episode one :: Yuuri Katsuki is the most beautiful disaster that Victor has ever met in his entire life, and Victor has built his empire on beautiful disasters.
Victor isn’t sure he knows what he’s doing anymore by the time casting rolls around for season 22 of The Bachelor. Okay, he knows what he’s doing, but it’s all autopilot. He’s got a dossier of Chip Vanderbones and Tad Hardbeefs to look at, but is almost resigned enough to just give into Lilia and Yakov’s suggestion to cast Georgi Popovich, notorious histrionic Bachelorette season 10 runner-up, as this season’s lead out of sheer notgivingafuckness. At this point Victor isn’t even sure whether he really wants to be in this game at all anymore, but what the hell else he would do besides sleep for a thousand years if he retired before thirty?
And then Phichit Chulanont comes into his office to distract him during a conference call with Yakov to tell him a story about his friend who just crashed and burned at the Figure Skating Grand Prix Finals, and everything click click clicks into place: redemption narrative. Twenty young men are going for the gold, but only one can win the heart of Yuuri Katsuki– he can hear the promos, see the character arcs unfold, and the narratives rush through him like they’ve always lived inside him and it feels–exciting.
“Phichit,” Victor says suddenly, interrupting Phichit and grabbing him from across his desk. “We have to get him. He’s our next bachelor.”
“Oh my God,” Phichit replies, eyes widening, and then again, “Oh my God.”
“Do you think you could get him?” Victor asks. He’s seeing figure skating dates, thematic destination shoots in Chile and Finland and Iceland, “The Bachelor: Love on Ice” title screen flashing over two champagne glasses on the lip of an outdoor hot tub.
“Do I think I can get him,” Phichit repeats dismissively, looking the closest to offended that Victor has ever seen him. “What do you think you hired me for, Nikiforov.”