today is the met gala! if ya feelin peachy and up to it, would you write a wee lil drabble about our friends from hmc there?
this is a continuation of this drabble, kinda. don’t ask what the gala theme is it’s some weird combination of 2015′s through the looking glass and this year’s art of the in-between lolol. and yes, i’m making kubo a designer that gets her own met gala solo show in honor of kawakubo bc their names sound alike O K
12 hours to open
The Victor from four hours ago is gone, neatly tucked away like one of his silk ties or a pair of ankle socks. Folded and hidden into one of the several drawers of Victor Nikiforov’s wardrobe of a personality. Yuuri wonders if he’s glimpsed into a good amount of those drawers, but considering Victor’s actual wardrobe drawers have their own MUJI brand compartments inside of them, it is entirely likely that he’s missing even smaller facets of Victor; his drawers have drawers, his secrets have secrets.
Yuuri watches him now as he scrutinizes each display of the exhibit, murmuring with the curator and periodically adjusting the garments on the mannequins. Victor looks up briefly and gives a small smile—in the way that Victor only ever gives smiles, small and subtle but brilliant, still, and Yuuri mentally adds that to his collection of memories of Victor to lose sleep over.
Yuuri smiles back (hesitant and timid and awkward, he’s sure).
4 hours to open
“Oh my god, what are you wearing?” Georgi asks in horror.
Yuuri looks down at his outfit, still in the sweats he’d slipped into in his rush to get to the Met at half past three in the morning. Around them, preparations for the gala are in full-swing, museum officials and staff bustling around the venue as the ticking clock winds down.
"I’ve got it.” Victor’s voice, soft but clear, calls from Yuuri’s left and when Yuuri turns he stops breathing. Victor’s changed, and he’s still in a suit, of course, but it’s stunning. Custom-made by Kubo herself, the designer being celebrated for that evening. Half of the suit is lined with icy blue crystals, tiny sparkling things that glint where the sunlight catches on them. The other half is a more muted blue, calm but compelling and homey. It divides in a diagonal across Victor’s front, and the stark contrast of the suit’s design is jarring, but—so’s it’s owner.
Yuuri doesn’t notice the garment bag hanging over Victor’s arm until he steps in front of him. “I don’t know if you already had something picked out,” Victor tells him. Yuuri remembers to breathe, can’t decide whether to look up into Victor’s eyes or to the matching blue of the bright part of his suit. “Sorry for having dragged you here, though, you’ve been here all morning and all night—”
"It’s okay,” Yuuri says quickly.
Victor pauses, gives his small smile. He holds out his arm, pushes the garment bag over to Yuuri. “How about you go change, then?” His voice lowers. “Before Georgi gets an aneurysm. And before Michele arrives,” he adds, teasing.
Yuuri shudders. “Michele.” He takes it from Victor gratefully. “Thank you.”
2 hours to open
"Where the fuck are you?” Mila hisses into her phone. “They’re rolling out the carpet.”
Whatever JJ says on the other end, it only mollifies Mila slightly. She sighs as staff members around her iron down the red carpet, making it smooth and impeccable for the star-studded guests who would arrive later in the evening.
Sara rubs Mila’s shoulder soothingly as she clicks off. “It’s gonna be okay. Look, Otabek’s running the livetweets right now,” she says.
Mila rolls her eyes. “Please tell me that—”
"Leo and Guang are helping,” Sara says quickly.
Open - Gala Stage
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Victor says grandly behind the podium on stage. He flashes a wide smile as the crowd applauds, but it doesn’t sit right with Yuuri, not really. He watches from off the side of the stage, standing with Mila, who’s busy typing away on her phone.
"Georgi says Kubo’s not ready yet,” she stage-whispers, looking at Yuuri with wide eyes. "She’s got some, I don’t know, there’s some drama with the—”
“What?” He glances at his watch. “But the schedule—”
"Fuck the schedule, we need to—”
"Okay? Yuuri, we need to—Yuuri, wait, what are you—”
Victor’s voice booms from the speakers around them. “And now, may I present our—uh… Yuuri Katsuki?”
Two hours after close
Yuuri finds Victor by one of the displays, looking thoughtfully at the satin train of a Renaissance-themed dress. He’s shed his suit jacket, loosened the tie around his neck. He still looks flawless.
"I hope that was okay,” Yuuri says quietly.
Victor doesn’t startle, as if he’d expected Yuuri to come to him all along. He’s quiet for a bit, before turning to face him. He speaks, breathless, even though he hasn’t moved from his spot since he’d been there after the last of the guests had left.
"That was amazing,” he tells Yuuri meaningfully.
It’s too much. Yuuri tears his eyes away. “Roughly amazing,” he says jokingly. Deflects.
There’s the small smile again. “Roughly amazing,” Victor agrees. He gazes back at the mannequin on display, and that’s where Mila finds them later, when she tells them the car’s waiting.