Setting Sun - Chapter 17 Excerpt
I’ve had a ridiculously shitty week and I can’t stop feeling sad and worn down today. I’ve gotten basically nothing done, work-wise, that I really really needed to do this week, and I feel awful about it. Little tiny things have gone wrong all day, I haven’t exercised since Monday, and overall this is the closest I’ve been to depression in a good while, though it’s mostly due to bad sleep and some health issues that I know will clear up.
I’m not done this chapter yet. I’m close, but the delay in my schoolwork means I have to put it before fanfic, and I know y’all understand that. But I want to share a fluffy scene with you anyway because I like it and I think you’ll like it and I want to make people happy. If you like it, please let me know. <3
Victor holds out his hand to Yuuri, and in the low light from the lamps he looks like something ethereal. “Yuuri Katsuki, may I have this dance?”
Yuuri looks down at Victor’s fingers, downs the rest of his wine, and bursts out laughing. Victor pouts.
“Okay, or not.”
“I’m s-sorry,” Yuuri giggles, wiping at one eye. “It’s just…I used to fantasize about you saying literally those exact words to me when I was thirteen.” In an instant he realizes what he’s said, and covers his mouth with both hands, feeling his face get hot.
Now Victor cracks up. “That’s…fucking adorable, honestly.”
“It’s creepy,” Yuuri mumbles from behind his hands.
Victor kneels on one knee (on one fucking knee) in front of the couch, and gently lifts Yuuri’s hands from his mouth. “It’s adorable,” he says again, more firmly this time. “Now would you dance with me already?”
Yuuri lets himself feel mortified for another twelve seconds before he nods, and it all melts away at the sight of Victor’s delighted face. He stands.
“Excellent. Be right back.” He crosses the room and picks out a vinyl record from the shelf, carrying it to the turntable that sits beneath the TV. Yuuri watches Victor go through the delicate motions—placing the record on the platter, running a wide brush across the vinyl to clean it of dust, placing the needle just so—and his heart does so many flips and flops that it could probably medal in Olympic diving. Finally Victor stands and crosses back to pull Yuuri to his feet, and the song begins with an incredibly familiar guitar line—
Yuuri furrows his brow. “…Is this Kishi Bashi?”
Victor doesn’t answer; he just smiles, so brilliantly he could outshine the sun, and begins to dance—nothing complicated, just rocking from foot to foot, one hand curved just beneath Yuuri’s shoulder blade, and the other holding Yuuri’s left hand.
“You are the answer to my question / you are my accomplice in a crime / you are my wing woman and did I mention / we were together in another life? / In that dreaming, you probably were my wife…”
Yuuri nearly melts into a puddle. Victor has a Kishi Bashi album on vinyl. That means—
“Yes, in case you’re wondering,” Victor cuts in, as if reading Yuuri’s mind. “I’ve known about Kishi Bashi since before the Cup of China.”
If the heat in his cheeks is any indication Yuuri’s face might burst into flames at any moment. “…Oh. I…”
“I knew I wanted to kiss you at the Sochi banquet,” Victor grins, leaning in to let his lips graze Yuuri’s cheek. “Getting a Kishi Bashi lyric from you in China made me realize that as soon as I did, I’d never be able to stop.”
Yuuri has no earthly idea how to respond to that, so instead he rests his head against Victor’s shoulder and mumble-sings along with the chorus: “Hotaru Hotaru / Futari no yume wo mireru hotaru no… / Hotaru Hotaru / Tsuneru to yume ga / Sameru hotaruyoru…”
“I’ve actually been meaning to ask you,” comes Victor’s voice, breath tickling his ear. “What does that mean?”
Yuuri smiles, lifting his head to meet Victor’s gaze.
“Firefly, firefly, two dreams we saw of fireflies; with a pinch, we’ll be awoken, from the night of fireflies,” he recites. “Fireflies, are, um, supposed to be the souls of soldiers who have died in war, in Japanese mythology. Which is great inspiration for my free skate, I suppose.”
Victor’s face falls just a little bit for a fraction of a second, or maybe it’s just a trick of the light. “Oh. I—”
“—they’realsoametaphorforpassionatelove,” Yuuri yelps, and if there is a god Victor will not have heard him properly—
Victor dips Yuuri like a ballroom dancer and kisses him. There is no god, and Yuuri’s kind of okay with that.
Alright, he’s more than okay with that.
“You are the answer to my question / you are my accomplice in a crime / you are my wing woman and did I mention / we were together in another life?“
Yuuri closes his eyes, letting the lights shine softly pink through his eyelids. The wine has relaxed him, spreading sleepy tendrils from his heart out through his limbs; Victor’s arms around him feel so natural that it’s insane to realize they haven’t done this every single day for years.