballet and Yuuri‘s role in it in an attempt to help him find a better connection to his character.

And it wasn‘t like Yuuri didn‘t know the story by heart—had known it as one of his own favourite ballets for years and years and had learnt it inside and out since the beginning of their rehearsals. And yet none of that knowledge could help him find a connection to the material now.

He supposed he should count himself lucky that his wasn‘t the role of the playboy or the most beautiful woman in town, the principal dancers. He wasn‘t sure how he would ever be able to portray such raw appeal and sensuality on stage as they could—every one of their movements charged with electricity that sent sparks through the theatre.

He himself was only one of the many admirers vying for the attention of the most beautiful woman in town, earnest and brave in his affection but ultimately doomed to fail as she succumbed to the playboy‘s charms.

But even this seemed to be beyond Yuuri‘s talents—to be appealing, charming to the masses. His character was one meant to be sympathetic to the audience even as they knew that he would never find the success, the love that he yearned for. Yuuri couldn‘t imagine anyone watching his clumsy performance and rooting for him.

His portrayal would take a beloved secondary character and twist him into a pitiful caricature, only good to be laughed at.

His own and Director Cialdini‘s frustration mounting, Yuuri spent more time than ever practicing, late nights and early mornings in the studio at the Nikiforov house, skipping his lunch breaks for that extra hour, running through his solo again and again and again in front of the mirror‘s at the theatre‘s practice halls.

It was all in vain.

“I just can’t get it, Vitya”, Yuuri lamented one rare free evening, driven by his desperation to confess his troubles to Victor despite his embarrassment. He wasn’t exactly keen on admitting that portraying sensuality and charm was something he struggled with so thoroughly, least of all to Victor, but he was at his wit’s end. If there was any chance that Victor had some advice to offer that would help him, Yuuri would jump at the opportunity.

“Basil is supposed to be a character that everyone likes, someone sympathetic and relatable. That’s just not me.”

“Yuuri…”, Victor said, that little pinch between his eyebrows that told Yuuri he was about to disagree with him. “What are you talking about? You are a lovely person. Where do you get the idea that people wouldn’t like you?”

Yuuri grimaced.

“It’s not… I’m sure there’s plenty of people who like me fine. But I’m not… I’m not memorable. I’m nothing special. My playing Basil will make him forgettable at best, and…”, he sighed, “who goes to the ballet for a forgettable experience?”

Victor sucked in a gasp that sounded almost genuinely shocked. “Who in their right mind would ever forget about you, Yuuri? You are extraordinary! Your dancing is so special, and I’m sure your portrayal of Basil is, too.”

Yuuri scoffed. “You haven’t seen it. Believe me, there’s nothing special about my performance of Basil. Nor is there about me, as evidenced by the fact that this is my first real role, and I am already failing.”

Victor frowned at him.

“You know I hate when you talk about yourself like this. You’re not failing, okay?” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Have you tried approaching the character from a different angle?”

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders helplessly. “What angle? He’s a secondary character, there isn’t that much to him. He wants the most beautiful woman in town, and he vies for her attention. He is kind and genuinely likes her, but his simple charm and sensuality cannot compete with Eros’ flashy seduction. That’s all there is.”

“Well…”, Victor picked up his fork again, taking a contemplative bite of his dinner, staring up into the empty air. “Have you thought about his motivations? Why does he want the most beautiful woman in town?”

Yuuri shook his head, pushing his own food around the plate. “She’s beautiful?”

“That’s all?” Victor laughed, a clear sound like a peal of a bell. “Aren’t you romantic? You said he genuinely likes her. Well, what does he like about her?”

With a huff, Yuuri pushed a piece of broccoli into his mouth. “We don’t know. We’re just told that he likes her. That he wouldn’t drop her the way Eros does at the end. But that’s all.”

“Then…”, Victor clicked his tongue, “Make something up. Decide what your Basil likes about her. Tap into your own feelings. What would she need for you to want the most beautiful woman in town? Apart from her beauty, of course, but I’m sure you’re not as superficial as that.”

Yuuri hesitated, almost forgetting to swallow his bite.

What would make him want the most beautiful woman in town? What would make someone catch his attention?

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders.

“She’d be kind”, he murmured, “she’d pay attention to him. Not flatter him, or something like that, but… pay attention to who he is. Really see him. If that makes sense. And… she would have a beautiful laugh. It would be the best thing for him to see her happy. Even if it was with someone else.” He swallowed, his food sitting like lead in his throat suddenly. “And she’d be intelligent, too. A beautiful face, yes, but a beautiful mind, too.”

“Wow”, Victor whispered, a quiet chuckle in his voice. “You make her sound quite special. See, you’ve got your emotions right there. I’m sure if you focus on those, it will be no problem at all for you to make us all fall in love with the most beautiful woman in town, and with Basil too, by extension. Don’t you think?”

“I… yes”, Yuuri said, “Yes, maybe.” He licked his lips slowly, thoughts trickling languidly like molasses. Setting down his cutlery, he pushed his chair back from the table. “I—I should go. I have to get back to the studio. I have to try this. Sorry, Vitya. And thank you!”

He hurried away before he could hear any response Victor might have given, stopping only briefly by his room to pick up his dance gear before he left for the theatre’s practice studio. He could feel a storm of unnamable emotions brewing under his skin.

It was still early enough in the evening that he there’d be someone around to let him in, and this time he would not leave until he got it right.

After their conversation about Yuuri’s role, Victor half expected Yuuri to return triumphant the next day, with a new understanding of his part and a new-found confidence.

He had thought that together they had managed to break through whatever barrier it had been that had kept him from performing to his own standards.

But instead that gentle air of misery around Yuuri remained, and no amount of coaxing from Victor could improve his mood. He tried to make jokes to cheer him up or distract him by talking about something else, but Yuuri seemed always a little more lost in thought when Victor saw him.

Those opportunities, meanwhile, were getting to be rarer again, to Victor’s endless annoyance. It had only been a few months since he’d been able to see Yuuri more regularly again, but now the season in the city was in full swing, and at his father’s insistence Victor was in the middle of it all.

There wasn’t a luncheon, a tea, a dinner or a ball that Victor wasn’t in attendance of, and interspersed with walks and rides out, calling cards collecting on his desk.

It didn’t take him very long to catch up to what all of this was in aid of.

“I think father wants me to get married soon.”

It was enough, at least, to tear Yuuri out of his thoughts, from the way his head whipped around when Victor shared his suspicion with him one early afternoon over coffee.

“Ex…cuse me?”, Yuuri said slowly, his voice a little hoarse in a manner that Victor tried not to think of as terribly attractive.

“Married”, he repeated, a lot more chipper than he was feeling about the whole subject. “I think he believes it’s time for me. Personally I think it’s far too early—I’m not even twenty! Who thinks about getting married at that age?”

He considered, taking a slow sip from his coffee.

“Or perhaps I am doing him an injustice. Perhaps he just wants me to find someone. A decently long courtship and engagement could get me easily to twenty-two or twenty-three before the actual nuptials would take place.”

Yuuri set down his coffee cup and looked at him quietly for a long time, his face unreadable.

“Is that something you want?”, he finally asked, “Getting married?”

“I think so”, Victor replied, after a moment’s consideration. “Eventually. When I’ve found the right person. Not now, though.”

“I see…. So right now”, Yuuri cleared his throat, “right now there’s no one…?”

“Oh, nothing serious, no”, Victor said, waving his words away with a chuckle. “You know how it is.”

Yuuri nodded, gaze absent, and seemed just about ready to slip back into his thoughts, so Victor hurried to add: “How about you?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get married”, was Yuuri’s immediate reply, though he then looked just as surprised at having said it as Victor was.

Victor raised his eyebrows at him over his coffee cup. “Oh? How come?”

This time Yuuri took more time in replying, from the looks of it considering the answer he had given without thinking. “I can’t really imagine finding someone I’d want to spend the rest of my life with”, he finally slowly, then shrugged. “Let alone someone who’d want to spend a lifetime with me.”

“Yuuri!”, Victor chided gently, “You know anyone would be lucky to have you as their husband. And I have heard that you’re rather discerning in your choice of companions, you know. But surely you’ll encounter someone at some point who will catch your fancy.”

Yuuri frowned slightly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I… I don’t”, he whispered, then sucked in a deep breath before continuing, “I don’t think I’d want to marry someone who has merely caught my fancy.”

“Oh.” Victor blinked. “No, I suppose you’re right. There should be something more to it than that.”

Yuuri nodded. “It should be someone special.”

Against his better judgement, a smile crept onto Victor’s face. “Special. Yes. Like the most beautiful woman in town?”

He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, seeing Yuuri wince and hunch in on himself. Damn him—here he’d wanted to distract Yuuri from his thoughts of the ballet, and now he’d gone and brought it up himself.

Before he could apologise, though, Yuuri’s expression softened somewhat.

“Yes, I suppose someone like that”, he murmured, and—was that a blush colouring his cheeks? Had Yuuri perhaps found his inspiration for the most beautiful woman in town after all?

“How is that going, by the way?”, Victor asked carefully, watching Yuuri’s reaction closely—though it was hardly necessary. The resulting grimace on his face could not be missed.

“Terribly”, he said miserably, “Don’t remind me.”

Victor gave a sympathetic hum. “Have you still not found your Basil, then? I thought we had somewhat of a breakthrough the other week.”

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders. “I mean… it’s… I guess it’s different now?”, he said, “But it’s still terrible. Different terrible.”

“Really?” Victor drained his own coffee cup and also set it down on its saucer with a clink. “Does Director Cialdini agree?”

Yuuri’s expression darkened, but he only gave a half-hearted shrug in response.

“What about the rest of your troupe? Have you asked their advice? Maybe someone can help you out. They’ve all done this before, after all. There’s no harm in making use of their experience.”

Yuuri looked down at his hands. “I don’t… really talk to them very much.”

Victor clicked his tongue. “Yuuri! Why not? These are your coworkers, and a big asset to you. You should forge connections with them!”

Yuuri shrugged again. “I don’t know, it’s just…”, he sighed, “I don’t know.”

Victor shook his head, watching as Yuuri kept curling further into himself, fingers twisted together in his lap.

“Yuuri… they’re not being unkind to you, are they? Is someone at the theatre not treating you right?”

Yuuri’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? No! Why—why would you think that?”

“Are you sure?”, Victor asked, brows furrowed. “You can tell me, you know?”

“Tell you…?” Yuuri’s voice was so soft then, like his tongue was carefully mapping out the feel of the words.

“If the other dancers are rude to you, or excluding you. Is it because of your family? Or because you’re younger than them? I’m sure some of the senior dancers aren’t thrilled that you already have a solo, but you’ve earned your spot, Yuuri. There’s no reason you just have to take it, I’m sure we can figure out a way to make it better.”

Yuuri released a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“Thank you, Victor. It’s… it’s nothing like that, really. I mean…”, he tilted his head to the side, considering, “I do find it difficult to talk to them sometimes, since they’re all so much more experienced. And I think they don’t know how to talk to me either. Especially since I’ve been making rehearsals so difficult for everyone. But no, they’re not excluding me.”

“Well, alright…”, Victor said, reaching for the coffee pot absently and refilling both of their cups, automatically adding sugar and cream to his own and milk to Yuuri’s. “If you’re sure. But do tell me if there is something. I could talk to Director Cialdini if you’re having problems, you know? Our families have known each other for a long time.”

“No!”, Yuuri said, almost a shout, “That—… that won’t be necessary. Really. It’s all—….”, he took a deep breath and released it in a long sigh. “It’s fine. It’s just frustrating that I can’t get this role right. For everyone involved. That’s all. But I’ll—I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will”, Victor said, taking a sip from his fresh coffee, Yuuri following his example.

Just then there was a knock on the door and a servant entered with a message, approaching to hand it to Yuuri.

Victor raised an eyebrow at him, curious; it wasn’t often that Yuuri received messages, at least not as far as Victor was aware. Yuuri just met his glance with a shrug, though, and unfolded the envelope to read.

“Yuuri?”, Victor asked as he saw the colour drain out of Yuuri’s face, “is everything okay?”

„Ah….“ Yuuri‘s adam‘s apple bobbed as he swallowed. „Yeah. Yes, it‘s nothing.“

Victor gave him a dubious look and Yuuri grimaced.

„It’s just—Director Cialdini wants to meet with me.“

Victor raised his eyebrows. „Now? Why?“

Yuuri sighed. „At some point, today, tomorrow…“, looking down, he turned the message slowly in his hands, „He… uh, he probably wants to give me a piece of his mind about my performance again.“

„Oh. He’s really giving you a hard time about this, isn’t he? Well...“, Victor said, slowly running a hand through his hair, considering. „Why don‘t you invite him here?“

„What?“ Yuuri almost choked on the word, whipping his head up to stare at him.

„No, think about it“, Victor said, „It might be easier if you meet here. Some sort of neutral ground, if you will. You could have tea brought, and he‘s familiar with the house. It will be a nice gesture. I could even come and sit with you, if you like. I could tell him about how we‘ve been trying to figure out a way for you to relate to Basil. It might placate him, if he knows you‘re doing your best. Which I know you are.“

„I—Vitya“, Yuuri murmured, „that‘s very kind, but you really don‘t… you don‘t need to take time out of your day to do that. Although… it might not be a bad idea, to ask him here. If it‘s really okay. If it was here, I‘m sure he wouldn‘t… uhm, he might be a little more, ah… yes. I think I might do that. I could ask him for tea tomorrow, would that be okay?“

„Of course, Yuuri“, Victor said with a grin, „This is your home, you know? You‘re allowed to treat it as such. And I‘ll make sure I‘ll be there, too.“

He raised his hands in a placating gesture when Yuuri opened his mouth to protest.

„I‘m not going to get involved in your professional life if you don‘t want me to, Yuuri. If you‘d rather clear the air with him yourself, then I will respect that of course. I will just make sure that I am home during that time tomorrow, so that if the need should arrive for someone to weigh in, or just for a neutral presence to take some of the pressure off, you can send someone for me. Does that sound alright?“

„I—yes, alright“, Yuuri said, letting out a breath. „That sounds—… thank you, Vitya. I appreciate it, really.“

„Any time. I told you, this is your home.“

Cursing under his breath, Victor hurried down the steps of the mansion.

He was late.

He hadn’t meant to be out at all this afternoon, but then his father had been called to an urgent appointment with his lawyers, leaving Victor to attend luncheon with the city magistrate’s wife in his stead. And of course the Lady had been unable to hold back, serving her good dozen guests a feast of several courses, along with good conversation and the most excellent gossip.

Usually this would have been an occupation for Victor’s afternoon that he would have rather enjoyed.

Today, however, he wanted nothing more than to slip away as soon as he could.

After all, he had promised Yuuri he would be there for him today, for moral support if nothing else… and now he wasn’t.

But one did not simply slip away from the Lady Magistrate’s table early, not with the best of excuses, and so Victor had stayed for another drink and another nibble and another round of more or less polite conversation. And now he was late.

He wasn’t sure what hour exactly director Cialdini was meant to arrive for his tea with Yuuri, but—checking his timepiece as he reached the kerb—if Victor was lucky and caught a cab right away and made good way crossing the city, he might still make it in time.

Of course there was not a single cab in sigh when usually this part of the city was simply lousy with them, and with a great sigh Victor hurried down the street and around the corner, keeping his eye open.

He had promised Yuuri that he would be there for him, and he would not break his promise.

Chapter Text

It took way longer than he had hoped for Victor to make his way back to the house, and when he finally got there and was let in by a footman, the house seemed still.

The parlour was empty, as was the library. On a whim, Victor checked the dance studio, but it was deserted as well, so Victor stepped back into the entrance hall and called the footman over.

“Do you know where Mr. Cialdini and Mr. Katsuki are? Has the director left already?”

The footman looked at him somewhat surprised.

“Are they not in the library, my lord? That’s where Mr. Katsuki invited Mr. Cialdini to take their tea.”

Victor shook his head.

“I was just in there.”

“That’s odd”, the footman replied, “I don’t believe Mr. Cialdini will have left yet. He hasn’t asked for his hat and coat, anyway. Should I go and check where they are?”

“Thank you, but I’ll do it myself”, Victor said with a smile, “Don’t let me keep you.”

And he hurried up the steps, deciding to check on Yuuri’s rooms first. If the director had indeed already left, it would be most likely that Victor would find him there.

Accustomed to spending a lot of time in one another’s sitting rooms, Victor only gave a perfunctory knock before opening the door.

“Yuuri, are you—”

He interrupted himself when he was met with unmistakable noises inside the suite of rooms; faint grunts and the wet slap of skin on skin.

He felt himself flush, and his first instinct was to walk right back out, but something kept him rooted to the spot, feeling suddenly cold, his heart hammering in his chest.

The door to the dressing room was open, but beyond it the door to the bedroom was only slightly ajar, enough to let the noises filter through, but not enough to see anything from his vantage point.

None of the noises seemed to belong to Yuuri’s voice.

Before he knew what he was doing, Victor crept closer, crossing the dressing room as quickly as he dared, driven on by some unnameable dread, but trying to keep his footfalls soft.

When he was halfway through the room, Victor could catch a glimpse through the crack in the door, and his breath arrested in his throat.

There was Yuuri, on the bed, dressed to the waist at least, though Victor couldn’t see the rest of him. He was on his stomach, cheek pressed to the mattress, a broad, tan hand that was no doubt Cialdini’s pressed between his shoulder blades, holding him down. His hands were stretched out before him, bound at the wrists with what might be a necktie. His face was turned towards the door, but he was staring into nothing, a blank expression occasionally interrupted by a pained wince, and there was a terrifying emptiness in his gaze.

Trying to process what he was seeing, Victor shuffled another step forward, and there was a slight widening of Yuuri’s eyes that made Victor fairly sure he had been seen. And yet, Yuuri did not react, did not move, and that terrible blankness did not disappear from his eyes.

It was this that finally spurred Victor into action.

His mind suddenly filled with white hot rage, drowning out every thought, he jumped forward, pushing open the door with such force that it banged against the wall, startling both men inside.

“Get off of him, you bastard”, Victor screamed, grabbing Cialdini by the collar and dragging him off the bed, shoving him into a corner of the room, away from Yuuri.

Cialdini stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, lifting his hands in a placating gesture.

“Hey, hey”, he said, “Relax, I’m not doing anything he doesn’t—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence”, Victor hissed, a wave of disgust joining the fury boiling in him.

“It’s true! Look, I—”

“You’ve literally tied him up!” Victor’s scream cracked his voice, fists clenching at his side.

Cialdini tried a scoff. “Listen, you know they’re into this kind of—”

Victor punched him.

Victor had never punched anyone before in his life. He wasn’t prepared for how much it hurt. He cursed, but the pain was quickly chased away by the satisfaction that it seemed to hurt Cialdini more.

He did it again. And again. And again.

“You sick fuck”, he heard himself shout as if from far away, “you bastard, how dare you? Under our roof! In his own home, his own bed, you depraved little maggot. You will never put your hands on him again, or I swear to God I will ruin you, you hear me? No one in this town will ever dare be seen with at you again. You touch him again, you just look at him again and I will blacken your name so thoroughly pens will spill their ink any time you try to write it!”

Victor became distantly aware that he was breathing heavily, his arms heavy with exertion, knuckles cracked and sore. Cialdini still had his hands raised, more protective than defensive now. “Stop, please stop.”

Victor forced himself to lower his fists, taking a deep breath between clenched teeth.

“You will treat Yuuri respectfully for the duration of the season, and afterwards you will release him with the highest recommendations, as he deserves. Do you understand me?”, he asked, carefully and sharply enunciating each word.

“Yes, yes, my lord.”

“Then get the fuck out of here and don’t you dare show your face in our home again.”

Cialdini didn’t hesitate to scramble upright, trying to fasten his trousers and quell the bleeding in his nose at once as he stumbled out of the room with one final look over his shoulder. Whether this look was directed at Yuuri or at Victor, he wasn’t sure, but nonetheless it made Victor want to send him off with a final kick.

He refrained, however, instead taking a deep breath as he listened to the steps receding down the hallways and hurrying down the steps, trying to both quell the rage boiling inside him and steel himself for what was about to come. No amount of time would have prepared him for the way his heart crumbled in his chest when he turned around to Yuuri.

Yuuri was still lying in the same position Cialdini had left him in, and his face as still so terribly expressionless, his eyes still so terribly empty, even though they were now fixed on Victor.

“What did you do”, he whispered, his voice hollow, and it was not a question, not really, as if the answer didn’t really matter.

“What did I—I stopped him!”, Victor said, trying to keep his voice from climbing into hysterics, “He was… he was hurting you!”

Yuuri finally moved now, pushing himself up into a sitting position with some difficulty, prompting Victor to finally spring into action and grab a duvet to drape over his bare form.

“He’ll hate me now”, Yuuri whispered, “He’ll fire me, he’ll ruin my career, it will all have been in vain.”

“He won’t dare”, Victor replied, kneeling down in front of the bed and reaching out carefully to untie Yuuri’s hands, which Yuuri allowed without comment, not shying away from his touch. “You heard me, if he does anything but treat you with the utmost courtesy, I’ll ruin him. And he knows I’ll do it. I’ll do it now, just say the word, I’ll get him cast out, I’ll get him locked up, I promise…”

Letting the necktie fall away, he made a mental note to burn the ugly blue fabric next chance he got, so he would never have to see it again in his life, and gently ran his fingers over Yuuri’s wrists chafed red and raw.

“I’m so sorry, Yuuri. I’m so sorry I let this happen. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to stop him, god… I can’t believe he would do something like this, I always thought…”, he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, I was obviously wrong. I’m so sorry I put you in this position.”

“It’s not your fault”, Yuuri said, toneless.

Victor could feel his bravado wearing off, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “But I told you to invite him here, and then I wasn’t there, I wasn’t…”

“Vitya”, Yuuri interrupted him, voice almost gentle. “This would have happened no matter where. It’s not your fault.”

“Yuuri…”, Victor choked out, something cold suddenly taking hold of his throat, “how… how long has this been going on.”

Yuuri didn’t answer right away, his eyes going unfocused once again.

“Yuuri?”

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri licked his lips. His hands twitched in Victor’s grip.

“Since… since that day we talked about my solo”, he said, and Victor sucked in a sharp breath. “That evening, when I went back to the studio to practice… he was there and…”

Victor squeezed his hands firmly, tears crashing down his face now. Yuuri retrieved one of his hands and wiped away Victor’s tears, automatically almost, his movements thoughtless, as if he wasn’t realising what he was doing. His hand was warm and clammy against Victor’s face.

“He saw me dancing and… I guess my solo must have improved after your advice because… he told me how beautiful I was, and that he should have given me the role of the most beautiful woman in town. He tried to get me to come into his office with him, but I told him no. He… he didn’t like that I told him no.”

Yuuri shivered then and fell silent, that awful monotone of his voice trailing off.

“That bastard”, Victor pressed out, “that sick, twisted man. I hate this. I hate that he hurt you.”

Yuuri just lifted his shoulders, dismissive, like it was nothing, like someone had just tread on his toes.

Victor bit his lips against more tears.

“Come on”, he said, “we’ll get you into a bath. We’ll get you cleaned up.” He pushed himself to his feet, not letting go of Yuuri’s hand. “Can you stand? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine”, Yuuri said, though he pulled the duvet closer around him and unfolded his legs to stand. “He wouldn’t hurt his dancer. He… he still needs me.”

Victor swallowed all the unkind words for Cialdini that gathered on his tongue, and instead led Yuuri into the dressing room, where he had the servants bring a tub and hot water for Yuuri to bathe.

He stuck close to Yuuri throughout, only turning around while Yuuri got into and out of the tub, to preserve his modesty, but otherwise he did not leave his side. He held on to Yuuri’s hand, which Yuuri allowed, offered to wash his hair, which he declined, and spoke soothing and comforting words to him.

Except it seemed that Yuuri needed neither soothing nor comforting.

He accepted Victor’s touches and words complacently, but he barely seemed to take them in. He didn’t seem particularly upset, even—a little subdued, perhaps, but after a while that hollow look faded from his eyes and if Victor hadn’t known any better, he might have thought there was nothing worse going on than a mild case of homesickness, or coming down with a cold.

It was disconcerting, to say the least.

Perhaps, Victor thought, Yuuri was still in shock about it all. Perhaps he just needed some more time to process everything that had happened.

When Victor tentatively suggested after Yuuri’s bath that he might leave him alone to get dressed and rest for a while, carefully watching for Yuuri’s reaction, he seemed neither distressed nor eager at the prospect of being on his own. He accepted Victor’s suggestion evenly, like he might have done on any other day.

So Victor nodded, and took his leave.

The moment he set foot outside of Yuuri‘s door, he didn‘t know what to do with himself.

He kept swinging back and forth between burning fury and heart-wrenching worry, unable to hold fast or let go of either one or the other.

He was sure that something about Yuuri‘s behaviour wasn‘t right. He didn‘t quite know what other reaction he would expect, despairing tears perhaps or helpless anger or even heavy, shameful self-loathing. Any of the things that Victor was feeling right now.

But Yuuri wasn‘t displaying anything like that, wasn‘t showing anything but that eerie quiet resignation, and Victor didn‘t know how to take it. Was Yuuri not processing what had happened? Was he still in shock or already repressing the events? What could Victor do to help him? Was it wise to give him space to process it, or to stick close in case the inevitable breakdown finally came? Should Victor distract him from what had happened or try to talk to him about it?

He didn‘t know.

He‘d never felt this helpless in his life.

Yuuri had needed his help, his Yuuri, his oldest friend, the person he loved like no other in his life, and he hadn‘t been there. Victor had let him down.

And Yuuri wasn‘t even blaming him.

Why wasn‘t Yuuri blaming him? Why wasn‘t Yuuri angry at him? He deserved Yuuri‘s anger, it was his mistake, his thoughtlessness that had led to this situation, his fault that Yuuri—

„Vitya?“

Yuuri‘s voice tore Victor out of his thoughts and he whirled around.

Behind him, in the door to his room, stood Yuuri, fully dressed, his still damp hair braided loosely at his back, looking at him curiously.

Victor wasn‘t sure how long it had been, but he was still standing right in front Yuuri‘s rooms, his shoulders stiff and hands clenched into fists so hard he was pretty sure his fingernails had dug cuts into his palms.

He hadn‘t realised he hadn‘t moved.

„What are you doing?“, Yuuri asked when Victor couldn‘t quite manage to form any words.

He just shook his head, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was negating.

Yuuri sighed and took him gently by the arm.

“Let’s go have some tea”, he said.

The next days, the next weeks even continued on like that.

Yuuri was almost infuriatingly impassive, going about his life as if nothing at all had happened.

He did show some distress at having to go back to practice the first time, worrying still about Cialdini’s reaction to seeing him.

But as the days passed and any retribution was yet to be forthcoming--Victor made sure to ask carefully about how Yuuri was treated during his practices--he appeared to relax somewhat and fall back into his usual rhythm.

Better even, since he had evidently managed to find his portrayal of Basil, and could now perform it in practice without having to fear Cialdini’s reaction.

He seemed almost pleased at how the last week of practice was going, despite being nervous about the premiere. Victor wasn’t sure when he’d last seen Yuuri smile this much, and something about that tasted bitter to him.

He kept an ear out for any bad words Cialdini might have put out about Yuuri or any other perfidious doings, but it seemed that the director had taken Victor’s words seriously enough. Victor was still rather tempted to let him feel some more consequences for his actions, but he knew if he did, it would likely do Yuuri more harm than good. It would be barely possible to get Cialdini behind bars for his crime. Yuuri was of age, and to prove that what had happened had been against his will would be near impossible. And even if Victor only destroyed Cialdini’s name and good standing, then Yuuri would lose his role, and if people connected him, through Victor, with the whole scandal, it would be harmful to his career.

So Victor forced himself to swallow his anger and instead kept trying to help Yuuri feel better.

Because it simply wasn’t possible that he was feeling as well as he pretended to.

Victor decided to try his different possible approaches one after the other. He would not stand idly by while Yuuri was suffering.

At first he decided it would be best to give him some time to process, to get over the shock. Surely the point would come when the reality of what had happened hit him, and then Victor would be there to support him.

He kept a close eye on Yuuri for the first few days after the incident, looking out for any signs of distress, any pain or fear. But there was nothing, nothing more than his usual quiet thoughtfulness and his silent devotion to his craft.

He spent a lot of time in the studio, as he always did, when he wasn’t at the theatre. It wasn’t a big challenge for Victor to give him space. Not that Yuuri was avoiding him, but he was busy, his schedule packed with the preparations for the premiere.

That’s why Victor kept trying when he finally decided to carefully broach the subject with Yuuri after a few days of no reaction, gently asking if he wanted to talk about it or if he needed anything. Yuuri kept brushing him off when Victor approached him in a quiet minute, early in the morning over their coffee or after lunch, but Victor put it down to how busy he was.

After a few tries, the thought did creep in that perhaps Yuuri was trying to avoid the subject, but it wasn’t until Yuuri countered one of his enquiries with a snappish “Just leave it alone, Victor. I don’t have time for this right now!” that Victor gave up on this approach.

Sticking close to Yuuri, just trying to be there as a reassuring presence and hoping that Yuuri would open up to him on his own didn’t work any better. Once he was reassured that Victor wouldn’t pester him about it any more, Yuuri seemed happy enough to accept Victor’s company, spending what little free time he had with him the same way they had before the incident.

Victor, as much as he dared, steered them towards activities and locations that allowed them to have a quiet, serious conversation if need be, trying to put Yuuri at his ease to broach the topic--drinking tea in the library, lounging in the sun in the garden, listening to the neighbour playing her piano through the open conservatory window.

Yuuri was game to go with anything he suggested, as always, but no conversations were forthcoming.

For all intents and purposes Yuuri seemed to be fine, if a little stressed, a little nervous, but no more than he would usually be before an important assignment or, in this case, a premiere. He threw himself into his practice, and Victor hoped that it would be a balm for him, a distraction from everything that must be doubtless coming to a boil within him. As the premiere approached, the time Victor could spend with Yuuri decreased, so he had to focus on his own distractions. The summer season was coming to a close, but still there were a few last balls and luncheons to attend.

In the end, Victor had almost convinced himself that maybe Yuuri really was fine. Maybe he really had already processed and made his peace with all that had happened.

Victor was just about ready to let it go, content to carry his own pain like a bruise on his heart, concealed under his clothes.

But then came the premiere.

Fruitless Desire Comes to Fruition

Emotions were running high at last night‘s premiere of On Love: Eros at the Ice Castle theatre, and not just on stage.

Anticipation among the audience was palpable in the run up to the premiere of the fall season at the Ice Castle, with the classic tale of On Love: Eros, the well-loved story of the wandering playboy and the most beautiful woman in town, under the direction of Celestino Cialdini and choreographed by Mathieu Thibaut.

The beautiful set, designed in a reduced colour palette of reds, blacks, and creams, and stylised to call to mind intricate artworks of paper silhouettes and layered for depth, created an intense effect with deep shadows and vivid details. Along with the costumes created in a matching style, there was an immediate immersion into the high-tension atmosphere of the play from the moment the curtain was drawn and the first strum of that classic guitar hit the audience‘s ears.

If the public’s anticipation also extended to the cast and crew it was impossible to tell, as the whole cast performed with steady devotion and a rarely seen sense of daring, giving a whole new spin to the old favourite. Principal dancers Sara Crispino (Desiree) and Mila Babicheva (Eros) portrayed their roles with impeccable skill and great chemistry, seducing each other and the entirety of the audience within the first scenes. Thibaut’s choreography is well suited to the dancers’ easy grace and powerful expression, weaving an captivating tale of love and lust, scorn and betrayal. The grace of their movements and the rawness of their emotion intertwines easily with the orchestra’s superb interpretation of the famous score to create a maelstrom of emotion and beauty. Especially Crispino’s performance of Desiree, infused with fierce independence and pride, did justice to this most famous of femmes fatales. Cialdini’s selection of the ensemble shows us an intriguing mixture of returning dancers and new talent, though their steps weave smoothly into each other as if the whole corps had danced together for seasons and seasons on end.

One would be remiss in not calling particular attention to rising young talent Yuuri Katsuki (Basil) in his first role after his recent graduation from the Baranovskaya Academy. Katsuki thoroughly stole away the audience’s attention from Crispino and Babicheva in the second act, when his character vied with the latter for the attention of the most beautiful woman in town. Katsuki’s sublime performance took what had always been a beloved, if slightly flat, secondary role to a whole new level. By the end of the third act, the writer of this piece, along no doubt with most of the audience, found himself quietly rooting for the desperate, fruitless passion Basil held for Desiree, almost wishing for him to succeed in his earnest love, no matter how hopeless he knew it was. In Katsuki‘s capable hands, Basil is elevated from a convenient device for creating tensions in the main characters‘ relationships to a tragic almost-hero that left everyone‘s hearts breaking in the theatre. His desperation, the depth of his pain, was palpable in every one of his steps, his larger than life agony flowing down to the tips of his fingers. By the time Basil was inevitably scorned by Desiree in the final act, there was surely not a dry eye in the room. One has to congratulate Cialdini on his immaculate casting, and on securing such a rising star in the ballet world for the Cialdini company. This writer, for one, is looking forward to seeing what else this talent has in store for us these coming seasons.

On Love: Eros will be performed at Ice Castle theatre through the fall season for matinées and evening shows, an emotional experience not to be missed by any who enjoy the fine art of ballet and a thoroughly heart-wrenching tale.

It was like a physical pain that Victor couldn‘t see Yuuri right after the premiere. It was like something had been taken from him, leaving a hole torn into his chest.

It was like a part of him was missing.

After he‘d seen Yuuri‘s performance as Basil, it was all that he could do to not hurry backstage immediately and find Yuuri in his dressing room.

He had, of course, sent flowers to him before the show like an admirer, but right now his desperation to see him was everything but born from a wish to win his affections.

Just as Yuuri‘s performance had been.

Yuuri‘s Basil hadn‘t been saying „I love you desperately, why don‘t you choose me over him?“ as he did in all other performances.

In fact, it hadn‘t been Basil at all—it had been all Yuuri up there on the stage, and what he‘d said through his dance was something else altogether.

Why would you hurt me like this?

Look at what you‘ve done to me.

You‘ve left me broken.

Broken.

That‘s what Basil had been at the end of the play. In no other rendition of the story that Victor had ever seen, only in this one: Basil had been a broken man.

Victor had wept, unashamed as many around him did the same, and knowing at the same time that it wasn‘t the same they were weeping for.

Victor hadn‘t cried for the lovable but fictional character of Basil, pitiable in his helpless love for Desiree.

He had wept for Yuuri, his dearest friend, his heart, had wept for all the pain he could see etched deep into every one of Yuuri‘s movements. Had wept the tears Yuuri didn‘t seem to be able to weep for himself.

When the dancers took their bows, he stood along with the rest of the audience as they delivered their applause for a superb performance, but his eyes were focused on Yuuri only, slightly off-center in the row of performers. He was practically glowing with a barely contained smile, along with most of the rest of the cast, all elated at having delivered a near perfect premiere.

That smile felt so incongruous to Victor, so jarring after the performance he had just seen. Yuuri looked beautiful, incandescent with pride and excitement, but all Victor could think was that it felt wrong. Not that it was a fake smile--Yuuri’s emotion was all real, Victor could tell that much. And yet--it twisted Victor’s gut to think like that--it shouldn’t be. The emotion that he had just seen from Basil had been real too, and for Yuuri to shed them so suddenly and thoroughly, to peel himself out of them like a suit… It was a disconnect that felt uncanny.

He didn’t want Yuuri to be unhappy, of course he didn’t. Nothing made him happier than seeing Yuuri happy. But he should by all accounts be miserable right now. Not that Victor knew much about these things except from stories, much less had ever experienced anything like it, but this much he was certain of.

No one was supposed to brush off something like what had happened to Yuuri off like it was nothing.

And obviously there was some part of him, the part that Victor had just seen on stage, that felt all that misery and pain. The part that felt broken.

Once the applause ebbed away and the cast glided off the stage after one final bow, Victor hurried out of his box and down the stairs into the foyer of the theatre. There he hesitated, torn. He wanted to somehow talk his way backstage and see Yuuri immediately, make sure he was alright. But this was a selfish desire. Yuuri had just performed a superb premiere along with the rest of the cast, and they deserved their moment of triumph, their celebration, without being intruded upon by an outsider.

He would see Yuuri later. Yes, there was the opening night party, Victor would see him there. He could keep an eye on him, make sure there was nothing wrong, and then, when they were heading home for the night, Victor could try to talk to him about it.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

But even the best laid plans of mice and men often went awry.

The moment he spotted Yuuri from a distance, the moment Yuuri spotted him in return, it was like they were drawn together like magnets, drifting towards each other through the crowd. The smile spreading on Yuuri’s face as he approached Victor was brilliant, illuminating his entire face. Once they were within easy earshot of one another, he spread his arms.

“Vitya! I did great, right?”, he asked, at the same time as Victor said: “We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

“We need to talk.”

Yuuri felt himself deflate, a chill taking hold of him at Victor’s words, freezing his smile on his face.

“Vitya?”, he asked, letting his arms drop. “Did you not like it?”

The smile that crept onto Victor’s face was forced, almost pained.

“You… you danced beautifully. But we… we have to talk. About what happened.”

Dread rose in Yuuri’s chest, constricting his throat.

“What are you talking about?”, he whispered.

“What do you mean, what am I talking about?”, Victor echoed, his voice rising in volume and pitch, and Yuuri gave him a warning look.

Victor whined, looking around, and now he did sound pained.

“In private, Yuuri. Please.”

Yuuri shook his head, biting his lip hard. “I can’t, Vitya, not right now. I’m…”, he made a vague motion indicating the room and the people around them, several of whom were watching them intently, a couple even hovering nearby, probably waiting for their chance to congratulate him.

Victor followed his motion, taking in the other guests and the gala in full swing around them.

His sigh sounded so wounded that Yuuri wanted to gather him up in his arms, if he hadn’t been still rooted to the spot by fear and disappointment.

“Alright”, Victor said, and his voice took on a pleading tone. “But tonight, Yuuri, please. Promise me, tonight. When you’re done here, when you come home, we’ll talk?”

Yuuri swallowed around the lump in his throat. “It’ll be late when I get home”, he said, then, when he saw Victor’s expression, he added, “but if it’s that important to you… though really I don’t understand what there is to talk about.”

“Promise me”, Victor insisted.

“Fine”, Yuuri said, running an impatient hand through his hair. “I promise. Tonight, when I get home, we’ll talk.”

That seemed to placate Victor somewhat, and he nodded, licking his lips like he wanted to say something. But then he sighed again and took a step back. “I’ll let you go, then”, he said, “I’ll be around, if there’s anything you need.”

“I--okay. Thank you.”

Victor walked away, disappearing quickly in the crowd, and Yuuri barely had time to collect himself before he was approached by the next person, eager to express their admiration after this successful premiere.

The evening dragged on for too long.

More than ever, it was uncomfortable for Yuuri to listen to all these people praise him and compliment him for his beautiful performance as Basil.

He felt like he would have been able to soak up their words like a sponge just a little while ago, basking in the result of months and weeks of hard work, but all the joy and pride he had felt after his performance had seeped out of him with Victor’s words, and so every word of praise suddenly sounded bitter, sounded disingenuous.

Had something happened, Yuuri wondered while he was bowing and smiling and thanking automatically, to make Victor want to talk about what Yuuri could only assume was the situation with Director Cialdini? Had Victor talked to Cialdini perhaps, had there been some confrontation? Or had there been something wrong with Yuuri’s dancing? Victor’s praise, usually effusive and genuine, the easiest praise for Yuuri to believe, had been forced and hesitant today--perhaps his performance hadn’t been as good as it had felt to himself?

But then none of his fellow cast members had complained, quite the opposite; many of them had congratulated him on a great performance, first and foremost even the principal dancers Sara and Mila. Surely they wouldn’t just be coddling him--they had never hesitated before to let him know when his performance wasn’t up to par.

And even Director Cialdini himself, who hadn’t spared a single look for Yuuri where it wasn’t necessary for rehearsals--which Yuuri was nothing but thankful for--had given him a long, thoughtful look and a single nod after he had come off stage tonight.

Surely everyone’s assessment of his performance couldn’t be so far off?

Then what else had it been that had prompted Victor’s behaviour, that sad, hurt look in his eyes when he saw Yuuri?

The doubt sat itching and crawling under Yuuri’s skin like a colony of ants, stealing away his focus and driving him mad.

He found himself reaching for the champagne that was carried around the room on trays in order to calm his thoughts.

Then again, when one flute proved not to be enough, and again. And again.

Conversations were starting to come easier, then.

He tried to stick close to his fellow cast members, joking and giggling with them, still high on their successful premiere--and some on champagne, like Yuuri was. It was simpler to talk to them--they didn’t expect anything from him but to celebrate with them. They didn’t want anything more, or if they did, they didn’t ask, or if they did, they didn’t mind him saying no.

But he was still approached over and over by patrons and important members of the audience, wanting a piece of his time, a sliver of his attention.

Tonight he turned them all down, a little less diplomatic in his responses with his tongue loosened from the alcohol.

Finally he just grabbed Sara and swept her around the dance floor in order to escape them, to the cheers of Mila and several other dancers standing around.

It was a while before he spotted Victor leaning against a wall of the hall, nursing a drink and looking miserable. The gala was already starting to wind down, the crowd thinning as the mood among the remaining guests became more relaxed.

Victor seemed to be the only one not enjoying himself, which was something that Yuuri couldn’t bear to see, so it was a matter of course that he pulled Victor onto the dance floor as well.

“Come on, Vitya”, he said, “I feel like it’s been ages since we danced together!”

Victor was reluctant at first, mumbling excuses that Yuuri didn’t bother listening to, grabbing ahold of Victor’s left hand and setting his right onto his own shoulder before curling his own left hand around Victor’s waist.

“I know you know how it goes”, he said with a grin, and swept Victor off into a lively Viennese Waltz.

It took a little while for Victor’s stiff posture to relax, a little longer still until he let Yuuri’s smallest movements and pressure indicate his steps and let himself go into Yuuri’s lead, resting easily in his arms. They turned and twirled and spun, and Yuuri couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of him, even less when it coaxed a smile onto Victor’s lips as well.

Between the music and the movement and Victor’s warmth and familiar smell so close to him, Yuuri almost forgot about what had made him seek comfort in his cups in the first place.

He lost a little time between the dance and saying his goodbye and leaving the theatre, all with Victor steady by his side, and the next thing he was really aware of was that he sunk down onto an overstuffed chair in his sitting room, in his shirtsleeves suddenly and his necktie untied, being handed a cup of water by Victor.

“Drink”, Victor said, “clear your head. You’ll feel better.”

Yuuri didn’t think to question his words and grabbed ahold of the cup, draining it in long gulps. He felt parched.

“Thank you, Vitya”, he said, his voice a little uneven in his ears, while Victor filled up his cup again, “always taking care of me. You’re the best.”

„It‘s nothing“, Victor said, and then, more quietly, „I‘ve done nothing.“

„That‘s not true“, Yuuri said, gesturing emphatically with his cup, though he spilled some water over his trousers in the process, „Always looking after me. You‘re so good, Vitya. So good.“

Victor shook his head, a pained look on his face.

„I‘ve done nothing“, he repeated, „I didn‘t look after you. You got hurt and I couldn‘t protect you.“

„No, don‘t be sad.“ Yuuri got up on steady feet and walked towards Victor, reaching out to him. „It‘s okay. I‘m okay, see?“ He gestured vaguely to himself. „I‘m okay. Don‘t be sad, please.“

„You‘re not okay, though“, Victor said, though he accepted Yuuri‘s outstretched hand, „I know you‘re not, even if you say you are, and I don‘t know how to help you.“

Yuuri pursed his lips into a pout. „It‘s not a big deal. Don‘t be upset.“

Victor‘s expression morphed into one of incredulity.

„It‘s… not a big deal? How can you say that?“ His eyes were shining with unshed tears now, and it sent a stab of pain through Yuuri‘s chest. „He hurt you, Yuuri. He forced you. How can you say that it‘s not a big deal? Do you really value yourself so little?“

„That‘s not… what I meant. Obviously what Director Cialdini did was not okay.“

Victor shuddered at the mention of his name.

„Then what did you mean? How can you talk about these things so casually?“

„Just that… these things happen“, Yuuri said, voice calm, though his quiet only seemed to agitate Victor more.

„No“, he shouted almost, „these things don‘t happen. They‘re not supposed to happen!“

The words clenched painfully in Yuuri‘s stomach.

„Well, they happen to me!“

He wished he could take it back as soon as he said it, but now it was done. Victor went quiet, the tears now flowing over, shining on his cheeks.

„Yuuri?“

His voice was a fragile thing, a question in it that he didn‘t dare voice.

Yuuri suddenly felt very tired, and a lot less drunk than he would like to be.

„Yuuri, what do you mean by that?“, Victor asked, no more than a whisper.

„Just…“, Yuuri sighed, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. „Just that I‘m used to it.“

Victor‘s eyes widened, more tears crashing down his cheeks, and Yuuri wasn‘t sure if he wanted to turn away or rush towards him and embrace him.

„Did you really think“, he asked, trying to make his voice as kind as he could, „that this was the first time something like this happened to me?“

Endless seconds passed in silence, breathless, before Victor spoke again.

„How many times?“

Yuuri almost scoffed, but managed to disguise it as a sigh.

„Does it matter?“

„It matters!“ Victor‘s voice was rising in pitch now. „It matters how often I failed you.“

Yuuri frowned.

„You didn‘t fail me at all, Vitya. It‘s not your fault that these things happened.“

Victor made a wounded noise at the back of his throat.

„But it‘s my fault that I didn‘t notice a thing. I could have helped you.“

„You couldn‘t have. And anyway it wasn‘t your responsibility to.“

Victor swallowed, shaking his head.

„I don‘t get it. How can you talk about it like this? How are you so calm?“

Yuuri shrugged.

„I told you. I‘m used to it.“

„Well, you shouldn‘t be!“ Victor ran both hands through his hair, tearing at it. „This isn‘t the kind of thing someone should be used to.“

„You mean this isn‘t the kind of thing someone like you should be used to.“

That stopped Victor short, so Yuuri continued.

„But I‘m not like you. And as much as I appreciate your attempts to make me forget it, I never will be.“

„What are you talking about?“, Victor asked, slowly lowering his hands, „Not like me?“

Yuuri took a deep breath.

„Someone in your position“, he said, „cannot understand what it is like to be someone in my position. That‘s not your fault but that‘s how it is.“

He took a moment, licking his lips, to collect his words, before he continued.

„I am not in a position to casually reject people“, he said. „There are so many people I cannot afford to offend if I want to make a living in dance. Or even if I want to make any kind of decent living here in the city.“

„I don‘t understand“, Victor said. His voice sounded hollow.

„Do you really not? If a patron of the Academy whose money pays for scholarship students such as myself lets her hands wander while we dance, it is not for me to rebuke her. If a choreographer asks me to stay late to work on my stamina, it is not for me to refuse. If the director of my first ballet, who holds my career in the palm of his hand, suggests that we converse in my rooms instead of the library, it is, I have learnt, better for me not to say no. Does that help you understand?“

Victor stared at him, expression horrified, but he didn‘t say anything, so Yuuri went on, the words rushing out of him now.

„I don‘t have an important name or family to smooth my way. I don‘t have any money or position or power to make people respect me. All I have is my dancing. My… my body.“

Yuuri swallowed, kneading his hands in his lap.

„It turns out“, he whispered, „that‘s all they want anyway.“

„You have us.“

It was so quiet that Yuuri almost didn‘t hear, wasn‘t quite sure even what he‘d heard, but Victor didn‘t waste time in repeating himself.

„You have us! You are part of our family, and anyone who wants to hurt you should know that we will not accept that. We look after our own, and Yuuri, you are one of us. You should know that, too!“

He knelt down in front of Yuuri, peering up at him, pleading.

„You should have said something. You could have approached me or my father anytime, we would have helped you.“

Yuuri bit his tongue around the bitterness that was the Earl‘s reaction when Yuuri had approached him. He wasn‘t sure Victor would be able to take any more bad news tonight.

„What could you have done, Vitya?“, he asked instead, „You‘re barely older than me.“

„What does it matter? I‘m still a Nikiforov. If I told people to keep their hands off of you, they would.“

„And what would it have changed? It just would have made me a pariah. ‚Look at that pathetic Yuuri Katsuki. Needs to hide behind his friend. What a weakling.’“

„Stop!“, Victor snapped. „Yuuri, you‘re not weak for keeping yourself safe from abuse, no matter which way! Nobody deserves to have these things happening to them.“

„I‘m not saying I deserved it. I‘m saying it was unavoidable if I wanted any chance at a decent career. And I…“, Yuuri sighed, „I told you this once, remember? I made a choice. I decided that I would do this right, whatever it took. And this was what it took.“

Victor‘s eyebrows knitted as he thought back, and Yuuri could read on his face the moment he remembered their conversation in the studio back then. His eyes widened, mouth dropping open in horror.

„That‘s what that was about? But that was… that was years ago! You were just a kid then. That‘s how long this has been going on?“

Yuuri bit his lips, swallowing the fact that it had hardly been the first incident at the time.

„It wasn‘t all like… like Director Cialdini, it wasn‘t…“, he sighed. „He was… bad. But it wasn‘t always like that. They didn‘t all hurt me. Mostly it was just…“

He made a vague gesture at nothing.

„Mostly it was… what?“, Victor asked.

„You know“, Yuuri said with a shrug, though he wasn‘t really sure what he was trying to say himself.

„I don‘t know. Explain it to me“, Victor said, toneless.

„Mostly they…“, Yuuri gestured again, helpless. „You know, they didn‘t mean anything by it. They probably didn‘t even know I didn‘t want it. I just… let them. They didn‘t mean to—“

„Abuse you?“, Victor asked, „Take advantage?“

„Vitya.“

„No, don‘t you ‚Vitya‘ me. That‘s what they did, and I hate to hear you talking it down, as if it was your own fault, because it wasn‘t. You were a kid. What they did was wrong.“

„Not… not always. Not for most of it, actually. I‘m an adult now, you know. Even if you think I am still a child.“

Victor paused, taken aback.

„I don‘t think you‘re a child.“

„Well, you‘re treating me like one! Acting as if you have any idea of my experiences when you didn‘t even know a thing until half an hour ago.“

„Only because you didn‘t tell me!

„Oh, and suddenly you‘re an expert? It‘s not like you ever noticed what I was going through!“

Victor reeled back as if struck, stumbling to his feet.

„That‘s hardly fair! You know I would have done anything—anything to help you, if I had even the slightest clue. But how could I know if you didn‘t tell me? I thought we‘re supposed to be friends? I thought we told each other everything?“

„Hardly“, Yuuri scoffed. „It‘s not like you told me about you and Christophe.“

„That‘s not fair! I only didn‘t tell you about that because you seemed… uncomfortable… with the topic of…“ Victor trailed off and deflated, sinking back down onto the floor.

„God“, he whispered, „I really didn‘t notice a thing, did I?“

Yuuri swallowed, all anger draining out of him suddenly.

„It‘s okay“, he said, „I tried very hard to hide it. I didn‘t want anyone to know. I didn‘t want you to know.“

Victor looked up at him, his eyes wide and sad.

„Why not?“

Yuuri shrugged.

„I didn‘t want you to worry about me. I felt like… I didn‘t know how to talk about it. It seemed like something one doesn’t talk about.“

I didn‘t want to drag you into this, was what he didn‘t say. Into something so soiled. You‘re too good for this.

„You can talk to me about anything“, Victor insisted, as if he had heard Yuuri‘s thoughts. „I don‘t care about if it‘s proper. I don‘t care what other people would say. I want you to be able to trust me.“

Yuuri‘s chest ached.

„I trust you“, he said, „I do.“

„Then please…“, Victor reached out, taking ahold of Yuuri‘s hands when he didn‘t retract them. „Don‘t shut me out.“

Dipping his head in a nod, Yuuri squeezed Victor‘s hands in return. „I will try.“

There was plenty more to be said between them, plenty of questions still open, but they could both feel the lateness of the hour and the alcohol in their bloodstreams.

In the end Victor took his leave when Yuuri‘s eyelids were starting to droop, and a part of Yuuri briefly considered asking him to stay.

They had never really slept in the same room, even when they were younger, but some corner of Yuuri‘s being wished for Victor‘s company. Not for anything unsavoury, just to have another warm body next to him, someone he trusted close to him as he slept. And it was true; he trusted Victor completely. He knew Victor would never do anything to hurt him.

But still he let the moment pass, and Victor said good night, closing the door behind himself softly, almost hesitantly, leaving Yuuri in silence.

The next few weeks, Yuuri was too busy with On Love: Eros to sit down with Victor for any lengthy conversation. With morning rehearsals, afternoon and evening performances, he was already stretched thin enough.

Still Victor had countless questions, and didn‘t hesitate to ask them whenever the two of them got even a moment to themselves.

„Why did you agree to meet Cialdini again?“, he asked, and Yuuri could only shrug.

„I could hardly refuse. He could just throw me out of the production, there would be a dozen eager young dancers to take my spot. And I was already on thin ice after I screwed up my performance so much during rehearsals.“

He fiddled with his fork, pushing the lunch they were having around on his plate.

„After you suggested I invite him here… I thought there was no way he would try anything here. It would be way too risky.“ He swallowed around a lump in his throat.

„Turns out I was wrong… and right.“

„But what about your performance during the premiere?“, Victor enquired another time, when Yuuri returned home after another show.

„What about it?“, Yuuri asked back, easing himself to the floor of his sitting room next to Victor‘s chair to stretch out his muscles before bed.

„You know what I‘m talking about“, Victor said, „You‘ve read the reviews. You‘ve heard what people said. Something was different. It was about Cialdini, wasn‘t it?“

„It was nothing special“, Yuuri said, leaning forward to press his forehead against his knees, thankful that his position hid his face from Victor.

„That is not true. I‘ve never seen you dance like that. And I have seen you dance more than anyone, perhaps. There was… so much in it. So much emotion. So much pain.“

„You‘re exaggerating.“ Yuuri spread his legs to the side and leaned his elbows on the ground before him. „I was just embodying the story of Basil, that‘s all.“

There was a pang in his chest at the lie, especially since he had only just confirmed his trust in Victor a few days ago, but if there was one thing he couldn‘t let Victor into, it was this.

Despite Victor‘s suspicion, Yuuri knew his performance had had little to do with Cialdini. Instead, for reasons that he wasn‘t quite ready to examine, he was sure it was much more about Victor having been in the audience. Although he held on to the story of a heartbroken Basil afterwards because it worked, he knew that none of his performances since had had the same emotional impact.

He was still performing well, well enough most nights that no one had anything negative to say about it, including Cialdini. But Yuuri knew it wasn‘t quite the same without the knowledge that Victor was there, watching him.

Victor‘s voice was still sceptical.

„That wasn‘t the story we came up with for Basil, though. You changed it.“

“Not significantly”, Yuuri said, shifting his position into a forward split, carefully avoiding Victor’s eyes. “You said Basil needed to find a connection with Desiree. He did. His being miserable at the end of the play is a natural consequence of that. She’s not just a beautiful conquest to him anymore. She means something to him. But he cannot have her. She is forever beyond his reach. Of course he would be heartbroken.”

There was a moment’s silence before Victor spoke again.

“Is that how you feel, Yuuri? Heartbroken?”

“No”, Yuuri said, careful to keep his voice neutral, leaning slightly into the split. “Why would I?”

“Because you… you’ve been hurt.”

Yuuri looked up at that, looked up into Victor’s face, looking down at him with such open concern written on his features.

“But not in my heart”, he said, “Never in my heart.”

There was one question that was more difficult to handle than the others.

Yuuri could see Victor dancing around it for quite a while, could see it written on his face and could read it in the silent movement of his jaw sometimes.

A few times Victor’s mouth opened and Yuuri was sure now the question would come—but then he seemed to think better of it, closing his mouth again, turning away.

But Yuuri knew it would come eventually. He tried to brace himself for it, tried to prepare his answer for when it came, and yet he wasn’t ready when Victor called him over one day.

He had been watching as Yuuri practised in the studio, leaning against the wall, seemingly content with just watching Yuuri move. Yuuri was sure it must get boring, but Victor just waved him away whenever he assured him that he didn’t need to stay and watch. But for the last half hour or so, there had been that conflicted expression again on Victor’s face. Yuuri knew it well by now.

Still, it came as a surprise when Victor called for him.

Yuuri finished his movement before stopping, turning.

“What is it?”

Victor’s brow was furrowed.

“I was just—I wondered…”, he began, and trailed off. His eyebrows drew further down and he shook his head. “No”, he said, “Never mind, I…”

And Yuuri almost thought that that was it, as it had gone a handful of times before, Victor thinking better of the question haunting his mind.

But then, “No”, he said again, “I need to know. I need to… Yuuri, did my father ever put his hands on you?”

Yuuri had to hold back a sigh of relief at the phrasing of the question, making it so much more easy to stay truthful when he replied.

“No, Vitya. Your father has never touched me.”

Victor’s relief was almost tangible, only reaffirming Yuuri’s determination to keep everything else concerning the Earl to himself. There was no need for Victor to know that his father had knowingly accepted, if not even encouraged, Yuuri’s situation from at least the moment he was of age. Not now, anyway. It would only hurt him, and Yuuri knew that Victor was still struggling to work through all the things he had learnt about in the last couple of weeks. There was no need to add to his burden now.

And Victor seemed content, almost eager to leave it at that, only too happy to let go of a topic clearly uncomfortable for him.

Yuuri gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and returned to his choreography.

Chapter Text

When did it start?

This was another question that Victor kept confronting him with, and another question that kept bubbling up in Yuuri’s on mind. Now more than ever, now that Victor kept asking, now that he kept insisting that Yuuri’s life as he’d led it wasn’t normal, it was constantly at the forefront of his mind.

When did it start?

It was a question he refused to answer Victor, ostensibly because it didn’t matter. It was a question he failed to answer himself, because truthfully, he wasn’t sure.

Did it start when Cao Bin tried to force Yuuri’s hand down his trousers?

Did it start when the dance teacher who helped prepare Yuuri for the Academy pressed a little too close to Yuuri when he helped him stretch after practice, his groin lingering against Yuuri’s back or his hips?

Did it start when a woman he was leading over the dance floor ran a hand down his arm and told him how beautiful he was?

Did it start when some of his parents’ regular customers kept asking him to dance for them, trailing their eyes after his every movement?

He honestly couldn’t tell anymore, could no longer tell that which was innocent—if there even was such a thing—from that which carried ulterior motives, which was, to use Victor’s word, abusive.

To him, it was just the way his life was, just another one of the unpleasant aspects that the life of a dancer brought with it, along with the constant sorenesss, the mangled feet, the long hours, the petty rivalries.

In truth, it was difficult for him to understand Victor’s outrage, his distress, his talk of putting an end to it, as if there was such a thing.

To Yuuri’s mind, Victor might as well be distressed about the bruises dancing left on his body, and demand he stop getting them. They were a byproduct of what he did. They hurt, but they were unavoidable.

He would admit—had admitted—that Cialdini had been different. Cialdini had been violent in a way that most others hadn’t been. Not enough to leave Yuuri seriously hurt, but enough to deliberately cause him pain. He had seemed to take a certain delight in it, too, to the point that he seemed almost disappointed when Yuuri had stopped struggling and resigned himself to what was happening.

Cialdini had been one of only a handful of times when Yuuri had uttered an outright “no”, and the only time it had been simply ignored, rather than argued against or gently dismissed. It had felt different.

It had felt different to have his hands bound and be thrown onto his own bed, the place that felt safe like few other places did these days, the place that smelled like home in a way nowhere else did, and to have that place sullied, that smell soured with rank sweat, semen and blood. It felt like a violation. It felt like—

But Cialdini had been an exception, an outlier.

He had paid for his brazenness by being caught, beaten, threatened.

But the others hadn’t been like him.

That wasn’t to say that the others hadn’t been wrong. They had crossed lines the same as Cialdini, only they had crossed fewer of them.

Yuuri hadn’t wanted any of it, no more than he wanted to have bruises. But the difference was that between the bruises he got as a natural consequence of dancing as he lifted, spun and jumped, and those he would get if a fellow dancer were to maliciously trip him up to make him fall.

If it was up to him, he would rather not get any bruises at all. But there were those that were avoidable and those that weren’t.

If Victor insisted that all of them were avoidable and all of them should be avoided at all costs, then he simply didn’t understand how dancing worked.

On Love: Eros was set to run through the entire fall season, right up until the new year. It was a normal run for a show that was expected to do well, and Yuuri had been well prepared for it in the Academy. But still he found himself struggling a few weeks into the season.

He was sure it was just the stress of his schedule along with the tension between him and Victor and the tedium of seeing the same people day in and day out, doing the same thing day in and day out, but he was starting to dread rehearsals, not to mention performances.

It was exhausting standing on that stage every day and every night, performing the role of Basil; a role that, ever since Victor had asked about it, Yuuri couldn’t help but associating with Cialdini when before it had only made him think of Victor himself. Trying to dance a man desperately in love wasn’t exactly easy when all he could think of was the feeling of Cialdini’s hands on his skin, the sound of his voice grunting in his ear.

He wasn’t sure if it was affecting his performance; he was sure it must, though so far no one had said anything about it to him. But he felt like some of the dancers, especially Sara Crispino, had started giving him odd looks after rehearsals. He tried to double down and focus, but that only seemed to make it worse.

Is that how you feel?, Victor’s voice echoed in his mind, Heartbroken?

Cialdini, in the meantime, still treated him the same as he had ever since that day. He stayed away from Yuuri as much as he could, gave him brief and clinical critique on his performances, made sure to never touch him. This much at least he was grateful for, that he seemed to be taking Victor’s threat seriously. Yuuri wasn’t sure what he would have done if he hadn’t. If he would have been able to hide it from Victor. If he would have wanted to.

Yuuri was sure the tension between him and Cialdini must be obvious, but this, too, no one asked about, and Yuuri at least could detect neither repressed resentment nor fear from the director. He was being professional, and so Yuuri would, too.

Still, seeing him seemed to become more of a thorn over time, pushed a little deeper into his skin with every time, sticking there until there wasn’t time for it too heal in between, until it began to inflame and fester, pain radiating outward. After a while, the thought of going to rehearsals induced an almost physical revulsion in him, nausea clamping down his stomach, cold sweat covering his skin.

There was nothing for him to do about it. He had a job to do. He had to be a professional.

Just once he decided to try and skip a rehearsal, determined to claim a headache should anyone ask, but instead of dancing with the rest of the cast, he just sat buried in his room, in the bed that still felt soiled even after the sheets had been changed a dozen times, and he could think of nothing but Basil, Victor, Cialdini, bruises and blood.

Unable to stand the oppressive silence in the room and the loudness of his mind any longer, he caved. He arrived at rehearsals twenty minutes late with a stuttered apology on his lips, and when Cialdini gave him a clinical reproach for his tardiness, Yuuri wanted to retch.

And Cialdini didn’t remain the only problem. Unfortunately, all of Yuuri’s other bruises were just where they had been.

He still had to talk to admirers after the show, still had to go to certain society events that the Earl insisted he attend, eager, it seemed, on showing off Yuuri’s recent successes. Still there were too many people coming too close to him too soon, issuing demands for his time, his attention, his affection.

At least Victor had stopped inviting Yuuri to those parties that he and Christophe and the other young nobles threw, which Yuuri might have been worried about if it didn’t seem like Victor himself didn’t attend any parties anymore either. That was cause for concern in a whole other way: did Victor simply not want to go? Did he isolate himself because of the distress Yuuri could still clearly see in him? Or did he want to keep an eye on Yuuri?

Most likely it must be the latter—since suddenly Victor started appearing wherever Yuuri was, at the theatre after the show, at those parties of his father’s that he’d previously found so dreadfully boring, picking him up after rehearsals. Yuuri wasn’t sure what tasted more bitter to him: the thought that Victor didn’t trust him, or that Victor thought he needed protection.

Not so long ago, Yuuri would have been thrilled that Victor wanted to spend so much time with him. Now, however, it was like ashes on his tongue.

And then… after a few times it couldn’t be a coincidence that Victor always appeared to steal him or just had to congratulate him whenever someone was getting a little too close for comfort. On the one hand, it was a relief that he found himself backed into a corner less often, but on the other it felt more than a little patronising.

It wasn’t like Yuuri couldn’t look after himself. He knew how to keep himself safe, and he knew how to talk himself out of these situations, and he did so now more than ever. Ever since Cialdini, he hadn’t really been able to stomach the thought of having to go with anyone, and so he had made use of his entire repertoire to gently reject or at least temporarily put off anyone who demanded more than Yuuri felt he could give, claiming the strain of his schedule and the demands of the show. He knew that all those he put off would come back eventually to collect what they felt they were owed, but that was a bridge he would cross when he got to it.

But for Victor to step in the way he did, sometimes in completely innocuous situations, too, since he clearly couldn’t tell the difference, it was beginning to grate on Yuuri’s nerves.

He knew it was only a matter of time until he snapped.

“There you are, Yuuri! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Victor hooked his arm through Yuuri’s, a wide, affected smile on his face as he turned toward Yuuri’s conversation partner.

“Would you excuse us if I steal him for a minute? My father sent me to fetch him, but I’m sure he’ll be back in no time.”

“Oh”, the young woman who had been talking to Yuuri said, blinking at him somewhat wide-eyed. “Of course! Please don’t let me keep you. We can talk more later, Yuuri!”

Victor tried not to bristle at the overly familiar address, but was surprised out of his annoyance when Yuuri firmly detached himself from Victor’s grip.

“I’m sure your father can wait, Vitya”, he said, a sharp edge to the friendliness in his voice, “don’t you think?”

“Are you sure?”, Victor asked, trying not to cast too meaningful a glance at the woman who was standing a little too close to Yuuri for Victor’s tastes. “Shouldn’t we at least find out what it is he wants?”

Yuuri shot him a look that seemed to be annoyed, though Victor couldn’t quite understand why.

“I’m talking to my friend right now, Vitya”, he said, “This is Yuuko. She studied at the Academy with me.”

“Oh.” Victor felt some of the tension draining out of him as he first took a closer look at the woman in question. She was indeed around their age, with a friendly, open face and a dancer’s posture. She was also wearing a wedding band, though Victor knew that this need not mean anything.

“Yuuko”, Yuuri continued, “This ridiculous man is Victor Nikiforov.”

The epithet was lacking the softening edge of affection it might otherwise have had, but still Victor forced another smile and held out his hand to shake.

“My pleasure”, he said.

Yuuko took his hand with a wide, sparkling beam, shaking it firmly. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”, she said, “Yuuri talks about you so much, it feels almost like I know you already!”

“Yuuko!” A blush was rising on Yuuri’s face, though he still looked annoyed. “She’s exaggerating”, he said to Victor. “I’ve just mentioned you sometimes.”

“Only good things, I hope?”, Victor asked, trying to keep his voice light.

“Oh, of course!”, Yuuko chirped. “What else, when your family has so generously taken him in and taken care of him. He speaks of the Nikiforovs in the highest tones only.”

Victor shot Yuuri a surprised glance. It seemed this woman really knew him, then, if he spoke to her so openly.

“I’m glad to hear it”, he said, “He’s been a delightful addition to our small household, I have to say.”

“I’m sure of it!” Yuuko grinned. “He’s really the sweetest, our Yuuri, isn’t he? I could never spend enough time with him when we were at the Academy.” At this, she reached out and gently squeezed Yuuri’s shoulder, and Victor had to hold himself back from pulling him a step back, out of her grasp.

“Please, Yuuko”, Yuuri said, the colour still high on his cheeks, “You spent every free minute with Takeshi, don’t act like you didn’t.”

She shrugged, unapologetic. “Only when you were with that git Bin, excuse my French. And you know you were always invited to sit with us, I told you this!”

Yuuri scoffed. “Yeah, like I was going to interrupt your couple time”, he mumbled, but he seemed chastised.

Judging by his reaction, then, and her blush, too, Takeshi was the counterpart to that ring on Yuuko’s hand.

“You wouldn’t have interrupted”, she insisted, “Takeshi likes you too, you know?”

Yuuri ducked his head with a sheepish shrug, looking unconvinced, and Yuuko shook her head with a fond smile.

“Oh, Yuuri”, she said, and reached out her hand, to pat his head or ruffle his hair or pull him into a one-armed hug, Victor wasn’t sure.

All he knew was that his hand moved of its own accord, grabbing Yuuko’s wrist and stopping her before she touched Yuuri.

For a few seconds, there was a stunned silence.

“Victor!”, Yuuri said, and there was nothing hidden about the sharpness in his voice now.

Victor let go of Yuuko. His grip hadn’t been hard, just enough to stop her movement, but still she pulled her arm back, wide-eyed, as if she had been burned.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, I—”, Victor stammered, but Yuuri interrupted him.

“Please excuse us for a moment, Yuuko.” There was none of the levity that had been in Victor’s voice when he had asked the same earlier. Yuuri grabbed ahold of Victor’s arm, pulling him along through the crowds towards the edge of the room.

Victor tried to get out another apology, but Yuuri just shook his head, passing by the doors to the neighbouring rooms, until he found one that was empty and pulled Victor inside, closing the door behind them.

“You need to stop doing this, Victor”, he snapped without preamble.

Victor, still catching his breath, blinked at him.

“Doing what?”, he asked.

“This! All of this!”, Yuuri said with an encompassing motion of his arm. “You need to stop harassing my friends because you think they’re some kind of threat to me! You need to stop getting involved in things that you don’t understand. Just—stop!”

“I’m—sorry for just now.” Victor stumbled over his words in his hurry to explain. “I wasn’t thinking, I just saw her reaching for you and…”

“So what? What did you think she was going to do? She’s my friend! What is she going to think now?”

“I know, I know. I was out of line.”

“You’ve been out of line, Victor. This… this was something else altogether.”

“What are you talking about?”, Victor asked, running both hands through his hair. He felt like the conversation was rapidly running away from him.

“I’m talking about the last few weeks!”, Yuuri said, “The way you keep acting like I need you to save me!”

Victor stared at him.

“That’s not… that’s not what I think.”

“Well, that’s how you act!” Yuuri was almost shouting now. Victor didn’t think he’d ever seen him this upset. “How many times have you interrupted my conversations the last couple of weeks? How many times? No matter who I’m talking to, no matter what they want from me, no matter if I enjoy talking to them or not—there you are!”

Victor shook his head, and he could feel the rest of him shaking, too.

“That’s not what I was trying to do. I just—”

“Oh, you weren’t? You weren’t trying to save helpless little Yuuri who can’t save himself? Don’t patronise me, Victor, I am not a child.”

Frustration bubbled up within Victor, rapidly boiling over before he could stop himself.

“Well then, do something! Don’t just let it happen, don’t just let people treat you like dirt! You deserve better than that, and if you won’t look after yourself, then I’ll just have to do it for you, won’t I?”

For a moment, Yuuri went deadly silent, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Victor. “How dare you”, he hissed, before his voice rose again, “How dare you judge me for the choices I make? What do you know about it?” Burying one hand in his shirt, he tore at the fabric in emphasis. “I have kept myself safe. I have done what I needed to do to keep my body and mind intact, to keep my career afloat, and you have no right—no right!—to judge me. Not when you have no idea what it’s taken out of me.” Yuuri’’s voice was breaking now, tears rising in his eyes and rapidly spilling over his cheeks. “I did what I had to do to keep myself safe”, he repeated, “I kept myself safe!”

Victor flinched at the sight of Yuuri’s tears, suddenly uncertain at what to do. It wasn’t until now that he realised how rare such open displays of emotion from Yuuri had become in recent years, how muted he’d become, after he’d been a child with such intensity of feeling. Victor had no idea anymore how to deal with it.

“I’m not judging you, Yuuri, for God’s sake”, he said, his own voice trembling though he tried to keep it steady. “I just—I can’t bear it. I can’t bear seeing you get hurt and I can’t bear doing nothing, I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“Well, it’s not for you to do anything about it! It’s not your business!”

Victor made a frustrated sound, tearing at his hair. “It is, though! You can’t tell me this has nothing to do with me!”

“Oh yeah? And why not? It’s my life!”

“Because I—”

Victor stopped short.

Because I love you.

It wasn’t until the words almost tumbled out of him that he realised the truth in them. He’d never thought about it in those terms before, but he knew at once that was what it was. He loved Yuuri. Yuuri who was not a brother to him and not a friend, and yet someone more dear to him than anyone else. The reason why all of this seemed to hurt him more than it did Yuuri, the reason why seeing Yuuri in pain was unbearable to him like nothing else he’d ever experienced.

Love.

He couldn’t say it, not now, not like this.

“Because I care about you”, he said in the end, trying to impart in the words just how important this was to him, “I do this because I care about you.”

“I know that!”, Yuuri snapped, “But I didn’t ask you to do it!”

“Then what do you expect me to do? Because I can’t stand off to the side and just watch people take advantage of you. It’s too hard. So what am I supposed to do?”

Yuuri huffed in frustration, tears still glittering on his cheeks. “You don’t have to do anything! Just believe that I can get through this. Trust that I know what I’m doing. Just stay by my side!”

“Oh.” All fight drained out of Victor with that, all the tension leaving him at once, leaving him suddenly exhausted. A long silence fell between them, Yuuri’s words hanging in the suddenly still air. The only sound in the room, beyond the muffled voices filtering in from the party beyond, was Yuuri’s hitched breaths as he cried quietly.

“Yuuri…”, Victor whispered, licking his lips searching for something to say. “I’m sorry if I gave you the feeling that I don’t believe in you. No—I’m sorry that I didn’t believe in you, because I don’t think I did. But you’re right. I should trust you. Trust you the way you trust me. I’m sorry.”

Yuuri nodded quietly, swallowing a sniff and wiping the tears off of his face.

Victor sighed, his heart hurting at seeing Yuuri like this, dissolved in tears, because of him.

“Yuuri”, he murmured, taking a step forward, trying to bridge the chasm between them. “It’s okay if you say no, of course, but may I please hug you?”

Yuuri hesitated for a second before he nodded, and Victor closed the distance to him with a few more steps, and enveloped Yuuri in his arms.

Yuuri did not stiffen in his embrace, but rather leaned into him, burying his face in the crook of Victor’s neck. Victor pulled him a little closer still, feeling the trembling still running through Yuuri’s frame.

“I just want you to be okay”, he whispered into the quiet.

“I know”, Yuuri murmured back against his skin, “I know. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

Chapter Text

After they had both composed themselves, Victor and Yuuri ventured back into the hall.

They found Yuuko again and Victor apologised once more, properly. Yuuri, too, made his apologies, citing Victor’s overprotectiveness, which Yuuri acknowledged with a twinkle in her eyes that made him worry.

Still, he hoped she understood—and yet, perhaps not. She was a dancer too, after all, from a good family, but not noble. And someone as pretty as her surely had to field even more advances than someone as average as Yuuri. At the same time, she had been engaged by the time she left the Academy, and was married now, so perhaps she had been spared the worst of it.

In any case, she took it in good humour, and waved their apologies away, seemingly much more interested in talking to Victor.

And after a few minutes of awkward tension, the two of them seemed to get along swimmingly, laughing and whispering together, more reason for Yuuri to worry.

Still it was worlds better than the veiled hostility that had been radiating off Victor before, so Yuuri figured he oughtn’t complain.

The evening ended with a firm promise from Victor to invite Yuuko to tea sometime, and Victor and Yuuri heading home together, which was one of the best outcomes Yuuri could have hoped for.

They didn’t speak about what had happened again that night, but at Victor’s careful insistence over the next couple of weeks, they decided it might be helpful to have some kind of signal that Yuuri could use in case he ever did need help getting out of a sticky situation.

He still wasn’t sure Victor’s worry was entirely warranted, but in order to placate him, he assented. After all, there couldn’t be any harm in it.

They finally settled on a signal using Yuuri’s hair: if he drew his braid over his left shoulder, he needed help. If he drew it over his right, he could handle it, but Victor would keep an eye on him. If he didn’t touch his braid at all, the person he was talking to was harmless.

It was simple enough, and innocuous enough that no one should suspect anything if they saw it.

And it worked out well for a while. Victor continued to attend the same events as Yuuri, or as many as he could get away with. The Earl gave Victor fairly free reign; as long as he continued to attend society events, ostensibly to find a nice, suitable spouse, he didn’t much care which events these were. But there were some galas and soirees that even a Nikiforov couldn’t just walk into simply because he wanted to. But these were few and far between, so most evenings Victor was secure in the knowledge that Yuuri wasn’t far from him, and would ask for his help anytime he needed it.

Which was fewer times than Victor had anticipated. This shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did; after all, Yuuri had assured him that he could handle himself, keep himself safe, a fact that Victor couldn’t quite trust at first.

Trust.

That was what it came down to again: at the beginning, Victor even worried Yuuri might not use the signal even when he needed it, because he didn’t want to burden or worry Victor. It took him a while, a couple of false alarms and more fights with Yuuri until he learnt to trust that Yuuri knew what he was doing.

When Yuuri did pull his braid over his left shoulder, when someone did get too friendly and refused to be gotten rid of, they tried to keep Victor’s interventions low key. He would pull Yuuri out of the conversation the way he had before, by claiming he was needed elsewhere or asking to steal him away to dance, or sometimes he would simply join in the conversation.

It was amazing and at the same time nauseating how his mere presence was at times enough to deter any inappropriate conversation that may have taken place, swerving smoothly toward more acceptable topics. There were others, too, though; those who kept making advances regardless of Victor’s presence, advances whose nature could sometimes make him feel sick to his stomach in their deviousness or their gross explicitness. There were those who felt their status put them beyond reproach even by someone like Victor, those who simply didn’t care who witnessed their would-be conquests or even took pride in having an audience for their little plays, those who didn’t know who Victor was and thus gave him the same disregard as they did Yuuri.

Thanks to some of the latter, Victor was himself at the receiving end of a few sleazier advances, giving him first hand experience that he would have rather done without. He learnt how it could paralyse you, how difficult it could be to find any words at all, let alone a firm no. How any refusal or excuse would be disregarded, how he would be talked over, his personal space invaded. How even the most innocent touch turned putrid, how it left you feeling soiled and ashamed afterwards, even when you had done nothing wrong but stay polite but firm in your refusal.

In these moments, Victor was more than thankful that he and Yuuri had one another to hold firm to. He was more than thankful for Yuuri’s experience in dealing with these very situations, the ready excuses and comebacks on his tongue. Victor considered himself to be a very confident man, someone who was never at a loss for words. But to be looked at like that, like prey, like something to be hunted, it took the words clean out of his head, and he would not be caught again with the thought that something like what had happened to Yuuri wouldn’t have happened to a more self-assured person.

He had demanded of Yuuri that he stand up for himself, but he had not really known what he was asking.

He knew now, and there was an apology constantly at the tip of his tongue when he was with Yuuri.

And there was something else, something like a confession, right beside it.

Victor had not forgotten the realisation he’d had during his fight with Yuuri, quite the opposite; it had been constantly on his mind ever since. And the more he thought about it, the more the certainty condensed in his mind.

He loved Yuuri.

It had snuck up on him so, he couldn’t possibly say when it had started, but there it was now, burning in his gut and swirling in his chest like a maelstrom, making him dizzy whenever he was around Yuuri.

He loved seeing Yuuri move, the way he made each step so entirely his own, creating music with his body where there had previously been nothing but silence.

He loved hearing Yuuri talk, the way his mind worked, his thoughts tangled and torn and twisted and so beautiful.

He loved feeling Yuuri’s skin, the way his fingertips tingled, his heart lurched with every hug, every dance, every casual touch.

He didn’t know what to do about it.

He couldn’t tell Yuuri—not unless he was absolutely certain that Yuuri felt the same way. He would not risk the chance, however small, that Yuuri would feel pressured by Victor’s status, by his relationship to Victor’s family, to do anything at all that he didn’t genuinely feel. He wanted to trust in Yuuri’s honesty, wanted to believe that Yuuri trusted him in turn enough to be open about his feelings either way. But the thought of there being anything but genuine affection between them was abhorrent to him when Yuuri was so precious to Victor. He couldn’t risk what they had.

No, if there was to be anything between them, the first step would have to come from Yuuri.

Did he believe that Yuuri felt the same way?

Sometimes he did. Yuuri was so open with him, so comfortable, casual and honest and unguarded in a way that Victor had never seen him with another, even more so now that everything—almost everything—between them was out in the open. Yuuri searched out his touch and his affection like that of no other. He spent as much time with Victor as he did with no one else, and yet never seemed to tire of it.

But at the same time, perhaps he really thought of Victor as his brother. After all, they had grown up in the same household, had spent their formative years together. Perhaps the reason why Yuuri felt so comfortable around him was that he saw their relationship as a familial one.

Victor didn’t know. He never heard Yuuri say anything about romantic feelings or relationships, not toward him nor anyone else. Perhaps that was something he simply wasn’t interested in. Victor had gathered from a few remarks here or there that Yuuri had had a few physical relationships in the past that had been consensual, in between all of his terrible experiences, but he never spoke of them with any kind of attachment. Whether this was because he didn’t feel any, or simply didn’t talk about it, Victor couldn’t possibly know.

Perhaps it was just that with everything else going on in his life, Yuuri didn’t exactly have the peace of mind to consider romantic feelings and relationships, or perhaps the topic had been soured for him due to his experiences.

Whatever the case was, there was nothing for Victor to do but to wait and hope that Yuuri might some day return his feelings.

And what would he do then?

Victor tried not to think further than this, because the thought of one day getting to call Yuuri his filled him with such joyous anticipation that he did not want to consider that there could be no future for them.

Victor was expected to marry, and no matter how much his father liked Yuuri, no matter how much he had supported him and shown him kindness and generosity, there was no way he would accept Yuuri as his son-in-law.

Not when he was the child of innkeepers from the province, not when he had no title or land to his name, not when he was a dancer.

Victor knew, if he was asked at any of the many gatherings he had been attending since they had taken Yuuri into their home, the Earl would speak of ballet dancers and the profession of dance only in the highest tones, admiring their grace, their work ethic, their beauty, their skill. But still Victor was sure, if it came down to letting one marry into his family, his view would be quite different.

And while the Earl had given Victor leave to marry for love, Victor knew there was a limit even to this.

What was there to do for Victor except to focus on keeping Yuuri safe and happy? It was the first thing on his mind; he wouldn’t stand for Yuuri getting hurt any more.

But then came the day that Yuuri made a mistake.

At least that was what he claimed it was afterwards, and perhaps Victor should have believed him. Perhaps then he could have remained in this state of obliviousness a little longer.

The season was ending and as the holidays approached, so did a whole host of parties and celebrations. It was at one of these that Victor was catching up with Chris, whom he hadn’t seen in a while, chatting lightly even as he kept half an eye on Yuuri who made his way around the room.

Christophe was just regaling him with tales of his newest conquest, a choreographer at the ballet who had gotten him into this very soiree, when Victor saw his father approaching Yuuri. The latter was standing by the drinks table, picking up another glass of champagne after he had finished the one he had been nursing all night, when the Earl approached him with a small grin and a jovial clap on the back, to which Yuuri ducked his head and gave him a smile, the usual greeting between the two. Victor was just about to turn his full attention back toward Chris, secure in the knowledge that he was leaving Yuuri in the safe hands of his father, when he saw it.

With his free hand Yuuri reached up, scratching at the back of his head, a common nervous gesture for him, before twisting his braid around his fingers and drawing it over his right shoulder.

It was an absent-minded gesture, so natural looking that Victor almost didn’t pay it any mind—until he realised its meaning.

Victor froze.

He felt his eyes widen and his chest squeeze tight, but he couldn’t move, just kept staring at the place where Yuuri’s dark hair was draped elegantly over his shoulder.

“Victor? Mon ami, where did you drift off to?”

Victor blinked when he was jostled slightly as Chris bumped shoulders with him, shaking his head to tear himself out of his shock.

“My apologies”, Victor said automatically, though he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from Yuuri, from his father leaning close to murmur something to Yuuri before ushering him toward a group of his acquaintances, introducing Yuuri to them, by the looks of it.

Chris followed his gaze.

“Oh”, he said, and Victor could hear the smirk in his voice, “That’s where you are. I see.”

Chris hummed in a way that let Victor know he had just given Yuuri a leisurely once-over.

“Well? Have you bedded your little dancer yet?”

Victor shot him a sharp glare. “I told you before not to speak of him like that”, he said, voice tight.

Chris’s eyebrows rose. “Oh my… you do have it bad, don’t you?”

Victor clenched his teeth against a protest that wouldn’t come, and Chris sucked in a sharp breath beside him.

“You do. Oh, you really like him. Now that’s interesting.”

Victor folded his arms before his chest. “I don’t see why.”

“Well, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you genuinely interested in anyone, beyond the physical, I mean. Or is he perhaps the reason why? How long exactly have you been pining for him?”

Victor could feel the heat rising into his cheeks. “I’m not pining.”

“You are not? Have you really thrown in your lot together, then? Your father must be thrilled.”

“No”, Victor protested weakly, “nothing of the sort.”

“So you’re in denial, then.” Chris’s grin was growing wider by the second.

“Chris.” Victor had aimed for a sharp tone, but it came out mostly tired.

The Earl chose that exact moment to put his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, and Victor could see how Yuuri stiffened under his touch. It took all of Victor’s self-control to not march over there and pull Yuuri away right this moment, but he would not cause another scene the way he had with Yuuko. After all, Yuuri’s signal had said that he could handle it, and Victor had to trust that.

It was a relief when Yuuri was finally let go and allowed to mingle again with the rest of the guests. It was even more of a relief when Yuuri chose to join Victor and Chris in their corner, even if it prompted Chris to make all kinds of suggestive comments, though they rolled off Yuuri like water off a duck’s back. But the biggest relief was when they finally left the party and headed back to the house, though Victor had to white-knuckle his way through a carriage ride with Yuuri and his father in close quarters, listening to his father make idle conversation about the other attendees and ask like it was the most natural thing if Victor and Chris were courting.

Victor almost choked on his scoff.

“No, father. We are just friends. You know this.”

The Earl shrugged. “You seemed very chummy today. I thought perhaps there was something more going on.”

“There is not”, Victor bit out.

“Alright, no needs to get defensive.” His father lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s not like I would mind, you know. The Giacomettis are a decent family.”

“Because that’s all that matters”, Victor muttered between gritted teeth.

The Earl sighed. “Not all that matters, but it matters. Of course it does. What is with you tonight? Did I say something wrong?”

He cast a questioning look at Yuuri, who just pulled up his shoulders, uncertain.

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

Victor could feel their doubtful glances on him throughout the rest of the carriage ride, but they didn’t say anything else.

As soon as they reached the house and the Earl had wished them a good night, Victor ushered Yuuri up the stairs and into his sitting room.

“You lied to me!”, he said, his voice a harsh whisper, and Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“About what?”, he asked, backing away slightly from Victor’s intense stare, and Victor didn’t even have the mind to consider if there was more that Yuuri had lied to him about.

“My father!”, he hissed. “You said he never touched you!”

“I—”, Yuuri hesitated just a moment too long. “What would give you that idea?”

“I’m not stupid, Yuuri, I saw you! You drew your hair over your shoulder when you talked to him. Maybe you weren’t aware that you did it, but you did! You’re not comfortable around him.”

Yuuri laughed nervously. “I’m not comfortable around many people, Vitya. That doesn’t mean he did anything. It was just a mistake, I wasn’t thinking.”

Victor shook his head. “Tell me the truth, Yuuri. Did he ever touch you, yes or no?”

“No. No! He didn’t, I mean, not in any way that was inappropriate. I didn’t lie to you.”

There was something about the way he said it. Victor narrowed his eyes.

“But there’s something you’re not telling me.”

It was not a question.

Again Yuuri hesitated, a long few moments this time, only confirming Victor’s suspicions.

“What is it, Yuuri? You have to tell me.”

Yuuri swallowed, chewing up his words into silence.

“I have a right to know”, Victor said, taking a deep breath to try and keep his calm. “This is my father we’re talking about.”

When Yuuri finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, hardly more than a whisper.

“It’s nothing, just… I once asked him for advice, for help, really… when I got my first roles. When people started approaching me.”

Victor’s blood ran cold. “And what did he tell you?”, he asked, toneless.

“He said… essentially he told me to just—just take it. Even when I told him I didn’t want it he—… he…”, Yuuri trailed off, nervously licking his lips, and Victor felt himself shaking.

“What? What did he do?”

Yuuri pulled his head down between his shoulders. “He said I should just enjoy it.”

Clenching his fists at his sides, Victor bodily suppressed a shiver.

„How old were you?“, he asked, voice flat.

„Vitya, what does it matter? It—“

„It matters!“, Victor almost shouted, noticing the way Yuuri flinched back but unable to control the anger rising in him. „Yuuri, he was your guardian before you came of age! He was legally responsible to take care of you! You came to him for help and he told you, what? To just lie down and take it? What kind of father does that?“

With a tired sigh, Yuuri ran his hand down his face.

„Well, he‘s not my father, is he?“

„No, but he‘s mine!“, Victor hissed. „I can‘t—I can‘t believe he would treat you like that! I thought he cared about you! Didn‘t he always say you were part of our family?“

Yuuri just shrugged weakly, clearly unable to give any explanation for the Earl‘s behaviour.

Victor swallowed, a hard lump sitting at the bottom of his throat.

„Is there more?“, he asked, a tense whisper once more.

The way Yuuri stayed quiet was answer enough.

„Tell me.“

Licking his lips nervously, Yuuri wrung his hands before his body.

„Just...“, he hesitated, „Just that... there‘s been several times... I mean, he never said anything himself, but he’d be there when other people did. When they were h... harassing me. Or pressuring me. He never told them off. A few times he even encouraged it. Encouraged me, that is. To...“, he shook his head, trailing off, though his meaning was clear enough.

Victor felt the anger boiling cold and hot in his stomach, making him nauseous.

„What did he say?“, he asked.

„Vitya, please.“

Seeing Yuuri’s expression, the tears beading in his eyes, Victor tried to soften his voice.

„You don‘t have to tell me all of it. Just give me an example. I need to know. Please, I need to...“

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri blinked away his tears, swallowing them down.

„I don‘t know, I guess... this one time where was this older lady. She kept... you know, commenting on—my body. How handsome I was. You know how it goes.“

Victor did—by now he had witnessed the process more than often enough.

„Then she touched my cheek and said... you know, something like how lucky she‘d feel to have the pleasure of the company of a young man like me. How it would make her feel years younger.“ Yuuri shook his head. „I told her I was flattered, acted up the shyness. Sometimes that‘s enough. For the ones who have any kind of shame, if they can see that I‘m uncomfortable. But not her. She just asked if I would—if I would really deny a lady her wish. I didn‘t know what to say. I looked at the Earl, hoping he would give me an out. But he just raised his eyebrows at me. Like he was expecting something. Like he was waiting for my reply.“

Victor let out a shuddering breath.

„So you went with her.“

„Eventually. I tried... ah, you know. I couldn’t possibly, I’m sure you could find better company, and my practice in the morning.... She wouldn’t buy any of it.“

Yuuri let out a bitter laugh.

„When she stepped away for a moment, the Earl took me aside and congratulated me on a wise choice. That she had had quite the reputation in her days and that I was sure to enjoy myself. I didn’t... I didn’t even know what to say. It was so bizarre.“

“I don't believe this.”

Victor‘s hands were starting to hurt with how hard he had clenched them. Anger was burning in his throat.

“We need to get you out of this house.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, breath hitching in his throat.

“Vitya?”, he asked, “You don’t mean that.”

Victor shook his head.

“I know you might not want to hear this, but it’s for the best.”

“No, Vitya, I’m sorry, I won’t—”

Victor blew out a harsh breath, interrupting him. “Stop apologising, Yuuri, god. I can’t—” He ran a hand over his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Just… don’t.”

There was a wounded noise coming from Yuuri, still pressed against the wall of the sitting room.

“Please, just let me—… I promise, I won’t ever mention it again.” Yuuri’s breath was coming in harsh pants now, but Victor barely registered it, his mind still reeling with rage.

“It’s no good”, he said, “As long as you’re here it’ll never get any better.”

A sob escaped Yuuri, and he sank down to his knees, back pressed to the wall. “I’ll never mention it again. Please don’t send me away.”

Only now did Victor take a moment to look at Yuuri through his blinding anger. Saw his eyes glistening with tears, his laboured breaths.

“Yuuri? Not mention it again? What are you talking about?”

Yuuri shook his head frantically. “I won’t tell anyone about it, I promise, I’m sorry.”

Concerned, Victor took a step closer to him. “Don’t apologise, please. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault!”

But Yuuri didn’t seem to hear him at all, just kept babbling apologies in between wheezing breaths.

“Yuuri!”, Victor said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the constant stream of words, “I’m not upset with you, do you hear me? I’m upset about what you told me but it’s not your fault.”

Yuuri didn’t react except to bury his head between his knees, and frantic worry grabbed ahold of Victor’s heart. He’d never seen Yuuri like this, so unsteady.

“Listen to me, please”, he begged, and reached out to touch Yuuri’s shoulder, hoping to ground him, but Yuuri flinched back violently.

“Don’t touch me!” It was almost a shriek, as Yuuri’s head shot up and he scrambled away from Victor along the wall, eyes wide with panic.

Victor retracted his hand as if burned, sucking in a sharp breath, feeling suddenly seized with guilt, although Yuuri had never shown any sign of minding his touch before.

“I’m sorry”, Victor rushed to say, lifting both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I didn’t mean to… I won’t!”

But Yuuri clearly wasn’t listening, still gasping for breath as he stumbled to his feet and towards the door. He was halfway down the hall before Victor could even react, calling after him as he hurried to follow.

“Yuuri! Wait, where are you going?”

He could hear him running down the stairs as Victor scrambled after him, and had thrown open the doors and disappeared into the icy night before Victor was halfway down the staircase.

“Yuuri!”, he called after him once more, but it was futile.

Victor was left standing on the last steps, staring after Yuuri into the darkness, wide-eyed and unsure of what had just happened.

“What is going on here?”

The sound of his father’s voice made him freeze in terror and revulsion, though there was nothing in it but genuine concern as the Earl opened the door to the smoking room, letting the smell of cigars out into the entrance hall.

“Why’s the door open? It’s going to be ice cold in here.”

His father’s eyebrows were drawn down in a frown as he looked at Victor, but he didn’t look angry, or sly or devious or any of the things Victor half expected to see in his face now, now that he knew.

“It’s Yuuri”, he said, the words tumbling out of him before he could stop himself. Too natural to him the instinct to confide in his father. “We had an… argument, and he was upset and he ran off.”

“Now?” The Earl’s expression darkened further. “It’s the middle of the night, and it’s freezing out there!”

Victor nodded, swallowing hard. “He didn’t take his coat or anything. He’ll catch his death.”

His father gave a brisk nod, closing the door to the smoking room behind him and walking toward the coat room.

“I’ll go after him. I’ll find him.”

“No!”

The shout surprised Victor himself in its harshness, making his father stop short, eyebrows raised.

“I—”, Victor hesitated, thinking quickly. “I should go myself. It’s my fault he ran off. I have to apologise.”

The Earl shook his head. “No, you should stay here, in case he comes back. Besides, if you fought he might not want to see you right now. It might just upset him further to have you go after him.”

He seemed to see the doubt on Victor’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he’s safe.”

Just like you’ve kept him safe so far? It was all Victor could do not to shout the accusation in his face. He didn’t want his father anywhere near Yuuri, but they couldn’t have this discussion right now. Not until Victor knew that Yuuri was okay. But there was nothing he could say against his father’s arguments, not without sounding suspicious. And his father was already pulling on his coat and hat, heading toward the door, Victor staring after him helplessly.

Looking back, he seemed to misinterpret Victor’s expression. “Wait here, and don’t worry too much”, he repeated. “I’ll find him.”

That’s exactly what I’m worried about, Victor thought, as he watched his father disappear into the night.

Chapter Text

When Yuuri came to, everything hurt.

The first thing he felt was a pounding pain in his head, which slowly seeped out into every corner of his limbs, down into the tips of his fingers.

It was like the soreness after a long training session, but more intense, infusing all of his muscles with acidic heaviness.

His eyes were still closed, but he could hear sounds around him, unidentifiable, yet shrill and grating. Smells, too, sharp and pungent, making him want to recoil and bury himself in his bedding.

Bedding—yes, he was lying in a bed, he could feel the sheets against his skin, rough and smooth all at once.

This was not his usual bed in the Nikiforovs‘ house, that much he could say for certain.

He opened his eyes and closed them firmly again right away, the brightness of day biting into his pupils with a sharp glare.

He groaned.

"Yuuri! You‘re awake!“

It was not the voice he had half expected to hear, not the voice he always hoped to hear these days, wherever he went.

Not Victor.

No, it was deeper, rougher, almost as familiar, but not half as welcome.

"Can you hear me, Yuuri? Are you alright?“

Squeezing his eyes shut, Yuuri took a deep breath before opening them slowly, carefully against the glare of the light, squinting up at the face of the Earl hovering above him.

"Don‘t try to move. You‘ve been in an accident“, he was saying, and Yuuri frowned, trying in vain to process the words.

An accident?

"Do you hurt anywhere? I‘ve got the best doctors looking after you, just let them know if there‘s anything you need.“

An accident…

Yuuri tried to think back, tried to remember what had happened? Had he gotten hurt? But he couldn‘t recall, not anything beyond running out on Victor in a panic.

Looking at the face of the Earl above him, creased in worry, Yuuri knew he was supposed to be upset at the sight of him, but it felt very far away.

He tried to move his hand, flex his fingers, and though he couldn‘t see it, it seemed to work fine. It hurt, but he felt each of his fingers brush against the sheets.

"Can you talk to me, Yuuri? Please?“

His attention snapped back towards the Earl, Yuuri opened his mouth, unsure of what to say.

"What happened?“, he finally settled on, and his voice sounded thin in his own ears.

The Earl seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at his words, and laid a hand on Yuuri‘s arm. Yuuri could feel it there, warm, the skin rough. He didn‘t shake it off.

"There was a car, on the icy streets, they… you were hit. Do you remember?“

Yuuri shook his head slightly, dull pain radiating out from his neck at the movement.

"Where am I?“

"The Agape Hospital. They are taking good care of you here, I promise. Here, I should probably get someone, let them know you‘re awake.“

The Earl got up, walking toward the door while casting nervous glances back at him over his shoulder. It occurred to Yuuri that he was distressed about seeing Yuuri hurt.

It only took a moment before someone in a white coat entered the room, approaching the bed to ask Yuuri all manner of questions, which Yuuri did his best to answer.

Where did it hurt? Everywhere.

What did he remember? Nothing.

Could he remember his name? Yes.

Could he sit up?

He could, carefully, with the doctor‘s help, who then proceeded to examine his body, one limb at a time, moving them carefully and checking for breaks and bruises.

Of which there were none, Yuuri noted. Although everything smarted with that old familiar feeling of soreness, there was not a scrape or bruise on his skin, just that same pale tan tone it always was.

The doctor and the Earl were speaking of luck and guardian angels while Yuuri was lost in his own mind, staring down at his body.

He tried to recall anything past the moment he had run out of the house, tried to imagine the sound of his feet on the pavement, of the icy cold, of screeching tires, a crash—but there was nothing. Only blackness.

He was torn out of his thoughts by hurried paces coming down the hall and, a moment later, the door to the room being torn open.

Three pairs of eyes flitted toward the door, and Yuuri saw tears blooming in those that stood there the moment they met his.

"Yuuri! Oh, Yuuri!“ Victor hurried to Yuuri‘s free side, gasping for breath even as the tears crashed down his face. "Thank God you‘re alive!“

He grasped Yuuri‘s hand and kissed it without thought.

"I came as soon as I heard, God… when I get my hands on the scoundrel who said you were dead on the spot, oh Yuuri…“

Gazing up at Victor and squeezing his hand in return, Yuuri found he only had a soft smile for him. How he could ever think Victor would cast him away, he didn’t know.

"I‘m fine, Vitya. Don‘t worry for me, please.“

"Of course I‘m going to worry—they said… oh, I‘ve never been so scared in my life. Are you hurt?“

"He seems to be perfectly healthy“, the doctor answered in Yuuri‘s stead. "Aside from some aches and pains. He has been very lucky indeed.“

"See? I‘m fine“, Yuuri said, raising his other hand to gently wipe the tears off Victor‘s cheeks. "Please, don‘t cry for me. I would much rather see you smile.“

Victor gave him a weak smile, and a watery laugh when Yuuri laughed gently at him.

"I‘m sorry I made you worry“, Yuuri whispered, "I‘m sorry I ran away.“

Victor shook his head vigorously.

"I‘m sorry I pushed you the way I did. And I‘m sorry I made it sound like I doubted you. Please forgive me.“

"There is nothing to forgive.“

"Ah, I‘m glad you boys made up.“ The Earl‘s voice reminded Yuuri with a start that there were other people in the room, and he tore his eyes forcibly away from Victor. "What did you fight about anyway?“

Victor, too, looked over at his father, expression darkening, and Yuuri wanted to smooth the frown off his face.

"Why didn’t you send for me?“, Victor asked instead of answering, "Why did I have to find out from some bystander on the street what had happened?“

"Of course I sent for you!“, the Earl replied, "The moment we got here I sent a messenger to the house! Before then I wasn‘t sure which hospital they were taking him to.“

Victor scoffed. "By then I was long on my way.“

"And now you‘re here, so where is the problem, Vitya? Why are you angry at me?“

"You said you were going to make sure he was safe!“

The Earl blinked at the shout, taken aback.

"You say that as if it was my fault that this happened! I‘m not the one who was driving the car!“

"Vitya, please“, Yuuri murmured, squeezing Victor‘s hand once more. "It‘s okay. Let it go.“

Victor looked down at him, his face a grimace of distress.

"How can you say that, Yuuri? It’s not okay!“

Yuuri squeezed again, more firmly, holding Victor‘s gaze. "For now. Let it go, please.“

Victor‘s face was pained, but finally he nodded. "Fine. Fine. For now.“

The Earl looked between the two of them, confused and more than a little irritated.

"Thank you for getting me here“, Yuuri hurried to say, "Thank you for looking after me.“

At this, the Earl‘s expression softened and he, too, gave Yuuri a nod.

It had only been a few hours since he had left the house, Yuuri learned; he hadn‘t actually been unconscious very long. Since he seemed to be in good health, though, the doctors decided to only keep him until the morning.

It was a fool‘s errand to try and convince Victor to go home and get a few hours of rest until Yuuri was released; he staunchly refused to leave Yuuri‘s side. Secretly, Yuuri was relieved when the Earl took off by himself, leaving the two of them alone. Not so much because of the Earl himself—the fight he‘d had with Victor and what it had been about still felt very far away from him here and now. But he was happy to have Victor to himself, even if only for a while, even if Victor shortly fell asleep by Yuuri‘s bedside, his head resting on the edge of Yuuri‘s mattress.

Yuuri found he couldn‘t sleep, didn‘t even feel tired as he watched the gentle up and down of Victor‘s shoulders with his breaths, the shimmer of his hair in the glaring electric lights.

He had to hold himself back from running his fingers through those soft-looking strands, brush them out of Victor‘s face and behind his ears. In the end, he had to busy his fingers with his own hair to restrain himself, carefully running them through the tangled, dirtied mess that was his own braid until he had unwound all the knots and tangles and the curtain of it was lying spread out over his shoulder. He would still have to wash them the soonest he could—there was grit and something sticky in them, and his hair band too was dirtied with something that came away red on his hands.

With shaking fingers, Yuuri ran his hands carefully over the back of his head and neck, looking for any cuts that might have been missed, but he found nothing. Only then did he realise that he had never thought to ask if there had been anyone else injured in the crash.

He posed the question in a whisper over Victor‘s head to the nurse the next time she came in to check on him, but she could only tell him that the driver had sustained a mild concussion and no other injuries.

When she inquired why he asked, Yuuri closed his hands firmly around his hair band and told her he‘d just been worried for him.

When the morning broke and the sun rose over the roofs of the buildings, spilling warm light into his room, Yuuri was told that he could collect his effects and leave the hospital.

Not that he had much to collect, given that he had run away head over heels without so much as a coat or a hat. He had been put into one of the hospital shifts upon his arrival, his old clothes having been, as they said, unsalvageable. Only his shoes remained of what he had worn when he had left the Nikiforovs‘ house.

Thankfully the Earl had been attentive enough to bring a new set of clothes for him when he returned in the morning, so that Yuuri did not have to leave the hospital in the white shift of a patient.

He declined the nurse‘s offer of a breakfast, assuring her that he would have a better meal at home, an assurance that was heartily backed up by Victor, though in truth Yuuri wasn‘t feeling very hungry.

The ride back to the town house was one tense and silent, as Victor seemed determined not to converse with his father, the Earl was hurt and bewildered by Victor‘s anger, and Yuuri just tried to make things appear normal.

He knew he should by rights be more angry at the Earl, but he really wasn‘t. He didn‘t particularly like spending time with him, especially not during any society events when he was boisterous and boastful and not at all like the caring and soft-spoken man that Yuuri knew from home. But he didn‘t particularly resent the Earl for what he had said or failed to say, no matter how angry it seemed to make Victor.

It was just another part of what his life was, and he didn‘t at all see it as a betrayal. The Earl had been kind and generous with him, and Yuuri understood that, in some way, this was how he was expected to repay him.

When they arrived back at the house, breakfast was waiting for them, but still Yuuri’s appetite eluded him. In fact, the thought of food and the smells wafting out from the breakfast room made him feel a little nauseous, so he begged off, claiming tiredness, and climbed the stairs to his room under Victor’s watchful, worried eyes.

He did feel exhausted, but as he lay down on his bed, hoping to get some sleep, he could find no rest. His eyes didn’t seem to want to stay closed and there was some itch in his body. Something that impelled him to move.

He tried to resist it, for a while, tried to force his eyes shut and calm his thoughts, putting everything out of his mind, but it wouldn’t work.

After a while he sat up, frustrated, his limbs still sore but itching for movement. It was pointless to try and resist.

He wouldn’t risk going to the studio in the house—too high was the chance that he would be discovered there by Victor or the Earl or one of the servants even, and be sent back to bed. He could already hear them fussing, how it was way too soon after his accident for him to be dancing again. He decided to sneak out instead, and go to the ballet practice rooms. There were no rehearsals today, so there at least he would be undisturbed.

Moving through the city was already helping his restlessness, but more so the prospect of dancing in the near future. It felt like there was a kind of electricity humming just under his skin, battling with his exhausting, begging to be set free. It wasn’t until he was closing the door of the practice room behind himself and sinking to the floor to put on his dance shoes that something like peace washed over him.

He took his time warming up, mindful of the soreness of his muscles after the accident, and the first few steps he took on the floor were still a little lumbering. But soon, as his limbs became used to the movement and his blood started flowing, every move came easier and the pain slowly faded.

He danced—he didn‘t know how long. Once he was immersed in it, all tiredness dissipated and all sense of time faded. There was no music except for that which was in his head, guiding him according to its unheard melody.

He moved with it, with that distant ghost of a sound, let it guide him according to its whims, the way he did when he wasn‘t dancing any particular choreography. It felt good to just move—he hadn‘t done it in too long, had only followed the rigid steps of Basil‘s role for the last months.

As if summoned by the thought of Basil, the door to the studio opened, and Yuuri stumbled out of the flow of his steps, faced with Director Cialdini.

"Oh.“

Both of them stared at one another for a long, tense moment, before Cialdini spoke.

"Might have guessed it would be you, practicing at this time of night.“

Yuuri blinked at his words, surprised. This time of night? Wasn‘t it only late in the morning?

Of course, the studio had no windows, but looking into the corridor behind Cialdini, only darkness was streaming in. Had he really been here that long?

But even more than his surprise was a sudden spike of irritation, at being intruded upon during his dancing, at being faced with Cialdini of all people, the man whose mere sight still made him feel sick to his stomach. At the familiar way Cialdini spoke, as if he knew Yuuri at all.

"Please leave me alone.“

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and there was a long pause following them.

Then Cialdini reached behind himself and closed the door to the studio.

A wave of panic washed over Yuuri at the thought of being alone in a room with the director, at possibly being expected to dance in front of him, or worse, and he edged his way towards his things in a corner of the room, hoping to make his excuses and a quick escape. Before he could get very far, however, a flash of anger washed over Cialdini‘s face, gone as quickly as it had come. "Who do you think you are“, he said, his voice deceptively calm, "to speak to me like that? I am still your director, your employer, and you will treat me with respect!“

Yuuri‘s panic was all at once replaced with a wave of cold fury washing up his spine, making his heart race and his eyes glare.

"What do you know of respect? The way you treat your employees—you don‘t deserve respect. Even contempt is still too good for you.“

Cialdini‘s face contorted in a grimace of irritation, and he stepped forward towards Yuuri.

"You insolent little bitch!“, he snarled, "Suddenly feeling bold with that self-important Nikiforov at your back, huh?“

Yuuri tried to step back, but it was too late; lurching forward, Cialdini grabbed him, wrapping him up in the steel grip of his arms, one of them pressed against his throat.

"Well, Nikiforov‘s not here now, is he? What are you gonna do?“

Yuuri sunk his teeth into Cialdini‘s arm, the taste of blood exploding on his tongue, making him feel light-headed.

"Don‘t fucking touch me!“, he screamed, "Let go of me!“ Struggling against Cialdini‘s grip, suddenly he was free, stumbling forward and away, but Cialdini was still between him and the door.

"You bitch!“ Cialdini was holding his bleeding arm, but didn‘t make any further moves toward him. "You liar, you hypocrite, acting like I forced you when you just lay down and took it like a who—“

"Shut up!“ Yuuri surprised himself with his shout, but even more it surprised him that Cialdini actually did, interrupting himself mid-word, face red and glistening with angry sweat. "Shut up, shut up, you disgusting vermin, don‘t you dare talk about me like that! I don‘t want to hear a single word out of your mouth ever again! In fact, you might as well just go and break your own neck!“

A ghostly silence followed Yuuri‘s words dying away in the empty room, and Cialdini straightened up, his lips pressed into a firm line.

Then he nodded, just once, deeply, before lifting his hands, placing them to both sides of his own head, and twisting.

The sickening crack was almost drowned out by the sound of Yuuri‘s wordless shout, jumping back as CIaldini crumpled to the ground in front of him.

"Oh my god“, he whispered, eyes wide in panic, "Oh my god, what…“

He waited for a few seconds, waited to see if Cialdini would move again, but some gut feeling deep inside told him that he wouldn‘t.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his shaking, then he ran.

Later on, he barely remembered how he had rapidly changed his shoes and gathered up his things, looking around to make sure there was no indication of his presence left in the room.

He couldn‘t have possibly told you what moved him to kneel down and lick over the bite mark in Cialdini‘s arm, only that some unnamed instinct told him it was the right thing to do at the time.

He couldn‘t really remember leaving the studio or the theatre, just ran out blindly into what did indeed seem to be deep night, still shaking and breath hitching with panic.

He hadn‘t made a conscious decision where to go, but he realised he was only a couple of streets away from the Nikiforov house when a voice startled him out of his blind flight.

"There you are!“

Yuuri flinched at the clear, cheerful words clearly directed at him on the empty street, and for a brief moment he was torn between turning around and running away. But he hesitated for a second too long, and already the figure was upon him, laying a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I‘ve been looking for you, dear friend!“

Yuuri pulled away from the touch, turning and stumbling backwards, staring at the man who had approached him.

He was a little smaller than Yuuri, slight and with tan skin that looked a little washed out in the light of the gas lamps. His short hair was dark and so appeared his eyes in the shadowed night, and he was smiling a smile at Yuuri that seemed genuinely pleased, and yet made him shiver.

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri tried to calm his shaking and his trembling voice, hoping to appear merely startled rather than outright panicked.

"I‘m sorry—who are you again?“

The stranger‘s smile dimmed a little.

"Oh, of course you wouldn‘t know me yet. But believe me, we will be the dearest friends. My name is Phichit Chulanont. I knew you as Seung-gil Lee, but… what is your name in this life?“

Though Yuuri understood only half of the words that the man had said, he automatically answered to those he did.

"Yuuri… Katsuki…“

The stranger—Phichit—grinned again, and there was something so familiar about that sight, although he was sure he had never seen the man before. And the names, too, sounded strangely comfortable, as if his tongue had wrapped itself around them many times before.

"Who are you?“, he repeated, feeling like he both knew and didn‘t all at once.

"I told you, I am a dear friend. But one thing after another—I assume you have had some very strange events in the past forty-eight hours of your life? Come, come, let us talk.“

Yuuri couldn‘t say for sure why he let himself be ushered down the street by this strange man, then another and another, in silence, until they reached a mansion not unlike the Nikiforovs‘ in grandeur, though looking a good deal older in style.

Yuuri was led inside, suppressing the constant urge to run away humming under his skin. Once inside the sitting room, Phichit offered him a chair, which Yuuri declined, feeling way too restless and scared still to settle down. Instead he simply stood and stared at Phichit, staying close by the door in case he did have to make a hasty exit.

"Will you explain to me what is going on now?“

Phichit gave him another indulgent smile and practically flung himself into a comfortable looking overstuffed chair, crossing his legs.

"Well, to begin with, my friend, Yuuri, was it? Yuuri, I have some bad news for you: you have died.“

For a second, Yuuri felt cold, but then, looking down at himself, he couldn‘t suppress a scoff.

"I don‘t feel very dead“, he said.

"And a good thing, too!“, Phichit said, "Otherwise this wouldn‘t be a lot of fun.“

He looked at Yuuri, quirking one eyebrow upward.

"I understand you‘ve recently been in an accident, yes?“

Yuuri blinked. "I… yes—“

"And miraculously you came out of it without any injuries, am I right?“

Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath. "How did you know?“

"Because you didn‘t, really. You died in that accident.“ It seemed like Phichit tried to make a face appropriately solemn to fit his words, but couldn‘t quite control his features, a smirk shining through.

Shaking his head, Yuuri looked down at himself again. "But I‘m alive?“

"Are you?“ Leaning forward in his chair, Phichit peered at him intently. "Let me ask you this: have you eaten or drunk anything since that accident? Have you slept? I would bet that you haven‘t.“

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders in a shrug. "That… that doesn‘t have to mean anything. There‘s been a lot going on. And of course I‘m alive! I‘m breathing. I have a pulse.“

"Ah…“, Phichit leaned back again, his grin now on full display once more, "no doubt there is something alive in you. But it‘s not you, Yuuri Katsuki.“

"What the hell are you talking about? You‘re mad!“

"When you died“, Phichit said, gesturing casually, as if he was talking about the weather, "you left behind a body, a broken body, for sure, but young and healthy and beautiful, with a strong mind and spirit. A perfect host for what was once my late friend Seung-gil. It inhabited your body and your mind, healed you and made your heart beat again, made your lungs breathe. It is what is currently making you believe that you are alive. The fact of the matter, though, is that you are dead, and it is living.“

Yuuri stumbled backwards, shaking his head frantically.

"You are mad, and you are lying. I don‘t know why the fuck you are telling me this, but it‘s impossible.“

"I assure you, it is the truth. And you will find out soon enough. There are certain limitations, as well as certain skills, that come with being what you are, and they will soon clear up any doubt that you may have.“

"Being what I am“, Yuuri repeated with a breathy, hysterical laugh, "And what is that supposed to be?“

Phichit‘s grin turned sharp, and Yuuri found himself wondering if his teeth had been this pointed all along.

"You, Yuuri Katsuki, are a vampire.“

Chapter Text

Yuuri was laughing.

He was aware that he sounded hysterical, but he couldn‘t help himself.

"You are insane“, he gasped, "You are utterly insane. There is no such thing as vampires.“

Phichit just gave him an indulgent smile.

"That‘s what I said when you first told me, many moons ago. Alas, it is true. There are vampires, and you are one as much as I am.“

Yuuri could only repeat himself.

"You‘re mad. You‘re mad and I‘m getting out of here.“

Stepping backwards, he bumped into the wall of the sitting room and fumbled blindly for the door.

"Leave, if you must“, Phichit said with a sigh, as Yuuri pulled open the door, "I will be here when you are ready to listen to me. But be careful. Remember that there are certain rules by which—“

This was the last Yuuri heard before he disappeared down the hall, running heedless until he found the entrance and tore it open to disappear into the night.

"There you are, Yuuri!“

The words almost made him flinch, but they were not said in that discomfitingly bright tone of voice, but instead in relief and worry by a much more familiar voice.

"Thank God—I‘ve been looking all over for you! Where have you been?“

"Vitya…“

Yuuri wasn‘t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry, but he was sure of the indescribable comfort that it brought to see Victor. Without hesitation he threw himself into Victor‘s arms, and this, at least, was familiar, this was still the same, the feeling of Victor‘s arms around him, his voice so close, his smell, thought strangely intense, the sound of his heartbeat….

His heartbeat? Yes—Yuuri could hear it, feel it, fluttering against his own chest. Had he been able to hear it like this before? No—he put the thought out of his head. Phichit had lied—there was no truth in his words.

"Yuuri…“, Victor murmured close to his ear, "I was so worried about you! Where did you go? Why did you just leave like that?“

Yuuri could hear the edge of anger in his voice, overshadowed though it was by relief, and he buried his face more firmly against Victor‘s shoulder.

"I‘m sorry“, he murmured against the fabric there, "I‘m sorry, I didn‘t mean to stay out so long. I just wanted to dance for a while and then…“

"You went to dance? You were just in an accident!“

"That‘s why I didn‘t tell you—I feel fine, but that’s not—… Oh god, Vitya, everything is so messed up.“

Pulling back, Victor peered at him, concern written clearly in his features.

"What is? What happened?“

Squeezing his eyes shut, Yuuri shook his head, but he knew, knew at once that he couldn‘t keep this to himself. It was like a beast in his chest, demanding to be let out.

Opening his eyes, he looked around carefully before pulling Victor off the driveway of the Nikiforov house where they had collided into each other, deeper into the shadows of the garden.

Victor was still looking at him with so much worry, and Yuuri wondered if he was about to kill that affection in his eyes for good.

"Cialdini was there—or rather, he came in when I was dancing and…“

Victor‘s eyes widened, and his grip around Yuuri‘s arms tightened.

"Tell me he didn‘t touch you again! God, Yuuri, I swear I will kill that bastard if he—“

Victor broke off when Yuuri burst into tears, clinging to him as fast as he could, feeling the warmth of his skin under his clothes.

"I think I killed him.“

Yuuri heard Victor suck in a sharp breath.

"What…?“, he whispered.

Yuuri couldn‘t find his words, couldn‘t possibly explain what he still didn‘t even begin to understand, so he just buried his face in his hands, tearing at his hair as the tears flowed freely.

"Yuuri, what happened? You have to tell me what happened!“

Victor‘s hands on his arms didn‘t move, but they shook him slightly now.

Gasping for breath, Yuuri tried to force his mouth to form words.

"He came in and then he—we had words and he tried to grab me and I… I told him not to touch me and I—I told him to break his neck. And then he did!“

"Did… what? What did he do?”

"He snapped his neck!” Yuuri’s voice was an urgent whisper, and he was distantly aware that he sounded mad, just as mad as Phichit had just a little earlier. “Just broke it with his own two hands, because I told him to.”

“Calm down, Yuuri.” Victor sounded soothing now, but there was a faint note of worry still in his voice, too. “Please, you need to breathe. Can you breathe with me?”

He tried, but it was like there was a hand, squeezing tight around his lungs, suffocating him. A roaring in his ears through which only his whispers echoed again and again and again.

“I killed him. I killed him.”

He couldn’t hear Victor’s voice, drowned out through the noise but then there was a firm grip around his hand and it was pressed against Victor’s chest and there was a frantic, rabbiting heartbeat but there were also deep, regular breaths, in and out, in and out.

By the time Yuuri finally felt like he could breathe again, he found himself on a bench in the gardens, surrounded by darkness and shaking from the cold as much as from the panic, despite Victor’s warmth next to him.

“Are you with me, Yuuri?”

He nodded slowly, trying to focus on the sound of Victor’s voice.

“Can you try and tell me what happened? One thing after another?”

So Yuuri did, stumbling through his encounter with Cialdini at the studio from first to last, though he omitted his brief interception by Phichit on his way home, as well as his strange urge to lick over the wound on Cialdini’s arm. Victor listened quietly, not interrupting, both of them shivering on the bench in the winter air but not daring to go inside for fear of being overheard.

When Yuuri had finished, Victor hummed thoughtfully, staying quiet for a few long moments.

“Yuuri…”, he then said, “I have to ask you something, and I want you to please tell me honestly. Whatever your answer is, I won’t be mad and I’ll be right here by your side, okay?”

Yuuri stared up at him, eyes widened, another shiver running over him in anticipation of the question.

Victor took a deep breath.

“Is it perhaps possible”, he said, his voice gentle, “that you did it yourself? I won’t think less of you if it is, but is it possible you were struggling and… I don’t know, knocked him into something. I promise you can tell me—it was self-defense, I won’t judge you for that, not after what he did.”

“No—Victor!” Yuuri grabbed at Victor’s arms, pleading. “You have to believe me, that is really what happened! He did it himself, I didn’t even touch him, I didn’t go near him, I swear!”

“Okay. Okay”, Victor said, though a doubtful little crease appeared on his forehead. “Is it possible that he just acted like he broke his neck, to give you a scare? That this was some very tasteless prank he played on you?”

“No, I’m sure! He was dead”, Yuuri hissed, “He was—I know it, he didn’t move at all, he was….” Yuuri shuddered at the memory of the expression on Cialdini’s face, frozen in some grotesque half-smile.

“You’re certain? Did you check his pulse? You know Cialdini used to be an actor himself, he may just have been pretending.”

“I did not stop to check his pulse!”, Yuuri said, his voice rising again in pitch, “He—I—… I didn’t—He…” He shook his head, trying to hold back a renewed wave of panic.

“Alright, I believe you. I do”, Victor said, though his voice sounded more soothing than sincere. “Alright. We need… Did anyone see you there, at the theatre?”

“I… I don’t think so”, Yuuri said, breathing deeply to try and keep it from spiralling out of control again, “There was no one else there.”

“Okay. And in the city? Did you see anyone who knew you?”

Yuuri suppressed a wince, thinking of Phichit, but he shook his head. “No… no one.”

“Good.” Victor’s voice was firm when he stood up, pulling Yuuri along with him. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up. If anyone asks, you were in bed all day, unwell after your accident. My father, too; I didn’t tell him after I came to check on you and found you gone. As far as he’s concerned you’re still up there in your room. Let’s not involve him in this.”

And just like that Yuuri was ushered back inside and quietly led back up the stairs into his rooms. He let himself be led easily by Victor holding onto his arm. He didn’t mind Victor taking the lead on this, quite the opposite: he was just glad he didn’t have to think, didn’t have to make any decisions about all this. Once back in his rooms, Victor gave him warm, comfortable clothes to change into and tucked him into bed, piling blankets onto him until he stopped shivering, though Yuuri was fairly certain his trembling had nothing at all to do with the temperature.

When Victor made a move away from the bed, Yuuri grabbed his arm without thinking.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

Victor’s surprised expression turned soft. “No, sweetheart. I was just going to stoke the fire. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuuri let go of him reluctantly, and indeed Victor just walked to the fireplace, heaping more wood onto the embers there and stoking the flames until they were crackling happily. Still Yuuri felt relieved when Victor returned to his side. He felt like he had fallen into some kind of madness the last twenty-four hours of his life, and Victor was the only thing that was real and true anymore, the only thing he could rely on.

Victor dragged a chair over to sit at Yuuri’s bedside, in his stocking feet, having shed his coat and shoes in the sitting room, and ran a hand gently over Yuuri’s forehead, as if checking his temperature. His fingers were cool against Yuuri’s skin.

“Why did you leave?”, Victor asked, “I was so worried for you.”

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders, avoiding Victor’s enquiring gaze.

“I just felt like I had to move. I couldn’t just lie still anymore.”

“We have a perfectly good studio here in the house.”

“I know”, Yuuri murmured, feeling suddenly foolish, “I just… I thought if you saw me dancing you would just send my right back to bed. I knew it was what I needed right then, but sometimes you’re very…”

A wince crossed Victor’s features. “Overbearing…?”, he whispered.

Yuuri shook his head quickly.

“Protective”, he said.

Victor shrugged his shoulders as if to say there was no difference in it, but Yuuri reached out and grabbed ahold of Victor’s hand, squeezing it tight.

“I know you just want what’s best for me. I like that you look out for me. But sometimes you have to trust that I know what I need.”

It was an old familiar conversation between the two of them, and Victor nodded mutely, as if chastised. With a sigh, Yuuri pulled his hand a little closer.

“You’re cold”, he murmured.

Victor waved his words away. “It will warm up soon, with the fire.”

Considering him for a moment, Yuuri shook his head.

“You need to take care of yourself, too, Vitya. Come.” With that, he moved over on the bed and lifted the blankets with his free hand. “I won’t hear of it”, he said when Victor opened his mouth to protest. “Come. It’s warm in the bed. Please”, he added when Victor still looked doubtful, and finally he nodded. Moving from the chair onto the mattress, a faint blush painted his cheeks, but he settled in under the blankets next to Yuuri.

“There, that’s better”, Yuuri said softly, tucking the blankets around the both of them before turning to lie on his side, facing Victor, a position which Victor mirrored.

As if of their own accord, their hands found each other again, fingers twining in between their bodies.

For a few long minutes there was silence between them, as they shared their breaths and their warmth, before Victor spoke again, his voice a hesitant thing.

“And last night?”, he asked, “Why did you run away?”

Yuuri closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back. His fight with Victor the night before seemed so far away from him now, like a whole other lifetime. He hardly felt like that person was still him at all.

There is something alive in you. But it is not you, echoed in his mind, and he shuddered, squeezing his eyes tighter as if to will the memory away.

“I was scared. I thought… you were going to send me away.”

Victor squeezed his hands tightly. “Never, Yuuri. I will never send you away from me. I just wanted to get you away from my father and out of this terrible situation he’s put you in.”

“I… I know”, Yuuri whispered.

“Then why did you run? Why didn’t you stay and talk to me about it?”

Yuuri shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. In that moment, I… I thought you didn’t want me here anymore and I just—I had to get away. Away from where I wasn’t wanted.”

“Yuuri.” Victor moved closer toward him, leaning forward to press his forehead against Yuuri’s. “I will always, always want you”, he said into the scant space between them, a fervent whisper.

There was a breathless second and then—Yuuri couldn’t have said which one of them it was that bridged those last few centimetres separating them, or perhaps they both moved at the same time—and then there were Victor’s soft, warm lips on his and their hands pulling apart only for Victor’s arms to wrap around him and Yuuri’s fingers to run through Victor’s silky hair flowing over his shoulders.

Their kiss was brief at first, way too brief, before Victor pulled back and looked at him with those deep blue eyes.

“You want this?”, he asked, and Yuuri had barely enough breath left to answer him.

“Yes, Vitya”, he whispered, “Yes.”

They kissed for a long time, slow, unhurried kisses exploring one another’s lips and faces, wordless under cover of night. The only sounds were their shared breaths and the lazy crackling of the wood in the fireplace. Dawn was already beginning to break outside the window by the time Victor fell asleep, tucked close into Yuuri’s arms. Yuuri held him firm, listening to his breaths slowly evening out, though he himself still didn’t feel the least bit tired.

This time, he didn’t mind, though; there was none of that restlessness in him now, not when there was Victor’s warm body close to him and the taste of him still on Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri busied himself with combing his fingers through Victor’s long silver hair until it flowed like a waterfall over his pillow while the sun was slowly climbing over the horizon. He did his best to only concentrate on the feeling, the smell, the taste of Victor, right here with him, the miracle that he should be given this, if only for a moment.

But there were too many other things butting into his mind, whether he wanted them or not. The crack of Cialdini breaking his neck echoed at the back of his mind, intertwining with the Earl’s Good choice and every time in the last year that Victor had mentioned he was to be married soon. And above it all circled those words of Phichit’s over and over again, You, Yuuri Katsuki, are a vampire.

It was impossible of course—completely impossible. And yet Yuuri still didn’t feel the need to sleep, nor was he feeling hungry. Nor could he remember ever having smelled Victor’s scent so clearly as he did now, not to mention the way Victor’s heartbeat drummed lazily against Yuuri’s own chest. But then again, he had never been this close to Victor before—that had to be the reason, right? The only reason.

Still he couldn’t keep himself from obsessively running his tongue over his front teeth. They didn’t feel any different than they usually did, and this was one thing that everyone agreed made a vampire, wasn’t it? If he didn’t have pointed teeth, he couldn’t possibly be one.

It was absurd anyway—there was no such thing as vampires. He had said it himself. He was alive, perfectly healthy, and it wasn’t like he felt any particular desire to drink blood. The fact that he thought Victor smelled frankly divine was, he was quite sure, due to entirely different reasons. No—he was himself, he was just Yuuri, he was alive and there was nothing strange in him—

“Yuuri!”

The call outside of his rooms tore him out of his thoughts and made him flinch, suddenly aware again of his situation.

The Earl couldn’t find them like this, curled up together in bed. Heavens knew what he would do. He might throw Yuuri out and he’d never get to see Victor again.

But there was little he could do to change the situation at a moment’s warning. Carefully he extracted his arms from around Victor and rolled over to the other side of the bed, as far from Victor as he could, just as the door to his sitting room opened.

“Yuuri, are you up?”

He only had a moment to try and tuck the blankets close around himself before the Earl’s steps led him through the sitting room and dressing room into Yuuri’s bedroom, brandishing a newspaper.

“Did you hear?”, he asked, looking agitated, but then paused when he saw his son. “Vitya? What is he doing here?”

Yuuri sat up in bed, making a show of rubbing at his eyes and yawning, then he looked over at Victor as if he was only now remembering that he was there.

“Oh…”, Yuuri murmured. “Right. He was worried and didn’t want to leave me alone in the night. I told him I was fine, but you know how he can be. He was going to stay in the chair”, Yuuri gestured vaguely to the chair still pushed up right beside the bed, “but in the end I convinced him he should at least take the bed if he was going to stay all night.”

“I… see”, the Earl said, though he looked critically between the two of them, clearly unsure of Yuuri’s story, though it was technically true in all parts.

Sitting up a little straighter, Yuuri nodded towards the newspaper, desperate for anything to distract the Earl from whatever he was thinking. “Did I hear what?”

“Ah… right.” Lifting the hand with the newspaper, he gestured with it toward Yuuri, though without making any actual move toward him. “It’s your director. Cialdini.”

An ice cold hand gripped Yuuri’s stomach. “What about him?”, he asked, though he knew perfectly well what would be his answer.

“He’s dead.”

Yuuri heard himself suck in a sharp breath—it was like a knife to the gut all over again, hearing it, and he realised there was a small part of him that had still believed the last night had been some kind of a bad dream or a hallucination of sorts. Through the blood roaring in his ears he almost missed the soft “oh…” by his side. Turning his head, there was Victor, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open, staring at his father. Yuuri hadn’t even noticed him waking up but looking at him now, no one could have guessed that the knowledge of Cialdini’s death wasn’t entirely news to him. He looked completely thrown. It seemed Yuuri was not the only one who hadn’t quite believed the events of last night to be real.

“What… what happened?”, Yuuri asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

The Earl shrugged. It wasn’t a careless gesture, more on of uncertainty. “They found him, it says, at the theatre with a broken neck. It doesn’t say whether it was an accident or”, he huffed, “something else, only that the police are still investigating.”

Staring into space, Yuuri shook his head slowly. “That’s terrible”, he whispered, and it wasn’t hard for him to let the appropriate feeling seep into his words. The whole thing was absolutely, utterly terrible.

He flinched in surprise when Victor’s warm hand covered his own, but he didn’t pull away. The soft touch was a comfort.

“Are you okay?”, Victor murmured to him with a concerned glance.

“I—… I don’t know”, Yuuri replied truthfully, resisting the urge to throw himself into Victor’s arms for more reassurance.

“It’s a tragedy, of course”, the Earl said, though it sounded more like a well-rehearsed phrase than a genuine sentiment, “you’ll have to see what that means for your play, Yuuri. Though I suppose at least for today there won’t be any rehearsals for you.”

“I suppose not.” The words almost stuck in Yuuri’s throat.

“Still, you boys should get out of bed. It’s already late. Vitya, come into my office for a moment after breakfast, will you?”

With that, he left them alone.

Listening as his steps disappeared down the stairs, Victor and Yuuri exchanged a glance before Yuuri buried his face in his knees with a groan.

“It really happened”, he pressed into the soft comforter, “he’s really dead.”

“It did…”, Victor murmured, and Yuuri could feel his gaze burning on his own skin. Carefully he lifted his head, barely daring to glance over at Victor.

“Aren’t you disgusted by me?”, he asked barely a whisper, “Don’t you hate me now?”

“Hate you?” Victor’s voice sounded genuinely surprised. “Why ever would I do that?”

“Because I killed him”, Yuuri murmured, “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

“Yuuri…” Victor gently squeezed his hand. “I could never hate you. Cialdini was a terrible person, and I’m not saying he deserved what happened to him, but… after what he did, I would have killed him myself. Besides, if it happened the way you said—then it’s not your fault anyway. You didn’t do this. He did it to himself. You never meant for this to happen. Right?”

“R-right…” Yuuri nodded hesitantly. “But—…”

“No but. It’s not your fault. And now we should stop talking about it, lest someone overhears.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to protest again, but Victor gave him a warning glance, and he closed his mouth again. With a satisfied smile, Victor lifted Yuuri’s hand to his lips and bestowed a small kiss on the back of it and—right, this was another thing that had happened last night. Yuuri could feel the heat rising into his cheeks. In the morning light, somehow all his boldness had deserted him.

“What do we do now?”

Victor sighed and pressed another kiss to Yuuri‘s knuckles.

"You go down to breakfast. I suspect you haven‘t had anything to eat at all yesterday, am I right? You must be starving. I will go deal with my father.“

Yuuri pulled his lower lip between his teeth.

"What do you think he wants?“

"I don‘t know, but I assume it has something to do with me having had the privilege to wake up next to you this morning.“

Yuuri winced. "I‘m sorry“, he murmured and tried to pull his hand back from Victor, but Victor held firm to it.

"Do not apologise“, he said, "It really was a privilege. One I should hope to repeat many times.“

Ducking his head between his shoulders, Yuuri tried to hide his blush, unsuccessfully as Victor pulled him closer and bestowed a kiss on his cheek.

When Yuuri squirmed in his grasp, Victor pulled back, looking suddenly worried.

"Unless… you don‘t regret it, do you? Did you not want—“

"No, no!“, Yuuri interrupted him quickly, not even wanting to hear him express the thought. "Of course I don‘t regret it.“ Squeezing Victor‘s hand gently, he looked up at him.

Victor squeezed his hand back, but the frown was still present on his face. "Then what is it?“

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders in a shrug. "Just—anyone might walk in here. Your father almost walked in on us. I think we need to be careful.“

Victor gave what was surely intended as a lighthearted chuckle, but there wasn‘t much humour in it.

"You‘re not ashamed of me, are you, Yuuri?“

Yuuri scoffed. "Not likely.“

"There.“ Reaching out with his free hand, Victor stroked his thumb over Yuuri‘s forehead, smoothing a wrinkle there that Yuuri hadn‘t been aware of. "What are you thinking? You believe that I‘m ashamed of you.“

"No!“ Yuuri shook his head rapidly, and it was true: while he was certainly not good enough for Victor, he knew Victor was too kind-hearted to ever make him feel lesser for his station. And yet… "It‘s just… I think your father will hardly approve.“

Victor‘s expression darkened just a shade at the mention of his father.

"Leave him to me and don‘t worry too much about it“, he said, "I‘ll see you downstairs soon.“

With that he swung his legs out of the bed and, after a questioning glance which Yuuri answered with a nod, he pressed a quick kiss to Yuuri‘s forehead before getting up and leaving Yuuri to his own devices.

Yuuri sighed looking after him, and for a moment he was tempted to burrow back into the blankets. But running away from the day wouldn’t do anything to help, and it wasn’t like he’d be able to fall asleep anyway. He still felt wide awake, if already exhausted by the prospect of what the day would bring.

In the end, he also disentangled himself from the bedding and went about the business of washing himself and getting dressed.

There was a breakfast downstairs, waiting to be pretended to be eaten by him.

Chapter Text

Victor went back to his own room for a moment, to wash himself and change into clothes that weren‘t rumpled from having been slept in all night.

His stomach proclaimed its hunger, but Victor knew he wouldn‘t be able to focus on eating until he had spoken to his father.

He had known a confrontation between the two of them was ahead for a while now, but he hadn‘t suspected it would come now, nor in this form. But one thing he was sure of; he would not let his father stand between him and Yuuri, not after what he now knew about him.

With one last look into the mirror and a deep breath to reassure himself, Victor walked out of the room and down the stairs to his father‘s office.

He was asked inside after a brief knock, and, opening the door, he was faced with his father bent over some papers on his desk, though he looked up as Victor entered.

"Vitya“, he said, and it didn‘t sound unkind, "please, sit down.“

Gesturing towards a chair opposite the desk, he then busied himself with a tray of tea on his desk, pouring two cups before adding sugar to one and passing it to Victor.

Victor took it, if only to not appear openly hostile, and set it down on his side of the desk.

„What did you want to talk to me about?“

His father bid him patience with a placating gesture as he sat down on his own chair and took a deep drink of tea, seemingly collecting his thoughts.

"I haven‘t brought you in here to scold you, Vitya. You are a grown man, and as such I would like us to have a conversation, between men.“

"About what?“

Victor was aware that his voice sounded curt, but he couldn‘t help it, couldn‘t soften himself.

"You are young, and adventurous. I‘ve never minded this; in fact I think it quite healthy for a young man to have his fair share of adventures before settling down in marriage.“

"And?“

His father sighed.

"And I also believe that in these matters it is wise to separate work and play which… you seem to not have heeded, so I feel we may have to have a conversation about discretion.“

Victor pressed his lips together. "What in hell are you talking about?“, he asked, though he was quite certain he understood, but he wouldn‘t admit to anything unless he was sure.

"I‘m talking about you and dear Yuuri, Vitya. The way I found you this morning. I do hope you‘re not setting that poor boy up for disappointment?“

Victor bristled at that, at the implication that he would ever play with Yuuri‘s heart like that.

"You‘ve got it wrong“, he pressed out between clenched teeth.

"Oh, I do?“ The Earl smiled indulgently, taking another sip of his tea. "So you did not have any relations with him?“

Victor‘s fingers clenched hard around his knees. "Of course not!“, he hissed, "Yuuri was just in an accident that almost killed him! He‘s hurt.“

"Barely“, his father said with another smile, "but point taken. So you‘re saying you would have had relations, if he hadn‘t been in that accident.“

Victor gaped at him, speechless for a moment.

"I understand, of course“, the Earl continued, "It gave us all quite a scare, that accident. I‘ll admit I was quite worried myself. And I know Yuuri is a dear friend to you, so when faced with the possibility of losing him, emotions would understandably run high.“

"That‘s not what happened.“

"Oh, no need to be defensive. You certainly wouldn‘t be the first to fall into bed together after having survived some threat or danger. It‘s a natural reaction. And I won’t begrudge you your fun, I just need to be sure that you don‘t have any illusions about your future with him.“

Chewing up all the harsh words crowding onto his tongue, Victor stared at his father, defiant.

The Earl sighed.

"That‘s what I was worried about“, he said. "Vitya, you know I care for the boy as much as you do. He‘s talented, but more than that he‘s a good kid. I‘d like to think I‘ve given him plenty of opportunities for a good life. But this is one I cannot give. He is not enough to marry a Nikiforov.“

"Not enough?“, Victor spat, "He is more than enough, he is more than you can ever hope to know!“

His father lifted his hands in a placating gesture.

"I‘m sure you think that, and hell, I‘m not even disagreeing with you. I told you, I think he‘s a good kid. He‘s kind, he‘s generous, he‘s intelligent. In any other circumstance I would be happy to have found a spouse like him for my son. But he has no name, no title. He would bring nothing into this marriage.“

"Do you think I care about that in the least?“, Victor asked. "I love him.“

"Of course you do.“ He shook his head sadly. “You are young yet, Vitya. It’ll pass. He won’t be your last love.”

Victor scoffed. “I am not so young that I don’t know my own mind. Quite different from you, it seems. Have you made up your mind yet if you want to talk to me like a man or scold me like a child? Either I’m old enough to marry or I’m a child too young to know love. One or the other, but you can’t have it both ways!”

That seemed to give his father pause for a moment. “You are right, of course”, he then said, quietly, “If I will have you settle down with someone I must admit that you are mature enough to choose a partner, and not just if it’s one I approve of. But nonetheless I must insist that Yuuri is not a suitable partner for you.”

“Duly noted”, Victor said, rising from his chair. “Now are we done here?”

His father blinked at him in surprise. “No, we’re certainly not done! I told you I do not approve. What do you intend to do now?”

Victor shrugged. “I told you, your disapproval is noted. I intend to stay with Yuuri. Now it depends on what you intend to do. Are you going to throw me out? Disown me?”

The Earl suddenly went pale. “Of—of course not! You are my son, my family.”

“Well, then it appears we are at a stalemate.”

His father pushed himself up on his feet as well, the shock still written in his face. “What has gotten into you, Vitya? I hardly recognise you.”

“Well…”, Victor sniffed, “I could say the same thing. Because you are not the man I thought my father was. I always thought my father cared for Yuuri like another son. I thought he wanted Yuuri’s happiness. But it seems I was mistaken. It seems you didn’t care for anything but the prestige he could bring you.” Pushing back his chair, Victor gave his father one last look. “I am disappointed in you.”

With that, he left the office.

By the time Victor arrived in the breakfast room, Yuuri had already finished eating, nothing but a few crumbs remaining on his plate, so Victor hurried through his own breakfast in order to not keep him waiting.

Yuuri assured him that he could take his time, of course, but if he was being honest, Victor was also eager to leave the common areas of the house. He didn’t feel like looking at his father again, and even the servants’ presence set his nerves on edge for some reason. No, he would feel much more comfortable once he and Yuuri were on their own again.

Once he’d had a bowl of filling porridge along with some hastily gulped tea, he got up and reached for Yuuri’s hand, almost dragging him out of the room and up the stairs.

For a short moment he considered taking Yuuri outside, away from the walls of this house that felt increasingly toxic to Victor, but he was fairly certain that being outside would only increase Yuuri’s anxiety, and with the events of last night he also didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to Yuuri.

Should it become necessary that Yuuri provide an alibi for his whereabouts, it would be much more believable that he had been bedridden if he remained safely at home.

So they stayed inside, returning to the relative safety of Yuuri’s rooms where they ensconced themselves for the rest of the day.

“What did your father want?”, Yuuri asked eventually, after they had spent a tense half hour sitting next to each other on the ottoman, stiff and silent.

Victor bit his lips, unwilling to repeat the unkind this the Earl had implied about Yuuri, but he knew that Yuuri deserved to know; after all, this was at least as much about him as it was about Victor. So he gave a halting account of their conversation, and Yuuri seemed hardly phased by the Earl’s rejection. Quite the opposite: he accepted it with a resigned nod, as if he hadn’t expected to hear anything else.

“Don’t worry”, Victor hurried to add, reaching out for Yuuri’s hand, to squeeze it gently. “I told him I don’t care what he thinks about it. I’m going to stay by your side.”

Now Yuuri’s eyes widened in shock as he lifted his head to stare at Victor.

“Yuuri…”, Victor murmured. “You didn’t think I would drop you just like that, did you? I… I care about you.”

He didn’t let the word love cross his lips, not yet, not now, but still Yuuri’s eyes filled with tears.

“You don’t have to do this”, he said, his voice thick, “not for me. I understand. You deserve better.”

But Victor was already shaking his head before Yuuri could even finish his sentence.

“Well, if I do, then I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone else. I want you. So let me be selfish. Let me keep you close to me.”

Yuuri nodded after a moment, blinking away his tears with some effort, and stepping forward to lean his head against Victor’s shoulder.

“Thank you”, he whispered.

Victor just wrapped his arms around him, wordless.

Most of the day was spent like this, in silent tension or brief, worried conversations. Sometimes they sat wrapped up in each other, sometimes Yuuri extracted himself from Victor’s grip, unable to sit still any longer, pacing up and down the rooms. Victor felt his absence keenly every time, but he made himself let go of Yuuri anyway. He couldn’t hold too fast to him too soon, he felt, this thing between them still seeming so fragile, Yuuri so skittish. Really Victor didn’t know at all what Yuuri thought about this—them. While Victor had declared his devotion, Yuuri had remained mostly silent. And Yuuri had always been a man of actions rather than words, so Victor tried to not read too much into the fact that he kept pulling away from him. After all, he also kept returning, every time he’d paced his restlessness into submission, to Victor’s side.

The spectre of Cialdini’s death hovered around them all the time, along with the trembling expectation that someone should knock on the door any minute now and demand to speak to Yuuri.

But as the hours of the morning passed, no one came.

The only interruption was in the form of a letter, brought up by a servant and sent by Mathieu Thibaut, Yuuri’s choreographer, informing him officially of Cialdini’s demise and that rehearsals and performances were on hold until further notice.

Yuuri read the letter in silence and then passed it along to Victor in equal silence, and they didn’t discuss it further between them. There was something hanging in the air there between them, something that Victor couldn’t quite grasp, but something that told him that Yuuri wouldn’t go back to dancing after this. Certainly not On Love: Eros, perhaps not at all. But Victor couldn’t yet put his finger on why.

He was still not convinced what had happened with Yuuri and his director. He wanted to trust Yuuri’s account of the events, panicked and convoluted though it had been, but the impossibility of it all made him doubt. He was ashamed of that doubt nagging at him, but he couldn’t help it. As much as he trusted Yuuri, it seemed much more likely that Yuuri had broken Cialdini’s neck himself, by accident or in self-defense, than that the man had taken his own life in such a brutal way just because Yuuri had told him to. Perhaps it was a story that Yuuri needed to tell himself in order to cope with the trauma of what he had gone through—in any case, Victor had decided to not try and talk through what had happened any more but to just accept Yuuri’s account for what it was for now. After all, the result was the same: Cialdini was dead either way, and it wasn’t like Victor thought any less of Yuuri should he have really caused his abuser’s death.

Though he didn’t tell Yuuri as much, or not in these words, Victor firmly believed that Cialdini had gotten his due after what he’d done to Yuuri, even more so after hearing that he had tried to put his hands on Yuuri once more just before his death. Victor had told him he’d regret it if he ever touched Yuuri again, and as it turned out, his words had been more than true. He couldn’t find it in himself to mourn the man’s death, not even a little, despite the tense situation it now put them in.

He knew, or imagined, at least, that Yuuri didn’t quite feel the same way about the whole thing. He was quite sure there was a measure of relief in Yuuri as well, that he would not have to deal with Cialdini any more in the future. But it was overshadowed by guilt and fear, to the point that it was almost palpable. It made Victor worry because, should someone really come and enquire after Yuuri, he was not at all sure what Yuuri would say. If he would be able to stick with their story of Yuuri having been in bed sick at the time of Cialdini’s death. It seemed like the truth might just spill out of him at any moment.

For now he stayed silent though, his forehead perpetually creased in worry as he walked up and down his sitting room, hands balled into fists and teeth chewing at his lips. Victor found himself wishing there was something he could do or say to calm Yuuri’s agitation, but it was difficult to find words of consolation in a situation such as theirs.

Instead he decided to look after Yuuri’s physical health, ordering lunch to be brought up on trays early in the afternoon. But even this small gesture was rebuffed, as Yuuri begged off from eating, claiming an upset stomach.

Victor wasn’t surprised to hear it; he supposed it was impossible not to feel sick when in such a state of worry, but still he reached out for Yuuri’s hand and pulled him close, pulling his pacing steps to a stop for a moment.

“Are you sure?”, he murmured, “You’ll feel better for having eaten something, I’m sure. You have to keep up your strength.”

Yuuri eyed the trays of food suspiciously, pallor evident in his face at the mere thought of having to eat something. Victor sighed and decided to leave it be.

“Fine”, he said, “You’ll know best. But please promise me to let me know as soon as you feel up to eating something. You’ve hardly had a bite since your accident.”

Pressing his lips together until they were white enough to match the rest of his face, Yuuri stared at Victor, something slightly hunted in his expression.

“I’m fine”, he insisted hurriedly, “I had a good breakfast this morning.”

Victor had his doubts, but with a resigned nod he let go of Yuuri’s hand and left him to resume his pacing.

Victor tried again in the afternoon, gently persuading Yuuri to at least have a few sips of tea to settle his stomach. Yuuri eventually gave in when Victor insisted, and Victor may or may not have used his best pout to his advantage for this small victory.

Which turned out not to be a victory at all, because Yuuri had hardly finished half a cup before he had to excuse himself and throw it up again in his commode.

Now Victor was starting to be thoroughly worried. Yuuri’s nerves seemed to increase rather than calm down the longer they went without hearing anything, and he kept getting more tight-lipped, his breathing shallow, hardly acknowledging Victor’s questions and tentative words anymore.

After Yuuri threw up, Victor felt for his temperature, but he didn’t seem feverish; if anything his skin was unusually cool.

As dusk was beginning to settle outside the windows, the evening paper was brought, and Victor sent a quick prayer that there was something in them to calm Yuuri down. There was an article elaborating on the circumstances in which Cialdini had been found, murmurs and suspicions of foul play, and a call for anyone who had witnessed anything to report to the police. All things considered not exactly what Victor had hoped for.

But still there were no policemen at the door, demanding Yuuri’s presence, and Yuuri seemed to almost dismiss the article, barely listening to Victor reading from it in hushed tones, as if it didn’t matter at all.

And yet there was still that tense anticipation in the air, not a bit of relief in sight. Victor was starting to wonder if there was something else amiss that he didn’t know about.

Once again, completely without his permission, his thoughts turned towards what there was between Yuuri and him.

What if Yuuri’s distress didn’t originate from Cialdini’s death at all, but from being confined within a room with Victor all day? What if Yuuri didn’t want to be here at all, with him at all? What if he had somehow, inadvertently, pressured or forced Yuuri into something he didn’t want at all? Had he taken advantage of Yuuri’s fear and his need for comfort last night? Was Yuuri regretting letting Victor so close to him in the first place?

Victor tried to drown out these thoughts, tried not to listen to their poison. And he knew it was poison, deep down. He knew Yuuri, the relationship they had built over the last years. He knew what he—what they had felt last night. It had been real. And yet, Yuuri now acted as if being stuck in a room with Victor was a nuisance at best, a horror at worst. Was he seeing ghosts? Surely Yuuri didn’t feel that way. Surely it was only Victor’s own fears playing tricks on his mind.

In this moment, Yuuri stopped in his pacing, turning towards Victor, opening his mouth in order to say something.

Victor perked up, hopeful, eager for something to contradict what was boiling underneath his skin.

“Vitya”, Yuuri said, and his voice sounded strangled in his throat, “perhaps it is better if you leave.”

"Oh.“

Yuuri could see Victor‘s face fall, eyes widening and his mouth going slack in surprise.

It only lasted for a moment, though, before his expression shuttered.

"I see“, he said. "Of course.“

And he stood from his seat on the chaiselongue where he had kept Yuuri patient company throughout the day, and turned towards the door. Yuuri‘s heart ached at the hollow tone of his voice, but he bit his tongue. He knew this was for the best.

But before Victor reached the door, he turned back again, his gaze softened as he looked at Yuuri, searching.

"Have I done something wrong, Yuuri?“, he asked, "Please, tell me.“

Yuuri balled his hands into fists at his sides, fingernails digging into his palms, but in this at least he couldn‘t lie to Victor.

"No, Vitya. Never, I just… I just need to be alone for a while. Please.“

"Why?"

Biting his tongue, Yuuri just shook his head because be couldn‘t explain. He couldn‘t explain his trembling, and the deep, parching thirst in his throat that grew with every minute. He couldn‘t explain the way it made his mind go hazy with need and how it blurred his thoughts, his reason. He couldn‘t explain the way Victor‘s smell seemed to have permeated the room within the last hours, how Yuuri could feel it in his pores and taste it on his tongue, how it made him salivate.

"Please, Yuuri. Just talk to me. Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it.“

Victor took a step toward him, reaching out as of to touch him, and Yuuri flinched back without a thought, out of reach.

The hurt that flickered over Victor‘s face made him want to cry.

"You need to leave“, Yuuri whispered, "Now. I just need you to trust me, Victor, please. Just go.“

"But I don‘t understand“, Victor insisted, "I thought… we were going to stay close to each other. Isn‘t that what we said this morning? Or is… was that just me?“

Yuuri could only just hold back from his frustrated huff becoming a snarl.

"Victor! Don‘t you understand I‘m dangerous?“

Victor‘s eyes widened again, and for a moment he was speechless.

"What are you talking about?“, he asked then.

"I killed Cialdini“, Yuuri hissed, "I still don‘t know how it happened. Have you never considered that I might hurt you, too?“

"No.“ There was absolute conviction in Victor‘s voice. "You would never hurt me. I know that.“

"You don‘t, though.“

"I do.“ Victor took another step forward, and this time there was no space left for Yuuri to step back, his back pressed against the wall. "I trust you, Yuuri.“

A pained whine escaped Yuuri‘s throat as Victor‘s scent engulfed him, making the room spin around him. Running his tongue instinctively across his teeth, he felt sharp points digging into his lower lip.

And still Victor was coming closer, reaching for Yuuri, his skin warm against Yuuri‘s hands.

"You need to leave“, Yuuri pressed out between clenched teeth. "Now.“

Victor shook his head.

"I love you, Yuuri. And I think—no, I know you love me. I know you would never hurt me.“

And before Yuuri could react, Victor‘s lips were on his, soft but insistent, and Victor‘s taste exploded in Yuuri‘s mouth and Yuuri knew then that all was lost.

All self-control forgotten, his hands shot up, cupping Victor‘s face and pulling him ever closer, until they were pressed flush together, not a millimeter between them.

Yuuri returned the push of Victor‘s lips in equal measure, opening his mouth to allow Victor‘s tongue in—too late remembering the sharp points of his teeth.

The moment it happened—just a graze of his teeth against Victor‘s tongue, just the tiniest droplet of blood in Yuuri‘s mouth—his entire body seized up with need, with a greed he had never known before. Victor‘s little gasp of pain and surprise did nothing to deter him; if anything, it made something within him roar with pleasure.

Grabbing ahold of Victor‘s collar he spun them around until Victor was pressed firmly between Yuuri and the wall, and Yuuri broke their kiss in favour of mouthing his way down Victor‘s throat.

His throat, so soft and heated and alive under Yuuri‘s lips, moving as Victor swallowed and groaned, the vibration sending a spike of heat through Yuuri.

He couldn‘t remember breaking the skin with his teeth, but he remembered the taste of Victor‘s blood flooding his mouth, sharp and metallic and delicious, remembered the way Victor jerked against him, powerless against Yuuri‘s grip.

He remembered the way Victor shuddered and the moan that rose from deep in his throat as he sagged against the wall and at the same time seemed to try to press himself closer to Yuuri.

He remembered the pleasure that coursed through his own veins along with Victor‘s blood, a sense of deep satisfaction, a thirst quenched after a long period of drought.

And then it was over, Yuuri‘s tongue licking over the punctures automatically to close them, one hand buried deep in Victor‘s hair, the other holding up his boneless form by the waist.

His own knees felt just as weak, so he let them both sink to the floor slowly, pulling Victor into his lap and cupping his face gently in his hands.

"Vitya… Vitya…“, he chanted quietly, his whole body still buzzing with sensation.

And Victor looked at him, his eyes half closed but burning underneath his lashes, trembling still and wordlessly pulling Yuuri down to kiss him again.

This time there was nothing keeping them from deepening their kiss, the sharp points of Yuuri‘s teeth having somehow disappeared again, and they fell into each other, an all-consuming hunger burning between them.

Soon there were hands pawing at Yuuri‘s clothes, clumsy fingers trying to open his shirt and in between their kisses Yuuri murmured again, the only word on his mind, circling over and over, "Vitya… Vitya…“.

It seemed as though Vitya could sense his doubts, though, because, stilling for a moment, he met Yuuri‘s gaze, steady, and repeated his words.

"I trust you.“

Leaning his forehead against Victor‘s for a second, Yuuri breathed in, focusing on these words, allowing them to fan the embers glowing in his gut.

Then he rose, picking Victor up with him.

"Can you stand?“, he asked in a whisper and, when a nod was his response, he carefully set Victor down on his own feet.

Victor seemed reluctant to let go of him, but Yuuri brushed his hair back and released him with a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"Get on the bed, Vitya.“

Chapter Text

Yuuri banged his fists against the door.

He was sweaty and out of breath and his memory from that night was fuzzy, but he was fairly certain, that this was the right door.

He knocked his fists against it until his knuckles hurt.

Finally the door opened and revealed his memory to be correct—Phichit was staring at him from the other side.

Giving Yuuri a once over, taking in his dishevelled form, his panting breaths, the sweat beading on his forehead and his harrowed expression, Phichit’s mouth twisted into a grin.

“This should be fun”, he said, “Come on in.”

“What did you do to me?”, Yuuri shouted, making no move, “What—what the hell am I?”

“Shush, not out here”, Phichit said, his grin remaining firmly in place, and he grabbed Yuuri’s arm to haul him unceremoniously inside.

Closing the door behind him, Phichit then dragged him into the sitting room where Yuuri finally caught himself and shook off his hand.

“Stop and answer me already!”

Phichit hummed, ignoring his words, and laid a hand on his forehead as if to feel for his temperature.

“Oh, you ate”, he said, “that is good, and bad, depending on who from. Kill anyone? Besides that unfortunate business with the theatre director, I mean? That’s all taken care of, by the way, no need to worry yourself. It happens at the beginning, until you learn how to—”

Yuuri slapped Phichit’s hands away and grabbed onto his shoulders, shaking him hard. “What the hell did you do to me?”

Phichit seemed unfazed by the aggression, simply waited until Yuuri had gotten it out of his system, then flicked his grip away like it was nothing.

“I told you. I gave you all the information when we met the other night. Well, not all of it, since you wouldn’t let me finish, but the essentials.”

He sighed, then slowed down his usually rapid words as if he was talking to an obtuse child.

“You are a vampire. Your body has died and was taken over by a parasitic organism that lives on blood. The hosts of these organisms are often called Vampires by humans, though a lot of the belief connected with them is, I should say, fiddle-faddle. Do you follow me so far?”

Yuuri swallowed hard, still feeling the ghost of pointed teeth against his tongue.

“It’s… it’s true then. I… I drank his blood.”

“Whose, if I may enquire?”, Phichit asked. He was still smiling, but Yuuri didn’t miss the calculating flash in his eyes. “We may have to do some damage control there, depending on how obvious you were.”

“You don’t understand”, Yuuri said, and he heard his own voice, pleading, in his ears, “I bit him. I hurt him.”

“Oh, relax, it’s perfectly safe, unless you drain them. Which instinct usually keeps us from doing, because it’s not exactly helpful for us to be leaving corpses everywhere. So, did you drain him?”

Yuuri just stared at him, eyes wide.

Phichit gave another sigh. “Was he still conscious afterwards?”

Yuuri swallowed, and gave a nod.

“Then he’ll be fine, whoever it is. Your sweetheart? Doesn’t matter, really—the important part is: is he going to go around telling everyone that you’re a vampire now?”

Yuuri stared at him, his eyes wide and panicked, thinking of Victor, thinking back to the way he had left him.

“I don’t know”, he said truthfully.

Phichit shook his head. “Well, then you’re gonna have to get him here so that we can make sure, won’t you?”

“I can’t.” Yuuri stumbled back a pace, two. “I can’t go back there. What if I hurt him again?”

Phichit put a reassuring hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, though the roll of his eyes did not go unnoticed. “I told you, he’ll be fine. It doesn’t hurt. It’s actually quite pleasurable for humans, as I’m sure you noticed.”

Yuuri shrugged Phichit’s hand away, shaking his own head now. “No. No, I can’t. I—he trusted me, and I bit him and drank his blood like a… like…”

“Like a parasite?”, Phichit completed the sentence for him. “Well, you are one. Better get used to it.”

“Oh, God…” With a pained groan, Yuuri sank to his knees, his face buried in his hands. “What have I done?”

For a few long moments, there was silence, then movement next to him and Phichit’s voice close, a hand awkwardly patting him on the back.

“There, there”, he said, “It’s not like you killed him or anything. It happens sometimes with new ones, that’s never pleasant. But then again you already had that experience with Cialdini, huh?”

That was enough to make Yuuri’s head shoot up, staring wide-eyed at Phichit.

“How do you know about that?”, he whispered.

Phichit pulled up his shoulders in a shrug. “I have my sources. But as I said, you don’t have to worry about that. It’s not the first time we had to get a new one out of trouble. We’ve done our best to draw suspicions away from you.”

Yuuri licked his lips, trying to process those words, unsure of what to focus on first.

“So I really did that?”, he finally settled on, “I killed him?”

Phichit leaned his head to the side, considering. “Yes and no. He killed himself, technically. But only because you ordered him to.”

Shaking his head, Yuuri tried to force words through his dry throat. “Why?”

“Well, I tried to tell you.” At this point Phichit, who had been bent down to his level so far unceremoniously dropped down to the floor next to him. “There are certain skills and certain restrictions you now have. One of those skills is that you can command humans whose blood you have drunk, and they have to obey you. Within limits. Those limits are mostly defined by the physical distance and by how recent the drinking was.”

“But…”, Yuuri thought back to that night, “I didn’t drink from him.”

“Oh, you did”, Phichit said, raising his eyebrows. “You may have had the instinct to close the wound, but I saw it.”

“Oh.” Yuuri remembered the way he had bitten Cialdini’s arm to get out of his choke hold, that intense taste of blood on his tongue. “But that… that can’t have been more than a few drops.”

“Plenty”, Phichit said with a shrug, “It’s not about the amount of the blood, really, it’s about the act of biting. The enzymes that you deposit when you do.”

Something cold was starting to crawl down Yuuri’s back.

“And then they have to do what you tell them?”

Phichit nodded.

“No matter what it is? No matter if they want to?”

“If it’s phrased as an order, yes. No questions or requests. The longer since the bite, the better they can resist, but the for first couple of hours…”

Something hard like iron was closing down around Yuuri’s throat.

Get on the bed, Vitya.

The words were echoing around his head, turning over and over and over in his mind, choking him.

“Oh God, Vitya….”

He couldn’t breathe.

“Get on the bed, Vitya.”

Victor obeyed his words readily, and Yuuri joined him there shortly, after rummaging through his dance bag for what he had painfully learned was better to have on hand than to be lacking in the wrong moment: a vial of oil.

“Yuuri…”, Victor whined within the few seconds it took him to find it, but he didn’t budge from his perch on the mattress, looking out through the open door of the bedroom toward Yuuri in the dressing room.

“I’m here”, Yuuri said, climbing onto the bed next to him, and Victor fell into him like a man starving, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss while pressing him back into the pillows and straddling his hips.

Yuuri reached up to wrap his arms around Victor’s shoulders, the ends of Victor’s loose hair tickling his arms where his sleeves were pushed up.

Their kiss deepening, Victor made small, needy motions against Yuuri and Yuuri could feel how desperately hard Victor was inside his breeches. Not that Yuuri himself was faring much better, with the weight of Victor on top of him, shifting against him, creating that delicious friction. There was a need burning deep in his gut, a need that Yuuri had never experienced before like this; so frantic, so immediate.

In all his previous experiences, even the ones that had been physically pleasurable, there had always been a distance between him and his body, a certain removal from what was happening like a veil across his senses.

There was nothing distanced about this: it was all closeness, their bodies, their lips, their heat, their breath, all leaving searing impressions of sensation in Yuuri’s mind, all stoking an unfamiliar need; a need to be closer still, closer still.

Hands wandering down Victor’s back, they wrapped around his hips, pressing him down firmer against Yuuri.

Victor moaned at the pressure, the sound vibrating between their lips, and his hands flew up between them, running over Yuuri’s chest and fiddling with the remaining buttons on his shirt. As soon as they were loosened he pushed the fabric impatiently off Yuuri’s shoulders before frantically tugging at the fastenings of his own shirt. Shrugging it off, he revealed the pale alabaster skin of his torso, flushed red from his neck down to the top of his chest, but Yuuri only had a moment to admire it before Victor pressed them closely together, skin on skin, heat against heat.

He was almost rutting against Yuuri now, desperate movements against Yuuri’s hips accompanied by low, breathy moans that made Yuuri feel dizzy.

“Patience”, Yuuri managed to mutter between kisses, but Victor just shook his head, breathing hard as he lifted himself up on his knees and reached between them to paw at the bulge between Yuuri’s legs.

“Need you”, he moaned, rubbing his palm along Yuuri’s hardness, “I need you, please.”

Yuuri groaned, bucking up against the delicious pressure, curling his hands around Victor’s bare waist and burying his face against his neck and mouthing kisses and bites along it, careful this time not to break the skin. Victor, in the meantime, pulled open Yuuri’s trousers, clumsy with need but successful enough, and when he wrapped a hand around Yuuri’s cock to give it a firm stroke, all thoughts of patience flew out of Yuuri’s head.

“Get undressed”, he said, his voice almost a growl, and Victor scrambled off of his lap in order to slip out of his breeches and undergarment, making Yuuri miss the weight and heat of him. But he made use of the time to reach again for the vial of oil, open it and coat his fingers and his cock liberally in the slick liquid.

“Come here”, he then murmured, and Victor crawled back onto his lap, where Yuuri had now pulled his legs under himself. Reaching behind Victor, he didn’t lose any time in running the tips of his fingers along the cleft of Victor’s ass, making Victor shudder and throw his head back with a moan. When he plunged the first finger inside, he thought Victor might come right then with the way he seized up in pleasure, his cock, dark red and heavy, jerking between them, but he held back, pushing back against Yuuri’s finger with needy little noises.

Yuuri had barely worked up to three fingers when Victor gasped “Enough… enough now”, pulling himself off Yuuri’s fingers and crawling higher up on his lap, where he reached behind himself to line Yuuri’s cock up with his entrance.

Before Yuuri could even react, he sunk down in one swift movement, taking Yuuri in to the root with a deep, drawn-out moan that reverberated in Yuuri’s chest.

His head tossed back, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, hair flowing down his back in a shimmering waterfall, Victor looked the very picture of bliss on Yuuri’s lap, and it made him shake with need more than even the tight heat of Victor’s ass clenching around his cock.

Yuuri swallowed, mesmerised for a moment by the sight before him, before his need overtook him and he bit out a single word. “Move.”

And Victor moved.

Desperate, jerky movements, bouncing up and down on Yuuri’s cock, a moan punched out of him with every thrust, and Yuuri moved with him, against him, canting his hips to thrust up into him, speeding up until they had found a rapid rhythm. Yuuri’s hands still circled around Victor’s waist, he could feel the heat radiating off of him, could feel the drip of precome on the tip of his cock rubbing against Yuuri’s stomach. Leaning forward with a throaty moan, Victor draped his arms over Yuuri’s shoulders, his fingernails digging into Yuuri’s skin as he caught his lips in another deep kiss. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room as they kissed, their panting breaths drowned in one another’s lungs.

Shifting his grip down to Victor’s hips, Yuuri angled his thrusts upwards and was rewarded with a moan that would have been almost a scream if it hadn’t been buried in his mouth, and a bite on his lower lip, blood beading as Victor’s teeth tugged desperately at the flesh.

The taste made Yuuri tingle in every corner of his body and he had to break their kiss in order to not bite Victor back, pulling back only far enough to press his forehead against Victor’s, thrusting harder as his need mounted.

“Yuuri”, Victor gasped into air between them, “Yuuri”, and again, “Yuuri”, voice almost choking on emotion and frantic need. “Tell me you won’t leave. Promise you’ll stay close to me.”

And staring into those deep blue eyes, so close, those pink lips smeared with blood still, what else could Yuuri do but promise?

“I won’t leave you”, he murmured into Victor’s hair, his jaw, his neck, “I’ll stay with you. Always.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

There were tears running down Victor’s face now, his moans turning into sobs as his movements grew ever more frantic on Yuuri’s lap.

“Always?”, he asked.

“Forever.”

Victor’s thighs were starting to shake now and Yuuri could tell he was close. Ignoring the desperate shiver in his own limbs, he bit another mark into the other side of Victor’s neck, grinding his thrusts deeper into him.

“Come, Vitya. Come for me.”

And with a broken cry Victor spilled, untouched, into the space between them.

He was trembling and clenching down hard on Yuuri, arms tight around Yuuri’s shoulders as if he was afraid Yuuri might disappear. Running his hands up Victor’s back, Yuuri pulled him impossibly closer until they were pressed completely against each other from head to thighs, Victor’s warmth practically burning against Yuuri’s cool skin, and now it took only a few more thrusts into the tight heat of Victor’s ass before Yuuri was coming, too, whirling pleasure and shivering relief washing over him.

They remained like that for a long time after Yuuri stilled, every one of Victor’s muscles—arms, thighs, ass—still clenched hard around Yuuri, unwilling to let him go, while Yuuri ran his hands gently up and down Victor’s back, seeking to soothe not only Victor but also something inside himself, something roaring at the thought that Victor might let go, ever.

Even when their breaths had long evened out and their cocks softened and Victor’s tears dried on Yuuri’s shoulder, they still remained wrapped up in one another like this, nothing between them but their heartbeats in the silence.

Eventually their lips found each other again and they kissed once more, less hurried now but no less intense, emotion sparking between them like a spitfire. Yuuri lost himself in the push and pull of their mouths for a long time, until Victor started shivering for a different reason. Reluctantly, he broke their kiss and lifted Victor carefully off his lap, and, under Victor’s feeble protests, lay him down on the mattress. Yuuri shushed him gently, but Victor wouldn’t still until Yuuri lay next to him, wrapped up in each other’s arms under the blankets, unwilling to be separated even for the time it took to get cleaned up.

Neither of them minded the stickiness cooling on their skins, though, their closeness being the most important thing right then.

Victor burrowed into the pillows and buried his head in the crook of Yuuri’s neck as soon as Yuuri was settled next to him, hands still holding on to Yuuri like a vice, but it didn’t take long then until exhaustion overtook him and his breaths became deep and slow, tickling Yuuri’s skin from slightly parted lips.

And then it was just Yuuri, left alone in a darkness that his eyes had no trouble penetrating, watching Victor’s chest rise and fall with even breaths, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks every once in a while but not otherwise stirring. Just Yuuri, and the slowly receding haze of need and thirst plunging him into a silence in which his thoughts were suddenly too loud.

What had just happened?

What had he just done?

By the time Yuuri came back to himself, he was sitting on a sofa, not quite knowing how he had made his way there.

His lungs were aching with a lack of air, his breathing still laboured but slowly calming, the roaring in his ears receding to reveal Phichit talking to him in surprisingly soft, soothing tones.

“You’ll be okay”, he murmured, “It’s gonna be okay. Just breathe, keep breathing, that’s it. We’ll figure it out.”

Yuuri’s mind was still whirring with panic, but his body was responding to Phichit, his heartbeat slowing gradually, shaking subsiding. When Yuuri finally straightened up from where he had been bent double, his head tucked between his knees, Phichit gave a regretful sigh.

“I forget”, he said, “that you and him are not the same.”

Yuuri cast him a questioning look.

“Seung-Gil”, Phichit explained. “You might be his spawn, but you are not the same person. And not everyone, it seems, has the stoicism to take this kind of information in stride.”

Yuuri swallowed, his throat dry. Speaking hurt, but he needed to occupy himself with something other than the horror his mind was currently filled with.

“You said… something about me being his host. Am I… not me anymore?”

Phichit hummed, considering. “That’s a little complicated. Technically you and Seung-Gil both were just hosts for the parasite that lives in you. But a parasite always fuses with his host to a certain degree. So when he moves to a new host, he will take certain traits of his old host with him. But he doesn’t erase your personality. Just adds something to it. So you might find, in the future, that some previously unknown features appear.”

Yuuri cast his eyes down, uncomfortably aware of the odd ways he had felt like a stranger in his body ever since the accident.

“What kind of a guy was he?”, Yuuri asked.

Phichit leaned back on the sofa with a wistful, slightly pained smile.

“Very terse, before you got to knew him well, and sometimes after. Never a man of many words. Ambitious and proud, but also loyal to the bone and with chosen few he would reveal his depths. Smartest man I ever met. So hey, maybe he’ll do something for your IQ.”

Phichit grinned, a hint of his flippant personality shining through again, but then he turned serious once more.

“Sorry I sprung this on you the way I did. He would have preferred a straightforward approach, and so would I, so honestly I didn’t give it a second thought. But maybe I should have been more delicate.”

Yuuri shook his head.

“It’s not your fault.”

And it wasn’t. It was him who had messed everything up.

Phichit regarded him with raised eyebrows. “So, you wanna tell me what happened back there?”

Yuuri’s chest clenched painfully, and he could feel tears spring into his eyes.

“God”, he whispered, “I messed up. I messed up so bad.”

“Is this about that guy, what was his name? Ciao-Ciao? The one you killed?”

Yuuri shivered, a sudden flash of cold running over him, but he shook his head. “No. No, it’s not about him. I mean, I didn’t want that to happen and god… I wish it hadn’t. But… he was attacking me and I—honestly I’m just glad he can’t hurt me anymore.”

Phichit’s eyebrows climbed a little higher on his forehead and Yuuri pulled up his shoulders.

“He… he was a bad person”, he said, then swallowed. “But… so am I.”

Clicking his tongue, Phichit regarded him sceptically. “So it’s about that other guy? The one you drank from? Your sweetheart, is he?”

The tears crashed down Yuuri’s face before he could hold them back, his voice drowning in them.

“I—I don’t… no. Certainly not now.”

“Ah.” Phichit leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because you bit him? Because you are a vampire? You think he can’t accept you?”

“No… no, that’s not what this is about. I—we… after I bit him, we… we slept together.”

“Ahh…”, Phichit nodded with a knowing grin. “That doesn’t surprise me. The bite is very pleasurable for humans, after all. And not bad for us, either.”

“No, you don’t understand.” The tears were falling down rapidly now, the words tumbling in sobs from Yuuri’s mouth. “I—I ordered him.”

“You ordered him to sleep with you?”, Phichit said, his voice flat.

“Not—not in those words, but I—I…” Nausea rolled in Yuuri’s stomach, and he couldn’t make himself form the words.

For a moment there was silence next to him, replaced then by a low whistle. “Yuuri Katsuki. So that’s the kind of person you are. Ordering people around in bed.”

Yuuri shot up from his seat with a pained cry. “Will you stop joking about this? This is—I’m despicable. I’m a terrible person.”

Phichit sat up straighter on the sofa, looking up at him, serious for once. “If he is your sweetheart, surely this wasn’t anything unexpected for him. Surely you didn’t do anything against his own desires.”

Yuuri scoffed. “This was the first time any—… anything like that happened between us.”

“Okay.” Phichit sighed. “Okay. That is… not great. But you didn’t know. You didn’t know he couldn’t say no.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No. But it means you need to explain this to him. Talk to him about this. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Yuuri’s own words echoed in his ears. You know, they didn‘t mean anything by it. They probably didn‘t even know I didn‘t want it. I just… let them. They didn‘t mean to.

They didn’t mean to abuse me.

Yuuri felt his breath seizing up in his chest, releasing it slowly to avoid panicking again. His entire body ached, like something was crushing him slowly.

“I can never see him again”, he whispered.

Phichit stared at him, stunned, but Yuuri just nodded to himself. He knew under no circumstances would he want to meet those people again who had touched him against his will. He wouldn’t want to face them again, wouldn’t want them putting their hands on him again, wouldn’t want to hear them making excuses. No, he wouldn’t do the same to Victor.

Victor, who he had hurt like he never wanted to hurt anyone, like no one should ever be hurt. He wouldn’t make him look into the eyes of someone he trusted who then turned around and betrayed him like that.

Like a monster, Yuuri thought, as numbness settled over him. That was what he was now. A monster with the power to take what wasn’t his to take.

He wouldn’t make Victor face this monster again.

Phichit stood up next to him, regarding him with creased eyebrows. “You’re really gonna leave him like that?” There seemed to be genuine concern in his voice.

“Believe me”, Yuuri said tonelessly, “He’ll be glad to have seen the last of me.”

For a moment, Yuuri wanted to turn and leave, but then he realised he didn’t have the faintest idea where to go. There was no one in the city he knew and trusted enough to seek out. He couldn’t go back home—he wouldn’t subject his family to the danger he had now become.

He looked back at Phichit.

“Can I stay with you?”

Phichit sighed deeply.

“This wasn’t exactly how I pictured this going. But yes, you will always be welcome here. We are a family, you and I and the other vampires in this city, who you will meet soon. But are you absolutely certain this is what you want to do?”

Yuuri stared at him blankly.

“I understand why you feel bad. And that you feel so cut up about it is a credit to your character. There are many vampires who would make use of their abilities in such a way without a second thought. So… are you sure you don’t want to try making amends?”

Yuuri shook his head.

“There is no making up for something like this.”

Chapter Text

Yuuri wasn’t next to him when Victor woke up in the morning.

That should have tipped him off right away, but Victor was still too blissful in his little bubble of satisfaction to pay it any mind.

Surely Yuuri was only off to use the commode and would be back any minute to crawl back under the blankets next to Victor and snuggle up next to him.

Still half asleep, Victor allowed his thoughts to drift back over the last night, to the closeness they had shared, the fervent promises they had whispered into one another’s skin under cover of darkness. He still couldn’t quite believe it had actually happened—him and Yuuri, so intimately connected, lost in such a passionate embrace… it felt like a dream, too good to be true.

Feeling a lazy smile curling on his lips, Victor stretched his limbs under the covers, groaning under his breath at the dull pain in his muscles and his lower back from their vigorous exercise the night before. It wasn’t an unpleasant pain, though, not until he rolled his neck, a sharper pain stabbing at his throat.

Victor stilled, his hand coming up to feel at the side of his neck, two small, slightly raised bumps left in the skin there, where Yuuri—as Victor remembered with sudden clarity—had bitten him the night before. And not just a regular love bite either; Victor could still remember the feeling of teeth sinking into his skin, the unprecedented pleasure coursing through him as Yuuri had… sucked his blood. The whole experience had an unreal, an almost grotesque sheen to it in the light of morning and Victor swallowed against a slowly rising discomfort in his gut.

He wasn’t quite sure what had happened there, but he should probably talk to Yuuri about that.

Except that Yuuri was still not back.

Victor sat up on the bed, trailing his eyes around the room.

“Yuuri?”, he asked into the empty air, voice raised slightly to be heard in the commode and the dressing room, but there was no reply.

Clothes were still scattered around the bed, but Victor noticed that it was only his own.

Yuuri’s clothes were gone.

The sinking feeling solidified in Victor’s belly as he clambered out of bed, finding the commode empty, as well as the dressing room and the sitting room. With rising urgency Victor checked the desk, the bedside table and any other surface he could think of for any note that might have been left for him, but again there was nothing.

Yuuri was gone without a trace.

Taking a deep breath, Victor tried to calm himself, trying to convince himself that Yuuri had just gone down to breakfast, not wanting to wake Victor from his slumber, or some such thing, but he couldn’t quite believe himself.

There was some part of him that just knew; once again, Yuuri had run away.

Yuuri had left him.

There wasn’t a trace of Yuuri in the rest of the house.

He wasn’t at breakfast, not in the studio or in the library. None of the servants had seen him.

Victor didn’t seek out his father to ask if he had seen him, unwilling to deal with him and unwilling to admit that, after his impassioned speech the day before about how they would stay together, Yuuri had disappeared.

Victor was unsure if he should feel worried or angry, but one thing he definitely felt was incredibly stupid.

He had led himself to believe that what he and Yuuri had was something real, had let himself believe the promises made in the heat of the moment last night, the promise of forever.

As it turned out, forever lasted until the next morning.

Victor tried to squash the thought down, not wanting to believe the worst of Yuuri. Yuuri wasn’t the kind of person to use him for his body and throw him away the next day. Yuuri was kinder than that, and he cared about Victor.

He did, Victor was sure, even if he had never returned Victor’s declaration of love the day before.

There must be some other reason why he had left.

Did it have something to do with the way Yuuri had bitten Victor? He had been acting strange before that, too, had been acting strange, actually, ever since he had been in that accident. That accident that had left him miraculously unscathed, even though bystanders said he had been dead on the spot…

There was definitely something more going on, something going beyond Victor’s understanding.

Perhaps he just had to trust in Yuuri, trust that he would sort out whatever it was that had taken him away, and come back for Victor. He couldn’t have been gone more than a few hours, after all. Perhaps he would return by lunch, greet Victor with a sweet kiss and apologise for leaving the way he did.

Perhaps.

Yuuri did not return for lunch, nor for dinner, and not the next day, either.

Eventually Victor couldn’t avoid his father any longer and had to face him over tea. The Earl was civil, if a little awkward, but Victor saw the doubt in his eyes when he enquired after Yuuri and Victor told him he was just out to clear up some issue with the theatre.

Indeed some messages for Yuuri arrived from the theatre and remained undelivered and unread, and eventually Thibaut arrived personally to ask after Yuuri. The lie constricting his throat, Victor told him that Yuuri had had to travel unexpectedly, visiting a family member that had fallen ill. More doubt greeted him on Thibaut’s face, mixed with suspicion, and Victor wanted to cry out in frustration.

Yuuri’s disappearance did not make him look very good in light of Cialdini’s recent death.

Victor made his assurances to Thibaut that Yuuri would return as soon as possible and that Victor would relay his messages just as soon as he did, but the phrases tasted bitter on his tongue.

Anger and worry were still warring in him, but anger was gaining the upper hand.

Phichit had showed a distressed Yuuri around the house, showing him all the relevant rooms and introducing him to what little staff he had here, before taking him to the guest bedroom that was to be his.

It was a formality more than anything, since vampires didn’t need to actually sleep, and it was a formality that Phichit soon regretted as Yuuri asked for some time alone and then promptly refused to leave his room.

At first he thought that Yuuri just needed a few hours to process what had happened; it was understandable that he was upset about the events and overwhelmed by all he had learnt. Phichit was more than ready to give him time to come to terms with his new existence and perhaps reconsider his decision in regards to his sweetheart.

It was, admittedly, common and not unwise for a new vampire to cut ties with those of his former life, both to ensure secrecy and to avoid heartbreak down the line when the short lifespan of a human inevitably came to an end. But to break with a loved one so harshly and under such unhappy circumstances seemed unnecessary even to Phichit.

But Yuuri didn’t seem to reconsider, and he didn’t seem to be able to make his peace with the events and his new life. Ignoring all of Phichit’s invitations to join him, he shut himself up in his room for the rest of the day, the night, the following day. When Phichit looked in on him he found Yuuri either buried in a mound of blankets on the bed or staring blankly out the window into nothingness.

Phichit attempted to draw Yuuri out of his shell by talking to him, telling him more about how his existence as a vampire worked.

“You’ll have already noticed that you can’t sleep”, he said, “but you’ll see that you cannot eat, either. Or, you can, but you’ll notice that it will rather quickly make its way back out the way it came. Our organisms aren’t made to process anything other than blood.”

When Yuuri didn’t give any indication that he had heard, Phichit continued.

“Speaking of: animal blood will sustain you for a while, but you really need human blood to thrive in the long run. Try not to go too long without eating; your instincts will take over and the result is rarely pretty. We try to be civilised in these parts.”

Again there was no reaction.

Phichit didn’t give up; he kept on chattering about this and that, telling Yuuri about the other vampires living in the city, about the ways they ensured their secrecy, about Seung-Gil.

“He would hardly tell me a thing at first, I had to figure out everything by myself”, he was just saying, when Yuuri turned around abruptly, facing him.

“How did he die?”

Phichit blinked at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Seung-Gil”, Yuuri said, “How did he die? Aren’t vampires supposed to be immortal?”

“Not exactly”, Phichit said, raising an eyebrow. “At least the host isn’t. The parasite is technically something like immortal, since it can simply seek another host to live in. But human vessels are useful only for a limited amount of time. We live a lot longer than a normal human, though, that’s for sure.”

Yuuri paused for a moment, regarding him with an emotionless gaze.

“Can we be killed?”, he asked then.

Phichit opened his mouth to answer, but then hesitated. “Why do you ask?”

“Tell me.”

Phichit rose from where he had been lounging on an overstuffed chair, taking a step towards him.

“Yuuri…”

Turning away, Yuuri stared out of the window once more, not responding. The hollowness of his gaze made Phichit shiver.

“Yuuri, what are you thinking?”, he asked softly. “Please talk to me.”

But Yuuri had sunk back into silence, not acknowledging Phichit’s words no matter how he tried.

A week passed and there was still no word from Yuuri.

Eventually Victor stopped listening for a knock on the front door at all hours of the day, stopped waiting nervously for the post, hoping for any sign of life.

He tried looking for Yuuri at first, tried seeking out any place in the city that he knew Yuuri had any connection with, even visited the only friend Victor knew Yuuri had in the city, Yuuko Nishigori. She hadn’t heard from him either, and neither had Christophe when Victor enquired with him, even though Chris was always in the know about anything going on in each corner of society. But it was like Yuuri had vanished from the face of the earth.

He clearly didn’t want to be found and Victor… Victor was so tired.

He was tired of running after Yuuri.

He didn’t want to give up on him, but at this point there was nothing he could do except to wait until Yuuri returned, perhaps, one day, of his own account.

In the meantime it was just Victor and his father in a house too big for them.

Of course the Earl couldn’t be kept in the dark about Yuuri’s disappearance forever. Victor braced himself for a lecture when he finally ran out of excuses and confessed to him that Yuuri was gone, but his father just sighed and looked at him with something like pity in his eyes and squeezed his shoulder firmly before changing the subject.

It soon became obvious that the Earl was trying to mend whatever rift there was between them, placated perhaps by the fact that Victor was no longer with an unsuitable partner, but he seemed to be doing it largely by pretending nothing had occurred in the first place. Victor didn’t let him get away that easily.

He still felt sick to his stomach in the Earl’s presence, remembering what Yuuri had told him about their interactions, and avoided him as much as possible. He wasn’t ready to forgive—not now, perhaps not ever, not unless his father made serious amends. But for that to happen Victor would have to confront him about his actions, and speaking of Yuuri was just too painful for him right now.

So Victor wandered the halls of the house like a ghost, drifting from room to room, lingering in the dance studio or in Yuuri’s suite of rooms. Any evidence of their night together had long since been cleared away by the staff, but the scent of them still lingered in the air, choking Victor, and yet he couldn’t tear himself free.

Victor had barely been able to sleep in the days after Yuuri’s disappearance, but as the days dragged on a heaviness grabbed ahold of him and dragged him under, weighing on his limbs and his eyelids, seducing him to sleep. He followed its call, more often than not in Yuuri’s bedroom rather than his own, burying himself in those pillows, surrounding himself with that comforting, heartwrenching scent.

The more days passed, the harder he found it to tear himself away from it.

Where did you go, Yuuri?

He pressed the thought into the soft down, clenching his fists into it.

Why did you leave?

Yuuri didn‘t count the days and nights that passed in front of his window, unheeded.

He barely noticed the days, the sun climbing up over the horizon, wandering across the firmament and sinking slowly to disappear behind the roofs of the city in front of his unseeing eyes.

The hours of the day were fleeting, quickly lost inside his thoughts and underneath the pain raging in his chest.

The nights, however, were endless.

Each one dipping Yuuri into a darkness that choked him, unending hours of stillness.

The city descending into quiet, an icy kind of immobility, only Yuuri remaining to witness its existence.

It was torture not being able to sleep.

How he wished nothing more than to be able to lay down his head and lose just a few hours to the sweet relief of unconsciousness. To forget, just for a while.

But he was cursed with witnessing every hour, every minute of his misery, in constant wakefulness.

It wasn‘t like he was tired—his body didn‘t require the rest, it seemed, staying alert throughout all hours of the day and the night. But his mind was exhausted from turning around and around itself, spinning in circles without a break and Yuuri thought he might go insane.

He couldn‘t tear his thoughts away from Victor, Victor, Victor around whom everything revolved, Yuuri‘s entire life since he was just a child turning around this bright star in the centre of his universe, the only good thing he had ever been allowed.

He should have known—he had known, really—that he would never be allowed to keep this.

He had always feared, somewhere in his mind, that he would one day ruin Victor, take the incandescent light that was him and smother it, besmirch it with the ugly realities of his own life.

He knew that he should have kept Victor out of it all, Cialdini and all the rest of them, all that unseemliness. He should have never allowed Victor to come so close.

He had always known that one day they would fall apart, and that it would be the single most painful thing Yuuri ever experienced—he just hadn‘t envisioned Victor getting hurt in the process.

Victor, who was everything Yuuri wanted to protect, everything he held dear in this life, everything that mattered.

He shouldn‘t have been the one to suffer from Yuuri‘s foolishness, and yet…

Yuuri had let his guard down, had given in to his own desires. He had been selfish.

And Victor had to pay the price.

Yuuri would never forgive himself for this.

The only thing he could possibly do to even begin to atone was to make sure that he would never hurt Victor again.

He would not make Victor face him again.

He would rather never lay eyes on Victor again than cause him any more pain.

Besides—in this too he was selfish—he couldn‘t bear the thought of Victor looking at him with his gaze clouded with hurt and betrayal. He would prefer to remember him as they had last seen each other, soft with affection, even though this memory was soured too with what he now knew.

You can command humans whose blood you have drunk, and they have to obey you.

Yuuri wondered when, exactly, everything had slipped away from him. When had he crossed the line? It was so hard to remember the details of that night, everything lost in a haze of thirst and need and pleasure. He had gone through it in his head a hundred times and a hundred times more. In many instances he couldn‘t remember his exact phrasing, couldn‘t remember if what he had said was an order or a request.

Only those words, Get on the bed, Vitya, kept circling in his mind, burning him.

He tried to remember Victor‘s expression when he had said them. Had there been any reluctance in his eyes, any revulsion? Would there have been?

Or would the order have addled his mind, would it have made him want to do what he was ordered? Had every one of Victor‘s reactions after Yuuri had bitten him, after he had given him that first order only been a product of Yuuri‘s powers in his mind?

He should have asked Phichit about it, but he was too scared of the answer.

Too scared of soiling every last soft gaze and gentle word that they had shared that night.

What if none of it had been real?

What if all of it had just been Yuuri imposing his will on Victor?

I trust you.

How thoroughly Yuuri had betrayed that trust.

Night after night dragged on like this, lost in bitter, self-loathing thoughts.

Was this it? Was this going to be the rest of the long life Yuuri had just been given? Day after night after day of nothingness and oppressive silence in which his thoughts were too loud, too loud?

Not for the first time Yuuri found himself wishing he had never been in that accident, wishing he had never run out on Victor that icy night.

He didn‘t want this life that had been bestowed on him, this life of a creature that only took. He couldn‘t bear to look down the barrel of an eternity without Victor.

Sometimes he would bury himself in the blankets of the bed in this strange room that had been declared to be his, pressing his face into the pillows and squeezing his eyes shut, praying for sleep to come, praying for darkness to envelop him and take him away from this for just a while.

He hadn‘t been able to get a straight answer out of Phichit on whether or not vampires could be killed, but sometimes he was tempted to try and find out.

When Phichit came to talk to him, he didn‘t listen.

He didn‘t want to learn more about an existence that he didn‘t want, that he had never asked for in the first place. He didn‘t want to „learn his place among the vampires“. As far as he was concerned there was no place for him, here or anywhere.

When Phichit beckoned him to come eat, he didn‘t move.

He would not drink from some stranger. He would not hurt anyone else, put anyone else in danger. It was clear, after all, that he could not be trusted.

Phichit chided him a fool and a self-sacrificing idiot and many more things less flattering than that, but Yuuri would not budge.

There was nothing Phichit could do to force him, even though Yuuri felt the thirst burning deep in his throat, making him shiver with cold and ache with need. The longer he waited, the more every inch of him screamed for a drop of blood, but as long as Yuuri did not leave this room, as long as the only person he saw was Phichit, whose scent didn‘t hold any appeal for him, he could keep his instincts under control.

He didn‘t know what would happen to him if he didn‘t drink, but he found that he didn’t care very much.

Yuuri jumped when the door banging open startled him from his thoughts, bodily flinching at the noise, oppressive in the silence that had been covering his room like a blanket.

“Alright, this is enough”, sounded Phichit’s sharp voice from the door. “Get up, get up now. You have wallowed in self-pity long enough.”

Yuuri turned around where he was seated in an overstuffed chair by the window, legs pulled close to his chest, looking at Phichit evenly though his heart still raced from the surprise.

“I’m—I’m not wallowing, and I’m certainly not pitying myself. I haven’t done anything deserving of pity.”

Phichit rolled his eyes, stalking across the room to the window and pulling the curtains wide open, letting daylight flood into the room. “Oh my God, do you hear yourself? Of course you are pitying yourself! I swear, if there’s one thing about being a vampire you’ve really got down, it’s the dramatics.”

Yuuri frowned, pulling his knees a little closer and squinting into the sudden brightness.

“Well, it’s true”, he murmured.

Phichit gave a long-suffering sigh. “Alright, so you messed up. I get it, you feel bad. But are you really going to spend the rest of eternity moping in here?”

Shrugging, Yuuri pulled the blanket over his shoulders tighter around himself. Cold had been seeping deep into his bones the last few days, and he was shivering even under the heavy, soft fabric.

“What else am I going to do? I can’t go back to dancing, and I don’t know how to do anything else. Everyone I know in the city I know either through Victor or through dance. And I’m certainly not going to put my family in danger. So what is there left for me to do?”

Crossing his arms before his chest, Phichit glared at him. “Well, you could, for example, try to atone for what you did and go back to your life.”

Yuuri’s frown deepened. “I am atoning”, he said, his voice hollow in his own ears.

“Oh, what? This is your way of punishing yourself, imprisoning yourself in here? Well, I got news for you. You don’t get to choose your own punishment. That’s not how it works.”

“It’s not like I can face a judge and get a proper sentence. What would you have me do?”

Phichit laughed, though there wasn’t much humour in it. “Yuuri, dearest, I would advise you not to rely on other vampires when it comes to moral judgement, and that includes me. I have killed my fair share of people in all my time in this life, I’m hardly one to tell you what’s right and what’s wrong.”

“Then what?”, Yuuri snapped, “What do you expect from me? I am trying to do right by the person that I’ve hurt, for God’s sake, and this is the only way I know how, do you understand? So unless you’ve got a better idea, shut up and leave me alone.” Yuuri’s voice was ringing in his ears by the time he was done, leaving him feeling slightly dizzy.

Phichit just clicked his tongue, looking unimpressed. “Here’s an idea: Talk to Victor. Let him decide what you should do.”

Yuuri flinched back like he’d been slapped.

“No”, he said, surprised by how cold his own voice sounded. “I told you, I can never see him again.”

“Aren’t you making too big a deal out of this?”

Yuuri was on his feet before he could even consider his movements, the blanket falling away from his body, leaving him wanting to curl up and wrap his arms around himself. But instead he squared his shoulders and took a step towards Phichit.

“Have you ever been through something like that yourself?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but sharp and cold like steel.

Phichit’s silence was answer enough.

“I am not making a big deal out of it”, Yuuri continued, carefully enunciating every word. “I betrayed his trust in the vilest way. I am not going to make him look me in the eyes again.”

Phichit shook his head with an exasperated huff of breath. “Then write him a letter or whatever, just do something. At least let him know you’re alive, he’s been looking all over for you since you disappeared.”

Yuuri froze.

“What?”, he said, tonelessly. “How—… How do you know that?”

Phichit grimaced, squirming a little where he stood and Yuuri felt even colder, if that was possible.

“You’ve been keeping an eye on him.” It was not a question.

“Of course I have”, Phichit said, and there was only a hint of remorse in his voice. “I told you, I had to make sure he wouldn’t tell everyone about you being a vampire.”

Yuuri swallowed, his throat dry, and tried to suppress the trembling that ran through his limbs.

“He’s been looking for me?”, he asked, barely trusting his voice not to break.

Phichit pulled up his shoulders in a shrug. “He talked to all kinds of people. I don’t know who they were to you, but he asked them after you. Ran all around the city for a while, trying to find you.”

“How do you know all that?”

Phichit’s lips quirked up without humour. “Oh, honey, there’s so much about being a vampire that you don’t know yet.”

“Why?”, Yuuri asked, ignoring him, barely even addressing Phichit, “Why would he look for me?”

Phichit raised an eyebrow at him. “Because he wants to see you, maybe? Because he wants to talk to you? Because maybe what happened wasn’t as bad as you made it up in your head? Or maybe he just wants to punch you in the face, I don’t know. But don’t you think you owe it to him to at least hear him out?”

Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, Yuuri shook his head helplessly. “I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t? Come on, don’t you think that’s his decision to make? You want to atone? You’re gonna have to talk to him.”

When Yuuri hesitated, Phichit rolled his eyes.

“If you’re still not sure he wants to see you, just write him a letter first. Then he can still send you to hell. And if he doesn’t, you can meet, someplace neutral, talk it out.”

Shoulders slumping, Yuuri walked back toward his chair, sitting down gingerly at the edge of the cushion. “I… I don’t know. I have to think about this.”

“Alright, well, don’t take too long”, Phichit said with a sigh, “he’s still a human, after all.”

Yuuri’s head snapped up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know”, Phichit shrugged, “they’re fragile. And it seems he’s been sick lately.”

“What?”

Yuuri was instantly on his feet again, crossing the room toward Phichit.

“Victor is ill?”

“Relax, I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just moping. You know, like you.” Phichit grinned, but Yuuri couldn’t find any humour in his words.

Reaching out, he grabbed Phichit by the shoulder. “Tell me everything you know.”

Phichit huffed. “I don’t know much. Only that he hasn’t left the house in a while, and the servants say he barely gets out of bed. He’s weak. Doesn’t eat.”

Yuuri felt his eyes widen and his grip around Phichit’s shoulder tensing until Phichit shook him off with an annoyed look.

“Look, I’m sure it’s nothing major. My best guess is that he’s just pining after you, just like—”

Phichit broke off, his eyes widening all of a sudden as he drew in a sharp breath.

“Oh, Yuuri”, he said, his voice tense. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Did what?”, Yuuri asked, stumbling back a pace under Phichit’s intense stare, but Phichit didn’t answer. Instead his hands shot out, one of them wrapping around Yuuri’s upper arm, pulling him closer, the other gripping the back of his head and forcing him down with that remarkable strength of his, until Yuuri was bent almost double, his messy braid that he hadn’t redone in who knew how many days falling away to the side.

He heard a gasp and Phichit’s hand let go of his arm. A moment later he felt a cool finger running over the skin at the back of his neck, making Yuuri shiver when the fingertip grazed over an irregular bump in the skin that felt unfamiliar to him.

“Oh, Yuuri”, Phichit breathed again, “What have you done?”

Chapter Text

"Let go of me!“

Struggling against Phichit‘s grip, Yuuri pushed at him, finally pulling free and stumbling backwards, righting himself.

His hand flew up to the back of his neck automatically, covering it, but any words he might have wanted to hurl at Phichit froze in his throat when he felt it himself.

There under his fingertips was a mark of bumps and ridges, circular with some kind of pattern that he couldn‘t make out, feeling slightly numb, much like a scar.

"What is that?“, he whispered more to himself than to Phichit, fighting the urge to look for a mirror. Even if the old belief that vampires did not have a reflection was not true, no amount of twisting and turning would allow him to see the back of his own neck.

Phichit shook his head slowly, looking at him with some amount of pity in his eyes, though it was almost drowned in exasperation.

"Yuuri Katsuki“, he said, "you must be the most unfortunate bastard I have ever encountered. How you managed to accidentally bind someone to you within days of becoming a vampire is absolutely beyond me.“

Yuuri stared at him. "What are you talking about? What does this mean?“

His fingertips were still tracing over the intricate pattern imprinted on his skin like he had been branded. Since when had it been there? Surely something like this wouldn‘t appear painlessly?

Yuuri tried to recall if he had touched the back of his neck at all since becoming a vampire. Had it appeared when he had first been turned? But then surely the doctors examining him at the hospital would have noticed.

"I told you“, Phichit began with a sigh, "There‘s so much to being a vampire that you don‘t know about yet. This… is one of those things.“

"Then explain it to me, for fuck‘s sake“, Yuuri spat, agitation still roiling in his chest, "How did you know it would be there?“

Phichit shrugged. "I had a hunch“, he said. "Come on, sit down. I‘ll explain it to you.“

Yuuri really didn‘t feel particularly inclined to take a seat, too much nervous energy running through his body, but still he let Phichit usher him back toward his chair. Phichit himself sank down on the padded bench at the foot of the bed, pulling his feet up to sit cross-legged.

For a few moments there was silence while Phichit appeared to collect his thoughts. Yuuri pulled his knees close to his chest again and, sweeping his messy hair out of the way, ran his fingers over the mark on his neck almost compulsively.

"I told you that a vampire‘s host, while not immortal, can live for a long time, yes?“, he finally began, not waiting for Yuuri to answer his question. "Throughout all of those years, vampires need human blood to drink. But it is not always possible nor advisable to hunt a new human for that purpose every time. Historically, it has never been very healthy for vampires if too many humans knew of their existence. Leaving a trail of drained corpses or scared survivors in their wake would only come back to haunt them sooner or later.“

Phichit ran his fingers along the embroidery of the cushion he sat on while he spoke, eyes trailing the movement almost distractedly.

"So it has always been the more reasonable way for a vampire to find a human to feed from repeatedly. A companion of sorts. Or a permanent buffet, if you want to be cynical about it. The vampire couldn‘t feed too often or too much, of course, but they also wouldn‘t have to concern themselves about hunting anymore.“

Yuuri shook his head slightly, his hair rustling against the upholstery.

"And what would the human get out of it?“

A sharp grin appeared on Phichit‘s face for a moment, but there was a bitter tang to it. "Much of the time, the human had little say in the matter. Though some would do it for the pleasure of the bite alone, or out of genuine sentiment for their vampire companion. But, and this is what I was getting to…“

Phichit leaned back on his hands, peering at Yuuri from lowered lashes.

"There is the problem of the short lifespan of your ordinary human. It would be a hassle and, I suppose in some cases even a genuine loss, for a vampire to lose their companion every few decades, every few years even, if something unexpected happens. That’s why there is a way to bind a vampire and their companion together.“

Pausing for a moment, Phichit got to his feet, smoothing out the cushion with gentle hands before walking over to the window. Sunlight was still pouring into the room unfiltered, casting a warm glow onto his tan face.

"Through a specific ritual, the lives of a vampire and a human are intertwined. The human‘s lifespan is extended, to make sure that vampire and companion will not have to be parted in their lives. But it comes at a price, naturally.“

Yuuri swallowed through a painfully dry throat.

"What‘s the price?“, he whispered hoarsely.

"Well“, Phichit said, eyes still roaming the garden underneath, covered in glittering hoarfrost, "the human is bound to his vampire companion for better or worse. Their extended lifespan is dependent on the regular bite from their vampire. If, for whatever reason, the vampire doesn‘t drink from them regularly…“

"… they will die?“, Yuuri completed his sentence.

"Eventually“, Phichit said after a beat of hesitation. "First they will lose their energy, become sickly and sluggish, and eventually fall into a deep sleep, not unlike a coma.“

Yuuri licked his lips, willing some moisture into his dry mouth.

"You believe that‘s what‘s happening to Victor.“

Phichit turned to look at him with a humourless huff of laughter.

"I know it is.“

Yuuri clenched his fist over his knees, fingernails digging deep into the skin through the fabric of his trousers.

"How can you be sure?“

Leaning his hip against the windowsill and crossing his arms before his chest, Phichit nodded at Yuuri‘s neck.

"That mark on your skin? There will be an identical one on Victor‘s neck. It is the symbol for your union. Each mated pair has them, though they are all of them a little different.“

For a long time silence fell between them as Yuuri tried to digest the information. His fingernails pressed deeper still into his knees, threatening to break skin, but the pain didn‘t register. Nor did the shivers still running over Yuuri‘s body, making his limbs shake. It all felt far away from him, like an echo of a life past.

"How did this happen?“, he finally managed to whisper, barely loud enough to be heard even in the silence of the room.

Phichit shrugged. "Beats me. I‘ve never heard of anything like it. Seems to be just your luck.“

"No, I mean it“, Yuuri said, "How did it happen? You said there was a ritual…?“

"Mh.“ Phichit leaned back, letting his head rest against the window and closing his eyes. "The requirements for a bond are threefold. You need a mutual bite, a mutual declaration of intent, and a physical seal.“

"What does that mean?“

"Well.“ Opening one eye, Phichit peered at Yuuri from the corner of it. "Mutual bite should be fairly self-explanatory. You need to bite him, of course, but he also needs to drink from your blood.“

Yuuri nodded slowly, remembering the sting of Victor‘s teeth on his lips when they had kissed.

"A mutual declaration of intent“, Phichit continued, "is some kind of verbal confirmation that this union is wished by both parties. This can be a formal statement, but it also often takes the form of a promise, or a vow.“

When Yuuri said nothing, Phichit carried on.

"A physical seal is some kind of physical connection during or after the declaration. This could be a handshake or a hug, but it most often takes the form of a kiss.“

Lifting his head from the window, he turned to look at Yuuri again fully. "Any of that sound familiar?"

Yuuri swallowed. He knew if he wasn‘t nearly devoid of blood, his body struggling to even keep itself warm, he would be blushing a mortified crimson.

But Phichit still seemed to read something in his face because he frowned for a moment, before a wicked smirk appeared on his lips.

"You were having sex when it happened, weren‘t you?“

Yuuri didn’t dignify this with a reply, but it seems one was not needed; Phichit burst into laughter nonetheless.

"Well, that‘s certainly a physical connection if I‘ve ever seen one.“

But Yuuri did not feel like laughing. Feeling colder than ever, he waited for Phichit‘s laughter to abate before he opened his mouth, pressing out the words before his fear of the answer could get the best of him.

"Did I force him into this, too?“

"No.“ Phichit‘s answer was immediate. "A bond cannot be forced on another person. There‘s a reason I said the declaration of intent was a statement, or a promise. It can even be a question, if that question is met with resounding consent. But you cannot order someone into a bond.“

Yuuri allowed himself the smallest breath of relief. But still, a corner of his mind whispered.

"But still“, he gave voice to his thought, "he didn‘t know what he was getting himself into. I forced him into this, too, he didn‘t have all the information…“

"Well, neither did you“, Phichit interrupted him, "by that logic you were forced into this just as much as he was.“

"But… I‘m not the one bearing the consequences. He is the only one who is going to get hurt by this.“

Phichit hummed, a note of doubt in his voice. "That is not quite true.“

Yuuri looked up at him with a questioning glance.

"What are you talking about?”

“Well…” Phichit tilted his head, considering. “I told you that a bond extends a human’s lifespan, but the opposite is also true. A bonded vampire does not live as long as an unbound one usually would. It will take a long time, when seen from a human’s perspective, but that mark on your and Victor’s neck? It will slowly start to grow, encircling your throat, and once the ring closes at the front, you will both die. That is, if you’re lucky.”

Yuuri frowned. “If we’re lucky?”

At this, Phichit turned around again, facing the window, his hands leaning on the windowsill.

“The bond might extend a human’s natural lifespan, but it doesn’t make them invincible. While the vampire bite protects them from most illnesses, they can still be killed or perish in an accident as any human could. Or, of course, if a bonded pair were to be separated and the vampire couldn’t administer his bite regularly… well. And a bond being broken through the death of one’s companion… it’s said that it’s a pain incomparable to any other.”

Yuuri took a deep breath, letting Phichit’s words sink in. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine. The thought of losing Victor—the experience of losing Victor—was the most unbearable thing to him, and that was not even considering any kind of mythical bond between them.

“What about the other way around?”, he finally asked, his voice croaking in his throat, “What if the vampire… If—If I was killed, what would happen?”

Phichit cast him a quick glance, and there was that shine of pity in his eyes again. “I’ve never seen it happen, or heard any reliable accounts. There are stories, though. In none of them the human survives long without their vampire companion, either perishing from heartbreak or taking their own life in grief. But I can’t tell you how much truth there is to it, and how much of it is romantic liberties taken.”

Yuuri nodded slowly, swallowing, his mouth feeling tacky and his tongue dry between his lips.

“There is no way to dissolve a bond.”

It wasn’t a question and he didn’t need Phichit’s affirmative hum to know it was true.

“Victor is bound to me for the rest of his life.”

“That’s the long and short of it.”

Yuuri forced his fingers to release their deathly grip around his knees and flexed them slowly, opening and closing them, his joints aching with every movement, stiff from the strain.

“How long can he survive without my bite?”

Phichit regarded him with raised eyebrows, but replied after moment’s thought. “Three, perhaps four weeks awake, though that last week will be anything but fun. Perhaps again as long once he’s unconscious, but if that happens too often, he will suffer from it. He’ll waste away, body and mind.”

Releasing a slow, shuddering breath, Yuuri looked up at him.

“So three weeks. Three weeks is what I can give him between bites. Three weeks at a time to live his life in.”

Creasing his eyebrows, Phichit searched his face, fingertips beating an unsteady rhythm on the windowsill. “What are you thinking, Yuuri?”

Unfolding his trembling legs slowly, Yuuri got to his feet.

“I may have bound Victor to me against his will, but I will do what I can to ensure his health and happiness. I will not stand in the way of all the life he has ahead of him. Once every three weeks we have to meet so that I can bite him. In the remaining time I will stay out of his way and not interfere with his life.”

Phichit scoffed at him, unimpressed.

“I believe this is something you should discuss with him."

The duvet was a comforting weight around Victor’s shoulders, the pillow a familiar warmth underneath his head.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, the sounds from the rest of the house floated towards him as if from far away, barely penetrating the fog of his tiredness.

There was something comforting about it, the run-of-the-mill sounds of everyday life, footsteps on the carpet, the clicking of a door opening or closing, a rush of wind through an open window, a hushed voice.

They lulled Victor into a sense of tranquillity, muffling his thoughts, dulling his pain.

He didn’t want to move, not even to turn around in the sheets, finding a new comfortable position to lie in already too much of an effort.

He let his mind float in the hazy darkness.

When there was a knock on the door, it took a while for him to register that it was meant for him, that it required some action on his part.

With considerable effort he persuaded his muscles and tendons to work together long enough to roll over onto his back and mumble a barely intelligible “come in”.

A footman was standing in the door.

“Please excuse me, my lord”, he said, “but there’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Victor gave a weak wave of his hand, his eyes already halfway to drifting shut again. “Not today.”

The footman cleared his throat.

“He says it’s very urgent, and, uhm…”, a pause, “you said to inform you immediately when there are any news of Mister Katsuki.”

That was enough to properly flip Victor’s eyes open. Blinking a few times to clear his head, he propped himself up on his elbows, trying to push himself upright into a sitting position.

“It’s Yuuri?”

“No, my lord”, the footman said with an apologetic little grimace, “but this gentleman says he knows of Mister Katsuki’s whereabouts.”

Victor sucked in a deep breath and with a low groan he pushed himself up, the room spinning around him as he moved. The footman hurried into the room, piling pillows against the headboard that Victor could prop himself up against.

“Bring him up.”

With a nod, the footman disappeared out the door and down the stairs, and Victor took his momentary absence to straighten up his thoughts, if not his appearance. He knew his hair must look a tangled, greasy mess, and he was only wearing a nightshirt under the heavy duvet, but there was nothing he could do about that within a few seconds. But if this person, whoever they were, really knew where Yuuri was, then Victor must receive them with as clear a mind as he could muster. Taking a few breaths, Victor tried to dispel the last vestiges of sleep, the haziness clouding his thoughts. He even gave his own arm a good pinch, forcing a little more alertness.

It wasn’t long before he heard the returning footsteps, of two people this time, and then the door opened, the footman stepping aside respectfully to let the other person enter.

“Mister Phichit Chulanont, my lord.”

Victor dismissed the footman with a nod and a word of thanks, and then he was left alone with the stranger.

And a stranger he was; Victor did not believe he had ever encountered him before. He was of very respectable appearance, wearing clothes of high quality; such high quality, in fact, that Victor was surprised there hadn’t been a “Lord” before his name rather than a “Mister”. His short, dark hair was neatly parted and swept to the side, his skin tan and his expression open and friendly. His eyes, however, were sharp as they took in Victor and the rest of the room.

“Mister Chulanont”, Victor began, trying to sit up a little straighter and square his shoulders, trying to be more of a genial host than he could currently be. “Please excuse my indecency. I wouldn’t usually receive visitors in such a state of undress, but I have been unwell and I was told you had some urgent news?”

A smile curled onto Chulanont’s lips as he stepped further into the room, dismissing Victor’s apology with a wave of his hand. Victor noted distantly that he did not bow, though he would hardly insist on such formalities in a situation such as this.

“I am glad you could receive me at all, despite your ill health”, Chulanont said, “don’t concern yourself with decency. It is the twentieth century, is it not?”

Victor gave him a gracious nod, but his curiosity wouldn’t allow for any more pleasantries.

“You said you know where Yuu—Mister Katsuki is?”

The smile on Chulanont’s face fell away at that, his expression schooling itself into something more neutral as he gave an affirmative hum.

“Indeed I do. I am here today in his stead, as it were.”

Victor felt a frown creasing his forehead. “Where is he? Why didn’t he come himself?”

Chulanont folded his hands behind his back, rocking forward and back on his feet as he contemplated his answer.

“The reasons for this are manifold, and complicated. As for his whereabouts, he has been staying with me, in my townhouse.”

Victor’s heart gave a tug at that information, the knowledge that Yuuri was in the city, still so close to him even if he felt so far away. He cleared his throat.

“And why has he been with you? Who, if you will forgive me for being so blunt, are you?”

Chulanont gave him a laconic little smile.

“I am a friend.”

“He’s never mentioned you before.”

“A new friend”, Chulanont amended.

Victor felt frustration squeezing his throat, feeling out of his depth and too many questions crowding onto his tongue at once. Why wasn’t Yuuri here? Why did he leave in the first place? Why would he prefer staying with this virtual stranger when his home was so close? And why would he send that stranger to talk to him? He knew that most likely Chulanont wouldn’t or couldn’t answer most of those questions, but he decided to give the latter one a try.

“Why exactly are you here?”

Chulanont’s gaze wandered through the room as he seemed to contemplate his next words. When he spoke, however, his eyes were fixed firmly on Victor again.

“I am here to take you to see Yuuri, if you are willing. He is awaiting you in my home.”

It was only a last bit of restraint he had, and the anger still simmering under all his worry and grief, that kept Victor from immediately throwing off his blankets and following Chulanont wherever he wanted to take him, if only he got to see Yuuri again. Instead, he curled his fingers into the sheets and peered at Chulanont steadily.

“And why do I need to come see him? Why doesn’t he return home, where he should be? Besides, you see that I am unwell and hardly fit for travel.”

Chulanont lifted an eyebrow at him ever so slightly.

“It can hardly be called travel; my home is mere minutes from here by carriage. And I do apologise for disturbing you while you are ill, but I’m afraid the matter really cannot wait.”

This gave Victor pause.

“Why not? What—is Yuuri alright?”

The thought that Yuuri could be ill, too, sat heavy in his stomach. He didn’t want to believe it, but what other reason could there be that he was unable to come see Victor himself but still needed to see him quickly?

Chulanont gave a contemplative hum.

“It is a matter of health, yes”, he finally said, “But everything will be cleared up if you just come with me.”

Victor’s resolve was crumbling already, but still this all seemed just a little too strange.

“I don’t mean to offend”, he said slowly, “but I don’t know you at all. Why should I trust you to tell the truth? Why should I go with you?”

“Ah, yes…”, Phichit sighed, “I thought that might come up. That’s why I brought you this. It’s not much, but hopefully it will be enough.”

With that, he reached into his pocket and passed Victor a sealed note. Victor took it from him, the paper fine under his trembling fingers as he opened it. Chulanont was right, it really wasn’t much, but Victor recognised the neat, careful script immediately.

I’m sorry.

Please come see me.

Y

Victor couldn’t quite help turning the note over in his fingers, even though he knew there wasn’t anything more but those six words. But it was the first sign of life he had from Yuuri in weeks, and it made a sudden yearning for more flare up in his chest.

Swallowing heavily, Victor composed himself, and when he finally looked up, Chulanont was still gazing at him expectantly.

“Alright”, Victor whispered. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll come with you. Just give me some time to prepare.”

There was no relief or triumph on Chulanont’s face, just that little tilt to his lips that didn’t seem to hold any amusement. “Of course, of course”, he said.

With a nod, Victor reached out to ring the bell, and when a footman appeared in the door again, he said: “Please take Mister Chulanont into the library and bring him some tea. And send up my valet, too.”

The footman gave an efficient nod and Chulanont followed him easily out the door. “Better pack for a few days’ stay”, he threw lightly over his shoulder, before disappearing around the corner and leaving Victor with even more questions.

It took Victor way longer than he would have liked, to get everything ready for his departure. Even with his valet selecting his clothes and taking care of the packing, the effort of washing himself and getting dressed was enough to drain him of all the energy he had gained from the thought of seeing Yuuri again. Every time he stood, with his valet’s helpful arm to hold him up, he felt dizzy, his legs wobbling underneath him, and getting to sit down again was a relief every time. He could see the doubts in his valet’s eyes, even if he didn’t dare voice them out loud; Victor knew he thought it was a bad idea for him to leave the house in his state.

Victor couldn’t really disagree—the exhaustion tugging on his limbs kept tempting him to just climb back into bed and sleep some more. But he would get to see Yuuri. He needed to see Yuuri. And what was more important, Yuuri needed to see him. For all that Victor was freely willing to give up to Yuuri, Yuuri never asked him for anything. He was barely able to accept help that was freely offered. So for Yuuri to plead with him as he had in his note—Victor knew he wouldn’t use those words carelessly.

Besides, Victor needed an explanation. He deserved an explanation. While Yuuri’s brief apology masked the sharpest sting of pain in Victor somewhat, it was far from enough to soothe the bitter disappointment and anger at Yuuri’s actions. If this was what it took for Yuuri to explain himself, then so be it.

Holding fast to that thought, Victor pushed himself through his preparations, making himself presentable, collecting his things and writing a brief note to his father explaining his absence. Nonetheless, by the time he was ready to depart, being led to a waiting carriage by his valet, with Chulanont following closely behind, Victor was weary to his bones.

After he had gotten settled on the comfortable padded seats in the carriage, Chulanont climbed in beside him, saying a few words to the driver before they set off. Victor gazed out of the window at the streets passing by, determined to play close attention to their journey in order to find out just where in the city Chulanont’s townhouse was located, but with the exhaustion weighing on him, the soothing rattling of the carriage wheels on the pavement and Chulanont’s contented silence next to him, Victor was lulled to sleep immediately.

Chapter Text

Sleep released Victor from its grip slowly, and then all at once.

He surfaced gradually from a dark, dreamless depth, his consciousness returning as if from a faraway journey. One by one, sensory impressions made their way into his awareness—first a warmth then a softness surrounding him, the clean smell of freshly laundered sheets, and something else underlying it, something sharper, tangy.

It was this latter that jerked Victor awake fully with the sudden knowledge that he was not in his own home, leaving him with the strange disoriented feeling of waking up in someone else’s house.

He sat up immediately, taking in the rest of the room, half hoping to see Yuuri, somewhere, waiting for him, but he was alone. Alone in what looked like any guest bedroom in any well-situated townhouse in the city, the furnishings tasteful and in good condition, if a little out of style. Victor had been lying in the middle of a large four-poster bed, the canopy above him crimson and gold coloured brocade. The curtains were drawn in front of the windows, dipping the room into twilight, though it seemed like it was broad daylight outside.

How long had he slept?

It had been the middle of the afternoon when he had left home, the winter sun already beginning its early descent. He couldn’t remember anything beyond the carriage ride, so he must have slept through the whole evening and night. He was a bit annoyed, both at himself and at his host, that he hadn’t been woken up in order to see Yuuri, especially if his presence really was as urgent as Chulanont had made it out to be. But then, with the way he had been, who knew if it had been possible to wake him up even if they tried.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Victor realised he was still in his shirt and trousers from the day before. Someone had removed his coat, shoes, waistcoat and cravat but obviously hadn’t want to intrude upon his person by undressing him further. Pushing up onto his feet, Victor crossed the room towards the window for a look outside, hoping to be able to judge whereabouts in the city he currently was. It distantly occurred to him that, had Chulanont deceived him and wished him ill, he had put himself into a rather helpless position.

It wasn’t until he twitched the curtains away to the side, letting the morning light into the room, that he realised something was different.

He had moved through the room easily, without any aches and pains, no tiredness dragging on his limbs. His mind, too, was sharp and focused, gone the haziness of the last several days.

He felt quite well. Restless energy was buzzing under his skin and even an appetite made itself known in the pit of his stomach.

Victor looked down at himself in bewilderment, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting to see—it wasn’t like his illness before had had any visible symptoms. Still, he turned and twisted his limbs, relishing in the looseness of his muscles, and stretched himself thoroughly, paying attention to any sore spots remaining. There didn’t seem to be any, except for a slight twinge in his wrist.

Before he could lose himself too much in the wonderment at his miraculous recovery, however, there were steps in the hallway, reminding him that he was not on his own and, what was more, that he was here for a purpose.

Looking around the room, he discovered a bell and pulled it.

It didn’t take long for the door to his room to open, but instead of a servant, as Victor had expected, Mister Chulanont himself was standing in the door, fully dressed for the day and with a grin on his face.

“You’re awake!”, he exclaimed, “Wonderful! How do you feel?”

“Oh, ah, I feel fine, thank you”, Victor said, a little taken aback by his host’s personal attention, “much better than yesterday. I suppose the rest must have done me some good.”

“Excellent. Yes, I suppose it must have.” Chulanont quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t you get dressed and come down for breakfast? You must be famished.”

“Ah, well…”, Victor hesitated. It was true that he was hungry, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to focus on eating now. “I was really hoping to talk to Yuuri first. That’s why I’m here, after all.”

“Quite right”, Chulanont said, his smile diminishing somewhat, “But there will be plenty of time for that later. First we must look after your health, yes?”

“Will Yuuri be joining us for breakfast, then?”, Victor asked, something defiant creeping into his voice.

“I’m afraid Mister Katsuki isn’t up yet”, Chulanont countered smoothly, “so it will just be the two of us. Come, come.”

And without wasting another second he stepped inside to open a second door in the room, leading into a small dressing room that held Victor’s luggage.

“Will you be dressing yourself or should I send up a valet to assist you?”

Victor sighed, giving in for the moment. “I will dress myself, thank you.”

“Excellent”, Chulanont said again, “Then I will see you downstairs shortly.”

And with that he disappeared before Victor could get in another word.

Frowning, Victor set upon the task of dressing himself. The longer he was here, and the more he talked to Chulanont, the more the feeling solidified that he had made a mistake in coming here. Was Yuuri really here at all, or had he been duped? If so, to what end? And the note he received… it had definitely been Yuuri’s writing, so Chulanont must have been in contact with him somehow.

It was all too strange, but he wouldn’t get any answers while he was shut up here, so he just got on with it and hurried downstairs once he was dressed.

Finding the breakfast room was easy enough, following the tempting smell of bread, tea and cold cuts. Chulanont was indeed waiting for him there, leaned back casually in his chair, one hand curled around a steaming cup of tea. He gestured invitingly for Victor to join him, and so Victor did, pouring himself some tea of his own and helping himself to breakfast. He ate quickly and efficiently, satisfying the eager appetite that had suddenly awoken again, feeling Chulanont’s gaze on him all the while. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Victor, minding his table manners, so for a little while the clinking of cutlery and the crunch of freshly baked bread were the only sounds in the room. Finally, Victor set down his cutlery and put aside his napkin, looking up. Distantly he noted that Chulanont himself hadn’t eaten anything, nor had he drunk any of his cooling tea, but there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“There”, he said, a little more curtly than necessary perhaps. “I have eaten. Can I see Yuuri now?”

Chulanont leaned forward in his chair and Victor knew before he even opened his mouth that his answer would be another negative.

“There are a few things we should talk about first”, he hedged, and Victor interrupted him before he could go on.

“There is nothing I want to talk about. Not with you, anyway. I want to talk to Yuuri.”

Chulanont gave a long-suffering sigh.

“You are well-suited to one another in stubbornness, I have to say that much”, he said, and Victor’s stomach gave a lurch, wondering suddenly how much Chulanont knew of their relationship. “But I will have to ask your patience for a little while longer. There are some explanations—”

“I don’t want any explanations from you”, Victor cut him off again. “If anyone needs to explain himself, it’s Yuuri.”

“I understand, but—”

Victor stood up abruptly, pushing back his chair with a loud scrape.

“Is Yuuri even here?”, he demanded.

Chulanont followed his example, getting to his feet as well, his hands lifted in a calming gesture.

“He’s here, but—”

Victor didn’t wait to hear the rest of that sentence, turning around to leave the room, determined to find Yuuri himself, but there was a surprisingly strong grip on his arm, holding him back.

“—he won’t talk to you”, Chulanont blurted out and, when Victor turned to stare at him, seemed to immediately regret his words.

“He won’t talk to me?”, Victor asked, his voice deceptively calm in the sudden silence. “Then why bring me here?”

Chulanont grimaced, seemingly unable to answer that question, and Victor took advantage of his momentary distraction to twist out of his loosened grip, storming out of the room.

“Yuuri!” His shout echoed in the entrance hall and shuddered in his bones. “Where are you?”

Not really expecting a reply, Victor stormed up the stairs, determined to find him even if he had to check every single room in the house. He knew Chulanont had most likely lied when he said that Yuuri was still in bed, but he figured he was still more likely to find him in one of the bedrooms than the common rooms of the house.

Ignoring the shouts and steps of Chulanont hurrying after him, Victor paced down the corridor, opening each door he passed and looking inside. He found two empty guest bedrooms besides his own, then a large suite that was most likely the master bedroom, Chulanont’s own.

When he shoved open the next door with a bang, however, there was a figure pressed against the opposite wall, flinching back from the noise.

Victor stopped, frozen in his tracks.

Yuuri looked—well, to say he looked well would be a lie. He looked pale and harrowed, with puffy bags under his eyes. His hair was even more of a tangled mess than Victor’s had been the night before, more strands having slipped out of his braid than were still in it, falling wild around his shoulders. His eyes were wide and full of fear and something else that Victor couldn’t quite define. But he looked whole, on his own two feet and not obviously ill, and that was enough to drown out the last of Victor’s worry under cold, hard anger.

“What the hell is going on here, Yuuri?”, he spat, almost surprised himself at the venomous edge to his words.

Chulanont caught up to him then, coming to stand in the doorway behind him. “Sorry, Yuuri”, he said over Victor’s shoulder, a little breathless, “I tried to hold him back, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

Victor looked away from Yuuri long enough to shoot a sharp glare at him over his shoulder, scorching enough to make him back away a pace, holding up his hand in a defensive gesture.

“It’s okay, Phichit”, came Yuuri’s voice from his other side, wavering, but mostly he just sounded tired. “You can leave us.”

Victor didn’t turn around again, but Chulanont must have indicated his doubt somehow, because Yuuri added: “Just go. I have to talk to Victor.”

There was a sigh behind him, and a muttered “fine”, and then Chulanont’s footsteps receded.

Yuuri still stood frozen pressed against the wall, as if pinned there by Victor’s glare, but he averted his eyes, and now that the wide-eyed shock was fading from them, Victor could see what else was swimming in their depths.

Shame.

Yuuri was ashamed.

Victor noted it with no small measure of satisfaction; at least Yuuri was aware that he had messed up.

“Please come in”, Yuuri said, his voice careful as if he didn’t quite dare speak. “And would you please close the door?”

Victor followed his request reluctantly, still unwilling to take his eyes off Yuuri as if he might disappear again any second, but he supposed it was for the best if they were not disturbed for this conversation.

Yuuri, in the meantime, inched along the wall, keeping his distance diligently before sinking down on the edge of an overstuffed chair, crumpling in on himself as if all the fearful tension left him all at once. His shoulders curling in, his face half hidden behind his hair, he looked small.

“I’m so sorry, Victor”, he whispered, “It was never supposed to happen like this.”

Victor clenched his fists at his sides and his jaw firmly, forcing apart his teeth with some difficulty to speak.

“What was not supposed to happen? What the fuck happened? Why did you leave? You—”, he found that now he had started speaking, he couldn’t hold back the words, “you promised you wouldn’t leave again. And then you lure me here with that note of yours and then you refuse to talk to me? What the hell kind of game are you playing?”

“No game, Vit—Victor”, Yuuri said, and Victor didn’t miss the way he stumbled over his name, “I thought it would be for the best if you didn’t…. I still think it’s for the best if you see as little of me as possible. But I know I owe you an explanation.”

“Alright then”, Victor ground out, pacing up and down the room but keeping his eyes fixed on Yuuri, “explain.”

A long pause followed, in which Yuuri kneaded his hands, obviously trying to collect his thoughts, and Victor suppressed the urge to snap at him to get on with it already. He knew Yuuri well enough to know that would only make him clamp up even more. If he still really knew Yuuri at all.

“That accident…”, Yuuri finally began, taking a deep breath, “that accident changed me.”

That much was hardly a surprise to Victor—he had had the thought before that it had all started when Yuuri had been in that accident.

“If Phichit is to be believed”, he continued, “I died in that accident. Victor, I’m a vampire.”

The word made Victor stop in his tracks, staring at Yuuri. He’d gone still, but some distant corner of his mind noted that he wasn’t as shocked as he should have been. Yes, vampires were a myth, a fairytale… but at the same time he had experienced it himself, the way that Yuuri had bitten him, drank his blood. He supposed subconsciously, he had already entertained the thought, even if his conscious mind had dismissed it as an impossibility.

But there was something else there that his mind grabbed onto.

“You’re… dead?”, he whispered.

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders in a shrug. “Undead, I suppose.”

“But.. You have a pulse, a heartbeat. You felt warm.”

“Mh.” Yuuri nodded slowly. “As long as I regularly drink blood. If I don’t, I turn cold, and my heart slows down to a stop.”

Victor shuddered at the thought. Part of him wanted to ask what happened then, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear the answer. He licked his lips, swallowing.

“That’s why you wanted me to leave”, he said, tonelessly, “that’s why you said you were dangerous. You… you really did kill Cialdini, didn’t you?”

Yuuri winced at his words. "I—yes. Not on purpose, but yes, I killed him.”

Victor took a few moments to let his words sink in.

“You really thought you were going to hurt me?”

Yuuri’s hands tightened, his knuckles standing out in sharp relief. “I did hurt you, Victor, god, I—… I never should have let it get that far. I should have made you leave earlier, or just left myself, I…”

“Why?”, Victor interrupted him, the syllable sharp on his tongue, and he had to hold himself back from grabbing Yuuri by the shoulders and shaking him. “Why do you keep wanting to leave me?”

Yuuri looked up at him then, wide-eyed. “I don’t—”, he started, then interrupted himself. “I just… I never want to hurt you.”

Victor scoffed. “Well, you did hurt me.”

Yuuri’s face crumpled into a grimace of shame and he averted his eyes again. “I know, I know”, he whispered, doubling over and tucking his head between his knees, both arms wrapped around his neck like he wanted to make himself disappear. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Victor took a deep, shuddering breath. “Then why would you do that? You promised me, you promised you wouldn’t leave. You promised to stay by my side.”

A pained sob fell from Yuuri’s lips. “How could I stay, after what I did to you?”

“What you… did to me?” Victor frowned, his hand coming up automatically to touch his neck. “You mean that you bit me?”

Yuuri’s curled up body jostled in a way that seemed to indicate he was shaking his head. “Not just that”, he whispered, “but… after…”

“After…”, Victor repeated tonelessly. “What after?” He tried to squash down the cold feeling tingling up his spine. “Yuuri, what did you do to me?”

Yuuri did not reply, but his shoulders shook with suppressed sobs, and for a few long minutes the muffled sounds of his crying and his gasping, irregular breaths were the only sounds in the room.

Victor stood rooted to the spot, one hand still touching his neck where Yuuri’s teeth had burrowed into him, though there was no sign of it remaining on his skin now. There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to wrap Yuuri up in his arms and hold him close until his tears subsided, a part of him that hated seeing Yuuri in such obvious pain. But the rest of him couldn’t give in to that urge, was still far too hurt and angry to get close to him, to touch him. And then there was another sliver of him, small but present nonetheless, that urged him to back away, to put as much distance between him and Yuuri as possible. He’s not human anymore, it whispered, he’s not Yuuri and he did something to you.

Victor tried not to listen to that voice but it was insidious, whispered louder the more he tried to shove it away, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I need to know, Yuuri. What did you do to me?”

He had tried to go for a calm, neutral tone, but it sounded strained even in his own ears. Leery.

He heard Yuuri take a few deep, calming breaths, trying to gain control of himself, and then he released the iron grip around his neck, sitting up just enough that he could lean his forearms on his knees, his head still lowered and eyes fixed on the floor. He opened and closed his hands mechanically, a deliberate flexing of muscles and tendons.

“You remember what happened with Cialdini? How he died?”, he asked, and his voice was still shaking but his tone was flat, utterly devoid of emotion.

“Yes”, Victor replied, “you said… you told him to break his neck, and then he did.”

Yuuri nodded once, slowly. “A vampire… When a vampire bites a human, they can command that human, for a while. They can give orders, and the human cannot disobey.”

Victor felt the blood draining from his face. “So he literally killed himself because you ordered him to?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible.”

“After I bit you, and we—”

“No”, Victor interrupted him, voice sharp but laced with panic. “I don’t believe you. It’s impossible.”

He took a step and then another toward Yuuri, to do what he wasn’t entirely sure, but Yuuri’s head whipped up, flinching away from his touch.

“Victor, stop”, he blurted out, and Victor stopped in mid-movement, as if frozen. He willed his limbs to move, but it was like his muscles were no longer under his command.

“Back away”, Yuuri said, and Victor took a step backward, then another, before he could even think about it. When there was a fair distance between the two of them again, Yuuri’s expression wavered and he collapsed on himself again.

“I’m sorry. Move freely”, he whispered, and indeed Victor could control his own limbs again, wrapping his arms around himself. “That is the last time I will ever command you, I swear. I just… I had to make you believe—” Interrupting himself, Yuuri buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t shaking this time, wasn’t crying. Just hiding his face from the world, from Victor.

“It’s not true”, Victor whispered after a long moment of silence, his voice barely audible even to himself. “It’s not. You did not command me that night.”

Yuuri didn’t reply, didn’t react at all. It was like all the fight had gone out of him.

“Yuuri.” Victor took a careful step toward him again, though mindful to keep enough of a distance between them to not make Yuuri panic again. “We did nothing that night that I didn’t one hundred percent want to do.”

When there was still no response, Victor just continued talking. “No matter what you may have said to me, none of it was against my wishes. It wasn’t like just now, I wasn’t fighting with myself, wanting to do one thing while I was compelled to do another. Everything that we did… I wanted it, Yuuri. I wanted you.”

There was another long period of silence before Yuuri finally spoke again, still unmoving.

“Even if that is true, I still took advantage. You trusted me, and I betrayed that trust. I… I could’ve…”

“But you didn’t.” Victor kept his voice soft, but firm. “Did you know about this at the time? Did you know you could do that?”

“I should’ve known. After what happened with Cialdini, I should have known…”

“So you didn’t. How could you be held responsible for not knowing that such a thing was possible? It should be impossible. How could you have guessed?”

“That I didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t make it okay.”

“Yuuri…”, Victor sighed, sitting down on the padded bench at the foot of the bed so as to not tower over him, even if Yuuri still wouldn’t look at him. “Do you know what I meant when I said I trusted you? I believed that in all of your actions, you have my wellbeing at heart. I knew that if at any point I had expressed any discomfort or reluctance about anything we were doing, you would have stopped. And, commands or not, I believe that still holds true. Even if you had ordered me to do something I didn’t want, I trust that you would have noticed me struggling against it, you would have realised I was uncomfortable, and you would have stopped.”

Yuuri was still silent and motionless, and Victor wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, feel his warmth, his presence, but he held himself back. He could practically hear the thoughts circling in Yuuri’s head, and he knew reaching out now would only make it worse.

“Listen to me, Yuuri”, he said instead, taking a deep breath and leaning forward just a little more, lowering his voice further still. “You are not like those people who took advantage of you and abused you. You’re not. You are not dismissive of other’s needs and wants. You do not take selfishly what wasn’t freely given. No matter how misguided it was, even in running away you were still trying to protect me. You are not like them.”

There was a quiet tap and then another, when tears splashed onto the floor between Yuuri’s feet. His hands still hadn’t moved and his shoulders weren’t shaking—he was weeping silently this time.

Victor let out his breath, some of the tension seeping from him with it, but he knew the conversation was still far from over.

“But you did hurt me”, he said, and couldn’t keep a bitter edge from creeping into his voice now, “You did break my trust when you left again, abandoned my just after you had promised to stay by my side. Without even a single word you just left me, like I was nothing. You made it clear that you don’t trust me when you ran away instead of staying and talking to me about what happened.”

Yuuri’s shoulders tensed at his words.

“I know”, he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. At first I just panicked when I realised what we’d done. But then Phichit told me about the commanding and I just… I couldn’t face you after that.” Hunching his shoulders, Yuuri curled in on himself a little more. “I know that’s not an excuse, but I just… I was so ashamed.”

"I understand what was going on in your head“, Victor said with a thoughtful hum, "but you still should have talked to me first. You should have bothered to find out what my actual feelings were on the matter rather than assuming them for yourself.“

"I know“, Yuuri whispered again, "I‘m sorry. I‘m sorry I put you through all that.“

Looking at him, Victor could practically hear the thoughts turning around and around in Yuuri‘s head, could read them in the misery of his expression.

"Yuuri“, he said firmly. drawing Yuuri‘s hesitant gaze towards him, "you need to stop thinking like that.“

A small crease appeared in between Yuuri‘s eyebrows. "Like what?“

"That you don‘t deserve me. That you‘re not good enough for me.“

Yuuri‘s eyes widened in surprise, but the words came out of his mouth almost automatically. "But I‘m not.“

"Well, maybe that‘s not for you to decide“, Victor said, leaning back on the bench, a bit more of a sharp edge to his voice than he‘d intended.

"But—but I keep messing up. I keep hurting you.“

"Well, then stop doing that!“

A tremor ran through Yuuri‘s face, his eyes widening even more.

Victor sighed.

"Yuuri… Do you realise you‘ve never once hurt me before that night of your accident? I‘m not saying that it‘s because of what happened to you. I‘m saying… all these years that we‘ve lived together, that we‘ve been… friends, you‘ve always been mindful of my feelings. You‘ve always wanted what was best for me. You always put my feelings before your own. You‘re not a bad person. You‘re not someone who does hurtful things.“

Shaking his head, Victor kneaded his hands together in his lap.

"What changed the night of the accident is that it brought us closer together. Almost losing you that night, it made me realise that I was done denying myself. I just wanted to be close to you. But it happened so fast. There was no time for you to build any trust in me. In us.“

When Victor looked up he found Yuuri‘s eyes fixed on him, silent and serious.

"I do trust you“, he said quietly.

Victor shook his head again, short and sharp. "You don‘t trust me to know my own mind. That I know what I want. Who I want. You think you have to somehow protect me from myself.“

When Yuuri opened his mouth to protest, Victor bid him silent with a quick gesture.

"I know that you‘re worried for me. I know you want what‘s best for me, and you think that you‘re not it. But I can make my own decisions. And I chose you. I chose you a long time ago. But if this is supposed to work, you need to stop running away and trust me when I say that I want you. Only you.“

Yuuri‘s face twisted into a pained grimace and Victor pulled up his shoulders, suddenly self-conscious.

"Unless“, he murmured, "unless you really don‘t want this.“

"Vitya, no“, Yuuri said, the diminutive falling from his lips without a thought, easing something in Victor‘s heart, "Of course I do. I mean, I did. I—“, shaking his head roughly, Yuuri corrected himself again. "I do. I just—I can‘t believe that after all this… even with the way I am now, you‘d still want to…“

Victor gave a weak smile, though he could feel the slightly bitter tinge to it.

"You‘re still Yuuri, are you not? Vampire or not, you‘re still the same person.“

"Mostly…“, Yuuri mumbled, but when Victor quirked an eyebrow at him in question, he just buried his face in his hands with a groan.

"God, Vitya, everything is so messed up. I‘m so sorry I got us into this, I—“, he sighed, tearing both hands through his hair, messing up the loose strands around his face even more. His gaze fixed on the floor, he licked his lips. "I want to ask your forgiveness, properly. But—I can‘t. Not until everything is out in the open.“

Victor felt his brow furrow. "Yuuri?“

"There‘s something else I need to tell you.“

Chapter Text

„There‘s something else I need to tell you.“

Yuuri saw Victor‘s face fall. The face that, just a moment ago, had almost looked something like hopeful. Now there was a firm set to his mouth again, a slight furrow in his brow as he no doubt tried to figure out what else Yuuri could possibly throw at him.

Yuuri hated to be the one doing this to him, again.

He swallowed.

„I don‘t really know where to start. But it seems there‘s more… things to being a vampire than just the drinking blood.“

Victor‘s kept his eyes on him, that same pinched look on his face.

„Okay, so… what? You can‘t go out during the day? You can‘t go anywhere without being invited in?“

„No, nothing as simple as that“, Yuuri said with a sad shake of his head, cursing himself as Victor‘s frown only deepened. He took a deep breath.

„I hear you have been rather ill lately.“

Victor‘s expression smoothed over somewhat with surprise.

„I was a little under the weather, yes, but I feel much better today.“

Yuuri nodded slowly. This wasn’t unexpected, after all.

“And have you given any thought to why that is?”

The frown returned in full force as Victor leaned back, away from him.

“Are you saying you have something to do with that, too?”

When Yuuri didn’t reply right away, he gave a bitter little laugh.

“What, you made me sick? Your bite?”

“Not… exactly”, Yuuri murmured, then sighed. “I—I’m really not sure how to explain this without it sounding completely mad, but then… this whole thing is already madness, isn’t it?” He gestured to encompass all of himself. “So please just… try to bear with me.”

Victor nodded after a moment, crossing his arms before his chest like he was bracing himself for what was about to come.

“The reason you got sick is because you went too long without my bite. And the reason you feel better today is because last night, when you were sleeping…”

The words stuck in Yuuri’s throat, but it seemed Victor didn’t need them, judging by the way his eyes widened, the way he uncrossed one of his arms, curling his hand protectively around his own throat.

“You drank from me while I was passed out?” His hollow voice cut like a blade into Yuuri’s flesh.

“Just—just barely. Just enough that you got better. And not from your throat, I… I bit your wrist, I thought that would be less…” intimate, is what Yuuri was going to say, but instead another word tumbled over his lips. “Invasive.”

Victor lifted both his hands now, staring at his wrists, and obviously discovering the faint marks Yuuri had left on the right.

“I wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t—”, Yuuri hurried to add, “I promise, I didn’t want to touch you, or even go near you at all, but you were already so weak because it had been so long and—”

Victor looked up suddenly, and Yuuri almost flinched back from the sharp hurt in his eyes.

“And whose fault is that?”

The words twisted another knife of guilt into Yuuri’s gut, but he accepted them with a muted nod. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“So, what?”, Victor said, his voice still hard and cold like iron. “You’re saying humans get… addicted to vampire bites? I get sick when I’m not bitten for a while?”

Yuuri swallowed, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

“Not… not every human.”

“Oh, I’m special then?” Victor scoffed. “How lovely.”

Yuuri pressed his lips firmly together, trying to force the words out of his throat. No matter how he arranged and rearranged them in his mind, he couldn’t make them sound any less horrible.

“That night, after I bit you… I did something—by accident, I didn’t know yet how any of this, being a vampire, even worked, but—that doesn’t matter, I still did it, it’s my fault—”

“Yuuri”, Victor interrupted him, short and sharp, “What did you do?”

Yuuri took a deep breath and pressed the words out, his voice sounding faint even in his own ears. “I bound you to me.”

Victor went very still. Yuuri didn’t dare look up, but he could feel his gaze on him.

“What does that mean?”

Yuuri tightened his fingers until his already pale knuckles went even whiter and his fingernails dug into his skin.

“It means”, he whispered, “that you and I are bound together for the rest of our lives. I have to bite you regularly to keep you healthy. If I don’t, you’ll…”

“I’ll die?”, Victor asked, voice still toneless.

“After a while, yes.”

Victor stood abruptly, taking a few agitated steps through the room before coming to a halt, his back to Yuuri, raking a hand through his hair.

“What else?”, he asked.

“Victor—”

“What else is there?”, Victor snapped into the room, not turning around to look at him, but still Yuuri flinched back.

“Uhm…”, he cleared his throat, “you will live much longer than a normal human life, but you and I will die together, barring unforeseen circumstances.”

Yuuri saw Victor’s hair shifting as he nodded, indicating with a silent gesture for him to go on.

“There—there’s a mark at the back of your neck. I have the same one. It will grow slowly to encircle our throats. It indicates how much longer we have left to live.”

The hand still tangled in Victor’s hair stilled, then ran down the back of his head slowly, probing through the silver curtain of his hair. Yuuri heard the little intake of breath, saw the shift of his posture when Victor found the mark, stroking over it with careful fingertips.

“What else?”, he asked again, but his voice was no more than a whisper now.

“That’s… that’s pretty much it”, Yuuri murmured, fingernails still digging red crescents into his skin.

“Why?”

The syllable was so soft that Yuuri wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard it at all. Still, he took a deep breath.

“It’s meant to give a vampire a companion. Someone they won’t outlive.”

“Why did you do it?” Victor’s voice was barely more audible this time.

Yuuri’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. “I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible. It just happened. I’m so sorry."

Victor didn’t acknowledge his apology. “Am I still human?”

“Yes. Just with a longer lifespan.”

“I can’t die?”

Yuuri swallowed against a dry throat. “No, you can. Accidents and violence can still kill you, though Phichit says you’re immune against most illnesses, as long as I regularly bite you.”

Victor whirled around suddenly, facing Yuuri, his expression utterly unreadable.

“What happens to you if I die?”

Yuuri tried to suppress a wince, the thought alone enough to make nausea roll in his stomach.

“It would most likely kill me, too”, he whispered, looking tentatively up at Victor. “But that has always been true.”

Something soft fluttered over Victor’s face, but it disappeared again immediately as his expression shuttered anew.

“I have to get out of here”, he pressed out between his teeth, turning away again to tear open the door and storm out into the corridor.

“Victor!”

Yuuri stumbled out of his chair to hurry after him. When he reached the hall, Victor was already hurrying down the stairs.

“Victor, please wait!”

“I will not”, Victor said, not slowing his steps at all, “I—I can’t look at you right now.”

It was like a punch in the gut, but not one Yuuri didn’t deserve. He halted halfway down the stairs.

“I understand”, he said, though he wasn’t sure if Victor heard him at all, crossing the entrance hall in long strides. He had already reached the door when Yuuri called after him one last time.

“Three weeks.”

Victor hesitated, hand on the doorknob, though he didn’t turn around. “What?”

“Three weeks before you need another bite. Just—go. Live your life. I won’t—I won’t get in the way. We just have to see each other for a moment, every three weeks, so I can bite you.”

There was a long moment of silence. Yuuri held his breath.

And then Victor did turn around, and even from a distance Yuuri could see he was shaking, his hands fluttering along his sides, fists opening and closing, like he was looking for something that he could throw at Yuuri.

“Stop doing that!”, he shouted, his voice tumbling over itself and bouncing back at them from the walls.

It made Yuuri flinch back, not just the volume but all that raw fury, that intense desperation dripping from every syllable.

“Doing… what?”, he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice from cracking.

“Running away”, Victor snapped, and Yuuri stared at him, confused. Wasn’t Victor the one who had just been running away?

But he was stalking back towards Yuuri now, fists clenched at his sides.

“We’ve just talked about this and you’re already doing it again. Giving up on us. Fucking sacrificing yourself for what you think I want.”

“But—”, Yuuri’s mind was utterly blank. “But you were… you were leaving. You said you didn’t want to see me again.”

“Oh, what, so you’re the only one who is allowed to storm out in the middle of an argument?”

“Victor, what—” Before Yuuri could get any more out, Victor had stormed up the remaining steps until he was right in his face, leaving Yuuri to stumble backwards in a desperate bid to bring some distance between them. This close, he could see that Victor’s eyes were red-rimmed, angry tears beading at their corners.

“Did you mean any of it?”, he hissed, “Did you mean a single word? All those promises, was that just talk? Do you even—” Sucking in a sharp breath, Victor interrupted himself, eyes widening in some unspoken realisation. He stilled, all his agitation narrowing down to a single focus; his eyes, flitting around Yuuri’s face, searching.

“Am I alone in this?”, he whispered, the first glittering tears crashing down his face, and with a sharp pain in his chest Yuuri realised the question he had left unspoken.

“Victor… Vitya.”

Yuuri wanted to reach out, wanted to take Victor’s hands, smooth out his fists and press his devotion with kisses into his palm. But that was more than he deserved. No, he couldn’t touch. He wanted to kneel, prostrate himself before Victor to show him just how much he meant, but there was no room here on the steps.

He did the next best thing he could, tipping his upper body forward in a deep and steady bow, his arms straight at his sides. He heard Victor’s sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t wait for his reaction.

“Vitya”, he said, his eyes fixed on Victor’s feet a few steps below him, “You mean more to me than any words in any language could ever express. You are everything. Please believe me, I—I couldn’t bear it if you thought even for a minute that you are not loved. Whatever else you may doubt, I don’t ever want you to doubt how much I love you.”

There was a long moment of silence in which Yuuri kept his head bowed, suppressing a tremble as he waited for Victor’s judgement.

“Yuuri, look at me.”

It was too quiet for Yuuri to read any emotion from it, but still he hesitated, scared of what he would find in Victor’s face if he looked up.

“Please, will you look at me when you tell me that?” It was softer this time, an edge of frustration in it bleeding into something pleading.

Yuuri snapped upright, his eyes meeting Victor’s automatically. Tears were still running down Victor’s cheeks, a complicated expression warring with itself on his face.

“I know I haven’t given you much reason to trust me, lately”, Yuuri said, voice dry and rough in his throat, “but please trust that I love you. I will always love you.”

Victor licked his lips and dragged his eyes, slow and contemplative, over Yuuri’s face.

“I believe you”, he said eventually, and a vice grip around Yuuri’s heart eased. Not that there weren’t others, still clamping down on his throat, his stomach, his lungs.

“It’s just—”, he continued, his gaze dropping from Victor’s face again, unable to look him in the eyes for too long. “This is different—this…” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, wincing when it tangled in its knots. “Love is not going to make this go away. I… I don’t know if I can live with everything I’ve done to you.”

Another long silence, and Yuuri swallowed around the bile threatening to rise in his throat.

“You’ll have to learn, then”, Victor said, sharp-edged words.

“What?” Yuuri’s question came out as no more than a whisper.

“You’ll have to learn to live with it”, Victor repeated, straightening up to his fully height and squaring his shoulders. “Figure it out. Because we’re bound together now, for better or for worse, yes? And seeing you every three weeks to be bitten and then leaving you again—chafing that wound open over and over again—that is unacceptable. So figure - it - out.”

Yuuri was left speechless for a moment, hands fisting into the fabric of his pants.

“You’re so much more than I deserve”, Yuuri murmured, words hoarse and fragile.

“Maybe so”, Victor said, regarding him, contemplative, though there was still steel in his voice. “But I deserve happiness. And I love you. So I’m not going to give up on you, and I’m not going to let you give up on me again either. And one day…”, at this, his words softened, “one day, perhaps I’ll be able to make you understand that you are worthy of love. That you are allowed to want to be happy.”

Yuuri blinked rapidly now against tears of his own, shaking his head, helpless.

“What if I can’t make you happy?”, he whispered, “What if this is all I’m ever going to be? What if I’ll always be poison?"

Victor sucked in a short, sharp breath. “You’re not poison, Yuuri.”

“But I am”, Yuuri said, hating the way his voice wavered as the tears spilled over, crashing down his cheeks. “Look at all the terrible things I’ve brought into your life. All that pain.” A sob tore its way out of his throat, an ugly sound. “What if I’m just too broken?”

“Yuuri, no…”, Victor’s gaze softened at that, and he reached out towards him, crossing the few steps that still separated them.

“Don’t!”, Yuuri snapped before he could stop himself, stumbling backwards up the steps, crashing down on his backside when he lost his footing. He choked on another sob, hands flying up to cover his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. Please—just, please, I can’t touch you right now.”

Victor heaved a heavy sigh as he knelt down an arm’s length away from Yuuri. His eyes were dark, but he didn’t look angry.

“You’re not broken.” His voice was firm but kind, way too kind. “You’ve been hurt so much. So much that now you don’t believe you deserve anything other than violence. But I can believe it enough for the both of us, at least until I can make you see. You deserve softness. You deserve warmth. You deserve love. Even when you mess up. Even when you make mistakes. You learn from them, you make it right, you move on. But they don’t make you a bad person. They don’t make you poison. They don’t mean you’re broken.”

Yuuri could barely hold back his sobs now, his shoulders shaking with the force of them, trying to still them against his fingers still covering his mouth. Thankfully Victor didn’t make an attempt to reach for him again—though Yuuri wasn’t sure he could have if he tried—but just sat next to him, silent, watching him cry himself out.

When his sobs finally started to subside and the pain tearing at his chest lessened, he shook his head, staring at Victor‘s knees, unable to look him in the eyes.

„I don‘t deserve your forgiveness“, he whispered.

Victor made a noise that sounded almost like a scoff, just a little softer.

„That‘s not for you to decide. Besides, I didn‘t say you were forgiven.“ A pause. „But we can work on it.“

The silence between them stretched, as Yuuri tried to collect his thoughts into coherent enough words to express how humbled he was by Victor‘s incredible kindness.

„The only question remaining“, Victor eventually continued when no words from Yuuri were forthcoming, „is if that is what you want. Would you truly prefer to have me out of your life, see me once every three weeks and otherwise go our separate paths? Or do you want to try and figure this out?“

Victor‘s tone was carefully neutral, but Yuuri knew him well enough to feel the waver that was sitting just underneath the surface, the fear.

Yuuri took a few deep breaths, trying to pull all the scattered parts of himself back together.

„I‘m going to mess up again“, he said in lieu of an answer.

Victor hummed. „I expect you will“, he said, matter-of-factly, „as will I. I‘m not perfect, you know?“

Before he could stop himself, Yuuri made a doubtful noise in the back of his throat, and Victor huffed a humourless laugh.

„I‘m not. My actions have hurt you, too, remember?“

Yuuri shook his head slightly. „That‘s hardly the same.“

„And why not?“

„You were just worried about me. You were… trying to... protect me...“ Yuuri trailed off when his words registered, and with a groan he buried his face once more in his hands.

„Mh.“ He heard Victor shifting next to him. „Not every mistake is an unforgivable crime. And well-intended actions can still hurt. It‘s not all that black and white.“

Running both hands through the tangled mess of his hair, Yuuri glanced hesitantly up at Victor, before looking away again. Victor‘s eyes rested on him, contemplative and tired and sad.

„So“, Victor murmured, „what is it that you want, Yuuri?“

Swallowing against a lump in his throat, Yuuri tried once more to collect his thoughts. What he really wanted was not to hurt Victor again, but there was no way to guarantee that. Looking at Victor here, now, talking to him, it was impossible not to see that shutting Victor out of his life would hurt him at least as much as staying with him might, especially considering the fact that they were bound together and could not simply move on. The next best thing he could do, then, was to see to it that Victor got hurt as little as possible. To try and ensure his happiness, as much as he could. And this he could only do if he stayed by Victor‘s side.

That was not even to mention the large, selfish part of him that wanted nothing more than to hold on to Victor, to never let him go again.

„I want…“, he began, trying not to feel Victor‘s intense gaze on him too keenly. „I want to make good on my promise. The promise that bound us together.“ Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he looked up into Victor‘s expectant eyes, those beloved, deep blue eyes that were so familiar to him. „I want to stay with you always. Forever.“

Victor‘s eyes widened slightly and he sucked in a sharp breath of air.

„That‘s what…?“

„Mh.“ Yuuri nodded without taking his eyes off Victor. „There were a few additional… circumstances, but that promise was what created our bond. Not that I knew that at the time.“

Yuuri sighed, taking in the mixture of wonder and distress on Victor‘s face.

„It‘s my fault you‘re in this mess“, he whispered, „I‘m not going to leave you alone in it.“

Victor inclined his head in a nod.

„Then stay with me“, he said, his voice just as soft, and Yuuri saw him try to reach out to Yuuri again, a quick, aborted movement that Yuuri wasn‘t sure if it was curbed by the command or if Victor had held himself back. Yuuri let his eyes drop to Victor‘s hands, those elegant fingers curling in on themselves in frustration or restraint. He wished he could just reach out and smooth out those fists with his own fingers, but at the same time the thought of touching Victor made his stomach cramp up with a wave of self-loathing nausea. He didn‘t deserve to put his hands on Victor, and he wouldn‘t, not until he had proved himself worthy.

„I will“, Yuuri said emphatically, hoping that his words would say everything for now that his hands couldn‘t. „I won‘t leave you again. Never. Not unless you send me away.“

„Good.“ Victor‘s voice was a little firmer now. „Because I don‘t intend to.“

—

They had been sitting on the stairs in a silence that almost approached companionable for just a few minutes when the door to the parlour downstairs was pushed open energetically and Phichit emerged into the entrance hall, a wide grin on his face.

„There!“, he said, his almost-shout echoing through the hall, „I knew you would work it out if only you talked to each other!“

Victor raised his eyebrows as Yuuri next to him scrunched up his face in a familiar grimace of embarrassment, though without the usual blush.

„You were eavesdropping on us?“

Phichit lifted his arms in a shrug, the very picture of innocence. „I did try to give you space, but then you came down here, and even without the shouting, I couldn‘t have not heard you if I tried, what with a vampire‘s hearing. So it can hardly be called eavesdropping, I believe.“

Victor sat up a little straighter.

„So you do have enhanced senses?“, he asked. He still knew so little about these creatures called vampires that Yuuri was now one of.

„Oh, yes“, Phichit replied, sauntering across the hall towards them. „Mostly hearing and smell. By day our vision is not much different from that of a human, though if you had less than perfect vision then, that should be taken care of now. And of course it‘s much easier to see in the dark.“

Victor looked over at Yuuri, who he knew had always been a little short-sighted, for confirmation.

Yuuri nodded, and indeed he looked down at Phichit at the bottom of the stairs without squinting.

„Is there anything else you want to know?“, Phichit asked, and Yuuri also straightened up a little where he sat, turning towards Victor.

„Right, you must have so many questions still.“

„I do…“, Victor admitted, looking between Phichit and Yuuri, but before he could think of where to start, Phichit spoke again.

„Well, there‘s no reason to do all that here, sitting on the stairs. That can‘t be very comfortable. Come into the parlour. I‘ll have tea brought for you, Victor, and we can all talk.“

Chapter Text

It was a matter of minutes before they were all settled again on the comfortable chairs and sofa in the parlour, a hot cup of tea cradled in Victor‘s lap on the sofa. Phichit and Yuuri were each situated on a soft chair, Yuuri curled up with his knees pulled close to his chest and Phichit sprawled out languidly, his legs crossed.

Despite his small stature and young appearance, there was an air of incredible confidence and self-assurance around the latter, evidenced in the comfortable way he handled almost any situation and the easy-going smile always ready on his lips.

Victor knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was a man who had been alive—or something like it—for a very long time.

The contrast to Yuuri couldn‘t have been more distinct. Even though there was still that intrinsic grace in every one of Yuuri‘s movements and the lines of his body, his defensive posture and averted eyes spoke of self-doubt and hesitance clearer than any words could.

The mess of his appearance didn‘t help—his gaunt cheeks, the remaining puffiness of his eyes, the tangle of his hair at the back of his neck that he had, giving up on what had once been his braid, twisted into a messy bun.

Victor wondered what kind of image he cut between the two of them, if he was closer to Phichit‘s confidence or Yuuri‘s insecurity.

He had rarely felt so out of his depth in his life.

He knew the magnitude of everything he had learnt within the last few hours had not really penetrated his mind yet—it would be a long time before he could fully process all these new truths about the world he lived in and, more importantly, himself. For now he could do nothing but go along with it and hope that getting as many of his questions answered as possible would help him when down the line the reality of it all crashed in on him.

There was a virtual sea of emotion roiling and crashing in him, the sharp sting of hurt and the flare of anger at Yuuri still very much present underneath the surface relief and hopefulness that their conversation had brought. He tried not to feel too betrayed that Yuuri was still keeping his distance from him even after his renewed promise to stay close; as much as physical contact would soothe something that was chafed raw in Victor, he knew that the comfort of touch wasn‘t always the same for Yuuri. And he wanted, he really wanted, to give Yuuri the benefit of the doubt, again, even if a cynical part of him told him that it was unwise.

He had decided not to give up on Yuuri, that had been his own choice, and that meant to extend at least some measure of trust toward him.

"So… what would you like to know?“, Phichit‘s voice cut through the quiet.

Victor brought his tea cup up to his lips, taking a slow sip, trying to collect his thoughts. What were the most pressing questions on his mind?

"Did… Did Yuuri really die?“

The words were out of his mind before he could really think about them, and he grimaced, Yuuri mirroring his expression on the other side of the room.

Phichit just gave a regretful sigh.

"Yes“, he said, "Yuuri the human passed away, killed in an automobile accident. A parasite took over his body as a host, animating him, creating a creature that we call vampire.“

Victor shook his head. "But how is that possible? How is he still… Yuuri?“

Phichit pulled up his shoulders.

"I‘m not gonna pretend I understand the science behind it, if indeed it is science at all. But the way it was explained to me is that the parasite makes use of the same already established pathways in the brain. It doesn‘t replace the brain, or change it significantly, just commandeers the body.“

That answer did absolutely nothing to reassure Victor. Clenching his fingers hard around his cup, he tried to keep his voice from wavering.

"Then… is it still Yuuri at all? Or is it just the parasite pretending to be Yuuri?“

"Does it matter?“

"Of course it matters!“ Victor slammed down his tea cup on the table, a little too roughly perhaps, but still better than having it burst under his too tight grip. "It matters if Yuuri‘s mind—his soul—is still there.“

Phichit opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, a voice cut across him.

"I‘m right here, you know.“

Two heads whipped around to stare at Yuuri, still curled up but his expression one of defiance.

"Don‘t talk about me like I‘m gone.“

Victor forced himself to relax somewhat, but his heart still trembled with trepidation as he searched Yuuri‘s face. Was this still the man he loved, or was he gone forever, replaced by a mere facsimile?

He didn‘t feel like a replacement, still felt like his Yuuri, with all of his flaws and insecurities. He felt alive and unpredictable and so complicated that it made Victor‘s head spin.

"I‘m still me“, Yuuri gave voice to Victor‘s thoughts.

Victor licked his lips, swallowing.

"How do you know?“, he whispered.

Yuuri shrugged. "How do any of us know we are who we are? I can only say that I remember the experiences that have made up my life, from the smallest to the most important ones, and I know how they have influenced me. I am the person that was shaped by those events. If a person is the product of all their experiences, then I am still Yuuri.“

Shifting in his seat, he cast his eyes down for a moment before once again meeting Victor‘s gaze head on.

"Who even knows if there is such a thing as a soul? But my memories are the same as they were. My thoughts are the same as they were. My feelings are the same as they were. Does anything else matter?“

Victor stayed silent for a long moment, trying to let Yuuri‘s words sink in, trying to believe them.

"So… this hasn‘t changed you at all?“

Yuuri tilted his head to the side, considering.

"Physically? It‘s changed me quite a lot. But mentally? … only as much as any other life-altering, traumatic event would change me.“

Victor had to suppress a wince at that, but he nodded eventually.

"Very good!“, Phichit chirped after another long moment of silence, clapping his hands and making both of them flinch. "Next question then!“

Yuuri sighed, but when Victor caught his eye he gestured, resigned but inviting, for him to continue.

The next half hour was spent finding out which commonly held beliefs about vampires were actually true, which turned out to be almost none of them.

Vampires could go out into the sun without any problems, except that their eyes, accustomed to see in the dark, might have some trouble adjusting.

They couldn‘t eat garlic only in as far as they couldn‘t eat anything other than blood, but the presence of garlic wouldn‘t otherwise harm or deter them.

They had a reflection, same as any other person, and didn‘t need explicit invitation to enter a house.

Would a stake to the heart kill them?

Here Phichit hesitated for the first time, casting Yuuri a long, thoughtful look that Yuuri pointedly did not return. After an extended moment, however, Phichit seemed to make a decision and turned back towards Victor.

"A host can be killed“, he began slowly, "with anything that does damage that the parasite cannot heal. A stake to the heart would work if the stake was then left within the body, the physical obstacle preventing the parasite from healing the heart. Likewise severing the head and physically removing it from the body by some distance would do the job. You get the picture. But these are ways to kill the host only. If left with a body that it cannot heal, the parasite would simply move on to find a new host.“

Chewing on his lips, Victor recalled something Yuuri had mentioned earlier.

"And what if a vampire doesn‘t get to eat for a long time? Yuuri said… he said his heart would stop. What… what happens then?“

Looking up at the mention of his name, Yuuri peered at Phichit from the corner of his eyes, as if he, too, was waiting for the answer.

Phichit hummed, considering.

"A vampire doesn‘t need a beating heart to live. Though it makes it considerably more difficult to hide if you‘re cold and pale and without a pulse.“ He hesitated. "It‘s essentially something like hibernation. The body shuts down non-essential functions to conserve energy when it doesn‘t receive enough feed. A vampire can survive quite a long time like that, but it‘s not an ideal life. And if it goes on too long, the parasite may draw its nourishment from the host‘s body, until it‘s used up and the parasite moves on to a new host.“

Victor shuddered, the image rising into his mind unbidden of a person deathly pale, cold and gaunt, no more than skin and bones, a husk as they are abandoned by the parasite they fed with their own flesh.

Before he could move on from that vision, Yuuri‘s soft voice spoke up in his corner.

"I have a question.“

Phichit turned to him with eyebrows raised, expectant.

"Victor… is he bound to me as the host, or to the parasite within me?“

Intrigued, Victor also turned his gaze on Phichit to hear the reply, surprised as he saw Phichit‘s expression darken into a scowl.

"Victor‘s body is now attuned to the specific enzymes you produce when you bite him. Those enzymes would not be the same in another host, were your parasite to move on.“ Yuuri nodded, but Phichit continued on. "If this body dies, Victor‘s fate is also sealed, you understand?“

Still nodding, Yuuri didn‘t look at Phichit, or at Victor either. "I understand“, he whispered.

"Good“, Phichit said with a grim smile, before his usual carefree expression returned. "Anything else?“

Yuuri made a soft noise in his throat, but when he turned his head, it was to look at Victor rather than Phichit.

"What do we do now?“, he asked.

"Now?“, Victor asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Well…“, Yuuri cleared his throat and shifted in his seat until he was angled more towards Victor, his hands kneading in his lap. "I assume you will go home sometime soon?“

Before Victor could bristle at the implication, Yuuri continued, one hand raised in a placating gesture. "I just mean… I don‘t know what you told your father, but you won‘t be able to just stay away forever without any explanation.“

"Oh…“, Victor swallowed. "So… you won‘t be coming back with me?“

Yuuri‘s expression softened into a sorrowful frown.

"I can‘t, Vitya“, he whispered. "I don‘t eat or drink or sleep. There‘s no way I‘ll be able to hide that for long if I go back with you.“

"We can come up with something. You don‘t have to have dinner with us.“

"It won‘t work“, Yuuri said, his voice soft but firm. "Besides, how would we explain to him that I won‘t go back to dancing?“

Victor couldn‘t help the little gasp that escaped him. "You won‘t?“

Yuuri‘s expression darkened at that.

"Do you want things to continue the way they were? Wasn‘t it you who said I had to get out of that house?“

"No, of course, of course“, Victor said, lifting both hands in a defensive gesture, "But… to give up dancing completely? It‘s your whole life, Yuuri.“

Victor wanted to bite his tongue when he saw the flash of pain crossing Yuuri‘s face.

"I can… I can still dance. For myself“, he murmured, but he sounded defeated. "But I can‘t afford to be in the public eye now. It’s too risky.“

Victor turned towards Phichit, seeking help, but Phichit just lifted his shoulders.

"It‘s better for a vampire to stay in the shadows, Victor. There‘s too many strange things about us that could be noticed. If it‘s not the eating and drinking, then it‘s the cold skin and lack of a heartbeat, or the fact that we don‘t age.“

Victor deflated, turning his eyes back on Yuuri.

"I don‘t want you to have to give up this part of yourself, Yuuri.“

"Well, I don‘t want to either“, Yuuri replied, a sharp edge to his voice, "But I have no choice.“

Victor sighed, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

"Alright. Then I‘ll come here to live with you. I‘ll just… I‘ll tell my father we want to make a home of our own. Together. He won‘t like it, but he‘ll have to deal with it.“

Phichit and Yuuri exchanged a long glance.

"Vitya…“, Yuuri said, voice soft and careful, "We have to leave the city.“

Victor turned suddenly cold, his eyes wide. Not again, the thought circled in his mind, Don‘t do this again.

"You‘re leaving?“

Yuuri‘s expression softened. "No, Vitya. We‘re leaving. You‘re coming with us.“

Phichit nodded, confirming Yuuri‘s words.

"It doesn‘t have to be right away, but within the next few years. You‘re both too well-known, too recognisable here. We have to move somewhere where you can keep a lower profile. Preferably before one of you becomes even more visible to the public eye. Say, by becoming an Earl.“

Victor‘s breath caught in his throat.

"I… I have to give up my title“, he whispered.

Yuuri inclined his head in a nod, lips pressed firmly together. "I‘m… I‘m so sorry, Vitya.“

Victor stared at the table in front of him, at his cup of tea, now cold, the amber liquid shining softly in the light of the chandelier.

He didn‘t know what to think. He had never particularly looked forward to becoming the next Earl Nikiforov, but he had spent his whole life preparing for it. It was a part of who he was as much as dancing was a part of Yuuri. He didn‘t care much for the prestige of the title, but what would become of the people who relied on him? Of the estate? What would become of his father?

His father, who didn‘t have any other family to pass the title on to.

His father. Victor still didn‘t know what to think of him now. It was so difficult to reconcile the terrible things he had caused in Yuuri‘s life with the somewhat awkward, somewhat lonely, but always kind and patient man Victor had always thought his father to be. He couldn‘t quite convince himself that he held none of those good qualities Victor had always seen in him, and strived to emulate in himself.

Yes, he was furious with the Earl, but, he realised now, he had believed that after the inevitable confrontation, the Earl would repent and change his ways and they would reconcile and come together as a family again.

Was it naive to believe that?

He didn‘t know if his father was capable of change, if he would even be willing to see the bad in his action.

He didn’t know if Yuuri would ever be able to forgive him.

But some part of Victor had not been prepared to let go of that possibility.

"Vitya…?“

Victor licked his lips, his throat dry.

"Okay“, he croaked, "How… how do I…?“

"Oh, there‘s plenty of options“, Phichit jumped in immediately. "You could just tell him you want to give up your title in favour of living a normal life with Yuuri. We could make him think the two of you have eloped. We could even help you fake your death, if that‘s the way you want to go.“

Victor swallowed.

"Fake… my death?“

"You don‘t have to decide right now“, Phichit said brightly, "as I said, you can take a couple of years. Get your things in order. Abuse your privileges some more, whatever you need.“

"And… in the meantime…“, Victor turned towards Yuuri again, "are we to just stay apart?“

Yuuri opened his mouth as if ready to protest, but then he hesitated, closing it again before looking at Phichit, unsure.

"I‘m sure there‘s no need for that“, Phichit said, "We will have to come up with a good, convincing story why Yuuri won‘t be living with you anymore, but once that‘s done there‘s no reason why you shouldn‘t see each other as much as you want.“

"But…“, Victor licked his lips, "we won‘t live together anymore.“

There was silence for a moment, Yuuri chewing on his lips on the other side of the room. Phichit raised his eyebrows at them.

"We‘ve lived together since we were children“, Victor explained, "it‘s just… strange.“

"Well“, Phichit said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair, "if you can pull it off without raising suspicions, you are welcome to come live here with Yuuri and me. But from what I‘ve heard I‘m not so sure your father will just let you go.“

Pressing his lips together, considering, Victor cast a quick glance at Yuuri.

"What do you think? Should I stay with my father, or…?“

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders. "I don‘t… it would be strange, not living with you anymore. But Phichit‘s right, I‘m sure the Earl would be suspicious. Ah, but maybe it would be easier gradually pulling away from him than all at once in a couple of years. I mean—assuming that‘s what you want, anyway…“

"Yuuri“, Victor interrupted his rambling, trying to catch Yuuri‘s eyes. "What is it you want?“

Yuuri stopped himself with a sharp little intake of breath, hesitating, but then his expression turned soft.

"I want to be close to you“, he murmured.

Victor nodded sharply, relief expanding in his chest.

"Then I will figure out a way.“

For now, however, Victor was still here, and in no rush to leave. He‘d left a message to his father saying he‘d be out for a few days looking for Yuuri, and he intended to make use of that time before he had to return home.

As Victor finished his tea they collected ideas for how Victor might proceed, but soon Phichit broke up the party by sending Yuuri off to take a bath.

"You reek“, he said with an exaggerated pout as he called for a servant to draw the bath, and Victor wasn‘t sure if he was jesting or if his vampire nose detected something Victor‘s didn‘t. He found himself wondering if vampires could sweat. Yuuri‘s hair, while tangled and messy, didn‘t look greasy at all.

Yuuri winced in embarrassment at Phichit‘s words, but he didn‘t protest, excusing himself to follow the servant up the stairs.

Victor looked after him a little wistfully—he found himself longing to spend more time alone with Yuuri, to start rebuilding the trust between them as soon as possible.

When he finally tore his gaze away from where Yuuri had disappeared through the door, he found Phichit watching him with sharp eyes.

"You‘re taking all this remarkably well“, he said, and Victor gave him a weak smile.

"Ah, I‘m sure it will all catch up to me soon. For now I‘m just… I‘m glad that Yuuri is okay, you know, relatively speaking. And that I can be here with him.“

Phichit gave a thoughtful hum, but his assessing gaze didn‘t move away from Victor.

"I hope you are aware that Yuuri‘s safety depends on your discretion. If anyone else finds out what he is, things can quickly become very dangerous for him.“

Victor raised an eyebrow at him.

"For him, but not for you?“

Phichit shrugged. "I have a few centuries worth of experience in how to keep myself safe. Besides, no one in this city knows who I am—it would be no problem for me to simply disappear. But Yuuri… once his name and his face are associated with being a vampire, it will take either a very long time or a very big distance for him to be safe again.“

Victor shook his head, chewing thoughtfully on his lips.

"But… most people don‘t even know vampires exist, right? Wouldn‘t they simply put it off as a fanciful story?“

"Most people, yes“, Phichit said, tilting his head to the side, considering. "But there are certain people, certain groups out there who are aware of our existence, and deem us too dangerous to live among humans. They are very good at latching on to any rumours or whispers, and once they have sniffed out a vampire to hunt, they do not give up easily.“

Victor took a moment, letting the words sink in.

"But“, he asked then, "isn‘t it pointless for them to kill a vampire? Won‘t the parasite simply move on to a new host? It wouldn‘t reduce the numbers of vampires in the world at all.“

"Quite true“, Phichit said, giving him a toothy grin that held no humour whatsoever, "but they don‘t know that.“ His grey eyes flashed at Victor. "And they won‘t find out“, he added, emphatically. "Or else, I swear, I have plenty of ways to make you regret it.“

Victor lifted his hands in a defensive gesture.

"They won‘t find out from me“, he said, "I woudn‘t do anything to put Yuuri‘s life in danger.“

Phichit‘s sharp gaze was still fixed on him, but he nodded eventually.

"So…“, Victor mused then, "there really is no way to kill the parasite? Is there an end to its lifespan?“

A smirk tugged on Phichit‘s lips.

"None that we know of. For as long as vampire consciousness has lasted, there has not been a report of a parasite dying. One might disappear for a few hundred or even a thousand years. But they always return eventually.“

Victor furrowed his brow.

"How do you know? If they have changed their host… you still recognise them?“

"Oh, we can tell“, Phichit said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Each parasite has a unique feel to it, a unique smell. Once we‘ve met a vampire, we‘ll always recognise it, even in a different host. After all, many of us are friends or companions across many host‘s lifetimes.“

Taking a deep breath, Victor squeezed his hands in his lap.

"That‘s… so you knew Yuuri‘s parasite? Before?“

Phichit‘s expression froze into a slightly strained smile.

"I did“, he said, "we‘ve spent several lifetimes together now. Seung Gil had been with me for a few centuries—or I suppose I with him, since I was the last one to move into a new host.“

There was something soft and pained in Phichit‘s eyes as he spoke, and the next question fell out of Victor before he could hold it back.

"Was he your… companion?“

Phichit looked up then, a little surprised.

"Yes“, he said then, his lips quirking into a smile that wasn‘t without hurt. "In this last lifetime, he was. But we‘ve also had plenty of lifetimes before where he wasn‘t. So don‘t worry, I‘m not going to take your Yuuri from you.“

Victor nodded, and couldn‘t help the pang of relief in his chest. After all, if someone like Phichit wanted Victor out of the picture to have Yuuri for himself, he likely wouldn‘t have any qualms about taking care of it. But no, he reminded himself, Phichit had gone out of his way to reunite them.

Still, something squeezed around his heart thinking about all the history they had together, though he had to remind himself that it wasn‘t actually Yuuri Phichit had spent all those years with, just the parasite that now lived in him.

"It must be hard“, he murmured, meeting Phichit‘s surprised gaze. "For him to lose all of those memories, of all that time you spent together.“

Phichit shrugged, though it didn‘t feel quite as nonchalant as he was probably hoping.

"It happens. It‘s happened plenty of other times before, with me and with him. It doesn‘t matter. We‘ll make new memories.“

Victor hummed, not wanting to prod more into what must be a painful topic, and silence fell between them for a while.

When he opened his mouth again, it was to circle back to an earlier question.

"So… how do you keep your existence secret? You have to feed, haven’t you? How do you know those you drink from won’t talk?”

Phichit shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.

"It always depends on the culture we’re in and its mindset at any given time. There are still places where the supernatural is much less feared. On the other hand, it’s always more difficult in countries with a strong Christian presence. But these last couple of hundred years, we’ve been keeping servants with us to feed from. They are hand-picked and loyal and stay in our service for many generations.”

"But they have to let you drink from them?”

Phichit pulled up his shoulders in an easy shrug. “We make it worth their while. They have a better life than most servants in these parts, and a much better pay.”

Victor nodded, but he still couldn’t quite suppress a shiver at the thought of generations of humans being essentially hired as a living blood bank. His mind conjured an image of Phichit ringing the bell as he had just a little while ago to call for Yuuri’s bath, and a servant appearing to bare their neck for him to drink from, only to be dismissed with a wave of a hand after it was done. It was a strange thought, especially remembering what an intimate feeling it had been when Yuuri had bitten him, the rush of pleasure that had filled his body. He wondered if there ever was something more between Phichit and his servant, in the heat of the moment.

And then, suddenly, Phichit in his mental image was replaced by Yuuri, and Victor couldn’t help a wince. Had Yuuri done the same, had he drunk from any of the servants in the weeks they hadn’t seen each other?

The wave of jealousy that surged in him was powerful, no matter how he told himself it was irrational. He didn’t have a right to feel like this. For a vampire, feeding was a necessity, as food and drink was for a human. Would Victor rather have Yuuri starve himself in his absence? Of course not, but still Victor couldn’t help the thought that he never wanted Yuuri to share that intimate bite with anyone else. He never wanted anyone else to feel that intense pleasure that Yuuri could give.

Victor chewed on his lips to keep himself from asking if Yuuri had bitten anyone else since he had come here, but the question held back just seemed to flow down into his legs, making him stand up before he could really thought about it. Maybe he should check on Yuuri, see if he was done with his bath yet.

He mumbled something to that effect to Phichit and hurried out of the parlour.

Chapter Text

His feet automatically took him up the stairs and down the hall until he came to a stop before Yuuri’s room. He knocked before he could second guess himself.

After a second’s silence, Yuuri’s voice drifted out into the hall. “Who is it?”

“It’s Victor”, Victor called back.

Another moment of hesitation, and Victor held his breath. Then—”Come in”, the voice on the other side of the door said.

Letting out a breath of relief, Victor pushed open the door.

Yuuri was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to the door, wrapped in a dressing gown. When Victor stepped inside, he turned his head to look at him, and Victor could see some moisture still clinging to his skin and beading in his hair. He didn’t say anything, but nodded as Victor came closer, before turning back to his task. His long dark hair drawn over one shoulder, he carefully tried to run a brush through it, attempting to smooth out the messy tangle of knots.

“I just wanted to check on you”, Victor said as he moved around the bed, leaning against the window sill on the opposite wall. “How was your bath?”

“It was fine”, Yuuri murmured. He wasn’t looking at Victor, fingers working deftly on his hair, face pulling into a grimace every once in a while as he pulled on a knot.

Victor watched him for a while, trying to think of something to say. It had been a long time since a silence between them had been so awkward, so tense.

Finally, Victor gestured helplessly towards Yuuri’s hair. “Do you… do you want some help?”

Yuuri looked up at him then, his eyes widened, shoulders tensing. “N… no. That’s alright”, he said, before turning his eyes away again and getting back to his efforts.

“Are you sure?”, Victor asked, though he managed to hold himself back from just walking over and sitting down next to Yuuri on the mattress. “It must be difficult by yourself.”

“It’s fine”, Yuuri said, more firmly this time, and Victor bit down hard on his lip. It seemed Yuuri was still determined to keep him at arm’s length, but Victor tried to remind himself that it was still very soon, only a few hours since they had been reunited. All the hurt and the guilt was sitting right at the surface still. It would just take some time for it to settle. He took a deep breath before boosting himself up to sit on the window sill, tucking his knees close, making it clear that he would keep his distance.

For a few minutes he let the silence settle between them, just quietly watching Yuuri’s efforts, watching Yuuri. Looking at him like this, freshly bathed and soft in his dressing gown, Yuuri felt so familiar. Like the same Yuuri that Victor had grown up with. Even looking out for it, Victor couldn’t see anything different, no visible signs that he was something infinitely stranger than what he had been only a few weeks ago. Perhaps he looked a little paler than usual, his skin milky white against his dark hair and the red and gold patterned dressing gown. But the shape of his body was the same, the firm planes of his chest where it was visible underneath the fabric, the distinct veins on his muscled arms, the calloused dancer’s feet on the carpet. His eyes, cast down in concentration as he worked to untangle his hair, deep brown with long, lovely lashes. Like this, it would be so easy to pretend that the last few weeks hadn’t happened, that they were still in his father’s house and Yuuri was about to leave for rehearsals. But they weren’t. The past couldn’t be undone, and both of their lives had been irrevocably changed, for better or for worse. Lifting his hand to his neck, Victor let his fingers stroke over the mark etched into the back of it, a tangible reminder.

As the silence continued, Victor lost in his own thoughts, the tension slowly seeped out of Yuuri’s frame again and the air between them became something like comfortable. It made Victor feel warm, despite the chill of winter cooling his back through the panels of glass behind him.

There was still some apprehension in Yuuri’s eyes though, when Victor called his name softly after a while. “Yuuri”, he said, “Will you tell me what happened to you, since the accident? How you met Phichit and everything? I want… I want to understand what it’s been like, for you.”

Yuuri hesitated, watching Victor carefully, but finally, he nodded.

He took his time collecting his thoughts and then he spoke slowly, deliberately, but Victor didn’t mind waiting. He listened patiently as Yuuri told him—not about the accident itself, since it turned out Yuuri didn’t remember any of it—but from the moment he had woken up in the hospital bed and felt strange in his own body. He told him about being unable to sleep, about all that had happened with Cialdini, how Phichit had found him on his way home. Victor couldn’t imagine how scary it must have been, slowly discovering that there was something different, something unnatural about you, not to mention being attacked again and witnessing, causing even, the death of his attacker. It was no surprise, really, that Yuuri had been near hysterical by the time Victor had found him again, shaken and scared and so lost.

Looking back, it was no surprise that they had gotten so close that night, with Victor being so afraid of losing Yuuri, and Yuuri holding on to anything that was familiar, a constant, a comfort. Neither of them had made the most clear-headed decisions that night, but their feelings had been honest.

Yuuri also told him that Phichit had done something to avert any suspicions over Cialdini’s death away from him, though he didn’t know exactly what, Phichit apparently insisting that the less he knew about it, the better.

Victor couldn’t deny the relief he felt at this, knowing that they wouldn’t come after Yuuri for what had happened, especially since it would be near impossible to hide Yuuri’s condition if he was taken into custody, not to mention Victor’s own fate if he and Yuuri were to be kept apart.

Eventually, as he was talking, Yuuri managed to untangle the last of his hair, the brush now moving smoothly through silky black strands before he put it aside and braided them again with quick fingers. The familiar hairstyle and the way Yuuri got up and moved absent-mindedly around the room as he talked only contributed to the strangely normal feeling of the scene.

It wasn’t until Yuuri was pulling a number of unfamiliar items of clothing out of a wardrobe that Victor realised that Yuuri didn’t have any possessions of his own here. He had left the house with nothing but the clothes on his back, never to return.

Used to years of sharing changing rooms with other dancers, Yuuri didn’t seem self-conscious as he shed his dressing gown, his back turned toward Victor, but Victor still looked away to give him some privacy as Yuuri pulled on his clothes.

“When I come back the next time”, Victor said, keeping his eyes fixed on the decorations carved into the four-poster bed, “I can bring some of your things.”

Yuuri turned around as he was buttoning his shirt, surprise evident on his face. “My things?”

“Your clothes”, Victor elaborated, “your dance shoes, and anything else you might want me to bring.”

Yuuri’s expression softened at that. “Your father paid for all of that stuff”, he murmured, “so I’m not sure he’ll let you take it. But it would be nice to have my dance shoes.”

“Just leave it to me”, Victor said with a smile, “I’ll take care of it.”

There was a ghost of a smile on Yuuri’s face, too, as he smoothed down his shirt and reached for his waistcoat. “Thank you, Vitya.”

Victor stayed with Phichit and Yuuri for another two days, spending as much time with Yuuri as he could, learning more about vampires and about human companions such as himself. The three of them sat together in the sitting room, or in the dining hall when Victor was taking his meals. He and Yuuri took long turns around the garden, talking, airing out their fears and worries, sifting through any lingering hurts and words unsaid. Victor knew they still had a long ways to go to properly trust each other again, but it was a relief to hear Yuuri actually talking to him, being honest about what he needed. But still he kept his distance from Victor, and every night they each turned into their own bedroom, and Victor tried to let the hurt at that not pierce too deeply.

Time passed too quickly, and soon Victor had to return home to his father. He was reluctant to leave, but he told himself it was only temporary, only a brief interlude until he would be reunited with Yuuri, hopefully permanently this time. Whatever time hadn’t been spent with Yuuri in the last few days, he had been occupied with devising a plan of how he would get out of the Nikiforov house with minimal delay and suspicion. He hadn’t allowed himself time to second guess himself—he knew it needed to be done, so he would do it right away, before his father could try to talk him out of it.

When he took his leave on a crisp Friday morning, he wanted nothing more than to gather Yuuri up into his arms and whisper promises to him about his imminent return.

He indulged in the latter even as he denied himself the former, and Yuuri accepted his promises with sad, hopeful eyes, but he did not reach out even a hand towards Victor.

With a sigh, Victor turned away, suitcase in hand, and climbed aboard the hansom waiting for him. Yuuri gave a weak wave as they set off, and he remained at the edge of the road, looking after them until the turned the next corner.

Victor was greeted by a footman when he returned to the townhouse, his father thankfully nowhere to be seen. Passing off his suitcase to be taken upstairs and unpacked, Victor first made his way to Yuuri’s room. He would pack all the things he wanted to bring back for Yuuri first thing, so that he would only have to pick up the luggage should he end up leaving in a hurry. He selected some of the clothes that he knew Yuuri liked, packed his dance shoes and the rest of his dance equipment, as well as the Yukata he had received from his family and some other personal effects, letters and pictures.

Still it was disheartening to see that all of Yuuri’s life that he’d built here in the last ten years fit easily into a single suitcase.

He carried that suitcase to his own suite of rooms, storing it by the door to the hallway, ready to go at any moment. Then he turned to take in the room, the room that he had grown up in, that had been much more his home than his childhood bedroom in the country estate, where they hadn’t spent a lot of time ever since Victor’s mother had passed.

In these rooms he had grown up, had turned from a child to a youth to a grown man, had gotten to know himself both physically and mentally.

In these rooms his first tentative friendship with Yuuri had been tied, soon knitting itself into a firm, tight connection as they spent hours talking, reading together, playing games.

In these rooms he had once fancied himself safer, more loved and more looked after than anywhere else in the world.

These rooms that were a haven, a place given to him by his father to grow and flourish, a shelter that had been afforded to him—but not to Yuuri.

Once he left this house, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever set foot in these rooms again.

To pack his own bags proved to be more difficult, more time-consuming, and more draining than Victor had expected.

Not only did Victor have so many more possessions to sift through and decide what was worth taking, which clothes to select and which books to pack, he also found himself torn over the smallest things.

It wasn’t a question that he would take his mother’s mother of pearl comb that had been sitting on his vanity since her death, largely unused because Victor was scared of it breaking. There was also only a brief hesitance over the last family portrait they’d had made before her passing. He didn’t have any pictures with only himself and his mother, so the decision was made for him.

But beyond that… did he want to take the pocket watch he had been given for his eighteenth birthday, engraved with the Nikiforov crest and motto? Not only was he unsure if he wanted to hold on to everything it represented, he also thought it might be too much of a risk if he was to leave this identity behind. Should he take the foils he had been training with since he was barely more than a child? They were expensive and ostentatious, not to mention unwieldy to pack, but it might be useful to have something with him to defend himself, should the need arise. What about any of the gifts he had been given by his father? The loving sentiment behind them tasted so bitter to him now, but would he regret not taking something to remember him by? He was still Victor’s father after all, and underneath all the disappointment and revulsion, there was still that voice that he couldn’t quite silence, that whispered to him But he’s always been good to you. And then, what about the books that had once been gifts from his father but that had since been read so often and so thoroughly that there was a plethora of other memories and emotions connected with them now that had nothing to do with his father? Coming to think about it, there was almost nothing that Victor owned which hadn’t been paid for by his father, one way or another. Did he have a right to take any of it? Did he want to?

Victor’s progress, purposeful and resolute at first, gradually slowed down into necessitated into hesitant into sluggish and came to a stop from there, as Victor found himself sunk down on the carpet in his bedroom, surrounded by piles of his possessions, unable to make a single decision and a pain tearing at his chest.

Would he really have to leave all this behind from one day to the next? It seemed so unreal now, sitting here in the familiar smell of linen and books, the need to leave the city, to break with all his loved ones. Was there no way for him to keep this, to hold on to the only life he had ever known? Yes, his father was loath to him right now, but he was still family. Didn’t he deserve a chance to redeem himself, at least? To make up for his actions? After all, he had never been given a chance, not yet. Perhaps he regretted his actions. After all, hadn’t Victor said that very thing to Yuuri only a few days ago?

You deserve love. Even when you mess up. Even when you make mistakes. You learn from them, you make it right, you move on. But they don’t make you a bad person. They don’t make you poison.

Victor didn’t—couldn’t believe that his father was a bad person at heart, not after how much care and love he had put into raising Victor on his own, after he’d lost his mother so young. Not with all that kindness and good humour and patience he knew him to possess.

No, he deserved at least to be heard out, a chance to make amends, and perhaps Victor wouldn’t have to cut him out of his life after all.

Not every mistake is an unforgivable crime. And well-intended actions can still hurt. It‘s not all that black and white.

Was what Victor’s father had done unforgivable? He knew it wasn’t up to him to forgive in the first place, but he couldn’t help the whispers of doubt in his mind.

He sat on his bedroom floor for a long time, occasionally letting this item or that running through his fingers, reminiscing about its origins and turning the matter over and over in his head as darkness slowly descended on him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the dinner gong ringing out through the house. Carefully he pushed himself up on stiff legs, stalking through the mess on the floor towards the dressing room. He hadn’t made a single decision, except one: he would get changed and go downstairs for dinner.

His father was already in the dining room by the time Victor entered, two lone table settings placed on one end of the table. He looked up at Victor and a genuine smile spread on his face.

“Ah, Vitya! I’d been told you were back. Come, sit, sit.”

He gestured at the setting next to him, and Victor moved to take his place at his father’s right, as they had always done it, rather than sitting at opposite ends of the long dining table.

He greeted his father with no more than a nod, but the Earl reached over and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Good to have you back, son. It gets very quiet around here without the two of you.”

Victor bit his tongue so hard he was sure he tasted blood.

“What have you been up to all day?”, his father continued, “I heard you came back this morning already. You could have stopped by to say hello, you know?”

Victor gave a weak smile.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your work”, he said, just as the footmen entered to serve the first course.

Victor waited, hands kneading in his lap, until they had left them on their own again, staring down at the soup in his plate. He didn’t feel the least bit hungry, but still he picked up his spoon, for pretense’s sake.

“So”, the Earl said between spoonfuls of soup, and his voice wasn’t unsympathetic. “I take it your little excursion to find Yuuri was unsuccessful, then? Since you returned on your own.”

“No, I found him”, Victor said before he could stop himself, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, before leaning back in his chair and setting down his spoon. “But… he’s not coming back.”

“Oh Vitya”, his father said softly, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder once more, in sympathy this time, and Victor might have almost bought it, if he didn’t know he didn’t approve of them being together in the first place. “What happened?”

“It’s… I—”, Victor released a slow breath, trying to calm the swirling mess of thoughts in his head, trying to come to a decision. “Can we… can we not talk about this tonight? I just—”

He made a vague gesture with his hand, but it seemed enough to placate his father.

“Of course, of course”, he murmured, though Victor could still feel his gaze clinging to him. The Earl resumed eating, and made it through two spoonfuls before speaking up again.

“For what it’s worth, I really do think that this is for the best—”

It took all of Victor’s willpower to not walk out then and there. “Please”, he said, trying to contain the edge in his voice, clenching his fists in his napkin. “Can we just drop it?”

“Yes, yes, I apologise.”

This time Victor didn’t let the silence settle, not trusting his father not to bring Yuuri up again, so he redirected the conversation instead, asking about his father’s work, about the state of the finances and any news about the estate. Victor would normally be kept up to date on these things anyway, except with the events of the last few weeks he had rather lapsed in his attentiveness to his duties as heir.

His father was just too glad to catch him up, telling him about the tenants in the country who were all getting through the winter alright, even though it was a very cold one, thanks to the excellent harvest they’d had this year. The steward of the Petersburg house was mostly taking care of things on that end, though the Earl was planning on travelling to the estate for at least a few weeks before the winter ended. Otherwise he was currently engaged in diversifying their assets beyond the agricultural; with industrial progress being what it was right now, there were plenty of opportunities for investment.

The conversation carried them easily through their dinner and beyond the coffee they had afterwards, father and son sitting and talking shop over their empty cups for at least another hour, and for a precious few hours Victor managed to forget all about the crossroads he was facing and all the reasons he shouldn’t be enjoying a casual chat with his father.

A distant part of him felt a pang of guilt at that, but he pushed it down.

He had a right to this.

No matter what, he had a right to spend a last peaceful evening with his father, to say goodbye properly, if only in his own mind, before he was forced to burn those bridges.

When they finally said goodnight and his father hugged him, perhaps a little firmer than he usually would, Victor didn’t mind it at all. He even hugged him back, turning into that familiar warmth, that comforting smell of cigars and cologne and ink that had accompanied him his entire life.

But before he finally took his leave, a thought held him back and he turned to his father once more.

“Say… have there been any letters or messages for Yuuri? From the ballet, perhaps?”

The Earl raised an eyebrow at him, seeming surprised that Victor now brought up Yuuri himself, after his moratorium earlier.

“There were a couple of letters. I haven’t read them of course, they should be on the table in the library. There was one messenger asking for him, I told him he was out of town. He asked that Yuuri contact a Mr Thibaut as soon as he’s back. Why do you ask?”

Biting his lip, Victor wouldn’t meet his father’s eyes.

“I was just wondering”, he said. “He… never mind.”

With a short nod, Victor left the dining room, though he passed by the library to pick up the letters, stowing them safely in Yuuri’s luggage when he returned to his rooms.

His thoughts were with Yuuri, of course, before he went to sleep, but his mind was so abuzz with pleasant conversation and wine that he drifted off quickly.

Somehow, it didn’t stay only that one evening.

Victor had planned to get back to his packing right away the next day, but then his father told him over breakfast that he was meeting with a manufacturer of automobile engines who he wanted to possibly invest in, and didn’t Victor want to come along?

So Victor spent a long business meeting and an extended lunch learning about the newest innovations in engineering and the rapid growth of the automobile industry. Once they had gone their separate ways after one or two brandies after their lunch, the Earl asked Victor about his opinions on how the talks had gone and whether he thought it was a wise choice to invest. The rest of the afternoon they spent researching alternative ideas for investments, continuing their conversation over dinner when the gong rudely interrupted them.

The day after, Victor was taken along to a luncheon hosted by a friend of the family, and the afternoon was whiled away with an extended walk in the park and more talk of the Earl’s upcoming journey to Petersburg.

All things considered it almost felt normal; it almost felt like it was six months ago, when Victor’s world had still been intact, knowing nothing of all the pain in Yuuri’s life, of his father’s involvement in it, let alone of vampires and eternal bonds. Only Yuuri’s absence during dinners, the way Victor missed him, and the guilt that niggled at him, becoming more insistent in the pit of his stomach, broke the illusion.

As it was Victor found himself watching his father’s actions and words much more closely than he ever had, picking apart every remark and comment, looking for any hint of ill will or maliciousness. He even found himself trying to bait him into saying something unkind, trying to figure out if he was cheating the tenants, underpaying or mistreating the servants, even gambling or gossipping.

It wasn’t like he was faultless; when others made sleazy comments, he would often laugh along, though he’d rarely pile on or make any unsavoury remarks himself. Of course he did his best to keep cost low in his business, cutting corners where he thought it could be justified, but he seemed to be upstanding and just with all his dependants. Victor never saw him make eyes or passes at any man or woman, and honestly he believed his father hadn’t had any kind of dalliance since his mother’s passing.

He brought up Yuuri again a few times, not unkindly; enquiring if Victor wanted to talk about what had happened, remarking on some past event that had involved him, once even gently reproaching Victor for making things complicated by getting involved with him. Victor never let him get very far before he changed the topic, but each time sent a flame of irritation licking up in him. Each time had him clenching his fists and his teeth, driving cracks into the bubble that Victor had so carefully constructed around them.

The worst was when Victor overheard him talking to someone involved with the theatre at the luncheon, considering if he should take on another protegé. It made Victor freeze up with how many thoughts were warring in him at that moment.

That Yuuri hadn’t been gone even for a month and already the Earl wanted to replace him.

That Yuuri’s presence can’t have meant anything to him beyond his function as a status symbol.

That he didn’t want to see anyone else sucked into that same position that Yuuri had found himself in, robbed of his agency for the sake of his career.

That the Earl treated people like a commodity, a feather in his cap.

And, bitterest of all, washing over him with guilt, that perhaps a new protegé would be enough to replace Victor in his eyes, too, once he was gone.

Victor was almost glad, then, that they were among a large group of people and he had better sense than to make a scene in front of them, not for his own or his father’s sake, but for Yuuri’s. By the time they were alone again, the moment had not been forgotten, but its heat had become tepid enough to be buried under another layer of distraction.

And then there was the way in which his father kept nudging him towards or casually bringing up in conversation young unmarried men and women of good standing, clearly not deterred from his goal to see Victor wed as soon as possible.

Victor treated these people as cordially as he could while still making it clear that he had no interest whatsoever in marrying them; his father’s meddling was not their fault, after all.

Interestingly enough it wasn’t any of these incidents that finally shook Victor out of the state of denial he had buried himself in.

One evening, as they were sitting together over glasses of brandy, the smoke of his father’s cigar suffusing the room, his father leaned back in his chair and regarded him, considering.

“I think you should come with me”, he said, blowing out another plume of smoke. “To Petersburg, I mean.”

Victor looked up from where his gaze had been trailing through the amber liquid in his glass.

“What’s brought this on?”

His father hummed.

“I’ve been thinking it over for a few days now, and I think it would be good for you, getting out of the city for a while. Breathe some country air, get out into nature, take a few rides perhaps.” Thoughtfully, he turned his cigar in his fingers. “We could have a couple of house parties, invite some neighbours over. Some people your age.”

Victor felt his brow furrow in a frown.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Come now, it would be fun. Some quality time for the two of us, and we could get some good dinners out of it. Maybe even have some dancing.”

Victor’s expression darkened further.

“I don’t need you to set me up with anyone.”

The Earl sighed at his sharp tone.

“Listen, son. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I can see that this thing with Yuuri is weighing on you.”

“Don’t—”

His father held up a hand, interrupting him. “No, Vitya. We’ve skirted around the topic long enough. I get that it’s painful, but Yuuri has clearly made his choice. If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, then you need to move on.”

Victor clenched his hands into frustrated fists on the tablecloth.

“That’s not—you got it wrong.”

“Do I?” The look his father regarded him with was bordering on pitying. “Listen, I’m as disappointed as you are. After all these years that we’ve opened our home to Yuuri, taken him in as if he was our own, he just steals away in the night without even saying goodbye? As if everything we’ve done for him means nothing?”

Victor clenched his teeth so hard his jaw creaked. “You don’t get to say that. You—”

“I know, I know”, the Earl said, “I wasn’t keen on you two being together, and I still think that’s for the best. But that doesn’t mean I wanted him to leave altogether. I’m fond of him, too. Or I was, but it seems he’s just a thankless—”

“Shut up!” Victor surprised himself with his shout, his fist coming down to slam against the table, making his father flinch. “Do not speak ill of him, I swear to God…”

“Vitya!”, his father said, more taken aback than stern, “Listen, I know you’re attached to him but the facts of the matter—”

“I told you to shut up”, Victor repeated, “You know nothing about the facts of the matter, nothing.”

“Is that so?” His father lifted his eyebrows, but the pity was clear in his eyes now. “Then what, pray tell, are the facts?”

“It’s your fault he’s not coming back!”

Victor bit his tongue as soon as he said it, but then it was too late. It was stupid; not only was it far from the full truth, he was also in no way prepared to have this discussion now, even less while he was so emotional. If he wanted any chance of getting through to his father and not put him immediately on the defence, he would have to approach this in a calmer manner.

“Whatever are you talking about?”, the Earl said, looking genuinely surprised. “My fault?” He hesitated for a moment. “Is it because I told you I don’t want you marrying him?”

Victor knocked back the last of his brandy and pushed to his feet.

“I can’t have this conversation right now. I’m going to bed.”

“Vitya…”

Behind him, Victor heard his father pushing back his chair as well.

“Won’t you talk to me? I don’t like seeing you like this. I want to understand, but I can’t do that if you won’t explain.”

Hands still in white-knuckles fists at his sides, Victor paused.

“Tomorrow”, he said tersely. “We’ll talk tomorrow. For tonight, I just—”, he hesitated, then shook his head. Without another word, he pushed open the door to the smoking room and hurried upstairs.

He did not, in fact, go to bed, but within another two hours he had a suitcase full of his effects standing by the door ready to go, right next to Yuuri’s.

Chapter Text

Victor did not get a lot of sleep that night. He did lie down once he’d finished packing, but he couldn’t get his thoughts to quiet down.

Some clarity had descended on him as he heard his father invite him out to the countryside, a sudden surety that he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave the city and Yuuri behind, even if he could afford to go on what could be a several weeks long trip.

He might be able to bear a long train ride and long carriage ride to Petersburg alone with his father. He might be able to sit through awkward dinner parties and look over the estate. But the thought of being stuck there, being unable to leave when his father inevitably cornered him with the topic of marriage or Yuuri, it was enough to shake him out of his stupor.

The way the rest of the conversation had gone had only strengthened him in that belief.

He had been naive to think he could just ignore what had happened, eke out a little more precious time with his father without it being tainted by everything that had happened in the last few months.

If he wanted to have a chance of moving past it, he would have to confront it first, confront that ugliness and give it a chance to be resolved—if he was lucky.

If not… well, then at least he knew where he could go and be welcomed.

He spent most of the rest of the night rehearsing in his mind how he might bring the issue up with his father, how he could explain, without giving away too much of Yuuri’s confidences, past and present. How not to set his father on the defence, how to keep him listening, how to make him understand. How to keep himself calm and not let all his anger overtake him in the wrong moment.

He didn’t think he made any headway at all; when he awoke in the morning after a couple of hours of restless sleep, he felt exhausted, and none the wiser.

Dragging himself out of bed, he took his time washing himself and dressing, braiding his hair with much more care than necessary for a regular day. He didn’t particularly want to confront his father over the breakfast table, so he lingered in his room well beyond the time he knew his father usually began working before he ventured out of his room.

Not feeling very hungry, he only had a cup of coffee in the breakfast room, steeling his nerves for the conversation that was about to come, before he went back up the stairs towards his father’s study.

He knocked and didn’t have to wait long before the Earl bid him come in, and Victor opened the door.

His father sat in the soft leather chair behind his desk, as always, looking up at him as he entered, and he, too, looked tired. Stepping inside, Victor closed the door behind him and took a deep breath, gathering all his resolution.

“Do you have time to talk?”

“Of course, Vitya”, his father said, “I always have time for you.”

Victor acknowledged this with a sharp nod and stepped forward, resting his hands on the backrest of the chair on the other side of the desk; he didn’t think he would want to be sitting down for this.

His father looked up at him, patient. “Will you tell me what the matter is?”, he asked, “I’m sure whatever it is, we can find a good solution for everyone.”

Victor pressed his lips together for a moment, the leather creaking under his fingers as he dug them hard into the chair.

“I told you before”, the Earl added, his voice a little softer still, “I won’t disown you, or throw you out. I don’t want to lose you along with him so… whatever it is, just talk to me.”

Victor blew out his breath slowly, trying to centre himself. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, and the thought circled and circled in his head: There’s no solution for this.

“Yuuri doesn’t feel safe here, father”, he finally said, relieved to hear that his voice sounded much more steady than he felt, “He’s not coming back because he doesn’t feel safe in this house.”

His father’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Why ever not? Where could he possibly be safer than here? Haven’t we always taken good care of him?”

“Not always.” Victor swallowed.

“What is it, then?” His father blinked, taken aback. “Did he have a run-in with the staff? Or did the two of you have a falling out?”

Victor just managed to suppress a scoff. “No, father. It’s you. He’s not safe because of you.”

The Earl’s jaw dropped, a deep furrow appearing between his brows. “What ever are you talking about? I’ve treated that boy with nothing but courtesy. More than that, I’ve treated him like my own son!”

Victor’s fingers dug a little deeper into the leather. “Did you, though?” He took another deep breath.

“Tell me, father… if I came to you to ask you for advice, because someone was trying to sleep with me who I didn’t want to sleep with… what would you tell me?”

The Earl looked confused at this turn of conversation, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before he found his words. “What are you… Did Yuuri do something—”

“No”, Victor interrupted him firmly, “Just—listen, and answer the question.”

With a sigh somewhere between frustrated and resigned, his father leaned back in his chair, regarding Victor as he thought.

“I would tell you… that no one is entitled to your attention or your body. That you shouldn’t feel pressured to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Victor nodded tersely. He could feel frustration locking up all the muscles in his body, leaving him stiff and rigid.

“Then why couldn’t you have told him the same thing?”, he whispered, catching his father’s eyes. “If you treated him like a son, why didn’t you tell him the same thing?”

The Earl shook his head, his brow still furrowed. “I don’t understand…”

“He came to you to ask you for help. He felt unsafe and out of his depth and he thought you would protect him. But instead of pulling him out, you pushed him right back into the shark tank.”

“You’re not making any sense, Vitya”, the Earl said, “Yuuri never asked me anything of the sort.”

“Oh, he didn’t, did he?” Victor huffed a humourless laugh. “So you never told him that if he was pursued he should just take it and enjoy it?”

“No, I—”, for a moment longer, the Earl’s expression stayed furrowed with confusion, but Victor could see the moment when he remembered, his face smoothing out with surprise, the colour draining from it.

“That’s what this is about? But that—that was years ago!”

Now Victor did scoff. “And why does that make it any better? He was so young, you should have looked after him, not left him for the vultures!”

“No, you don’t understand, Vitya.” His father was shaking his head now. “That’s not—that’s not what I told him, I—”

“Well, you didn’t tell him what you just told me, did you? When he asked you what to do when he didn’t want to go with someone—”

“But—I told him he could pick and choose”, the Earl said, leaning forward in his chair, “I didn’t say he had to go with just anyone…”

“You still said, or at least implied, that he had to go with someone, right? You didn’t give him the option to just refuse. To say no. So what if you gave him the choice to pick from a selection of knives? Even the smallest knife will still leave a bleeding wound.”

“But that’s not what I meant at all…”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant!”, Victor interrupted him, raising his voice for the first time now. “What matters is what you did. What matters is the damage you caused.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Victor bit down on his bottom lip, schooling himself back into calm.

“You don’t get the full picture, Vitya”, his father murmured, “that’s really not how it was, this is taken out of context. I’d never want any harm to come to Yuuri. You must know that.”

Victor shook his head slowly. “So when you were there, seeing people much older than him propositioning him, touching him… people in a position so much higher than him that he couldn’t possibly rebuke them… did you ever step in? Did you ever even consider it might not be what he wants? That it might be wrong?”

The Earl chewed on his lips, looking paler still.

“But he never said… he never said he didn’t want it.”

“Didn’t he?”, Victor asked, “Or did he have to carefully choose his words due to his position, always taking care not to offend anyone, always taking care not to speak out of turn?”

When the Earl didn’t respond right away, a faraway look in his eyes, Victor continued. “Think back to any one of those situations and ask yourself: would Yuuri have been able to say “I want you to leave me alone” or “I don’t want you to touch me”, without harming himself or his career in some other way? Or even without casting a bad light on us, on you as his benefactor. And you know Yuuri would endure any manner of humiliation rather than risk anything reflecting badly on us.”

He could see his father swallowing. He cast his eyes down to trail over his desk, then up at Victor again.

“Surely it’s not as bad as all that?”, he asked, the nervous tone already betraying he didn’t really believe it himself. “It’s just—talk, right? Some people might make an inappropriate remark or let their hands wander a bit but… that’s it, right?”

Victor held his gaze steadily. “You don’t need me to answer that for you.”

The Earl let out a shaky breath and ran both hands through his hair, tearing lightly at the strands. For a few long minutes he was silent, and Victor let him process all that he had just learnt.

Finally his father shook his head, hesitantly looking up at Victor again.

“Why now? I mean, why is this coming up only now? Yuuri lived here the last few years happily enough, or… at least, that’s what I thought. So what has changed?”

Victor licked his lips, forcing himself to stretch his aching fingers.

“What changed is mainly that I found out about it. Yuuri would never talk about these things of his own accord.”

His father sighed and nodded. “Did he tell you? When you two… when you took up together?”

“No.” Victor swallowed. “That actually happened after I found out. But, ah… there’s something else. Another reason why Yuuri won’t come back here.”

This, Victor wasn’t actually too sure was true, but it was a plausible enough justification.

The Earl cast a questioning look up as him.

Victor took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “It happened here”, he said, “In Yuuri’s room. In his own bed.”

“What… happened?”, his father asked, his voice toneless, but there was dread in his eyes.

“Yuuri was raped. Not going with them because he thought he had to. Not letting it happen because he couldn’t reject them. Actually, violently raped.”

“H… here?” The Earl’s voice was hoarse. “Who…?”

Victor hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was wise to reveal this… but he had already gone this far, it would be suspicious to back down now.

“Celestino Cialdini.”

His father sucked in a sharp breath. “Celestino? When was he here?”

“He came to talk to Yuuri, about the ballet”, Victor whispered, “or that’s what he claimed anyway.”

“Where was I when this happened?”

Victor lifted his shoulders, unsure. “Away on business, somewhere. I forget where exactly.”

The Earl furrowed his brow, steepling his fingers, thoughtful. “Did Yuuri tell you this?”

Trying not to bristle at the insinuation, Victor frowned. “No. I saw it. I walked in when—”, he broke off, unable to help his grimace at the memory, “he… he was so—”, his voice faltered, deserting him.

“You… you saw it?” Victor could see his father swallowing. “What did you do?”

Victor’s fingers burrowed back into the leather of the chair, his eyes fixed on them. “I pulled him off”, he whispered, “told him to go to hell. Punched him too, quite a bit I think, I… I hardly remember it, I was so…”, he took a deep, shaky breath, “I told him I’d ruin him if he ever put his hands on Yuuri again.”

The Earl nodded, his expression dark but unreadable. “I’m… sorry you had to see that. I’m even more sorry that it happened at all, under my roof, no less. That’s—”, he broke off, his eyes widening, and lowered his hands.

“Vitya—you’re not… don’t tell me Celestino’s death had anything to do with you.”

Victor was glad he had seen the question coming and could suppress a flinch. “No, no”, he said with a bitter little laugh, the lie flowing easily enough off his tongue, “I mean—who knows, if he did it to Yuuri perhaps he did it to someone else and they decided to get their revenge. But no, it had nothing to do with Yuuri. Although I won’t pretend I’m not glad the bastard’s dead.”

The Earl regarded him critically for a series of long moments, but then he nodded, evidently accepting Victor’s words. Folding his hands on the desk, he looked down at them for a while, lost in thought, and again Victor gave him time to collect himself.

When he finally spoke again, his father’s voice was soft, careful almost.

“You two didn’t actually separate at all, did you?”

Victor straightened up a little, squaring his shoulders. “No, we didn’t”, he said, voice quiet but firm. “We’re still together. And we intend to keep it that way.”

The Earl sighed. “But he won’t be coming back to live here again.”

Victor huffed a humourless laugh. “Can you blame him, after everything?”

His father shook his head, dismissing his words with a wave of his hands. “Where is he living now?”

“With a friend, here in the city.”

“And what friend would that be?”

Victor gave him a thin-lipped smile. “No one you would know. But he’s respectable enough.”

The Earl grunted, doubtful. “If I don’t know him, he can’t be that respectable.”

Victor clicked his tongue. “You don’t know every single decent person in this city, father. Just give it a rest, I’m not gonna tell you who it is.”

His father’s expression darkened. “What, you don’t trust me? You think I’m gonna go and drag him back here? I’m certainly not going to force him to live here with us. It was only through my charity that he came here in the first place.”

“Yeah, and some charity that was”, Victor scoffed.

“Now listen here, Vitya”, his father said, face pulling into a scowl, “I will not let you talk down everything I have done for that boy. I gave him endless opportunities. I paid for his education, for every single one of his expenses.”

Victor pressed his lips together.

“Don’t pretend you did that out of pure charitable intent. You only did it so you could adorn yourself with his plumes.”

For a moment his father stared at him, slack-jawed, but then his scowl was back in full force. “So what if it did bring a little appreciation to our name? Yuuri still reaped the benefits for it, didn’t he? He got his education, he got his career…”

“He got pawned off on whoever had the most influence against his will…”, Victor interjected.

The Earl pushed up on his feet, slamming his palms down on the desk. “I already told you, that’s not what happened! I didn’t intend for any of that to happen.”

“Yes, and how hard you worked to discourage it…”, Victor muttered, voice bitter in his own ears.

“Don’t pretend like you know what I did or didn’t do for Yuuri. It’s not like you were there to see it.”

“So, what?”, Victor said, prying his hands loose from the chair to cross his arms in front of his chest, “Am I supposed to take your word over his?”

“Yes, you are”, the Earl thundered, “I am your father!”

“And that makes you somehow more trustworthy?”

“More trustworthy than him, yes!”

Victor narrowed his eyes. “Whatever reason would Yuuri have to lie about this?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” His father threw up his hands in exasperation. “Perhaps to drive a wedge between us? To entice you to marry him against my wishes and get his hands on your title and your money?”

Victor went suddenly cold with fury.

“Yuuri isn’t like that and you know it. You know him. You’re just saying this because you don’t want to face the fact that you fucked up!”

“Vitya, you watch what you’re saying now—”

“I will not”, Victor interrupted him. “You fucked up! You were selfish and thoughtless, and Yuuri got hurt because of it, and perhaps you feel bad about it, but not enough to actually admit your mistake and do better so… you know what? Yuuri doesn’t care about my title or my money, and neither do I. Keep all of it, for all I care.” Uncrossing his arms, he lifted both hands, palms out. “I’m washing my hands of you.”

The Earl straightened up, staring at him, suddenly pale.

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, but I am”, Victor said with a humourless grin. “I’ll go and stay with Yuuri and you’ll see how much we care about your fucking money.”

“You’ll throw it all away?”, his father said, voice hollow, “For this? For him?”

Victor took a step closer to the desk and when he spoke his voice was low and sharp. “If you ever want to see me again, you won’t say a single unkind thing about Yuuri. Don’t be a fucking hypocrite, singing his praises for years and now disparaging him because things aren’t going your way.”

“Well, all these years he wasn’t trying to break up my family and turn my son against me.”

“That’s not on him”, Victor said with a scoff, “That’s all on you.”

“So, what, you’ll go and marry him and live together in squalor for the rest of your lives.”

“Well, that’s none of your fucking business”, Victor hissed, “Perhaps we’ll get married. Perhaps not. That’s for us to decide, not for you.”

The Earl sucked in a sharp breath.

“You’ll live together, unmarried? You’ll ruin your reputation.”

Victor couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “And you think I care about my reputation why? Besides, Yuuri and I have lived together for most of our lives.”

His father pressed his lips together. “You know it’s not gonna be the same if the two of you shack up together somewhere.”

“I don’t give a damn what people will think. If you’re so worried about the family name, just disown me and it won’t reflect back on you.”

Heaving a deep sigh, his father ran a hand over his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I understand you feel guilty about what happened to Yuuri, Vitya, but giving up all your privileges is not going to change that. Your trying to be noble is not going to help anyone.”

Victor deflated a little in his surprise.

“That’s… that’s not why I’m doing this.”

“Isn’t it?” Pushing his hair back out of his face, the Earl looked more tired than ever. “I know you feel bad that Yuuri had to go through these things because of his position, while you were right there under the same roof, living a sheltered, safe life. I understand you feel the need to make up for it somehow. But you throwing yourself into misery is not going to undo the things that happened to Yuuri.”

“I’m—”, Victor bristled at that, though he, too, felt the sleepless night clawing at his nerves and his body. “I’m not throwing myself into misery. I love Yuuri.”

“I’m sure you do”, his father said, resigned. “But throwing your whole life away to live with him in disgrace and poverty… is that really the way? It doesn’t have to be like this. If not for yourself, then don’t you want to offer him something better? Wouldn’t it make more sense to try to elevate him rather than debase yourself for him?”

Victor could feel himself scowling. “If you think living without the riches and luxury of an Earldom is debasing yourself, then—”

“Alright, granted, granted”, the Earl waved his words away with a gesture, “but my point still holds true. I want better for you, and I’m sure Yuuri does to, as you do for him.”

Automatically, Victor crossed his arms again before his chest. “What is it you’re suggesting, exactly?”

His father took a deep breath, once again steepling his fingers and looking at Victor thoughtfully.

“I understand why Yuuri doesn’t want to come back here. He doesn’t have to. I don’t even have to see him, if he doesn’t want to talk to me. But you stay here for now, with me. And you’ll court Yuuri properly. I won’t get in your way. And in a year or two, if that’s still what you want, you can get married. With my blessing.”

Victor frowned at him, doubtful.

“Why would you do that? What do you get out of it?”

The Earl shook his head slowly, and there was genuine sadness in his eyes.

“I don’t lose my only son, my only family. I told you, I’d rather have the two of you together than neither of you, if those are my only options.”

“I don’t trust this”, Victor said, chewing on his lips.

“What’s not to trust?”, the Earl said, “If it turns out I didn’t mean it, you can still run away together, no harm, no foul. Just give me a chance?

Chewing up all the words crowding onto his tongue, Victor forced himself to take his time, considering his father’s words. He knew the break with his father would have to happen sooner or later, and, blessing or not, he and Yuuri would not be able to get married as the future Earl and Lord Nikiforov. A wedding like that, if it was to be hosted by his father, would come with way too much attention and scrutiny, not something he and Yuuri could afford. No, if they were to get married one day, it would be a small, intimate thing somewhere far away from here, where no one knew them.

But until that day came… was there really any harm to Victor keeping up his relationship to his father for another year or two? The prospect of not living with Yuuri, which he was not thrilled about, aside—was that something he wanted? Did he want to afford his father another chance, the chance to prove himself a decent person? The way the conversation had gone didn’t instill much confidence in him. Yes, it was clear that his father cared deeply for Victor, wanted his happiness more than anything else. But as soon as it came to Yuuri, it was also clear that he valued his reputation, the family name and his fortune more than the boy he had basically raised since he was a child. It was clear that he did not see himself at fault for any of the things that had happened to Yuuri.

Victor licked his lips, cracked and dry.

“I have to think about it”, he said quietly, his mouth feeling tacky after all the talking and shouting, “and I have to talk it over with Yuuri.”

His father looked disappointed, but he nodded. “I understand.”

“Here’s what I suggest”, Victor continued, taking a deep breath. “I will leave today to talk it over with Yuuri and to think about what it is that I want. You leave on your journey to Petersburg in a few days anyway. We take a couple of weeks, both of us, to digest this”, he gestured between the both of them, “to calm down and let ourselves settle. And when you return, the two of us will meet again, with or without Yuuri, depending on what he wants, and we will talk about the decisions we made. And then we’ll go from there.”

The Earl regarded him, hesitant, chewing on his bottom lip.

“You will stay with Yuuri in the interim?”

Victor let out a sharp sigh. “Don’t worry, I will not shack up with him, as you so charmingly put it. I am simply visiting with the gentleman who is also hosting Yuuri, all nice and proper.”

His father pressed his lips together, doubt etched into his expression, but he gave a terse nod.

“Will… How do I know you’re not going to disappear on me once you walk out that door? How do I know I won’t return from the countryside to find out that I won’t ever see my son again?”

Victor squared his shoulders, meeting his father’s eyes. “You’ll just have to trust my word on that. I promise I will meet with you again when you return. I make no promises beyond that. And I can’t give you the address where I’m staying, I’m afraid. But I’m willing to supply you with a post office where I will pick up letters, so you can reach me that way.”

His father nodded again, looking unhappy, but he seemed resigned to the fact that this was the best he was going to get.

“Will you at least stay until I leave for Petersburg? There’s no need for you to rush off right away.”

Victor gave a short, sharp shake of his head. “I think it is best if I leave today. I think it will be good for both of us to have some distance to think things through without being clouded by emotions. I… I need some time. It hasn’t been easy to come to terms with the fact that my father is not the person I always thought him to be.”

He could see the Earl swallow, his hands running restlessly over his clothes, straightening non-existent creases. He looked more tired than ever.

“I am a human being”, he whispered, “I make mistakes. I have always tried to do my best for you.”

“For me, yes”, Victor said, “And for yourself, too. But not for Yuuri.”

To his credit, his father did not protest this time, just gave a shallow nod, eyes downcast.

“I will take my leave, then”, Victor continued, “I’ll see you in a few week’s time. I’ll leave the address of the post office with the footman when I take off.”

His father nodded again. “Certainly. Look after yourself, Vitya. Please.”

“I will.”

With that, Victor turned to leave the study, but was stopped when his father called his name once more. Victor looked back at him, wary.

“For what it’s worth”, the Earl said, pinching at the bridge of his nose, “I regret it. What happened to Yuuri. What I said, the consequences it apparently had. It was never my intention for him to get hurt. I… I hope you’ll be able to forgive me.”

Victor held back a scoff, held back all the other unkind words and noises crowding onto his tongue, in favour of regarding his father levelly for a minute.

“I’m not the one who needs to forgive you”, he finally said, before turning once more and letting the door of the study click shut behind him. Through the wood, he could hear the heavy creak of the chair as his father dropped into it, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he went back to his own rooms and busied himself with checking his and Yuuri’s suitcases one last time, crowding all his thoughts to the back of his mind for now. There would be enough time, later, to really process everything that had been said. There would be time, later, for a proper emotional reaction, that he knew would surely come.

But for now, all that mattered was to get back to Yuuri.

Chapter Text

Victor had only been with them for a few days, but nonetheless the house was too quiet after he left.

Yuuri’s days were just as empty now as they had been when he first came to stay with Phichit, but now the contrast was stark to the days he’d spent with Victor. Not that they had been filled with a flurry of activity, exactly, but Victor’s presence always brought a warmth to Yuuri’s life, a depth. A purpose. A purpose that he tried to hold on to, now, while Victor was gone: To be better, to be worthy of Victor.

Despite all his misgivings and the lingering guilt, the shame still clawing at his gut in every minute, the reconciliation was still an immense relief for Yuuri. To know that Victor was giving him another chance, that Victor didn’t hate him. That Victor, for some inexplicable reason, wanted to spend his life, now stretching near eternity, with Yuuri. That Victor loved Yuuri, miraculously, impossibly, even after everything Yuuri had done.

It lifted a weight off him that had been holding him down ever since he had last left the Nikiforov house, not making him feel light, exactly, but at least no longer making every step and every breath leaden.

Yuuri still only had borrowed clothes from Phichit to wear, but he dressed himself carefully, kept himself groomed, left his room. He did his best to converse with Phichit, to learn the things that he did not yet know about vampire existence, and to get to know this man who, it seemed, was to be his companion, his friend, indefinitely.

It turned out conversation with Phichit was easy, almost effortless. Yuuri had learnt a lot about how to make pleasant conversation, and he’d had a lot of practice in it throughout the years of his life, but in spite of that, it had never come naturally to him. It had always taken a lot of effort out of him to make it appear effortless. With Phichit, it was different. He was an excellent conversationalist, with sparkling wit and eager curiosity, always knowing just what to say and which questions to ask to draw Yuuri out of his shell, to keep the chat flowing naturally.

But it was more than that, too—Yuuri felt, now that he didn’t regard Phichit with constant apprehension and suspicion, now that he wasn’t so caught up in his own misery, that he and Phichit had some kind of natural rapport. Phichit’s keenness never felt invasive, and he understood Yuuri’s wry sense of humour and cut through his self-deprecation with ease. It turned out to be as natural a companionship as he’d only ever felt with Victor, or perhaps with Yuuko, back when they were closer.

Still he missed Victor terribly, even though he knew it would be at most two weeks before he returned to be bitten again, and Phichit teased him for it without mercy. Yuuri didn’t care. He had spent weeks with the certainty that he would never see Victor again, and those few days had been far from enough to make up for it. He tried to allow himself this want—this visceral, gut-wrenching want to be close to Victor that he always felt but had always denied himself up until now. There was still a twist of guilt in it, that instinct, that he wasn’t allowed to want, not someone like Victor who was so far above him, so much better, so much purer.

But Victor had asked him to not hold himself back anymore for what he thought was Victor’s best, so Yuuri tried. Tried to just feel and accept those feelings for what they were. Tried to remind himself of Victor’s words and accept those, too: that Yuuri was wanted, that Yuuri was loved, that Yuuri was not a bad person.

Everything in him rebelled against it: his own mind, his fears, his memories—telling him that he was worth nothing, even less now that he could no longer do the one thing that had given him merit to begin with.

He had only ever been a dancer, and now he wasn’t even that anymore.

It felt like he was emptied out, a hollow shell of a person, an oddly fitting image when he thought of the parasite within him.

There was only one thing left in his life that had any meaning: Victor.

So he whiled his days and nights away, waiting for Victor to return, the hours he didn’t occupy himself in the library or in conversation with Phichit spent in deep thought, contemplating all that had happened in the last few weeks, all that had changed. Trying to come to terms with those changes, permanent as they were.

It was very disconcerting to be aware that there was no heartbeat pulsing in his chest. He didn’t feel the coolness of his own skin, but he felt the cold all around and deep inside him, making him shiver and wrap himself up in plenty of layers and blankets. With Phichit’s help he started to attune to his newly enhanced senses, learning to listen to detect even the smallest sounds in the house, learning to sharpen his eyes in the night.

Strangest of all, however, was his enhanced sense of smell, the things his nose could detect not only so much more intense but also so much more nuanced than he had ever known. He couldn’t even begin to identify everything that he could smell, though slowly, under Phichit’s guidance, he learnt to put names to the scents.

With Phichit at his side, he also learnt to test the new strength of his body, far superior to that of a human, something that needed careful control if he didn’t want to risk accidentally hurting anyone or doing damage that he hadn’t intended. He hadn’t really noticed this power coiled in his body yet, not really having had a reason to exert it. Yuuri had always been strong, having needed to be in order to lift his dance partners with sufficient ease that it looked like floating, like flying, like something impossibly light. But this was something else altogether, he noticed, as he effortlessly lifted a sofa by himself, as he crushed a length of wood in his bare hands, as he bent the metal poker resting by the fireplace. Here, the parasite’s healing ability showed itself, too; in the way he never felt sore even after hours of exertion, in the way the little cuts and scrapes left in his skin, bleeding sluggishly if at all, were closed up again within the hour.

And then there was that keen feeling of hunger sitting always in his throat, making him yearn, making the smell of the servants downstairs worryingly tempting. Yuuri kept it tamped down, exerting all his carefully cultivated self-control. He would not harm anyone else with his thirst, his bloodlust—he only had to hold back until Victor returned.

But there were so many hours in the day now, and Yuuri was at a loss how to fill them, having had to desert the one thing that had always occupied him all hours of the day. He often whiled away the hours of the night with Phichit, learning to come into his own as a vampire, and he also found himself reading for many hours on end, something that he had barely had any time for ever since he had started at the Academy. Books had never been his first comfort; in his parents’ home there hadn’t been a lot of them, and once he came to the city he had never enjoyed them much when his tutor had made him read them. But now, they were a welcome escape.

But there was only so much time he could spend curled up in an armchair before his body began aching, buzzing with a need for movement. He would wander the halls of the mansion then, up and down the stairs, to and fro in the halls, or he would venture out into the modest back garden and draw his circles there.

It was never enough.

His body itched for more.

He didn’t quite dare venture out of the house though, too worried still that anyone would be able to read his condition on his face, or at least feel it if they touched him. Too paranoid still about someone accusing him of killing Cialdini, although Phichit had assured him he’d taken care of it. Yuuri had not yet dared to ask what it was, exactly, that he’d done.

He also didn’t want to leave when he didn’t know when Victor might return—didn’t want him to come back to find Yuuri gone and possibly think he had taken off again. He’d made a promise, and this time he intended to keep it.

It was a relief when finally the doorbell rang and the door was swung open by Phichit to reveal Victor, two suitcases in his hands, almost a week after he had left.

Yuuri, having run downstairs from the library, stood at the foot of the stairs, heaving breaths that were much more excitement than exertion, warring with himself. A part of him just wanted to throw himself into his arms, hold him close. Seeing Victor standing there, carefully braided hair draped over his shoulder, soothed a dread in Yuuri that he hadn’t quite dared acknowledge before; that Victor might change his mind and stay with his father after all. But no—there he was, and although there was something drawn and tired about his face, when he saw Yuuri, he smiled, and Yuuri knew, had his heart been beating, it would have stopped at the sight.

Stepping inside, Victor set down the suitcases next to the door and greeted Phichit with a handshake, before he edged further into the hall, toward Yuuri, while Yuuri did the same from the other end of the room.

They stopped when there were a mere few feet between them, and Victor’s eyes flitted over Yuuri’s face like he was looking for something.

“Hello Yuuri”, he finally said, his voice such a familiar comfort that Yuuri couldn’t help the smile that spread on his own lips.

Opening his mouth to return the greeting, what came out instead was: “You came back.”

Victor’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Yuuri licked his lips. “No… no, not really”, he murmured. “I just… worried.”

Victor smiled again, something softer now, and made an aborted motion with his hand, like he was trying to reach for Yuuri but then thought better of it.

“Well, I’m here”, he said.

“I’m glad”, Yuuri replied, and moved off to the side, extending his arm towards the sitting room, ushering Victor inside. “How was it, with… with your father?”

Before Victor could reply, as they were still taking their seats, they were interrupted by Phichit sticking his head into the room.

“Do you guys want me here for this or should I give you your privacy?”

“Ah…”, Yuuri looked over at Victor, questioning, and found Victor looking back at him, twisting his fingers in his lap.

“It depends…”, he said, “Yuuri, how much does Phichit know about… everything that happened? Before the accident, I mean?”

Yuuri couldn’t quite help a wince, and a shiver that didn’t have anything to do with the cold in his bones. “Uhm, not much… not really anything.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully while Phichit looked between the two of them curiously. “Then I’ll leave it up to you to decide, if you feel comfortable sharing that or not.”

“I…”, Yuuri looked down, his hands clenched in his lap, trying to think. His gut instinct was to say no—he never wanted to talk about those things, didn’t want anyone else to know. It was bad enough that Victor knew what he knew. Yuuri wanted to keep these things close to his chest, the thought of letting anyone else in making his throat feel tight. It felt just too close, too personal. But at the same time, how things had gone with Victor’s father could affect Phichit, too, if Victor was to become part of their… household, as it were. And if there were complications, they might end up needing Phichit’s help.

But he and Phichit had just established this tentative beginning of a friendship, and Yuuri didn’t want to risk changing how Phichit thought of him. He didn’t want to see Phichit looking at him with pity, at least not any more than he already did, after all that had happened. Pity that he neither wanted nor deserved.

Glancing up at Phichit, he took in the curious but relaxed look on his face, and he knew that whatever decision he made, Phichit would accept it without question and without disappointment.

It was that more than anything that finally made Yuuri nod.

“It’s okay. He can stay.”

Phichit returned his nod and stepped inside, settling on his usual armchair after he’d asked if he should send for tea for Victor, which Victor declined. Yuuri and Victor had settled on opposite ends of the couch, and Yuuri pulled up his legs under himself, reaching for the throw hanging over the backrest to drape it over his knees.

“Well…”, he said, making an inviting gesture for Victor to begin talking, “How did it go?”

Victor cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts for a few moments.

“It could have gone better”, he finally began, “but it could have gone worse, too.”

He gave them a brief rundown of how the first few days at the Nikiforov house had gone, the time he’d spent with his father, voice growing more tense as he went on.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have led him to believe we had separated. He just kept bringing up marriage, kept throwing these people at me…”, Victor trailed off, shaking his head.

“Then…”, Yuuri murmured, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth, “why did you?” He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the reason.

“I just… I needed some time”, Victor said, blowing out a frustrated breath, and Yuuri nodded, biting down harder on his lip. It was not unexpected—after everything that happened, after all the life-changing new information Victor had been given, it was only natural that he had wanted some time away from Yuuri. Yuuri should be grateful that it had only been a week.

“But after a while I just couldn’t take it anymore. Not without knowing…”, Victor sighed, his fingers tugging at each other in his lap, like he didn’t know what to do with them. “So this morning, I confronted him. About what he said to you back then, about everything that came after. I tried to make him understand the damage he’d done but… I don’t think he really accepted that he was culpable in any way. There were a lot of justifications, finger pointing… I won’t bother you with the details. He lashed out, too, of course, trying to…”, Victor paused, his jaw grinding, “to put the blame on you. Not for those things, so much, but for… stealing me away, I suppose. Breaking up the family.”

Guilt clenched painfully in Yuuri’s stomach. The Earl wasn’t wrong, even if Victor didn’t want to see it that way. If it wasn’t for Yuuri becoming a vampire, Victor and his father might have been able to work past this conflict over time, remain a family. If it wasn’t for Yuuri pulling Victor into the ugliness of his life, Victor wouldn’t have known about any of it in the first place. If it wasn’t for Yuuri taking a place in their house that didn’t belong to him, none of this would have happened.

But Victor was already continuing, obviously seeing no merit at all to the Earl’s words.

“The only thing that really rattled him, I think, was what happened with… with Cialdini. That it happened under his own roof. I don’t think he felt in any way responsible for this either, but then again, I suppose he isn’t. Not any more than me, anyway.”

Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath. “Vitya”, he said, “I told you before, you’re not. What he did is not your fault.”

Victor shook his head. “But I should have been there. Or I should never have told you to invite him to our home in the first place.”

“No, Vitya.” Yuuri clenched his fists into the throw over his legs to keep himself from reaching out. “I told you, it would have happened anywhere. It happened before. What you are responsible for is that you stopped him. And that he didn’t do it again.”

“Still”, Victor pressed out between clenched teeth, voice bitter, “if I had been there from the start, as I was supposed to be, he wouldn’t have been able to do it. At least you would have been raped one time less.”

Yuuri had to suppress a flinch at having it expressed to bluntly, and he heard a gasp from Phichit, sitting off to the side, listening silently.

Yuuri huffed a laugh, short and humourless, but not unkind. “And what a difference that would have made”, he murmured.

Victor looked pained. “Don’t say that…”, he whispered and Yuuri gave him a sad smile.

“It really wouldn’t have changed anything”, he said, “he just would have done it again another time. And again. But you stopped him. So it’s really better this way.”

Victor’s lips were shaking and he looked like he wanted to say something else, but Yuuri stopped him with a wave of his hand. “Didn’t you keep telling me I shouldn’t blame myself for what happened? That the only people responsible were those who did those things to me? Well, the same applies to you, too.”

Victor still looked doubtful, like he wanted to protest more, but he held his tongue.

Yuuri took a deep breath, making use of the pause to steer their conversation back on track again.

“Why did you tell him about all this, anyway?”, he asked.

Victor took a moment to collect himself, to find his way back to the thread of their conversation.

“It was a good justification for why you wouldn’t come back”, he said then, “but more than that I had to… I had to know what he was thinking. Why he said what he said. I had to find out if… if he just made a mistake, or if he was malicious.”

Yuuri nodded his understanding. “And…?”

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Victor shook his head. “I don’t know”, he whispered, “I really don’t…” He sucked in a shaking breath, pressing both hands over his eyes. “I don’t think he really wanted you to get hurt but he wasn’t paying attention, he was only thinking about what he would get out of it. He—for all his talk of you being like another son to him he didn’t treat you accordingly, but I don’t know if it was unconscious or if all that talk was just a whole lot of bullshit…”

“Shh, Vitya, it’s alright”, Yuuri hurried to say as Victor drifted off into rambling, “It’s alright. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now, or ever. It’s complicated. I understand.”

Again he had to fight the urge to reach out, to squeeze Victor’s knee, just to let him know that he was here. “I don’t expect you to hate him on my accord, or to cut him out of your life. I really don’t. He’s your father and… I know you won’t like hearing this, but, in the grand scheme of things, what he did was nothing.”

That was enough to make Victor lower his hands, peering at Yuuri almost enraged, no less than Yuuri had expected.

“Just because others have done worse doesn’t make what he did okay”, he said sharply, “Besides, if he had made a better choice… if he had told you then what he told me today, who knows how many of those experiences you wouldn’t have had to make.”

Yuuri regarded him, frowning.

“What he told you? What did he tell you?”

Victor sighed, casting his eyes down again, at his hands now resting once more in his lap.

“I asked him… before I talked to him about you, I asked him what advice he would give me if I found myself in a position like yours.”

“And what did he say?”, Yuuri asked, his own voice strangely toneless in his ears.

“He said… that no one is entitled to my attention or my body. And that I shouldn’t feel pressured to do what I don’t want to do.”

Yuuri let those words sink in for a long minute, staring into blank space. Would it have changed anything, had he heard these words back then, from a trusted person of authority, in such a formative moment in his life? Would it have given him the strength to speak more rejections, to keep himself more protected? Would it have affected his career? Or could he have gotten where he was without spending countless nights in strangers’ bed, under a stranger’s touch that made him shudder? Would it have been a mantra, to hold himself firm against? Or would it have been a mockery, well-intended words that had nothing to do with the realities of his life?

“Yuuri?”, Victor asked, hesitant, and Yuuri became aware that he must have been quiet for too long.

“I don’t know”, Yuuri whispered, licking his lips and swallowing the bitterness he tasted there. “I don’t know if it would have changed anything. Maybe. It would have helped, I think, not to lose my trust in him. But it’s pointless to think about that now. What happened happened, and there’s nothing we can do to take it back.”

“I know”, Victor said, his voice just as low, rough in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“So…”, Yuuri continued, forcing himself to unclench his aching fingers from the blanket, carefully stretching them, “how did you leave things with him, in the end?”

“Well…” Victor took a deep breath and released it slowly, tension sitting in his frame. “I told him that you wouldn’t be coming back, but that we were still together and that I intended to m—to remain with you, whether he approved or not. He was not thrilled with the prospect, and made that quite clear, but in the end… when I threatened to walk out and never see him again, he said that… that he’d rather accept us being together than losing me altogether.”

Yuuri nodded, though hearing himself and Victor, together, talked about so definitively, made nerves flutter in his fingers and his throat.

“But”, Victor continued, “he doesn’t want us living together before—I mean, unless we’re married.”

Yuuri looked up at Victor, frowning. “Really?”, he asked, “That’s his hang-up? But we’ve always lived together.”

“That’s what I said, too”, Victor said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug, “but he insists that it’s different.”

“So that means…”, Yuuri said slowly, “that you would keep living there with him…?”

“That’s what he wants”, Victor muttered, a little sullen, “but I don’t know… I don’t want to be away from you so much.” Victor flicked his deep blue gaze at Yuuri, arresting. “I have some time to decide, he’ll be travelling to Petersburg for a few weeks, I told him I’d make a decision by the time he gets back. But… I don’t know, if it means I can have any kind of relationship with my father, at least for a little longer… if that’s even what I want?” Victor sighed, running a hand over his face. “I really don’t know. I have to think about it.”

“Of course”, Yuuri said, voice soft. “Take your time. But…”, he hesitated, “another factor that we should maybe consider…”

Victor’s brow furrowed in question.

“Well, I know we will be cut off from him eventually”, Yuuri said, “and maybe there’s a way we can get some work, save up… I’m still owed a little from the ballet I think, if they’ll even pay me after the way I left. But until then… what are we going to live from?”

Victor shook his head decisively. “No—no I don’t want that to be a factor in my decision. I don’t want to be dependent on his money. I don’t want him to be able to hold it over us. We can find some other way to pay for what we need.”

Yuuri was just opening his mouth to protest when he was interrupted by a voice from the side. He had almost forgotten that Phichit was still there.

“About that”, he piped up from his armchair, legs thrown casually over the armrest. “I can actually solve that problem for you!”

Yuuri felt his own expression darken, seeing it mirrored on Victor’s face as well.

“We’re not going to take your money, Phichit”, Victor said, and Yuuri relieved that they seemed to be on the same page about this. “We can figure something else out.”

“Not my money”, Phichit replied brightly, “actually Yuuri’s money.”

“What?” Victor looked over at Yuuri, frowning, but Yuuri, too, could only shrug.

“I told you, we look after each other”, Phichit said, “and did you really think Seung-Gil wouldn’t provide for himself in his next lifetime, as it were?”

Yuuri felt his eyes widen.

“You mean…”

“I mean that Seung-Gil left his possessions, including his fortune, to you, Yuuri”, Phichit confirmed. “Not legally, of course, since he had no way of knowing which host his parasite would find next. But then few of our assets legally registered in any way at all. We have our ways to circumvent these things, otherwise it just begs too many questions if one person holds on to a fortune for a few hundred years… But yes, he left it for me to manage and to pass on to whoever would come after him.”

Yuuri swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I cannot accept that. I… I have no claim to that money.”

Phichit waved his words away. “If anyone does, it’s you. This is how it works among vampires, Yuuri. After all, what’s the point of being near immortal if you can’t make use of your lifespan to accumulate a shitton of wealth?” He laughed, sharp and bright. “Believe me, there’s nothing questionable about you taking this money. It’s yours.”

Yuuri shook his head helplessly. “But… what about you? He was your partner, shouldn’t you…?”

Phichit laughed again, a softer chuckle this time. “Remember I am also near immortal, Yuuri. I have my own shitton of wealth. I don’t need two. The two of you, however, could surely use one. Where’s the harm?”

Yuuri sighed and looked over at Victor, unsure.

“I… I don’t really see why you shouldn’t take it, Yuuri”, Victor said, “It’s not like you’re taking it away from anyone. If it was really Seung-Gil’s intention for it to go to you…”

Yuuri huffed out a sharp breath. “I see you’re ganging up on me…”, he muttered.

It made Victor smile, which was already enough to placate Yuuri. “Alright”, he said, “Alright. I suppose that solves one problem, at least.”

Victor nodded, his expression turning more solemn again. “Yes. Now at least I can thoroughly disregard the question of money when it comes to my father.”

Yuuri hummed. “Think about it”, he said, “whatever you decide, I’ll support you. It’s… if you have a chance to hold on to your family, you should do it. If that’s what you want.”

Victor’s eyes softened at that.

“Oh Yuuri…”, he murmured, “I’m sure we can figure out a way for you to see your family again, too. There’s no reason why you can’t at least visit them, right?”

Yuuri tried for a wry smile, though he felt like it must be more of a grimace.

“Unlike you, I’m not human anymore. And if I were to visit my family, there’s no way my mother wouldn’t immediately try to feed me. I wouldn’t be able to hide from them that I don’t eat.”

“You can eat, you know”, Phichit supplied helpfully from the side, “your body’s just gonna wanna get rid of it again soon after.”

“We’ll find a way”, Victor said in a much softer tone, “I’m sure we will.”

Yuuri just nodded, not really wanting to talk or even think about it right now.

“So, uhm, okay”, he said, eager to change the topic, “that means you’ll be staying with us for at least the next few weeks, yes?”

“Yes. If—if that’s alright.”

“No, of course, that’s—”, Yuuri took a deep breath, looking up at him. “I’m glad.”

Victor gave him another smile then, softer and warmer than the last, and Yuuri gathered the sight of it close to his chest.

They left the sitting room soon after, gathering up the suitcases from the hall and carrying them upstairs.

Taking his own into his bedroom, Yuuri was painfully aware of Victor hovering by the door, watching him as he lifted the luggage up onto the bench at the end of the bed and undid the clasps. He knew what Victor was thinking, what he was hoping, but this was something Yuuri couldn’t give, not yet. He had spent two precious nights sleeping—or rather, not sleeping—in the same bed with Victor, but the memories of them were still so fraught with shame and panic that Yuuri couldn’t face the thought of repeating the experience. It was too close, too much too soon when he still couldn’t even stomach reaching out to touch Victor. Besides, it wasn’t like Yuuri slept, anyway. He would just disturb Victor with his restlessness, or else Victor would just sleep alone in Yuuri’s bed rather than his own. No, it was better to keep this distance between them, at least for now.

Forcing a smile, he turned around to face Victor by the door, suitcase clasped in both hands.

“I think Phichit kept the guest room fresh for you, the one you stayed in before. Do you want me to walk you over?”

It was a dull pain in Yuuri’s chest, seeing how Victor’s expression shuttered, disappointment in the tension of his shoulders, but he told himself it was for the best.

“That’s fine”, Victor said, voice toneless, “I can find it.”

And he left, steps retreating down the hall, and Yuuri pressed his lips together, tamping down the guilt rising in his gut. It seemed that no matter what he did, he was destined to always feel guilty around Victor.

Turning back to the suitcase with a sigh, he opened the lid and was confronted with the soft, dark blue fabric of the Yukata given to him by his family for his eighteenth birthday. Lifting it out, he let the silky material run though his fingers, blinking back the heat stinging at his eyes.

Whatever else Yuuri could not to any more, there was no question he could still cry.

He was so tired of crying.

Chapter Text

The Yukata was not, of course, the only thing waiting for Yuuri in his suitcase. Nestled among several outfits worth of clothing, his ballet shoes and other dance equipment, and the dancer figurine his sister had whittled for him, there were two letters addressed to him at the Nikiforov house.

One was from his family, and Yuuri set that one aside to read and reply to later, when he could take his time about it. This, at least, there was no harm in—he could keep on sending letters to his family, pretending like nothing was amiss, and hear about how their lives were going in Hasetsu. He would have to find some justification for why his address had changed, but he was now old enough and—at least according to their most recent information—successful enough that it was conceivable he might have gotten a place of his own in the city.

The other letter bore an unfamiliar handwriting, and it was with a flutter of nerves that Yuuri broke the seal.

The letter was from a man called Josef Karpisek—it was a name that Yuuri had heard around the dance scene before, believed he had even encountered the man once or twice, though he had not left any particular impression, positive or negative. It seemed, however, that he was Celestino Cialdini’s successor at Ice Castle theatre.

Yuuri tried to swallow an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

The letter was coldly civil in tone, Karpisek introducing himself and feigning sympathy at the supposed family emergency that had been the reason for Yuuri’s disappearance in the last weeks. It went on to all but demand that Yuuri return to the theatre at his earliest convenience, coupled with thinly veiled threats about his future in the company and his reputation in the dance scene.

A promising young dancer like you, it went, surely wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardise his future in his chosen profession, especially not at such a pivotal moment in his career.

The letter was dated almost two weeks back.

Yuuri sunk down on the bench next to the suitcase, all energy draining from him as he finished the letter.

After nearly two weeks without any reply, not to mention the weeks before that Yuuri had stayed away from the theatre, there was no way he hadn’t been summarily booted from the ballet company by now. It was a fast paced, competitive industry, and Yuuri was not a premier danseur who could afford to make the director wait for him. By now, there were sure to be half a dozen other dancers eager to take Yuuri’s place, just as skilled as him and certainly more reliable.

And after behaviour such as his in the last month, Yuuri certainly wouldn’t get a favourable recommendation from the Ice Castle dance company.

His career was truly over.

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

His career had been over long before this, had been over, if he was being honest, the moment Cialdini had broken his neck, perhaps even the moment Yuuri himself had died and come back to life as this… thing.

He knew he couldn’t go back to dancing, he couldn’t. Even if there was some way to make sure he was always warm and had a heartbeat when he had to touch the other dancers, even if he could somehow avoid suspicion about never eating or drinking anything… if he remained in the public eye, the scrutiny would be too much, he would have to constantly be on his guard in order to not put himself and Victor and Phichit at risk. The longer and more successful his career was, the more difficult it would be to disappear and stay undiscovered once it became clear that Yuuri wasn’t ageing.

It was better this way, it really was. With his career already destroyed, there was nothing to tempt him back to the stage. Like this he would always remain… a nobody, a once promising dancer who burnt out after half a season of success and disappeared, never to be thought of again. It was for the best.

Yuuri wasn’t sure why it felt like it was tearing him apart.

More than half of his life Yuuri had dedicated himself, blood, sweat and tears, to this ambition, this dream. He had thrown himself into it with everything he had, had known no other life. He had sacrificed again and again and again at the altar of dance, not just his time, his effort and his body, but also his mind, his very soul; had compartmentalised little pieces of himself away in order to preserve his sanity; had broken himself and forged himself anew over and over until he was something strange, something perfect.

And now all of that had been dashed, taken away from him in an instant, by a car swerving on an icy road.

It had all been in vain.

It wasn’t fair.

Victor found him several hours later, knocking at the door of his room, still ajar, Yuuri standing by the window and gazing out into the descending darkness.

“Yuuri?”, Victor called softly, though Yuuri couldn’t find it in himself to turn around, to look at him. “I’m heading down for dinner. I—I know you don’t eat, but I thought you might like to accompany me?”

“Ah, sorry Vitya, not today, I think”, he said, hoping that his voice sounded more sure than it felt on his lips. “I still have some letters to write.”

He could hear Victor take another couple of steps further into the room.

“Are you alright, Yuuri? Is something the matter?”

Another twist of guilt in his gut. What right had Yuuri to pity himself, to make Victor worry, when Victor had been forced to give up just as much as him, more even, his family, his title, a whole legacy, all through Yuuri’s fault?

“I’m just fine”, he heard himself say, turning his head, not enough to look at Victor, just enough to let Victor see his face. His smile felt brittle on his lips. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Victor hesitated, and Yuuri could feel his eyes boring into him, but eventually he turned away. “Alright”, he said, his tone unreadable, “Have a good evening, Yuuri.”

When he left, he closed the door behind him.

It felt strange, walking into this unfamiliar dining room and taking his place at the table like he belonged there.

The silence in the room was oppressive even as he could hear the servants bustling around behind closed doors. But Yuuri had refused to come down with him and Victor had no idea where Phichit had gone off to, and unlike the both of them, Victor had to eat.

He twisted his napkin uncomfortably in his hands, taking in the tasteful decor of the dining room, the paintings hung on the wall. The large, ornate dining table and its single place setting in front of him.

Thankfully he didn’t have to bear the quiet for long before the door to the serving room opened and a footman stepped inside. If indeed you could call him a footman; he was much simpler dressed and Victor suspected that this house did not have the same strict servant hierarchy as his father’s house had had, had indeed probably a lot fewer servants, despite having essentially the same number of inhabitants. Not that Victor minded this; quite the opposite, he would have been quite happy to serve himself and be spared any awkward interactions with the servants and feeling like a terrible inconvenience by creating such a hassle for them.

Instead, however, he murmured his thanks as the servant set down a small canteen of soup on the table and ladled out a serving into Victor’s plate.

The soup smelled delicious, and even though Victor felt much too out of place to have much of an appetite, he still placated his growling stomach by filling it with the rich, warming broth. After the soup followed a fish course and a main course, all served in silence except for the announcement of the course as the servant entered. Victor would have felt more than satisfied with one course, especially since there had been plenty of soup left in the canteen when it had been whisked away, but the only thing that would make him feel like even more of an inconvenience would probably be to refuse these dishes that had been prepared solely for him.

He hoped that at least the servants would be able and allowed to gorge themselves on the leftovers downstairs.

Shifting in his seat, Victor felt increasingly uncomfortable as the servant flitted in and out of the dining room silently, and when cheese and coffee were brought out in the end, he finally couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“Excuse me?”, he said, as the servant was just turning away to hurry out of the room, having set a small cheese platter in front of Victor and poured a cup of steaming coffee for him.

The servant, who looked to be little more than a boy, perhaps some years younger than Victor, halted in his steps, turned and regarded him with wide eyes, dipping down into a bow.

“Yes, milord? Is there something not to your liking?”

He was slight and fairly short, shorter than Phichit even, with rich brown hair and an endearing smattering of freckles across his cheeks.

“No, no, everything has been wonderful”, Victor said, hurrying to pull his lips into a reassuring smile. “Please pass on my compliments to the cook.”

“Thank you, milord. He’ll be happy to receive them.”

Victor tried to suppress a wince at the address.

“Please”, he said, “there’s really no need for the title. I think we can forgo formalities such as that in this house, don’t you?”

“If that is what you wish, sir”, the boy said, dipping into another quick bow. “Phichit—I mean, Mister Chulanont has us speaking casually to him, but I did not want to be presumptuous.”

Victor nodded—it did not surprise him, with how relaxed Phichit was, that he would run his household like this.

“Can I ask—how do you address Yuuri?”

“Ah…”, the boy squirmed, seeming a little uncertain now, “We… I haven’t really come into contact with Mister Katsuki yet. He keeps rather to himself.”

Victor released a little sigh at that. “Of course”, he said. “Well, please feel free to be informal around me. I certainly won’t insist on protocol.”

“As you wish, sir. Was there anything else?”

Victor took a sip from his coffee cup, collecting himself for a moment.

“May I ask your name?”, he said then.

The boy looked surprised to be afforded such a question, though Victor wasn’t sure why. He had known all the servants in his father’s house by name.

“It’s Guang Hong, sir.”

“Guang Hong”, Victor repeated, hoping that he got the pronunciation right, though he couldn’t detect any indication to the contrary on Guang Hong’s face. “A pleasure. My name is Victor.”

Guang Hong acknowledged this with a little dip of his head that indicated to Victor he had been well aware of that fact before.

“Well, thank you for a lovely dinner tonight”, Victor continued, “It was really excellent, but I was wondering… since it will be just me taking meals here, if something simpler wouldn’t suffice in the future? There really is no need for four courses, and I don’t usually take coffee this late in the day and… I really don’t want to make too much trouble when it’s just me.”

“Oh”, Guang Hong said, clasping his hands in front of his body in a gesture that might express dismay or enthusiasm, “but it’s really no trouble, sir! Quite the opposite, really; Leo’s been so excited that he gets to cook again. He usually doesn’t, you know, with the masters being as they are, and he’s been happy to have someone to feed again, other than ourselves.”

“Ah, far be it from me to spoil his pleasure or put him out of work”, Victor said with a half-smile, “I just feel like it’s a terrible waste to go to all that effort for one person. I do hope the rest of the meal will not go to waste now?”

“No, no”, Guang Hong reassured him, “Phichit does encourage us not to be wasteful and use the leftovers for our own meals. He does, after all, have a vested interest in us being well fed.” The boy laughed, then coloured as if surprised at his own boldness to jest.

And Victor remembered with a slight start what Phichit had told him about his arrangement with the servants; that they offered up their blood for him to drink. He couldn’t help but run his gaze over the boy once more, looking for any kind of visible indication that he regularly served as a vampire’s meal. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for; perhaps some unhealthy pallor, unfocused eyes, distinct bite marks on his neck. But Guang Hong seemed the very picture of health, his face still being fairly flushed, far from pasty.

“Of course”, Victor finally said, somewhat delayed. “Well, please tell… Leo, you said? Please tell Leo that his skills are very appreciated but that he need not go to any trouble for my sake. A simple meal will quite suffice for me.”

“Of course, sir”, Guang Hong said, bowing once more, “I will let him know.”

“Thank you, Guang Hong.”

The boy gave him another smile and hurried out of the room, leaving Victor once more alone.

With a sigh, Victor sipped on his coffee and nibbled on a few pieces of cheese, even though he was already feeling quite full. But at least it was something to keep his hands and his mouth busy as his thoughts drifted.

Would it always be like this now? Would he take all his meals by himself, in a too large, too quiet dining room, with only Guang Hong for company? Not that he minded the boy, he seemed perfectly sweet and very fastidious, but it was not him Victor had come here to spend time with.

The thought tasted more bitter than the coffee on Victor’s tongue, and he quickly drained the rest left in his cup, pushing to his feet.

He wondered what Yuuri was doing. It wasn’t too late yet—perhaps Victor could go upstairs and sit with him for a little while. Had Yuuri finished with his correspondence—had he indeed been writing letters at all, or had that been a mere excuse? When Victor had looked in on him earlier, there had indeed been a letter spread out at the foot of the bed, no doubt one of the ones that Victor had brought with him. He hadn’t taken a closer look at them, didn’t know who they were from or what they were about, but perhaps they really needed a timely response. Victor wanted to believe it was true.

Leaving the dining room, Victor crossed the hall, intent on climbing the stairs to the upper floor, but he was stopped in his tracks when he reached the foot of the staircase. Yuuri was standing on the middle landing of the stairs, by the window set into the wall there, staring out into the darkness. His back was half turned towards Victor and his dark hair was still flowing loose around his shoulders, as it had all day, not allowing Victor a good look at his expression. He could still count the times he had seen Yuuri with his hair open like this on two hands, and most of them had been when they were still youths and it hadn’t been quite as long. It never failed to make him shiver.

Before Victor could fight past the lump in his throat to call out to him, Yuuri turned away, climbing back up the stairs. Victor wondered if he had heard him approaching, but it didn’t seem like Yuuri was trying to get away from him—his pace was sedate, almost dreamlike, like he was deeply lost in thought. Victor climbed up the staircase behind him, leaving a reasonable distance between them, and watched Yuuri drift off down the hall, pausing again to gaze at a painting hung on the wall, though his eyes were distant, unseeing. After a couple of minutes he shook his head almost imperceptibly at whatever thought in his head that only he was privy to, and continued down the hall, disappearing into his own room.

Victor hesitated for a long while, staring at what he could see of Yuuri’s closed door, wondering if he should disturb him. It was clear that Yuuri had something on his mind—would it be better to leave him to his devices or to offer him his company? Victor could not imagine that Yuuri wanted to talk about it, because he never did, but wasn’t that what they were supposed to be doing? Share with each other, open up to one another, build trust? No matter what the nagging voice of worry at the back of his head said, knowing Yuuri it was much more likely that he didn’t want to be a burden than that he was deliberately shutting Victor out.

Perhaps he did want help, did want comfort, and just didn’t know how to ask for it.

It was that which finally made Victor trace Yuuri’s steps down the hall, hesitating only a moment before he knocked his knuckles against the wood.

There was a long moment of silence, and Victor was almost sure that Yuuri would ignore him, when he heard his soft voice call through the thick wood. “Come in.”

Victor pushed open the door and found Yuuri sitting at the small writing desk in the corner to the left of the door, hunched over a piece of writing paper that Victor could see clearly even from a distance was completely empty. But he looked over his shoulder at Victor and pushed back from the desk.

“Yuuri, hello”, Victor said, quietly, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Yuuri shook his head vaguely and waved him into the room. “How was your dinner?”

Victor closed the door behind him with some relief, though he didn’t quite dare take a seat yet.

“It was…”, he hesitated, “quite delicious. Ironically, Phichit has a very good cook.”

Yuuri nodded, though there wasn’t any trace of a smile on his face or indeed any indication he had really heard Victor’s words.

When he didn’t say anything else, Victor cleared his throat. “I was hoping we could sit together for a while. It’s still early in the evening, and...”

Yuuri’s gaze trailed towards the blank paper for a moment, but he murmured “I suppose I can finish this later.”

“I see you’ve made great progress”, Victor said, unable to keep the sarcastic edge quite out of his voice.

Yuuri just wordlessly lifted another letter, already sealed and addressed, from the table, waving it briefly before setting it back down. Victor felt a little bad for doubting him.

“Do you want to go down to the sitting room?”, he asked, “Or would you prefer to stay here?”

Yuuri regarded him for a moment, his expression still distant, still unreadable.

“Here’s fine”, he said, “please, sit.”

Victor hesitated, but decided against the armchair by the window, instead choosing to sit down on the bench at the foot of the bed, next to Yuuri’s still half unpacked suitcase. Yuuri turned around the padded wooden chair he was sitting on to face him.

There was silence for a long minute, Yuuri obviously being disinclined to speak, and Victor trying to form any appropriate questions or sentences.

He couldn’t help but notice how different this Yuuri seemed from the one Victor had encountered when he had first come to this house. He wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t restless, though Victor thought he could see him shiver sometimes. Where he before had pulled his legs close and wrapped his arms around himself, anything to make himself smaller, like he was trying to disappear, he was now sitting relaxed, feet resting on the carpet, hands resting on his thighs, no tension in his shoulders. There was no pain and shame etched into his expression for everyone to see; instead, his face was blank, his gaze distant, nothing to read in it except perhaps a bit of thoughtfulness.

He reminded Victor of the way Yuuri had been just after Victor had found him with Cialdini: so carefully blank, so far away.

The thought made Victor feel sick.

When Victor finally opened his mouth, the question coming out was far more blunt than he’d intended.

“Are you quite alright, Yuuri? I hope the conversation we had this afternoon didn’t take too much out of you.”

“I’m fine”, Yuuri said, and his voice betrayed no emotion. “Don’t worry yourself about it.”

“Are you sure?” Victor couldn’t help his frown. “It must be difficult for you to think back on these things, let alone talk about them.”

Yuuri waved his words away. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Yuuri, you—”

“I‘m really fine, Vitya“, Yuuri repeated, more emphatically, and there was an edge to the small smile on his lips.

Victor sighed. “Please talk to me, Yuuri“, he said quietly, “How else are we going to rebuild our relationship?“

“I am talking to you“, Yuuri said, tilting his head to the side, his expression still so eerily blank.

“You know what I mean“, Victor said tersely.

Yuuri didn‘t reply, just regarded him thoughtfully for a long while, his eyes wandering over Victor‘s face like he was trying to memorise it.

When he finally opened his mouth, the words that came out were not what Victor expected.

“Come here, Vitya.“

Victor blinked. “Yuuri…?“

Yuuri smiled again, that small, placid smile. “Come here?“, he said, stretching out one hand towards Victor, “Please?“

It was that outstretched hand more than anything that made Victor move, that promise of touch—he got to his feet and crossed the small distance between them, tentatively holding out his own hand when he got within reach, almost flinching when Yuuri actually took it. Not just because of the cold of his skin but because of the shock of actually touching him again, almost electric.

Yuuri pulled Victor close until he was right in front of him, his knees framing Victor‘s legs, firmly holding on to Victor‘s hand and looking up at him.

“Did you notice?“, he asked.

“Notice what?“

“You didn‘t come right away“, Yuuri said meaningfully, and when Victor just frowned at him, he continued. “I told you to come, and you didn‘t.“

Victor sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening. “What does that mean?“

„It means it‘s been long enough since I‘ve bitten you that I can‘t command you anymore.“

“Oh“, Victor said, tightening his hand around Yuuri‘s, “oh …“

Yuuri caught his eyes and held them firm for a few seconds. “Kiss me“, he whispered.

Victor‘s heart jumped in his chest. “Are you sure?“

Yuuri‘s smile widened at the question, but there was still an edge of something wrong in it. “I‘m sure“, he said, but he didn‘t move, didn‘t pull him closer, just looked up at him, waiting patiently for Victor to make the choice.

Victor leaned down slowly and fitted his mouth over Yuuri‘s, cold but soft, just a brief press of lips at first before he pulled back. When he couldn‘t find any reluctance on Yuuri‘s face, though, he kissed him again, more firmly, which Yuuri took as his cue to wrap his free hand around the back of Victor‘s neck, pulling him closer.

When Yuuri‘s cool fingers brushed against the mark on Victor‘s skin there, it sent a jolt of warmth through him and Victor wondered briefly if it was because he was not used to the touch or because it was Yuuri touching him. But he was soon distracted by the push and pull of their lips, by Yuuri opening up against him, allowing Victor to lick into his mouth.

It was a little strange to kiss someone who felt so cold, but this was Yuuri—Victor thought there was nothing he couldn‘t get used to if it was Yuuri.

Victor‘s back and neck soon started hurting from the way he was leaning over, so he simply sunk to his knees in front of the chair, evening out their positions somewhat. Yuuri leaned forward in his chair right away, letting go of Victor‘s hand to wrap both of his around Victor‘s waist to pull him closer until Victor was firmly settled between his thighs.

Yuuri‘s lips never once stopped moving against his, softly, skilfully, and Victor tried not to think about how good Yuuri was at this, and how he‘d learned. Bringing up his own hand, he gently cupped Yuuri‘s cheek, letting his thumb brush over Yuuri‘s skin.

They lost some time in their kisses, the waves ebbing and flowing but steadily rising until Victor felt like they would pull him under. His heart was thundering in his chest and his breath coming in sharp pants by the time Yuuri pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips.

“Bed?“

A needy whine escaped Victor at that, but he forced himself to pull back a little more and meet Yuuri‘s eyes, searching them.

“Are you sure? We can take it slow, if you want.“

Yuuri smiled, punctuating it with a chaste kiss. “Do you want?“

Victor let out a shuddering breath. “I told you, Yuuri“, he murmured, “I always want you.“

That seemed to be answer enough, because Yuuri tightened his hands around Victor‘s waist and stood up from his chair, lifting Victor up with him like he weighed nothing.

Victor gasped, eyes widening, and wrapped his arms instinctively around Yuuri‘s shoulders and his legs around his waist, as he was carried to the bed. Yuuri‘s steps were steady—he didn‘t seem to notice Victor‘s weight at all, and it went straight to Victor‘s dick.

Once at the bed, Yuuri turned them around, sitting down and leaning back into the pillows, pulling Victor down on top of him. His hair was spilling over the pillows and the mattress like a silky curtain of black as he looked up at Victor expectantly.

The sight was arresting, and Victor could only stare helplessly for a few moments, at those beautiful dark, unreadable eyes, those soft, perfect lips, the ink spilling out underneath him.

Until Yuuri let his legs fall open slightly, allowing Victor to settle more firmly between them, and Victor couldn‘t help but capture his lips in another deep kiss.

Yuuri was only in his shirtsleeves, so it was quick work to unbutton his shirt and run his hands all over the firm planes of Yuuri‘s chest and stomach, skin as cool as the rest of him. He jolted, though, when Victor brushed a thumb over his nipple, biting at Victor‘s lips in response, and Victor wanted.

He wanted to touch Yuuri all over, wanted Yuuri to touch him in return.

Kissing his way down Yuuri‘s jaw and throat, Victor pressed his lips against Yuuri‘s pulse point—except …

Victor pulled back suddenly, pushing himself up with a hand on Yuuri‘s chest. Focused on the feeling of the cool skin under that hand, and beyond …

“Your heart isn‘t beating.“

The words were a whisper, sounding like they were coming from far away.

Yuuri just raised an eyebrow. “Yes?“, he said, “You knew this.“

Victor swallowed. It was true that he knew Yuuri‘s heart didn‘t necessarily need to be beating, but it was something quite different to feel it himself like this. The cold skin he could dismiss, rationalise as simply bad circulation but … combined with the still heart it made Yuuri feel so much like a corpse.

Something of that thought must have shown on Victor‘s face, because Yuuri‘s expression shuttered.

“Does it scare you?“, he asked, toneless. “Are you scared of me?“

Victor sucked in a sharp breath. “Yuuri, no, of course not!“, he hurried to say, “I would never be scared of you.“

He wasn‘t quite sure, though, if that was the truth.

He wasn‘t scared of Yuuri in that sense, he didn‘t fear that Yuuri would hurt him or anything like that. But it was sinking in, with a horrible leaden feeling, for the first time now, that Yuuri truly wasn‘t human anymore. That he was something different, something other. Something so much stranger than Victor‘s mind was able to comprehend, and something in him rebelled against it.

Some voice in his head, distant and small though it was, some animal instinct that told him to run.

Yuuri said nothing, just stared up at him, face expressionless, chest bare and both hands resting on the mattress at his sides.

“I‘m not scared“, Victor repeated, softer this time, “It‘s just … it feels strange, that‘s all.“

“Then fuck me.“

Victor flinched. With Yuuri‘s voice still toneless, face blank, the words sounded so wrong. Victor couldn‘t help the shiver that ran down his spine, anything but pleasant.

“What‘s going on, Yuuri?“, he whispered, “Do you even want that?“

He shifted his weight as he pulled back a little more, and—

“Yuuri … you‘re not even hard. Can … can you even get hard when your heart isn‘t beating?“

Yuuri didn‘t even shrug, just remained motionless under Victor.

“It doesn‘t matter“, he said. “I can still make you feel good.“

Victor felt the colour drain from his face then and he pulled back fully, shifting backwards until he could sit on the mattress, not touching Yuuri anymore.

“Is that what you think I want?“, he said, voice flat.

Yuuri said nothing, didn‘t look at him, just kept his eyes fixed upwards at the canopy above his bed.

“Is that what you think of me?“ Victor said, voice rising until it was high and piercing in his ears, “That I just want to use you for my own pleasure?“

Yuuri was silent for a long time, staring up into nothing. When he finally spoke, it was barely a whisper.

“No.“

“Then what the fuck, Yuuri? Why are you acting like this?“

Once again there was no reply, but after a long minute Yuuri sat up, his movements sluggish, almost absent-minded, and gathered his shirt back around himself to cover his chest. Swinging his legs off the bed, he sat on the edge, his back turned to Victor, head pulled low between his shoulders.

When it became clear that he wasn‘t going to say anything, Victor clenched his fists into the fabric of his trousers.

“You need to talk to me, Yuuri. I don‘t know what‘s going on in your head.“

Yuuri said nothing, and Victor tried not to let his frustration take over. There was clearly something going on with Yuuri, something that Victor was starting to suspect didn‘t have anything to do with himself. But he couldn‘t understand, couldn‘t help unless Yuuri talked to him.

“Why would you…“, Victor whispered after a while, and took a deep breath. “Did I ever make you feel like you had to sleep with me if you didn‘t want to?“

Victor thought he might have seen Yuuri shake his head, though maybe he was just turning his head away from him. Still, he chose to see it as an answer.

“But you still felt you had to? Do you think I‘ll leave you if you don‘t sleep with me?“

Yuuri shuddered and pulled his shirt closer around himself, the fabric straining against his back, but his whispered “no“ was loud enough for Victor to hear.

“Do you feel you owe me sex? I don‘t know, to make it up to me or something?“

Victor wished he could see Yuuri‘s face, could read something from his expression, but at least the shake of his head was clearer this time.

Victor took his time sorting through his thoughts, since Yuuri was obviously not inclined to speak.

“So it‘s not about me at all“, he finally said. It was not a question, and Yuuri did not reply.

“Are you going to explain it to me? Or should I keep guessing?“

Again there was a long pause, and Victor was already trying to gather the next question in his mind when Yuuri moved, running both hands through his hair, tearing at the long strands.

Victor held his breath.

“There‘s nothing to explain.“ Yuuri‘s voice was hollow when he spoke. “I‘m just fucked up.“

“Yuuri…“

Yuuri scoffed, shaking his head. “No, Vitya. I know you said I‘m not broken, but—I really, really am. You have no idea, I …“, he breathed a shaky sigh. “I‘ve had to tear myself into so many pieces, and … and … every one of them thinks differently and it‘s—it‘s like I‘m not really anyone anymore.“

Victor swallowed through the lump sitting in his throat.

“What do you mean, every one of them thinks differently?“

Yuuri was silent for a few long moments, then he straightened up a little, face still turned away from Victor but his voice more controlled now, calmer.

“Like sex, for instance“, he said, and he barely sounded like himself. “There‘s some part that hates the idea of anyone touching me, ever. There‘s some part that desperately wants touch, wants closeness, of the right kind. There‘s a part that wants to have sex with you, so much, because it‘s you. There‘s a part that loves sex because it can feel so good. There‘s a part that hates sex because of the way it hurts. There is a part that wants sex because of the way it hurts.“ Yuuri paused. Victor could hear him swallowing. “And more often than not I feel all of those things at once—it‘s like… being dragged into several different directions at once until I feel like I‘ll tear down the middle and I don‘t even know what I actually think anymore.“

Victor shuddered.

“And just now…“, he murmured, “that was not the part that wants to have sex with me.“

Yuuri shrugged. “That was there, too. I told you, mostly it‘s all of them at once, it‘s not like I have a split personality or anything of the sort. But—you‘re right. What I did … that was mostly the part that wants sex because it hurts.“

Victor‘s breath stuttered in his chest.

“You wanted to hurt yourself.“

Yuuri nodded slowly. “Not consciously, but … yeah, I think I did. I hated it, but when you stopped … I was disappointed. Disappointed when you wouldn‘t just take, even though I know you wouldn‘t ever …“

“I wouldn‘t“, Victor said firmly, and Yuuri laughed, low and bitter.

“I told you. There‘s something … wrong with me.“

“Yuuri, no“, Victor murmured. “There‘s nothing wrong with you. It‘s just going to take you a while to heal from all you‘ve been through. That life was all you knew for so long… of course it would leave its marks on you.“

Yuuri fell silent for another long while.

“You … you know what, yeah“, he said then, slowly, thoughtfully. “I think that‘s what … it‘s a familiar kind of pain. A pain I know how to deal with because I‘ve dealt with it so often.“

Yuuri turned his head, just enough to look at Victor from the corner of his eye, for a second, before he looked away again.

“I … I know I can just shut down, and then I don‘t have to think about anything. Feel anything.“

Victor‘s chest ached, thinking about the blank expression on Yuuri‘s face, his distant, empty eyes.

“I‘m sorry“, he blurted before he could stop himself. “I should have seen. I shouldn‘t even have let it get that far, I knew something was wrong, but I didn‘t … I‘m sorry.“

Yuuri huffed a humourless laugh.

“You don‘t have to apologise for the messed up things I do.“

Victor sighed. “But I can apologise for not paying attention. I … I wanted so much and I—“

Victor sat up straighter, turning a little more toward Yuuri, though Yuuri still had his back turned to him.

“Listen, Yuuri, I need you to hear this. We haven‘t talked about it before, but I think we should have.“ He took a deep breath. “I‘m not going to pretend that I don‘t want to have sex with you. I love you and I want to be close to you in any way I can. But never, ever at the expense of your wellbeing. Even if we never sleep together again, even if you never feel comfortable being touched—I will still love you, I will stay with you and I will support you. Sex is not a requirement for us to be together.“

Yuuri digested his words for a few moments, but then he shook his head.

“How selfish would it be“, he said, “for me to deny you the chance to fulfill those needs as long as you‘re with me?“

“And how selfish would it be“, Victor returned, “for me to demand you fulfill those needs when they‘re not what you want?“

Yuuri didn’t have anything to say to that, so Victor continued.

“It‘s as simple as this, Yuuri: You don‘t owe me, or anyone, sex. But I owe it to you to treat you with basic human dignity, and respect your wishes and your bodily autonomy. That’s all there is to it.“

Yuuri cast him another look from the corner of his eye, doubtful.

“You also have a right to have your needs met and feel fulfilled in a relationship, rather than deny yourself for the sake of your partner.“

Victor gave him a weak smile. “And if the day should ever come that I feel unfulfilled with you by my side, then we can talk about that. But let me tell you that next to spending time with you, talking to you, loving you and supporting you, and being loved and supported in return… sex is very far down the list of priorities. Do you understand?“

After a moment, Yuuri nodded slowly.

“Good.“

Silence descended again between them, and this time it remained unbroken for a long while. Yuuri sat still at the edge of the bed, his thoughts a secret in his head, while Victor tried to sort through his own.

Considering he‘d still been at his father‘s place this morning, the day felt impossibly long, and he‘d gotten way more new information than he thought anyone could process within a single day.

He felt out of his depth, to say the least. The whole vampire issue was one thing—Victor had just felt like he was kind of getting the hang of that.

But on top of that Yuuri‘s extensive trauma, which clearly ran much deeper than he‘d ever let on …

Victor realised now that he‘d almost bought it. When he‘d first found out about Cialdini, he‘d been so sure that there must be so much pain that Yuuri hid from him, from everyone …

But then Yuuri had talked it down so consistently, had dismissed it over and over again insisting that he was fine, had only ever talked about it in self-deprecating comments …

He was good at it, Victor realised now, good at acting like he was only superficially affected by the things that had been done to him.

It‘s okay. I‘m okay.

It‘s not a big deal.

These things happen.

I‘m used to it.

They didn‘t mean anything by it.

You know how it goes.

And Victor had actually bought into it, even though he knew that the pain must run much deeper than that, a part of him had accepted those deflections and never dug deeper.

I did what I had to do to keep myself safe.

You have no idea what it‘s taken out of me.

What if I‘m just too broken?

And what a difference that would have made.

In the grand scheme of things, what he did was nothing.

I‘ve had to tear myself into so many pieces.

He really should have known. He wasn‘t sure how much it would have changed, but he should have known that Yuuri was putting up a front. Whether to protect himself or protect Victor, or because it was simply too hard to talk about it, he didn‘t know.

But now Victor felt like he had gotten a glimpse of what was really going on in Yuuri‘s mind for the first time, and it was more sobering than a cold shower.

Before, it had been almost easy to reassure Yuuri, to believe it when he told him you‘re not broken.

But now … now he suspected those words had a rather different sound for Yuuri.

“Yuuri“, he whispered, shattering the heavy silence, “Listen to me.“

Yuuri didn‘t turn to look at him, but Victor saw in the shift of his posture, the turn of his head, that he was listening.

“I need you to know … when I say that you‘re not broken, I don‘t mean … I don‘t want to invalidate your feelings. If, after everything that happened to you, you feel broken or fucked up, you have every right to feel like that. I think … I still barely have an idea of what you really went through, and I don‘t know what it looks like in your mind. I have no right to tell you how you‘re feeling.“

Yuuri cast him a quick glance, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“When I tell you you‘re not broken“, Victor continued, “I don‘t mean to say that you have to be okay right now, because you don‘t. Even less am I trying to say that you have to pretend like you‘re okay, for me or anyone else. It‘s okay for you to feel messed up. It‘s okay for you to be messed up. Just—“

Victor took a deep breath, trying to blink away the tears stinging at his eyes, but he couldn‘t stop them from bleeding into his voice.

“What I do mean“, he whispered when Yuuri turned around, alarmed at the sight of his tears, “is that you won‘t always be. You may feel broken right now, you may feel shattered, but you‘ll heal. Maybe the pain will never completely go away, I don‘t know, but—what I can tell you with complete certainty is that it will fade and in time you will be so, so much better than you feel now.“

Yuuri reached out then, an absent-minded gesture as he wiped the tears from Victor‘s cheeks, but his eyes were lost in thought.

“How do you know?“, he said, softly.

Victor swallowed. “I don‘t, really. But I have to believe it, I have to. Because you, Yuuri, deserve so much better than all this pain.“

Chapter Text

They sat in silence for a long while after that, Yuuri trying to let Victor’s words sink in, trying to believe them, and Victor floundering for something, anything else that he could say. Anything to give Yuuri any kind of comfort, any kind of hope.

He was wordless. There was nothing—nothing he could think to say that might hold any meaning for Yuuri.

It wasn’t like he had any inkling what Yuuri truly felt like, any experiences of his own that were even remotely comparable to Yuuri’s. He wasn’t good with words of comfort in the first place, never had been. He expressed his sympathy with touch, with deeds, but that was not what Yuuri needed right now. Even the most basic elements of care failed him, god, he couldn’t even offer to make tea, since Yuuri wouldn’t be able to drink it. Victor didn’t know if the simple act of holding a warm cup in his hands still brought the same calm for him now, or if it was just another painful reminder of all the things he could no longer do.

In the end, it was Yuuri’s shivering that spurred him into action, dragging the heavy comforter across the bed in order to drape it around Yuuri’s shoulders and wrap him up in it. 

“So you do still feel cold, huh?”, he murmured, tucking the fabric close around his neck. 

Yuuri hummed, distracted. “Seems so. Not sure if a blanket will help, though, given that I have no body heat to warm it up.”

“Oh.” Victor blinked. “I guess you’re right.” Automatically his hand wandered up to cup Yuuri’s cheek, the skin soft as down but cold and smooth like marble under his fingers. To his relief, Yuuri did not pull back—quite the opposite. With a soft hum he leaned into Victor’s hand, closing his eyes.

“You’re so warm …”

“Yuuri …” Victor’s other hand joined the first, wrapping around Yuuri’s other cheek, then both drawing down his icy neck towards his collar. Yuuri’s unnatural cold made Victor shiver, but it was warm enough in the room that he didn’t feel cool himself. 

When Yuuri sighed, some tension seeping out of him under Victor’s touch, Victor plucked up his courage. “If you want, I could …”, he said, gesturing vaguely at the blanket. Yuuri blinked his eyes open sluggishly, seeming to take a few moments to understand what Victor was trying to say, but when he did, he spread his arms, the blanket still draped over them like wings, opening like a cavern. 

Victor shuffled forward on the mattress and with some rearranging they found a comfortable position leaning back against the headboard, Yuuri tucked into Victor’s side, one arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, the blanket wrapped around the both of them. 

Victor tried not to press himself too close when Yuuri still shivered in his arms, but after a few minutes the trembling slowly subsided, leaving something heavy and sluggish in its wake.

Every slow blink still situated Yuuri a million miles away, lost somewhere in his own mind, in a place that Victor couldn’t follow. Every word Victor could possibly think to say still tasted too clumsy on his tongue, too blunt for something as fragile as this thing between them. He focused instead on his even breathing, the gentle caress of his fingers on Yuuri’s arm, unobtrusive, he hoped, through a layer of fabric, just a reminder of his presence. 

He might have lost a little bit of time in the calm as Yuuri’s body slowly warmed up beside him, eyelids drooping after a long day and a longer night with little sleep before that, until Yuuri suddenly jostled beside him.

“Oh”, he murmured, half turning in Victor’s arm. “Right, you must be tired. Sorry, I didn’t think …”

Victor shook his head, though he had to blink a few times before he could force his eyes to stay open. “Not at all”, he said. “I don’t mind staying up with you.”

Yuuri gave him a wan smile. “It’s okay, Victor. You can go to sleep.”

Victor swallowed down the small surge of disappointment that rose up in his chest at that. He knew Yuuri was right—he was tired, he needed to catch up on some sleep. But leaving Yuuri on his own now felt like abandoning him as much as being sent away felt like being abandoned himself.

Yuuri seemed to read something of his reluctance in his face, because he looked down, fingers twisting in his lap. “You can stay here, if you’d prefer. I don’t mind.”

Victor sucked in a small breath, hopeful. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. It’s not like I’m actually using the bed, anyway. But I can keep you company.”

Victor still frowned at him, uncertain, though he was already sinking deeper into the pillows. “You really don’t get tired?”

Yuuri tilted his head slowly from one side to the other. “Not physically, no. It’s like—”, he hesitated. “Actually, I don’t know how to describe it … I’ll have to think about it and get back to you. But in the meantime, sleep.” 

He shifted away from Victor a bit, and Victor held himself back from clinging to him, instead retrieving the arm from around his shoulder, knowing he’d be more comfortable like that. And Yuuri didn’t move any further away—he still sat tucked underneath the blanket with Victor, running a hand over his hair, absent-minded. 

Turning his head, Victor pressed a soft kiss against his wrist. “Good night, Yuuri.”

Yuuri just nodded in reply.

Yuuri remained in place next to Victor long after Victor’s breathing had evened out into something deep and calm and far away. He let the heat of Victor’s body, almost scorching for his cold skin, seep into him and soothe the trembling that barely ever left him anymore. Only once his limbs had grown stiff and his mind restless from the long immobility did he carefully climb off the bed, mindful not to jostle Victor too much, and tucked the comforter back around him.

He took a few turns around the room, back and forth, from the window on one side of the bed to the door on the other, until his limbs had gained back their feeling—or as much feeling as they ever had, these days.

His conversation with Victor still ran around and around his mind, his own words feeling just as foreign and unexpected to him as Victor’s had. He hadn’t planned on trying to seduce Victor into his bed, hadn’t planned on touching him at all, not for a long time. 

But it was like something in him had snapped, some thread of awareness, when he’d read that letter from Karpisek. Something had shattered. And it felt like Yuuri’s body wasn’t his own.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. He’d felt it many times before, when others touched him. That sudden distance, like he was watching himself from another place, another time. His body was acting, reacting, of its own accord, nothing more than an automaton, following the dictation of its gears and wheels. And Yuuri, watching himself like an extra in a play, like the backdrop perhaps, present but uninvolved, static, wooden.

It was so much stronger a feeling, so much sharper a disconnect now, now that he felt like nothing but a visitor in his own body at the best of times, someone whose presence was reluctantly tolerated. Now that his limbs felt so foreign to him sometimes, the still heart in his chest like debris. He was like a derelict, and any moment now the parasite that had made a home of this cavity would banish him without a second thought.

He knew it didn’t work like that—functionally he and the parasite were now one and the same. Yuuri was himself the foreign thing piloting his body like a stolen vessel.

It made him feel so much more untethered, made finding his way back inside his body so much more difficult.

Victor’s closeness had helped, strangely; not his first kisses and touches, the way he’d pressed his body close only serving to further tear Yuuri away from himself. But his grounding warmth after their conversation, the solidity of him …

Yuuri halted in his steps, looking over at the bed where a shock of silver hair peeked out between blankets and pillows. Already he felt so, so far away. Somewhere Yuuri couldn’t follow.

Reaching out, he wrapped a hand around each post at the foot of the bed, fingers curling into the wood, polished and smooth. The comforter rose and dipped in a slow, regular rhythm, Victor’s heartbeat almost audible against the crisp fabric.

The wood creaked. 

Yuuri turned away.

There were still those empty pages staring up at him from the desk, the pen right where he’d abandoned it when Victor had come to see him. A dark, ill-tempered slash against white pages.

The other letter next to it, signed and sealed, a mockery. Yuuri barely remembered what he’d written.

Numb feet carried him back towards the desk chair.

He picked up the pen.

He managed to occupy himself by writing for half an hour, perhaps a bit longer, before he had to drop the pen for fear of snapping it in half.

It bled black discontent onto the page.

Yuuri pushed himself up, crossing the room towards the window and peering out into the night. He’d never realised how comforting it was, hearing the faint sound of your own heartbeat deep in your chest, your pulse rushing in your ears, until it was gone.

When he’d been alive he’d never really been aware of it outside of heavy exertion, but its absence felt—wrong.

The silence was like a crack in glass—sharp and jarring, too many pieces to put back together.

Yuuri wanted to shout, to stomp, even whistle, anything to make it go away.

Victor slept.

Slowly releasing a breath he wasn‘t sure he actually needed, Yuuri pulled his head between his shoulders, pushing down the suffocating feeling rising in his chest.

When his shaking became too much, he turned from the window, crossing the room on quiet feet. Still he couldn‘t avoid the squeak of the door‘s handle as he pushed it down, nor the creak of the wood when he pulled the door open.

Victor stirred.

“Yuuri?” His voice was thick and slurred with sleep, barely aware. “Are you alright?”

Yuuri hesitated in the door, not turning to look back. “Just fine. Go back to sleep, Victor.” He hoped for an even, a soothing tone, but what came out was just flat.

Victor sat up.

Sheets rustled, a groan of the mattress. “What‘s the matter?”

“It‘s nothing, Victor. Just”—what could he say? He couldn‘t claim to get anything to eat or drink, couldn‘t even excuse himself to use the commode—”getting something to read from the library. I‘ll be back soon.”

“Oh.” Victor still sounded unconvinced, a waver in his voice. “Alright then.”

Yuuri pulled the door closed behind him, left in the dark hallway, possibly even quieter than the room had been, no soft breaths and faint heartbeat.

He hurried down the hallway towards the staircase and descended into the main hall, hesitating at the foot of the steps. He didn’t know where he wanted to go. He didn‘t know what he wanted to do. He felt no wants and couldn‘t identify the needs.

The library was as good a place as any, though.

He half dreaded, half hoped to encounter Phichit there when he pushed the door open, but the library, too, was deserted, the last dying embers in the fireplace shedding more than enough light for Yuuri to move around. Nonetheless he lit a lamp, a habit more than anything, before he wandered along the shelves, eyes trailing over the countless volumes.

Yuuri didn‘t know enough about books to really tell, but he was sure there were some treasures buried here, precious old editions with yellowing pages and marbled edges, acquired hundreds of years ago when they were pristine and yet to be experienced, passed down from vampire to vampire, the parasite leaving a legacy for itself.

Yuuri wondered if any of these books were his—Seung Gil‘s. Wondered if his predecessor had enjoyed reading, had found pleasure in collecting the great works of literature and science. Perhaps that‘s where his newfound love of reading stemmed from—Phichit had said that a vampire might take on some traits of those that came before them.

He picked a few titles that caught his eye off the shelves, depositing them on a table next to a comfortable chair, but he kept returning to the towering shelves, running his fingers along the burnished leather, mind barely taking in the words his eyes trailed over. Even when he had selected more than enough reading material to last him a week, he kept making his way around the room, passing by the same volumes again and again.

The chair stared at him from across the room, daring him to sit down. 

Daring him to rest.

Yuuri had found and climbed a ladder that allowed him to peruse the higher shelves when he heard the door of the library opening. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find Phichit, similarly looking for occupation during the night, but instead his eyes encountered Victor, clothes rumpled and loose hair drawn over one shoulder. 

“Here you are”, he said, squinting up at Yuuri in the low light, and his voice was a little rough with sleep still, but clear. “You didn‘t come back.”

“Sorry, I got a little caught up”, Yuuri said, gesturing towards the shelves as he slowly made his way down the ladder. “Why didn‘t you go back to sleep?”

“I did, for a while”, Victor replied, pushing the door closed with a click and moving further into the room. “When I woke up you weren‘t back. I‘m not sure how long it‘s been, but I wanted to check on you.”

“You needn‘t have.” Yuuri sighed. “You should get your rest.”

“I can keep you company. I‘m not as tired now.”

“Victor …” Yuuri shook his head, busying himself with sorting through the books he‘d piled up on the table. “You shouldn‘t even start with that.”

Victor stepped closer, until Yuuri could sense his presence at his shoulder, until Yuuri could smell him—not just his clothes and sweat and the scent of his soap, but the smell of his flesh, his blood, underneath. 

“What do you mean?” His voice was low. Yuuri could hear the frown in it.

Yuuri cleared his throat. “It … sets a bad precedent.” Flicking his eyes over to Victor, he saw his frown deepen. He stacked up the books with a final thump. “This isn‘t the occasional “I can‘t sleep at night” thing. This is my new normal. This is gonna be every night for me. And if you stay up for me once, you‘re gonna feel like you want to or need to stay up with me again. Just to, as you say, keep me company. But it’s not healthy for you. Unlike me you still need sleep.”

There was a pause, then Victor‘s hand just ghosting along his shoulder, not really touching but there.

“You hate it, don‘t you?”

Yuuri looked up then, surprised. “What?”

“That you can‘t sleep”, Victor specified, his voice softening now. “You hate it.”

Yuuri swallowed, quickly training his eyes down at the books again, wrestling with his words.

“There was a time”, he finally said, “I would have given almost anything for that. For there to be more hours in the day.” He shook his head with a humourless laugh. “When I was in the academy, it felt impossible to do everything within twenty-four hours. I would have gladly given up my sleeping hours to dance, and it would have freed up the rest of my day for classes, studying … spending time with you.”

Glancing up at Victor again, he couldn‘t help but grimace. “Now it all feels so pointless”, he whispered. “What am I supposed to do with all that time?”

Victor‘s expression was so soft he could hardly bear it. 

“Why don‘t you dance?”

Yuuri felt his shoulders lock up, fingers digging into the table underneath his hands hard enough to leave dents in the wood. Victor didn‘t seem to notice.

“What‘s the point?”, Yuuri bit out.

Victor sighed. “I know you can‘t go on stage anymore, but … that wasn‘t the only reason you danced, was it? It wasn‘t even the main reason. You danced because you loved it. Because you had to.” He shuffled a little closer to him still, hand now resting on his shoulder. “Now that the pressure is off, can‘t you just dance for the enjoyment of it? I‘m sure it would make the nights pass in the blink of an eye.”

“I can‘t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can‘t. You don‘t know—”

“Then explain it to me.” Victor‘s voice was still patient, gentle. “I‘m just trying to help.”

“Well, stop”, Yuuri ground out between clenched teeth.

Victor fell silent next to him and Yuuri closed his eyes, unable and unwilling to see the hurt expression that no doubt sat on his face. His fingers dug deeper into the table, making the wood creak.

He wasn‘t sure if Victor saw.

“Back then, you said …”, Victor finally said after a long minute of contemplation, “you said that being a dancer is who you are, did you not? You said that there were consequences, both positive and negative, that came with choosing that path, and you chose to accept that.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Now, I know this wasn‘t where you wanted that path going. I know that a lot of the positive consequences have been taken away now that you can‘t go on stage anymore. But … haven‘t the negative been taken away too?”

“That‘s not how it works”, Yuuri whispered.

“Why not?”

Yuuri bit his lips, but couldn‘t stop the words from bursting out. “Because I am still dealing with the negative consequences. I will always have to deal with the negative consequences. You said it yourself earlier—”, his voice turned hard and bitter, “it will never really go away. And yet everything that was good about dancing, everything that made all that worth it, was taken away just like that—how is that fair?”

Yuuri snapped his head up, meeting Victor‘s eyes, something raw and jagged clawing its way up his chest. “This was my career, my purpose, this was what I sacrificed so much for, why I was—if all that is now gone, then what was the point of all that pain?”

His shout ran like a crack through the night’s silence, there one moment, gone the next.

Victor had taken half a step back, staring at him wide-eyed.

The next breath Yuuri took was ragged, clogging up his throat. He sank to his knees, shaking legs no longer able to hold him up, but hands still clinging to the table, fingernails splintering along with the wood. He tried to draw another breath, dragging in just enough air to grind out “what was the point?”, forehead pressed into the table‘s edge.

“Yuuri…” Victor‘s voice was tight with pain, cracking down the middle. “I’m so sorry.”

He could vaguely hear the rustle of clothes and a dull thump as Victor sank down on the floor beside him, close but not touching—a few endless inches between them.

Yuuri gritted his teeth against the tears threatening to spill over and drown him. He didn’t want to cry anymore. No more, no more, no more. But since when did anyone care what he wanted?

Along with the tears a keening noise tore out of him, drawn out and aching, clawing through his gut, and finally he gave in, let it pull him under, let himself sink. His heart still in his chest, debris left behind, but he felt himself into the very tips of his fingers, the most present he’d been since he had become this thing. 

Next to him, Victor sat.

Victor wasn’t sure how long they sat huddled on the floor of the library. As he kneeled on the hardwood, watching Yuuri hurt and grieve over a past that took too much from him to pay for a future he’d never get to have, all sense of time was lost. 

As he desperately tried to think of something, anything he could do to make all this the least bit more bearable for Yuuri. As he hoped, selfishly perhaps, that his presence was helping rather than hurting.

Hours and seconds and minutes bled into each other, and it wasn’t like it mattered. Time had lost all meaning for them now. They had been taken outside of time, suspended as in resin, preserved but sealed away. They still had each other, encased together as they were, but Victor couldn’t help but wonder what a near immortal life was worth if they had to give up everything they cared about. If Victor had to leave behind his only family, his name, his friends, unmake himself, become a ghost and let himself be forgotten. If Yuuri had to abandon his passion, his dream, having to live with all he sacrificed without ever receiving the boon he’d been promised. If they had to keep themselves in the shadows, never to be perceived by anyone but each other.

Victor was sure it was possible to live a fulfilled life as a vampire—Phichit sure gave every indication of that. And some more reasonable part of his mind told him even now that he and Yuuri would find such a life too, once they’d had the time to grieve what they had to leave behind and found a way to accept this new life that was now theirs.

But it was hard to hold on to that part right now, hard to see beyond the pain that was right now, beyond that puny, limited view of a human. 

Victor had hardly ever looked farther than a few months into his future, his mind struggling to conceptualise distant years that had no bearing on his life now. How was he supposed to reconcile his mind with the prospect of possibly hundreds of years stretching out before him? 

He couldn’t even imagine what Yuuri felt like. Yes, Yuuri had always been more prone to worrying about the future, but when all your life and all of your focus since you’d been barely ten years old had been single-mindedly pursuing a single fixed path … how disorienting must it be, how gutting, to have that rug pulled from under him like this. Suddenly he was in free fall, and Victor wasn’t surprised Yuuri couldn’t see a single way ahead from here.

Victor knew they were there. He knew they’d find them, eventually. But for now they were lost.

They didn’t talk any more. They didn’t touch, barely even moved. The night grew late, grew into a new morning around them.

Yuuri’s tears had eventually stopped, his sobs exhausting themselves under their own weight.

Victor wondered.

Yuuri had said he didn’t feel tired anymore, not physically. But with his mind constantly working overtime in the last few weeks, Victor couldn’t help but think he must be exhausted.

Could he still feel something like the strangely calming heaviness that always overcame Victor after a good, long cry? Was that a mental or a physical thing, or perhaps a mixture of both?

They sat huddled before the table that now bore deep gouges where Yuuri’s fingers had dug into it, both numb with cold by the time the first morning light crept inside, and with it a servant coming to rebuild the fire.

“Oh.” They stopped just inside the door, a basket of firewood propped on their hip, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, sirs, I don’t know—” Victor could see their eyes flicking over the scene, slowly registering the details. The mutilated table, both of their positions on the floor, their rumpled clothes and loose hair, the evidence of a hard night no doubt written in their faces. Though Victor had straightened his posture and schooled his features by sheer force of habit, Yuuri hadn’t even looked up. “Are you quite alright? Do you need any help?”

It took a moment for Victor to find his voice again after such a long silence.

“Just fine”, he said, “Please, don’t let us keep you from your work. We’d appreciate a nice fire, I’m sure.”

To their credit, the servant just nodded with a shallow curtsy and crossed the room towards the fireplace. But then, Victor supposed, if they worked here, they had surely seen much stranger things. More disturbing things.

And if they still worked here, they must be able to handle it.

Yuuri remained still while the servant busied themselves with the firewood, so Victor did too, until they took their hurried leave, no doubt relieved to get out from under the oppressing atmosphere, leaving behind a crackling flame in the fireplace.

The fire’s cheerful spitting and popping, the soft morning light and the unexpected interruption did plenty to relieve some of the dark tension that had filled the room for the last hours like a miasma. Victor moved, stretching out his legs, prickling and numb with disuse and cold, and leaning his back against the chair by the table. 

Yuuri still didn’t look up, but he shifted too, drawing his legs out from under him and extending them carefully, rubbing away the pins and needles that he no doubt also felt dancing through his limbs. Or did he? Victor still knew so little about how this undead body of Yuuri’s worked. 

Victor made a soft sound, not quite a clearing of his throat, not quite a hum, just to make a dent in the silence, see how it would be received.

Yuuri tilted his head as if to acknowledge it, but didn’t respond audibly. Still, Victor took it as an invitation.

“I suppose we should go and make ourselves decent, if we’re going to run the risk of bumping into more people.” His voice was flat, not quite capable of injecting the humour into it the words might have called for.

Yuuri nodded vaguely, but didn’t otherwise move.

“Yuuri …”, Victor hesitated. “I won’t ask if you’re okay, but … can you look at me?”

Yuuri shook his head, hair rustling against his clothes.

“Please, Yuuri … I …”

Yuuri shook his head again before Victor could find any words to add to that and buried his face in one hand.

Victor was sure he must have misheard when the first noise that escaped Yuuri was a huff of laughter. Humourless and bitter, yes, but laughter nonetheless.

“I’m so embarrassed”, he whispered. “I’m sorry, Vitya.”

Victor gaped, speechless only for a moment. “You have nothing to be sorry for or embarrassed about, Yuuri!”

Another shake of his head. “I really do. I feel so silly now. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you when you were just trying to help.”

“No, Yuuri, I wasn’t thinking either, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s really fine, Vitya.” Yuuri looked up then. There was tightness around his eyes still, his face screwed up in embarrassment between the somewhat wild mane of his hair, but his eyes were clear, clearer perhaps than Victor had seen them since he’d come to this house. “I think … this was probably overdue.”

Victor felt himself soften a little. “Do you feel better, at least?”

Yuuri hummed, giving him a wan smile. “A little, yeah. I always did feel better after crying. Calmer, somehow. Like everything isn’t quite as terrible as it was before.”

Well, Victor supposed, that answered one question at least. “That’s good”, he said, “I’m glad.”

Yuuri regarded him for a long while, and Victor was sure he was going to say something else, but then he just sighed, glancing away toward the door. 

“Well … I suppose let’s make ourselves decent, then.”

—

They had both retreated into their respective rooms to freshen up, and little later Victor emerged, now clothed in an understated light blue shirt and a black and brown patterned waistcoat, his hair tied neatly back at the nape of his neck. 

He wasn't entirely sure if Yuuri was still changing or if he'd already gone ahead downstairs, but he decided to leave him to his privacy and descended. If Yuuri was already down, he'd find him there. If not, Victor was sure he'd appreciate a moment to himself.

Bypassing the breakfast room as he wasn't feeling particularly hungry, he made his way towards the sitting room instead, pushing the door open, half expecting to see Yuuri already there. The sight that met him instead almost made him stumble right back outside again. 

There, on the chaiselongue, was Phichit, Guang Hong perched in his lap, head bowed down to almost rest on Phichit's shoulder, hands steadying himself against him. And Phichit, his lips latched firmly on Guang Hong's neck, one arm wrapped possessively around his waist, the other gently cradling his head. 

His eyes were already fixed on Victor when he opened the door—not really a surprise since he must no doubt have heard him coming—and Victor felt heat rise into his cheeks and ears. 

Even though they were both fully clothed, only Guang Hong's collar pulled down a little to allow Phichit better access, the scene felt so intimate that Victor felt like he was intruding on something impossibly private. 

But given Phichit's stare, his eyes flashing with mirth, and the fact that he made no attempts whatsoever to interrupt his ... meal, he didn't seem in any way bothered by Victor's interruption.

Victor wasn't sure if the same would be true for Guang Hong, but then he was fairly certain that the boy was currently lost to the world. Faintly remembering the feeling when Yuuri had first bitten him, that euphoric dizziness and the rush of arousal ... he was quite sure nothing could have torn his attention away from Yuuri in that moment. The same seemed to be true for Guang Hong, judging by the way he shook and the whimper that escaped him, not sounding pained exactly.

Stammering an apology, Victor made to close the door again and leave the two of them to their devices, but a vague gesture from Phichit indicated for him to stay. 

Victor hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. He didn't want to be impertinent, but at this point he wasn't sure if it would be ruder to stay or to just leave after Phichit had beckoned him. 

No one had instructed him on the etiquette of vampire feeding habits. 

Before he could really make up his mind, Phichit drew away from Guang Hong's throat, fangs slowly pulling out of pale skin. The two bright red drops spilling out after them the only blood that had actually been visible to Victor, and they too disappeared soon as Phichit licked over the punctures that were already closing up.

Guang Hong swayed slightly in his lap, still not looking up or acknowledging Victor in any way, but Victor could see him straining against the front of his trousers. He was fairly certain Phichit would be too, if he cared to look closer—which he determinedly did not.

Phichit's burning eyes and the smirk tilting his lips were already more than enough indication for Victor.

"I apologise for the intrusion", he said, trying hard to keep his voice even and polite. "I did not expect to ... ah ..." He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

"Really?", Phichit asked, grin widening. "So you can dish it out but you can't take it? Wouldn't have taken you for someone like that."

Victor blinked. "Ex ... cuse me?"

Phichit raised an eyebrow. "From what I hear, one of mine found you and Yuuri in the library this morning, in quite a disarray. I figured, if that's the way the two of you are holding it—not that I mind—then we don't have to hold back either."

"That's—", Victor floundered, mortification rising with more heat into his face. "That's not at all—we weren't doing anything untoward! Yuuri was just having a rough night, is all, so I kept him company."

Phichit snickered, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it Victor, I really don't mind. As you can perhaps imagine we are not quite as strict about the rules of polite society in this household."

"I'm serious!", Victor insisted. He wasn't quite sure why he was getting so worked up—he wasn't a prude by any standards, and he'd definitely gotten up to some less than strictly private endeavours at some of the parties he'd attended. But somehow it felt wrong for Phichit to make this assumption, especially after what had happened between him and Yuuri the night before. "There was nothing whatsoever unsavoury about—we weren't even touching when that servant came in. Yuuri was struggling, he was hurting. That was the furthest thing from our minds."

Phichit seemed to catch on to his serious tone now, eyebrows drawing down. He leant back from Guang Hong a little, though still gently holding up his dazed form. "You mean it? So you didn't—Yuuri didn't drink from you?"

"No, he hasn't been, not at all!" Victor knew it sounded defensive, even to him.

Still, Phichit blinked, surprised. "Huh. Well I'll be—", he interrupted himself, thoughts evidently catching on something in Victor's words. "Wait, did you say he 'hasn't been'?"

Victor frowned, thinking back over his words. "I believe so. Why?"

"'Not at all?", Phichit quoted back to him.

Victor nodded. "I mean, that first time, of course, and then when I first got here while I was sleeping, if Yuuri is to be believed. But not since."

Phichit's eyes widened. "You're saying Yuuri hasn't fed since you first came here!?"

"I ... yes", Victor said, voice dipping down into uncertainty. "Unless he, ah, drank from someone else while I was away. But it's not been that long, has it? Yuuri said three weeks would—"

"That Idiot!", Phichit snapped, sharp enough to rouse even Guang Hong somewhat, though the boy mostly dug his fingers firmer into Phichit's shoulders, looking up at him with pupils blown wide. Phichit practically tossed him off his lap, rough but not unkindly, not in a way that would hurt him, before springing up from the chaiselongue and stalking through the room, past Victor towards the door. 

Victor took two steps to the side instinctively to let him pass. "What—Phichit, what's the matter? Tell me!"

"Three weeks", Phichit growled, then scoffed, tearing open the door. "That's how often you need to be bitten to stay healthy. It's a far cry from how often he needs to feed."

Victor stared after him, cold realisation settling in, then hurried to keep up as Phichit stomped through the hall. "You ... wait, are you saying Yuuri has been starving himself?"

"Idiot!", Phichit reiterated, emphatically. "No wonder he's been so wound up and constantly on the verge of a breakdown!"

"But ... why would he—?"

Phichit huffed. "Knowing him, I have a few good guesses." He reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded on Victor, taking a breath and tamping his fury down into something like composure for a moment. "You wait here. I'm going to talk some sense into that self-destructive fool."

Victor bit his lip. "Are you sure? He was really shaken up last night. I can—"

"All the more reason to. Trust me", Phichit bit out, already stalking up the stairs. "This is a conversation we need to have vampire to vampire."

Chapter Text

Yuuri was in the process of braiding his hair when the shouts from the entrance hall floated up to his bedroom.

He didn‘t catch the first one but, tensing, senses sharpening instinctively, Phichit‘s sharp voice reached him distantly but clearly the second time.

“Trust me, this is a conversation we need to have vampire to vampire.”

An ominous feeling crept up Yuuri‘s spine at that, and he barely had the time to steel himself before Phichit burst into the room without bothering to knock first.

Under Phichit‘s seething stare Yuuri felt arrested, frozen almost. He‘d never seen Phichit angry like this, had never seen him angry at all really. He always approached everything with that easy going calm, a smile never far from his lips even when discussing serious matters. Now his grey eyes were fiery despite their cool colour, lips pulled into what was almost a snarl. He truly looked like a predator then, and even Yuuri‘s instincts were shouting danger at him.

“What the hell do you think you‘re doing?”

Phichit slammed the door shut behind his back, the crack of it reverberating around the room, making Yuuri flinch.

Tying off the end of his braid with shaking fingers, he forced himself not to back away.

“What are you talking about?”

He was sure he had done a great many things that warranted Phichit being furious at him, but he wasn‘t entirely sure which one he was currently being yelled at for. 

Phichit bared his teeth, fangs not in sight but the effect was plenty threatening without them.

“When did you last feed?”

“ … Ah.” Yuuri looked away. “If you‘re asking like that I assume you already know.”

“Don‘t get smart with me right now, Yuuri! Why on earth would you do that? Why would you starve yourself like that?”

Yuuri kept toying with his braid, just to have something to do with his fingers. “I wasn‘t doing it to starve myself”, he muttered.

“It doesn‘t matter why you were doing it! Doesn‘t change the fact that you were! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders. “It doesn‘t … I can handle—”

“It‘s not about you!” Phichit‘s yell cut him off. “It‘s not always about you, Yuuri, god!” He raised his arm indicating the door leading to the hallway. “It‘s dangerous for the people living in this house. For the humans living in this house! You go too long without feeding and you won‘t be able to control yourself. I will not have you hurting my people, do you understand? And then what? You hurt Victor and then come crying to me again as if you‘re not the architect of your own misery?”

Yuuri swallowed, realising belatedly that he had backed away after all, back now pressed against the wall in an attempt to put some distance between him and Phichit.

“I … I‘m not—I wasn‘t … I wouldn‘t have lost control.” His voice wavered, trembling in his throat.

Phichit scoffed. “How would you even know? You‘ve been a vampire for two minutes, you have no idea how your body and your instincts even work!”

Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself, a shiver running over him again. 

“I lost control with Victor that first time”, he said quietly, “I know how it felt, and I‘m not anywhere close to feeling like that again.”

“You don‘t know a damn thing!”, Phichit snapped.

Yuuri couldn‘t help but bristle at that. “I know my own mind!”, he tossed back, “Vampire or not, I know my self-control. I know how to keep myself from over-indulging, I‘ve had to.”

Phichit threw up his hands. “Over-indulging? Are you mad? You‘re starving yourself. What, did you … did you do this when you were human, too?”

Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath. “No”, he said. “No, of course not. I just … I always had to keep a very strict diet because I gain weight easily. And discipline in general is a crucial skill in ballet.”

“But that doesn‘t matter now, does it? You‘re no longer a dancer.”

The words pierced Yuuri‘s chest, an icy blade. He shrank back, all defensiveness, all agitation suddenly crystallising into stillness.

Phichit seemed to read something of it on his face, hesitating.

“You‘re right”, Yuuri whispered. “I‘m not.”

Running a hand through his hair with a sigh, Phichit dropped onto the chest at the foot of the bed.

“Then why?”, he asked, voice almost calm now. “Why would you even take this kind of risk?”

Yuuri didn‘t look at him. Swallowed. 

“I‘m not ready.”

A beat. He could see Phichit tilt his head in his periphery. 

“Ready for what? To give up being a dancer? Is it some kind of way to hold on to that?”

Yuuri winced, eyes fixed on the hardwood floor, but he shook his head. “That‘s not it.”

“Then what?” Phichit‘s voice wasn‘t patient exactly, but it wasn‘t demanding either. Yuuri knew he just wanted to understand, but he didn‘t know how to put his reservations into words, how to explain that blockage in his chest holding him back, entirely made of feeling.

He squeezed his eyes shut, colours dancing in his vision.

“I‘m—”, his voice cracked as he spoke, “I’m not ready to bite Victor again. To drink from him.”

There was a long pause. Yuuri didn‘t dare look at Phichit.

“Well, you‘re gonna have to eventually”, he finally said, voice dry.

“I know that”, Yuuri whispered. “Just—not yet.”

A rustle of fabric as Phichit shifted in his spot. “What‘s holding you back?”

Yuuri licked his lips, opened his mouth, but he couldn‘t force out any words. It wasn‘t so much a lump in his throat as a rope around it, slowly strangling him.

Phichit waited longer than Yuuri would have expected him to for Yuuri to find his words, but eventually his patience ran out.

“Because you could command him again? You‘re worried you could inadvertently compel him to do something?”

Yuuri pulled his shoulders up, wrapping his arms closer around himself in an attempt to stave off a cold that did not come from outside.

“I—yeah. I don‘t want to have that kind of power over him. I shouldn‘t have that kind of power over him, or over anyone for that matter. It‘s not right.” He cleared his throat. “It‘s not right to—”

He couldn‘t speak, the words sticking to the roof of his mouth like glue.

It‘s not right to take away someone‘s choice.

Phichit sighed. “I understand that you’re worried. I understand why you‘re worried. But there‘s not going to be a way around this. Just talk to him, set some ground rules.” He waved his hands vaguely. “Come up with something inconspicuous but specific you can tell him to do just to check if you can still compel him. Set boundaries of what is off limits—for both of you—during the time you‘re in control. You‘ll settle into it soon enough, figure out what works for you.”

Doubts were sitting under Yuuri‘s tongue, but he chewed them up and nodded anyway, eyes still turned downward. 

Phichit leaned back on his hands, head thumping gently against one of the posts of Yuuri‘s bed. “Why does everything have to be complicated with you?” A plaintive whine.

Yuuri said nothing.

He could feel Phichit‘s eyes on him, piercing, calculating.

“There‘s something else, isn‘t there?”

When Yuuri didn‘t reply, Phichit stretched out his leg, giving Yuuri‘s foot a gentle kick. “Well?”

Yuuri shifted his weight, absent-mindedly rubbing his foot against his other leg.

“I, uhm …” He closed his eyes for a moment, clearing his throat again. Fuzzy static grasped for him, pulling him down. “We …” His tone went flat. “That first time I bit Victor, we ended up having sex. I‘ve seen the effect it has on him when I drink from him, how it makes him feel. I just—I can‘t. Not right now.”

Phichit huffed, leaning forward, eyes still sharp on Yuuri. “Well, you don‘t have to, you know? Just tell him before that you don‘t want anything to happen. Victor‘s a big boy, he can deal with a bit of sexual frustration.”

Yuuri shook his head. “It‘s not … It‘s not just that. Not just him. When I drank from him, I … I wanted it too. I know I‘ll want it once I‘ve bitten him again. But I don‘t want to want it? If that makes sense?” With a frustrated noise, Yuuri ran a hand over his face. “I don‘t want to do it, but I will, and afterwards I‘ll feel … I‘ll feel like—” He shuddered. Swallowed. Pushed down a wave of nausea.

“I don‘t want that feeling associated with Victor”, he whispered, “Not ever.”

Phichit was silent for a long time, silent and still in a way that Yuuri had rarely seen him, eyes still resting on him but deeply lost in thought.

When he finally spoke, it was slow, deliberate. “Why do you think you feel that way?”

Yuuri sent him a brief, pleading look.

“No, I know, don‘t get me wrong”, Phichit amended. “But what is it about the situation that triggers it? Is it feeling like you‘re not in control, like your instincts are making you do something you don‘t really want to do? Do you feel like there is some kind of pressure or mutual obligation because of the way the bite feels? Is it the fact that the bite is generally so connected to physicality and arousal? Can you tell me?” He ran a hand over his chin, thinking. “And I mean that as a genuine question. It‘s okay if you can’t say or you have to think about it. I was just thinking, if you know it might be easier to work this out.”

Yuuri took a moment to consider it, but eventually he could only shrug.

“I‘m not sure there‘s any logical reasoning behind it. I mean, all that”, he gestured vaguely towards Phichit, “sounds kind of right but also not quite, and it just … it‘s just this feeling. This resistance. I don‘t know how to explain it.”

Phichit hummed, considering. “Alright … can you name the prevalent emotion, perhaps? You say you’re not ready, but … are you scared, worried? Does the thought of it disgust you? Do you feel frustrated or even angry?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Not angry, no. I … I feel overwhelmed, I think? It’s all too much too soon and I just, I need more time.”

“Hmm…” Phichit clicked his tongue. “I’m afraid that’s the one thing we can’t give you. I told you, I am not risking you hurting anyone, so you’ll have to feed. Besides, it’s not long now anyway until Victor will start showing symptoms again unless you bite him.” He sighed. “I don’t want to have to force you, Yuuri. I sympathise, and I want to accommodate you, make this the least painful for you it can be. But we cannot put it off.”

He crossed his legs, wooden chest creaking under his weight, and stared into the middle distance, contemplating. 

“I’m assuming drinking from someone else is not an option?”

Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath. “No. No. That would be … that would be worse.”

“I figured as much.” Phichit squinted, like he was examining a thought more closely. “What if”, he said, “and I’m just spitballing here, but what if someone was with you in the room while you feed? Just to take away some of the sexual tension, perhaps to ensure that you really don’t end up doing anything you wouldn’t otherwise wanna do. Might make it a bit awkward but, hey, that’ll serve its purpose, right? I know a few jokes that’ll kill the mood alright, stone dead. Happy to throw those in for you.”

Yuuri couldn’t help his weak huff of laughter at Phichit’s tone, like a salesman praising his wares, and it drew a smile from Phichit as well. “Think that’ll help?”

“I … I don’t know. I’d have to think about it.”

“Well, do that then. Just … not for too long.” Phichit shrugged. “The only other thing I can think of to take away some of the tension would be to do it in small increments. You just bite Victor very briefly—perhaps from the wrist, that’s the least suggestive location, I think. You drink only a little, just enough to stave off your hunger, but not enough to really get Victor going. A tease, if you will. Then you can take some time to cool off, and you do it again the next day. And the next, slowly increasing until we’ve got you fed to a somewhat healthy level.”

“Every day?”, Yuuri asked, chewing on his lips. “I need to feed that often?”

Phichit raised an eyebrow. “Not if you’re eating properly, you don’t. Usually, twice a week is a good average, but for now we need to get you back up to a healthy level.” He tilted his head, considering. “The thing that makes this approach a bit uncertain, though … with how long it’s been since you fed, I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop yourself after only a small bite. Might well be that your instincts take over and tell you to drink until you’ve had your fill.”

Yuuri shuddered. “Could … could I hurt Victor, if I do that?”

Phichit scoffed lightly. “Depends on your definition of hurt, I suppose. Are you going to kill him? No. You’re bonded, damaging him would be damaging yourself, that is deeply embedded in your instincts now. But there’s a long way between healthy and dead. If you drink to much it could take him a while to recover. And doing it too often would definitely not be good for him.”

“I see …”

“The choice is yours”, Phichit said. “Just make it soon. I can offer to be there either way, either to kill the mood or to hold you back from drinking too much if that’s the way you wanna go.”

“Alright …” Yuuri let out a deep breath. “Is it okay if I think about it? Not too long, just for an hour or so? And talk to Victor about it?”

“Ha!” Phichit smirked. “To hear you suggest talking to Victor about something! On your own! You’d think you’re allergic with the way you avoid it.”

Yuuri winced. “I … yeah, I know. I’m trying.”

Phichit made a sceptical noise, getting to his feet.

“So it’s okay?”, Yuuri asked again.

“Sure”, Phichit said, already halfway to the door and looking over his shoulder. “An hour probably won’t hurt. Or, it better not, anyway!” His eyes flashed with a warning. 

Yuuri ducked his head like a chastised child. “Sorry.”

“Eh.” Phichit lifted both arms in an exaggerated shrug. “I really should be used to it by now. He was always so infuriating, too.”

Yuuri blinked, taking a moment to digest the words. “Oh. Seung Gil, you mean?”

Phichit hummed, something clouding over his eyes for a moment, not upset, just distant. “You’re not very alike”, he said, “but he could be so stubborn, and he was always terrible about accepting help too. So independent.” 

He gave a put-upon sigh, and a stab of guilt went up through Yuuri’s stomach.

“I’m sorry”, he said quietly, and Phichit blinked at his suddenly earnest tone. “I’m not being a very good friend to you. You must miss him, and here you are just trying to clean up my messes. I …”, he hesitated, “I don’t want to presume to replace him or anything but … it won’t always be like this. I’ll be a friend to you too. I promise.”

Phichit stared at him for a moment, perplexed, before something tense melted out of him, settling into something a little softer. “It’s alright”, he said with a crooked smile. “A new vampire is always messy, that’s how it goes. At least yours is a lot less bloody and violent by comparison. And the time will come when I will be in a new host and it will be on you to clean up my messes. That’s how it’s always been between us. We … we don’t keep score.”

Yuuri swallowed, his heart seizing with an affection much too grand and sweeping for someone he’d only known for a few weeks. But in this moment, he hadn’t. Though he couldn’t remember them, in this moment he could feel every one of the hundreds of years he and Phichit had spent together. And, judging by the emotion brimming in Phichit’s eyes, he felt quite the same way. 

He let out a soft gasp when Yuuri stepped forward, reaching out and taking his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. Phichit returned it without hesitation though, just for a moment, before he released it with a wry smile.

“You’re too cold”, he said. “Figure out what to do about that.”

In the end they decided on a mixture of Phichit‘s suggestions. 

Yuuri would bite Victor‘s wrist, only briefly for the moment, and Phichit would be present to either defuse any sexual tension that might arise or stop Yuuri should he drink too much, as needed. 

After talking to Victor and indeed setting some basic boundaries, Yuuri felt a little less apprehensive about being able to command Victor. If he didn‘t drink much it wouldn‘t hold for too long, at least. And strangely, Victor‘s own nerves about this particular aspect of the bite helped to soothe his own worries a little. It was good to know that he wasn‘t just overreacting—this was a big deal and a frankly terrifying ability that Yuuri felt justified to approach with caution. Victor admitted that it was this aspect of being bonded to a vampire that scared him the most, and Yuuri found the weight of Victor‘s fear easier to bear than his unconditional trust would have been. There was an acknowledgement implicit in that fear that Yuuri might not handle it perfectly right away, that he might screw up. Not that he was planning on it, but it was a possibility, and having that possibility acknowledged took off some of the pressure that blind trust would have put on him.

Nonetheless his hands were shaking, and not just from the cold, when he and Victor got settled in the sitting room.

Phichit had gone out of his way to make the atmosphere as pragmatic as possible, situating the two of them on creaking wooden chairs rather than on the sofa or the chaiselongue. He‘d pulled a third chair close, turning it around and straddling it, arms crossed on the backrest and chattering inanely all the while. 

The windows were pulled wide open, letting in the afternoon light and a sharp cold breeze. 

Yuuri took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

Victor gave him a wry smile. “I feel like I should be asking you that.”

Yuuri just nodded, short but sharp. Victor returned it, more deliberate.

“Me too”, Phichit chirped.

Glancing over at his wide grin, Yuuri almost had to laugh at the absurdity of it all, which he supposed was the purpose of this whole exercise.

Though nerves still fluttered in his stomach, in this setting his fears that had seemed so all-encompassing over the last days seemed almost silly.

He knew they weren‘t, but it would help for the moment to pretend that they were.

Victor extended his left hand towards Yuuri, which he grasped gently with his right. He could feel Victor twitch at the cold touch of his skin. 

“Sorry”, he murmured. 

Victor just shook his head.

“Enjoy your meal!”, Phichit said as Yuuri brought Victor‘s wrist up towards his mouth. “Or should I say snack?” He winked at Victor who did laugh, a brief aborted snort that he quickly hid behind his other hand.

“Sorry”, he mirrored Yuuri‘s earlier words, giving him an apologetic look.

Yuuri found himself smiling. “It‘s okay”, he said. “It‘s good. This is good.”

Taking a deep breath, determined not to draw this out any longer and let the tension build up again, he lowered his head and sank his teeth into Victor‘s wrist.

The way Victor stiffened was immediate, as was Yuuri‘s grip tightening around Victor‘s hand. But both were drowned out by the flood of warmth bursting in Yuuri‘s mouth, focusing all of his senses on the intense flavour coating his tongue and flowing down his throat. His stomach suddenly seized with how hungry he was, how greedy, how cold, craving that blissful heat spreading through his body. 

He was vaguely aware of movement next to him, movement from Victor, then someone else, and instantly he pulled Victor closer, his feed, his love, his bonded, his. 

Victor‘s other hand landed on Yuuri‘s shoulder, steadying himself, his warmth closer now, his scent overwhelming.

“Yuuri …” A breathy whine, begging for something, he wasn’t sure what, but he knew he wanted to give it, give Victor anything he needed.

“That‘s enough, Yuuri”, another voice cut through the haze, sharp and loud, a strange hand wrapping firmly, almost painfully around his upper arm. 

Yuuri withdrew his fangs to snarl at whoever was interrupting him, holding his grip firm on Victor while his other hand struck out instinctively. 

Phichit deflected the blow easily, wearing a mild smile all the while. “There we go. That‘s enough for a snack, don‘t you think? Don‘t want to over-indulge now, do we?”

It was that word more than anything that cut through the haze on his senses.

I know how to keep myself from over-indulging.

Yuuri‘s snarl slackened, fangs retreating without him even having to think about it. He swiped his tongue briefly over the punctures in Victor’s wrist, then pressed his lips together as he licked off and swallowed the last of the blood clinging to his teeth. Breathed deep, once, twice. 

Once the taste wasn‘t so present and overwhelming on his tongue, he nodded. 

“Okay. I‘m okay.”

He hurried to release his too-tight grip on Victor‘s arm, looking up at him. 

Victor had gotten out of his chair and closed the distance between them, almost leaning over him, one hand still steadying him against Yuuri‘s shoulder. 

Yuuri wasn‘t sure how much of his proximity was his own will and how much was Yuuri pulling him close, but Victor‘s pupils were blown wide staring at Yuuri, lips parted and breath heavy. With Yuuri seated and Victor standing over him, it was difficult not to notice that he was painfully hard, but he didn‘t move. 

“Vitya?” Reaching up, Yuuri cupped Victor‘s cheek in his hand, thumb swiping over the soft skin. 

Victor groaned softly, leaning into his touch.

“Hey, have you guys heard the rumour about butter?” Yuuri blinked, eyes slipping over to Phichit, who waved him off. “Ah, never mind, I shouldn‘t be spreading it.”

Yuuri huffed a small laugh, and Victor deflated somewhat, releasing his hold on Yuuri‘s shoulder and sinking back into his chair which creaked under his weight. 

Phichit grinned, undeterred. “You know, trying to kill a vampire by driving a baguette through his heart… that sounds pretty painstaking.”

Victor groaned again, decidedly not in pleasure this time, and buried his head in his hands.

“That was terrible.”

“Happy to help!”, Phichit chirped.

Yuuri kept his eyes on Victor, biting his lips, until he raised his head again and met Yuuri‘s gaze.

“Are you alright, Vitya?”

Victor gave him a wan smile. “Yeah. Yes, I‘m alright. You?”

Yuuri nodded and hesitantly reached out his hand with a glance at Phichit, who watched them carefully but made no move to interrupt again. 

Victor returned the gesture, squeezing Yuuri‘s hand firmly. His skin didn‘t feel as warm to the touch as it had before—or perhaps it was just that Yuuri wasn‘t quite a cold anymore.

He leaned forward, breathing deeply, pressing his forehead against Victor‘s, and for few long, quiet moments, they just breathed each other in. 

It wasn‘t until Victor tilted his head for a kiss that Phichit‘s voice rang out again.

“Do you think people tell actors to break a leg because every play has a cast?”

It was enough to let both of them descend into helpless giggles, last of the tension seeping out of them. It was much more relief than genuine amusement, the desire curling between them softened into warm affection.

They did not release each other‘s hands, but Yuuri straightened up when he felt like he got his bearings again.

“You did not exaggerate”, he said to Phichit, “You know just what to say. Where did you even take that from?”

Phichit shrugged easily. “I‘ve had a long time to collect all manner of terrible jokes. I can give you a list sometime if you‘d like. Though perhaps I should keep some back, should the need arise again. Need to keep up the element of surprise after all.”

Yuuri shook his head with a smile. “Sure. Whatever you think is right.”

“Well then!” Phichit rose from his chair with a clap of his hands. “That did not go terribly, right? Same time tomorrow? Or perhaps the day after, since you did drink a bit more than planned.”

Yuuri bit his lips, casting a look at Victor. “I … I didn‘t take too much, did I?”

“Nah”, Phichit replied in Victor‘s stead. “A little more than we wanted for our gradual increase, but nowhere near a dangerous amount.”

Victor confirmed his words with a nod. “I feel fine, Yuuri. A little tired maybe, but nowhere near as light-headed as I did the first time.”

Yuuri ducked his head, a mixture of relief and worry swirling in his chest.

Victor squeezed his hand again. “What about you? How do you feel?”

Yuuri took a moment to let his feelings settle. “I‘m … uh, physically I feel much better. Calmer. Not so cold.”

He could feel the warmth of the blood spreading into his extremities still. It wasn‘t enough to warm him up completely, not enough to even get his heart beating again, but it did stop his shivering for now. More nauseating though was the remainder of the other heat curled lower in his gut. 

“I …”, he swallowed, giving Victor a tense smile when he met his eyes, clouded with worry. “I‘m fine, just … it would be good, I think, to … do something, talk about something. Something else. Just to keep my mind off it for a while.”

“That we can do!”, Phichit said, leaning on the backrest of his chair now. “I’ve been meaning to ask anyway—have you decided yet what your course of action is going to be, Victor?”

Yuuri looked at Victor uncertainly, whose face mirrored his doubt. “I … haven’t really had the time to think about it really, let alone talk through it. The last couple of days have been … a lot.”

“No worries. It’s going to be a while still before your father returns, right?” Phichit hummed when Victor nodded. “Well, take your time. If there’s anything we can do to make the decision easier for you, though, anything I can tell you about, just let me know!”

Victor frowned, chewing on his lips. “I’m not really certain about anything yet, but I don’t want to live separate from Yuuri. I’d like to stay here with you. But I also think I don’t want to completely cut my father out of my life just yet. I just … don’t know if there is a way of making that happen.”

“We’ll find a way.” Phichit’s voice didn’t leave room for doubt. “Just leave it to me, I’ll come up with something.”

Victor looked up at him with a helpless little smile. “You’re doing so much for us, Phichit. I don’t even know …”

“Oh, don’t you start too!” Phichit waved him away. “I told Yuuri this yesterday. We don’t keep score in this household. And, for better or worse, you are now a part of this household, too.”

That left Victor speechless for a moment and Yuuri, having been on the receiving end of that same generosity only the day before, could relate.

“Thank you”, he finally said, painfully sincere, and Phichit shook his head with a smile. “You two are really made for each other, aren’t you?”

Victor went to meet his father on his own. 

He’d given Yuuri the option to come along, of course, but he was, understandably, not keen on seeing the Earl again. Given the decision they’d made, Victor thought it was probably for the best, anyway. Yuuri’s presence might just be more likely to make things escalate.

Still, he couldn’t help but wish there was someone by his side for moral support when he entered the restaurant. His father had made a reservation for them at Victor’s request for a neutral location for their meeting. It didn’t hurt that it was somewhat public, too. Once again, reducing the likelihood of his father making a scene. He wouldn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention, after all.

Victor greeted the maître d’ with a stiff smile and didn’t even have to give his name to be escorted towards a table in a quiet but not entirely separated corner of the establishment.

His father was already expecting him, rising from his seat to greet him with a warm handshake. He was smiling, but worry lines were tight around his eyes and lips.

“Vitya. Good to see you.”

“And you.” Victor took his seat, the maître d’ politely hovering next to the table to take their drink orders.

Once he‘d hurried away, an awkward silence settled over the table, both men unsure how to delve into the conversation.

“How were your travels? I trust Petersburg is doing well?”, Victor finally asked, hoping to break the tension with some light talk.

His father nodded. “Yes, quite well. It‘s a cold winter but the harvest was rich this year so the tenants are making do. As Richards has decided to finally retire, I was overseeing him train a new groundskeeper. It’s a good time since there isn’t that much that needs doing right now. He seems keen, I’m sure he’ll do his job well once he’s gotten settled.”

“Good, that‘s good.” Victor kneaded his hands in his lap, trying not to fidget too much. “It‘s nice to know the place is well taken care of.”

His father gave a vague hum in response. “How have you been faring? How is—”, he cleared his throat, “How is Yuuri?”

Victor took a deep breath. No sense in avoiding the subject any longer, he supposed. “He is well”, he said, “As am I. It was nice to have a couple of weeks of quiet for everything to settle down, everything was … rather hectic for a while there. We both needed some rest.”

It was true; after the stress of the accident, Cialdini‘s death and everything that followed, neither of them really had time to come to terms with their new lives. 

They were still far from it, but a semblance of stability, a kind of routine had done wonders in helping them process the events. This, the conversation with the Earl was the final dark cloud still hanging over them before the sky was—well, perhaps not clear exactly, but at least no longer raining down on them.

Victor‘s father paused as the waiter brought their drinks, speaking only once they were alone again.

“I heard that Yuuri‘s role in On Love: Eros has been recast. Quite a few people have been asking me about it, actually.”

Victor sighed. “Yes. Yuuri is no longer with the Ice Castle Theatre. He‘d have preferred not to leave, but since the company couldn‘t offer him any time to recover, he wasn‘t given much of a choice.”

The Earl regarded him with a frown. “Recover from what exactly? The accident? I thought we were given to understand that he wasn‘t injured.”

Victor clenched his hands firmly in his lap. “That‘s not really for me to discuss. It‘s Yuuri‘s business.”

His father shifted a little in his seat, discomfort clear on his face. “Is it … about what happened with Cialdini and all that?”

“As I said, it‘s not really for me to discuss”, Victor said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. “So I‘d appreciate it if you don‘t press any further.”

“Alright, yes, I understand”, the Earl said, lifting both hands in a placating gesture. “He‘ll be looking to join another company then, once he‘s … recovered.”

Victor hesitated. “Perhaps, yes.”

His father‘s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Perhaps? What else would he do? If he wants to salvage his career he‘ll have to find another company to join.”

Victor looked down, swirling his drink in his glass, ice clinking. “He might not go back to dancing.”

This really seemed to throw his father for a loop and he stared for a moment, speechless.

“What?”, he hissed then, voice sharp but low. “He … all those years, all the money I invested in him and his skill and he‘s just going to give it up?”

Victor chewed on his lips. He, Yuuri and Phichit had carefully considered what the Earl should be told about all this, but it was difficult not to justify himself, justify Yuuri.

“What is the meaning of this, Vitya?”

“I really can‘t say”, Victor said, clipped. “But you know Yuuri. Do you really think he would do this if there was another way? Do you think he could give up dancing if he had a choice?”

His father‘s frown deepened. “What is that supposed to mean? What, is he being extorted? Whatever it is, you know I can help.”

Victor gave a wan smile. “Nothing like that. But please—stop asking. Please don‘t make me walk away right now. Not yet.”

The Earl‘s expression softened into something stricken. 

“What—Vitya?”, he said, a note of worry slipping into his voice. 

Victor took a deep breath. “I won‘t be coming back to live with you again. I‘m staying with Yuuri. I‘m sorry, I know this is not what you wanted for me.”

His father stared at him. 

“I appreciate all you‘ve done for me, I really do”, Victor continued. “I appreciate you building a family for me even though you had to do it on your own. I—this doesn‘t have to be goodbye. I am happy to stay in touch, if that‘s what you want. You‘re still my father. Still my family. But if you can‘t accept this … I understand.”

“Vitya …”, his father breathed, something pleading, “surely you can‘t be serious.”

“I‘m afraid I am.” Victor stared down, the fingers curled around his glass tightening.

His father leaned back in his seat, audibly swallowing.

“So this is it?”, he said, voice hollow. “It‘s decided, just like that? I get no say, no explanation? No—no chance to work on this, fix this?” Victor could see his expression shuttering. “You think that‘s fair? You think I deserve this? Yuuri gets whatever he wants and I am left with nothing?”

Victor gave a pained grimace. “This isn‘t what Yuuri wanted either, believe me.”

“That‘s horsecrap”, his father snapped, “and you know it. He got all he wanted out of me, his education, his career, my son, my only family, and here I am, empty-handed. What a scam. He must be quite proud of himself.”

“Father”, Victor bit out. “I told you, I will not have you speaking ill of Yuuri.”

The Earl shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Look at what he‘s done to you. He‘s got you wrapped around his finger and you don‘t even see it. Or perhaps you do—perhaps it‘s not him being extorted in the end.”

Victor stiffened, head snapping up. “I assure you, I am here entirely of my own volition. This is my choice.”

His father scoffed. “I doubt you will see it that way, a few months, a few years from now. You will see, sooner or later, that you were scammed as well, once he‘s gotten all he can out of you. And when that time comes …”, he sighed, running a hand over his face, eyes closed for a moment. “When that time comes, I will of course welcome you home, because you are my son. But do not say that I didn‘t warn you.”

Victor felt physically and emotionally exhausted by the time he returned to Phichit‘s mansion. 

He had known it would be everything but pleasant conversation, he had known his father would not easily accept his decision. 

He had suspected that it would turn ugly, to some degree. 

He supposed it could have gone worse. At least his father had not made a public scene, had not actively threatened Yuuri or him. 

Victor was fairly certain, though, that he would not be able to let it go. He would probably take it upon himself to investigate Yuuri and find out what had brought on this sudden change.

Victor would have to make sure to warn Phichit of that, so he could take any precautions he might think necessary.

For now, though, Victor was just glad it was over and he could return to Yuuri.

His father had been bitter and taciturn by the time they had parted. Victor had once again offered him to stay in touch, in hopes that he might accept, but his father had ignored the offer. For now—perhaps he might come around when his anger had somewhat abated. But who knew if they‘d still be in the city by then. Perhaps they would have long since moved on and started a new life.

Victor really hoped that this wasn‘t the last he‘d seen of his father—but he knew the choice he‘d made when he decided to stay with Yuuri.

The lightness and warmth of the mansion was welcome when he entered from his walk back in the winterly cold. 

Having divested himself of his coat, he looked in on the sitting room, which was empty, and the library, where he encountered Phichit. After a brief exchange about the course of his evening, he asked after Yuuri, but Phichit couldn‘t tell him his whereabouts.

Victor made his way up the steps and knocked at the door to Yuuri‘s rooms—a formality more than anything, since he‘d spent more time here than in his own room in the last couple of weeks. He entered carefully when he did not receive a response, but the suite was dark and deserted. 

He pushed down the thread of worry that was never far from his mind these days. The mansion was big and there were plenty of places still where Yuuri could be.

Wandering back down the stairs, he bypassed the dining room and checked on the music room and the conservatory first, finding both empty. 

He didn‘t think Yuuri would be in the kitchens or the billiards room, but perhaps in the study. Returning to the entrance hall, Victor made to cross it, when a sliver of light underneath a door caught his eye and he paused.

If he recalled correctly, beyond that door lay the ballroom. He didn‘t think he‘d seen it open or anyone inside it since he‘d gotten here.

Approaching the door, he carefully pressed down the handle of the large double doors, pushing one side open.

The room beyond was clearly not in regular use, what furnishings it held mostly covered with sheets, the air cool and stale in the way that indicated long disuse. 

And there was Yuuri.

Towards one side of the ballroom, sticking close to a wall like he was afraid to take up too much room, there was Yuuri.

There was no music, but Victor could hear it nonetheless, clear as day humming in his ears as he watched Yuuri move.

He was dancing.

His movements were a little stiff, hesitant, like he wasn‘t entirely sure he was allowed this. There wasn‘t the same depth of emotion in it that Victor was used to seeing, not in the same way. He could see Yuuri‘s hands were shaking and his expression wavering like he was fighting with himself, but the emotions weren‘t translating into his movements the way they usually would.

Before Victor could tear his eyes away and move, Yuuri stumbled to a halt, looking out into the ballroom, and crumbled to the floor.

Victor took an instinctive step forward, but it didn‘t look like Yuuri had hurt himself. It was just as though his strings had been cut all of a sudden, sending him tumbling down.

Pulling his head down between his shoulders, he remained still for a few moments before burying his face in one hand, chest shaking with suppressed sobs. 

Victor‘s heart ached in his own chest, warring with himself if he should go and offer Yuuri his comfort or if it would be better to leave him to his privacy. Victor suspected that he didn‘t want anyone seeing this, but the thread of worry tugged on his ribcage, made it impossible for him to turn away. 

Yuuri cried almost silently for a few minutes, one hand fruitlessly wiping at his eyes, the other clenched into a fist against the hardwood floor.

Eventually, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaky. 

Then another.

Put himself back together one lungful at a time, until he straightened up where he sat, gazing out over the ballroom, eyes still red but expression calm. 

Then he pushed himself up, back on his feet, wiping at his face a final time and squaring his shoulders.

Victor couldn‘t measure his love for this man, this beautiful brave marvel, not in a hundred lifetimes. 

He stepped backwards, quietly pulling the ballroom door closed again as Yuuri continued his dance.

Dear Mother and Father, dear Mari,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I apologise for being late in replying to your last letter, it was somewhat delayed in reaching me.

I was glad to hear that business in the inn is doing better than it was! In this cold weather especially I‘m sure many people appreciate the comforts of the hot springs. If the repairs to the roof and the refurbishing of the dining hall indeed played a part in the uptick of customers, as you suggested, then I am glad to have been able to support Yuutopia even from such a distance.

Mari, your accounts of the more eccentric customers and familiar regulars never fail to make me smile, so I thank you for letting me be part of your everyday experience. To hear of the new responsibilities you‘ve been taking on in the running of the inn made me proud, though it does no surprise me. You‘ve always shared in our mother‘s business acumen, ever since I can remember. I am sure your expertise and levelheadedness will only benefit the inn in the future; I am looking forward to hearing all about it.

A lot has changed on my end in the last weeks. As you may have noticed, the return address on my letter has changed. This is the address where you may direct your letters to me in the future, since I have taken my leave from the house of the Earl Nikiforov.

I parted in gratitude from his Lordship, for all that he has done to support me through my youth and to bring me on the path that I always wanted to pursue. I can never repay him for his kindness. But I am no longer a youth now and wanted to rely no longer on his hospitality and his generosity. I need to find a path of my own and a place that I can call home here in the city.

To that end I have taken up shared housing with a friend of mine whose outlook on life is quite similar to my own. Our temperaments are very different—I am sure you would get along splendidly with him, Mari—but he is kind, and patient with me as I try to find my footing.

I am not sure if word from the city reaches as far as Hasetsu, but either way I suppose I should inform you that I have left my position with the Ice Castle dance company. I was sad to take my leave from them, but the circumstances demanded it. I have already secured a new source of income, however, so you need not worry about my livelihood, and I will thankfully also be able to continue to support you in the only way I can. Hopefully soon I will be able to tell you more about my new position, in the meantime I ask for your patience as I establish myself in this new situation.

I had been hoping, as you know, to be able to come and visit you in Hasetsu once the winter season concluded, and with it my run in On Love: Eros. However, due to the above mentioned circumstances, I am afraid that I cannot currently take leave from the city. Once again I must ask for your patience—I was very much looking forward to seeing all of you again, and I miss you all dearly, but for now I am afraid I am unable to visit.

I will keep you informed if any change in circumstances should allow me to travel to Hasetsu, of course, and in the meantime will be happy to keep up correspondence with you and hear all about the events, big and small, keeping you busy at Yuutopia.

I am looking forward to receiving your next letter.

Your loving son and brother, always

Yuuri

Chapter Text

"Are you ready, my love?"

Yuuri hummed, smoothing down his clothes one final time, before turning towards Victor with a smile. "I think so."

Victor returned his smile, softness and affection sitting in its corners. "You‘re going to be fantastic."

"I know." Yuuri took a deep breath. "Thank you."

Victor ran a hand over his hair, carefully tied back at the nape of his neck, and pulled him closer to press a kiss to his temple.

"I‘ll be out there, watching you, and I‘ll see you after."

Yuuri nodded. "And then drinks with Peach, yes?"

Victor hummed his confirmation. "He said there‘s someone he wants us to meet."

Yuuri raised a questioning eyebrow and Victor shrugged. "I don‘t know any more than that myself. I wonder if he found another vampire. He knows we have to move on soon, so I doubt he‘ll be forming any more attachments here."

Yuuri tilted his head, considering. "Perhaps it‘s someone who can help us get settled elsewhere. He‘s had his eyes on Celona for a while now, I believe."

"That‘s true." Victor smiled, eyes turning a little wistful. "Celona sounds nice."

Yuuri squeezed his hand. "It does." His eyes wandered over the softly lit dressing room, catching on the bouquet resting by his mirror. "Lots of theatres in Celona."

"Indeed there are", Victor said, chuckling softly. "But you might have to lay low for a little while at least, let Tatsuo Fujioka fade from people‘s awareness. You‘ve been doing too well recently."

Yuuri huffed a laugh, resting his forehead against Victor‘s shoulder. "I know. You‘re right. It‘s been fun, though. I‘ll miss Agape."

"You‘ve been amazing in it", Victor said, voice low by his ear. "But you‘ll find something new. Just give it a few years." He let Yuuri’s braid run through his fingers.

"Perhaps it‘s time we cut your hair, too."

Yuuri looked up with a wry smile, lifting a hand to brush Victor‘s bangs out of his eyes. "So we can match again?", he asked.

"Perhaps. I‘m sure it would suit you. Maybe some glasses, too?"

Yuuri nodded. "Might be a good idea. Do you think …", he hesitated, eyes fixed somewhere on Victor‘s jaw. "Do you think we could stop by Hasetsu first?"

Victor made a contemplative sound, thumb brushing along Yuuri‘s cheek. "I‘m sure we can make it work."

"That would be nice." Yuuri gave a wan smile. "Since spring rolled around, I‘d like to leave some flowers."

"They‘ll be very happy you stopped by", Victor said softly, and Yuuri huffed, more resigned than bitter.

Though Yuuri had kept up correspondence with his parents for the rest of their lives, he hadn‘t gone back to Hasetsu until the day of his mother‘s funeral, some years after his father‘s passing. Even then he‘d kept himself in the background, unable to explain his relation to the Katsukis, but with Victor‘s and even Phichit’s encouragement he‘d gone to see Mari afterwards.

Even though they had known each other only through letters for much longer than they‘d actually lived together … well, Mari was his sister. She‘d already barely forgiven him when he hadn‘t come back for their father‘s burial. And now she was on her own, and already quite aged herself.

Yuuri had to trust her to take his secret to her grave when he appeared at Yuutopia, still not looking a day over twenty years old. And she had, after Yuuri had stayed with her for a few more years in Hasetsu, under the guise of his own son taking care of his elderly aunt.

He couldn‘t make up for all the years they‘d spent apart, but he made a point of passing through Hasetsu regularly and visiting their graves.

"But that‘s a question for another day." Victor said gently, taking Yuuri‘s hand and pressing a soft kiss to the ring circling his finger. "For now it is time for On Love: Agape."

Yuuri‘s eyes flickered towards the clock by the door. "You‘re right. I should get out there. You‘ll watch me?"

"Always, my love."

Yuuri smiled softly and pulled Victor in by his neck for a deep kiss, relishing in his taste, the distant thrum of his heartbeat. Victor‘s hands circled his waist, pulling him close, until Yuuri released him with a regretful sigh.

"See you on the other side."

Victor grinned. "I‘ll be there. Break a leg."

No matter how many times, how many years Yuuri has done this, he could never get used to the electric feeling of anticipation just before the curtains rose.

It was thrilling every single time, making his heart flutter in his chest (if it was beating, which he always made sure it was when he went on stage).

It wasn‘t a bad feeling, though there was a thread of anxiety in it that never quite went away. It wasn‘t exactly a good feeling either though—looking back on it he‘d call it exhilarating, but in the moment it was mostly intense and daunting.

But every time without fail the curtains would rise, and every time without fail Yuuri would step on the stage and everything else would fall away.

There was a peculiar calm that overcame Yuuri‘s mind when he danced—it had always been like that.

It wasn‘t peace and it wasn‘t joy, wasn‘t elation—sometimes it could be, sure, when the circumstances were right, but there could be pain too, there could be grief.

But there was always—quiet.

Only the music and the movement prominent in his mind, his attention focused on every muscle, their tension, their strength.

Nothing else mattered when he moved. The fear and the hurt and the pressure—they all seemed so small suddenly, his muddled thoughts so much clearer.

He didn‘t think while he danced, at least that he could tell, not about anything but the dance itself, and yet when he stopped it was like something had settled and crystallised in his mind.

Like the movement of his limbs was a crank being turned, allowing the gears of his mind to run more smoothly.

He could feel it the clearest when he danced on his own, of course, but even during a performance with all the excitement and uncertainty surrounding it, the dance itself was an oasis of calm amongst it all.

Now more than ever, now that the novelty of being on stage had worn off and settled into something familiar after countless seasons with a dozen different companies.

It had taken a long time for Yuuri to get back on the stage, the circumstances disallowing it as much as Yuuri‘s own state of mind. But after the first decade or so in his new life as a vampire, in a new country far removed from everyone who‘d known him … the pull of the stage had just been too great.

They had to be careful, of course. Making sure that Yuuri was always well-fed when he danced so he‘d be warm, his heart beating. Changing their identity and laying low for a long while every time after Yuuri 'retired'.

At first he‘d worried he was asking too much of Victor and Phichit, forcing them to adjust their lives around his desires, never staying in the same place too long. But Phichit was too restless anyway to stay anywhere for longer than a decade at most, and Victor was happy getting to live in a new country, learning another language and immersing himself in another culture each time. He‘d published books under half a dozen pen names by now.

Besides, after a few dozen years together, you‘d lose all inhibitions about telling your companions your true feelings. Yuuri knew, if something about their lifestyle truly bothered them, they‘d have no compunctions about letting him know.

He couldn‘t feel more grateful for them.

Yuuri spun on stage, catching his dance partner easily as he leapt at him, lifting him like he weighed nothing (which, to Yuuri, he didn’t). Muscles taut against his hands as his partner held the extension, for a second, two, three, before Yuuri let him glide gently back to the floor.

Though he had the opportunity, Yuuri had never danced in On Love: Eros again, nor did he think he ever would. But when he was given the chance to be a part of On Love: Agape, it seemed too good to pass up. With its themes so similar to its sister play and yet its complete opposite in tone, it felt like some form of atonement. It felt like closure.

The ensemble gathered around them, and they were both lifted up together then, the other dancers moving together like one creature, one being of a dozen different consciousnesses.

Yuuri and his partner on top, bodies carefully held in a pose suggesting deep relief, both of them giving their weight over to the hands of the corps as they reached out toward each other across the sea of bodies.

Once their hands met they were released back to the floor, surrounded by a circle of dancers spinning outward, leaving them alone at centre stage.

Circling around each other in an intricate pas de deux, they came together half a dozen times, each time being torn asunder again, losing their grasp or being pushed away by the other. But finally they settled into an island of peace at the edge of the stage, sinking into each other‘s arms and refusing to be parted again.

The last echoes of the orchestra rang out over the audience, a breathless pause—and then the roar of applause rolled over them like a tidal wave.

Yuuri and his counterpart held their pose patiently as the curtain descended, moving only once they were shielded from the audience‘s view.

The curtain call passed in a blur of endorphins, pride and helpless laughter as always, the din echoing in Yuuri‘s ears, but each time he was at the edge of the stage, gazing out into the audience before and after he took his bow, he was acutely aware of Victor‘s presence in the auditorium.

He could feel his eyes on him, could smell his scent, familiar like none other, could hear his heartbeat elated with pride as he applauded.

Even after all these years, it felt different dancing when he knew that Victor was watching him. Everything felt more intense, every emotion more immediate.

He always knew who he was dancing for, but Victor‘s eyes on him as he moved on stage were like a constant brand on his skin.

He never wanted him to look away.

give it a thought:

it takes a lot

to trust that someone else will catch my fall.

It takes a lifetime;

breaking goes fast,

when everything that matters made of glass.

The End.