omg!!! outsider POV (idk, phichit, the Katsukis, Chris???) of the early days of Taker when they were still just having sex <3 thank u dommi!
Oh my God yes this thank you for this beautiful, golden treasure.
It’s not quite that the season’s in full-swing yet, but Chris knows mid-July is bearing down on him like a plane making an emergency water landing. Still, he enjoys what quiet he can between meetings with his choreographer, Josef, and his costume designer. He’s thinking something sexy, like a teasing shower display for a lover for the short—they just haven’t pinned the song yet.
Chris checks his Instagram feed, seeing that Yuuri’s Thai bestie has posted a series of videos to his story—it’s him landing his newly-ratified quad. Chris is probably the only figure skater in the world who doesn’t know this musical, but he thinks maybe he should check it out someday as he watches Chulanont’s beaming smile and West End-caliber grace.
Speaking of Yuuri, though—Vitya’s been in Hasetsu for about two months, give or take. Though, he’s been quiet for a week. Chris sends a text with an attached pic of Bianca’s dainty body curled up in the nook of his arm.
Allo, Vitya! Comment vas-tu?
It’s only then that Chris pulls up the timezone for…what was it called? Kyushu, that’s right, he thinks and he sees that it’s going on ten pm there. Hm, well hopefully he’ll get a reply tomorrow.
He gets comfortable on his best chair with a cup of rosehip tea and Bianca by his arm, turning to his Netflix account. He’s been working his way through an American drama about a family of morticians when his phone chirps.
Chris adjusts his glasses and checks the screen. Defying all odds, it’s Vitya.
Hello! Sorry—things have been a bit hectic.
Chris smiles and shrugs. The season hasn’t technically started, how hectic can it be? Is Yuuri demanding all of your time, off-rink and on?
It takes a while for him to respond.
…You might say that.
Chris stares at his phone. He thinks of half a year ago in another part of the world, champagne flowing, inhibitions dropping like flies. He thinks of the first solid smile he’d seen on Victor’s face in longer than he can recall, a furious paso doble, stripping and taking turns holding each other while wrapped around a pole as “Partition” filled the room…
He thinks most of all of a shell-shocked Victor’s eyes lighting up and glowing, a faint flush on his face as a drunken Yuuri begged him to be his coach, and the way Victor led him out of the ballroom, Yuuri’s pants in one hand while his other fished in them for a room key, Yuuri half clinging like they were one person.
Good on you, Chris thinks. Ah, such young lovers. I should have guessed truly.
There’s another long break, and Chris gets up for more tea. The phone chirps twice while he boils the water. The rosehip blend is lovely, a birthday gift from his mother. He should thank her again.
Chris gets cozy with an afghan from his Grandmere and Bianca, sipping the tea. Then he looks at the texts.
Yuuri and I aren’t romantic.
Chris raises an eyebrow as a third text comes in.
We’re not just professional, but we’re not dating. I’m pretty sure we’re not dating.
Before he can reply, he sees the animation that tells him Vitya is typing. It goes on for a while, sometimes disappearing altogether. He’s starting a text before scrapping it entirely, Chris realizes.
Then finally: No, we’re not dating. We’re just—I mean, it’s not really anyone’s concern but ours, but we’re not an item. We’re just what we are.
Which is? Chris prompts.
It takes so long for a reply, Chris thinks Vitya’s fallen asleep. It’s fine if he has—he’s an early riser by trade. He finishes the tea, washing the cup and drying it with a ginger touch. Inherited bone china, priceless and impossible to replace.
Bianca sits by her dish, offering a plaintive meow. Chris smiles. “Ah, bebe,” he says. He kneels and she rubs against him before sitting by the dish. Her fluffy white tail swishes once. “Not dinner, not yet. But—some anchovies—”
He grabs them and gives her two. She eats them happily, licking her whiskers clean when she’s done. He notes he’s low and needs more, so he adds them to his shopping list.
Chris heads back to the television to turn it off, having missed the bulk of the show. An old rerun of Tintin is on the telly, and his beautiful girl’s namesake sings an aria on the screen. His collection of the comics is quite impressive, and he managed to win a Herge original a while back.
The phone beeps. Chris reads.
How do you tell someone you want more than they’re able to give?
Chris’s face becomes a bit dark, like the very beginnings of a summer storm. I don’t follow what you mean.
Vitya replies thus: How do I tell Yuuri that he means more to me than just a body at night? And how do I make him see I ache to be that more to him?
Chris removes his glasses, cleans them, then puts them back on because surely he didn’t read that right. Alas, no, he did, it’s absolutely what he saw the first time—Yuuri is having casual fun and Vitya’s in deep, mataphorically and presumably literally.
He wipes his mouth with his hand. I think you should just ask him what his expectations are for you both, and you should be up front about yours in return. If you don’t see eye-to-eye, perhaps it would be best to cut and run.
Again it takes a while, and Chris opens the book on his end table. It’s a non-fiction account of Josephine Baker’s life. She’s stunning and fascinating—a huge inspiration for his skating.
He’s so perfect and I knew with the first—well, I knew right away that I’m his. That isn’t going to change if he—
It’s another fit and start.
I feel how I feel. It won’t change. But is it so wrong to want him to feel the same for me?
Chris grimaces. Not that he has a lot of serious relationship experience—just one when they were both too young and naive to make it solid for the long haul—but he knows better than this. Vitya should in theory too, though he mostly keeps to himself when he’s at loose ends.
Sit him down, ask him. If given the green light, keep it going and see what happens. If a yellow or a red, you should stop whatever it is until he’s figured himself out.
He thinks, then sends another.
Try not to expect anything. And Vitya—if you think you’re capsizing, bail before you drown. Please.
Vitya doesn’t reply this time, either because of Yuuri or because he’s asleep. It hardly matters. Chris worries he’s overstepped a line or come across like ordering instead of offering advice.
Chris puts his phone facedown on the side table. Bianca curls in his lap as he ignores the telly for the light’s slow fade out his picture windows. Yuuri wouldn’t hurt Vitya on purpose…but on purpose isn’t not at all.
He recalls again the night in Sochi, the stars in Yuuri’s eyes and heavenly-light of his smile as he dipped Vitya, pulling him tight hip-to-hip and spinning like they were the only two in the hall.
Chris breathes and talks himself out of the worries. They’ll be fine. They’ll even end up happy.
At least, he thinks they will.