In which Yuuri discovers something life-changing about his idol and fiance
Yuuri stood in the bathroom of Victor’s apartment—it still felt far too early to be comfortable dubbing it their apartment—having a small existential crisis. Whatever he had been looking for or wanting to put away in the sink cabinet was utterly forgotten. His childhood hero, his first love, his eternal idol… a deception from the very beginning.
The characters on the bottle were majorly Cyrillic, but there was really no mistaking to design and thus its purpose.
“Yuuri, what are you—” Just as Yuuri had lost his train of thought, Victor lost his words the moment he saw what his fiancé was holding.
“Is that why you cut it?” Yuuri asked, looking up from the bottle to Victor. “The ends were so dead from years of bleach?”
“It’s just a toner,” Victor defended, sounding unsure of himself.
“Really?” Yuuri flipped the bottle over, studying the script printed across the label. “Because it looks like dye.”
As delicately as he could, Victor took the bottle from Yuuri’s hands and replaced it in the sink cabinet. “You don’t really think that I—”
“Color your hair?” Yuuri finished for him, eyes traveling suspiciously along Victor’s hairline. He made to touch the strands, then pulled his hand back at the last moment as if dejected. “I can’t believe this…” he muttered, brushing past Victor on his way to their living room. “My whole life, a lie. My fiancé, a liar. How can I achieve gold when even the silver in my life is unattainable?”
Yuuri flopped with resignation onto the couch, Makkachin hopping on top of him for company.
Two sets of brown eyes judged Victor, who collapsed on the floor in front of Yuuri, grasping for his hands. “Yuuri, my darling, my angel, I swear I’m not lying. Come on, how could you think that? I’ll throw it away right now.” He paused, thinking, “You can shower with me every day for a month to see that it’s true.”
Victor’s blue eyes shimmered with his pleading, but Yuuri’s thoughts traveled to Victor’s grueling quad practice the previous day, leaving him completely unsympathetic. Instead, he turned his face away as dramatically as Victor taught him and sighed. “I don’t think we should shower together anymore, Victor. This is world-altering. I need time.”
Pout pushing out his lower lip, Victor sat back. Yuuri refused to turn back toward him.
Pursing his mouth, Victor reached up, sweeping away his own bangs before tentatively running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll prove it to you,” he said, eyes trained on Yuuri, determination sprinting across his face. “I’ll shave it off.”
Victor expected Yuuri to break. Expected to receive that panicked little squeak which he adored, as Yuuri kicked Makkachin off the couch in his hurry to sit up and grasp onto Victor, expected to hear him command Victor not to touch his beautiful hair, expected the confession that Yuuri had only been knowingly joking.
Yuuri turned to face Victor again, face blank as he stated, “Okay then.”
A blink. A moment. Then another. Yuuri’s brown eyes did not break from his, challenging and unyielding.
Taking a deep breath while trying not to show it too much, Victor swallowed and pushed himself up off the floor, standing over Yuuri.
His hands fisted against his side, but he would not be the one to break. “Okay then.”
Yuuri watched Victor start to move, a very small sense of dread building in the pit of his stomach. “What are you doing?”
“Proving it to you.”
Victor vanished down the hall, towards the bathroom. For a moment, Yuuri did not move. He knew Victor wasn’t going to shave his hair off. He knew that… right?
Yuuri dislodged Makkachin and followed Victor down the hall, into the bathroom, to see Victor on his knees searching through the lower cabinet.
“Just looking for the clippers,” Victor said airily and Yuuri crossed his arms. No way Victor was actually going to go through with his threat… Then again, Victor had cut his trademark hair the night before an ISU competition, without telling anyone, all for the sake of a surprise.
Victor hummed the tune to Stammi Vicino as he searched, taking his time. Yuuri saw him fumble with the clippers a little once they had been located, fidgeting with the settings. “You’re gonna do it…” The exhale was an attempt at steady, betrayed by a hitch.
“I said I’ll prove it to you, love. If you don’t believe me.” Victor rose and turned, clippers in hand.
Yuuri’s eyes met him. And did not back down. “Do it then.”
Victor thumbed at the switch, turning the device on. The bathroom filled with the buzzing, vibrating off the tile, waiting for either of them to break.
When Yuuri still said nothing, Victor lifted up the clippers with a flourish. Checked the settings. Looked back up at Yuuri. Still nothing. He turned to face the mirror, running a hand through his hair, and raised the clippers.
Yuuri’s heart began to panic inside his chest. He could see Victor’s blue eyes challenging him in the reflection of the mirror, could see himself leaning against the door of the bathroom in the corner. Then Victor raised the clippers to the edge of his hair, just by his ear.
The buzzing grew deafening and the clippers met the ends of Victor’s undercut—
“Alright! Stop, stop!”
Except that Victor didn’t. Despite the protest, he ran the comb of the clippers through his hair in a long swooping motion, drawing out a terrified shriek from Yuuri.
The very next second, Yuuri tore the clippers out of his hands, leaping to see the damage and—nothing.
Victor burst into laughter, all the more when Yuuri’s comically wide-eyes continued to search his untouched hairline.
“I took the blade out,” Victor said and held up the clippers for Yuuri to see. No blade. Victor’s hair remained intact.
Yuuri very slowly reached his hands up, running his fingers through Victor’s hair. Victor preened, just a little, leaning into Yuuri’s touch.
“You…” Yuuri started, voice soft and eyes slowly narrowing. He looked up at Victor through his lashes and Victor’s heart picked up. He knew that look, anticipation bubbling up inside him.
“You tricked me,” Yuuri whispered, leaning up and brushing his lips against Victor’s cheek. Victor’s fringe caught between them, tickling.
“Only a little,” Victor replied, waiting for Yuuri to kiss him properly.
Yuuri pulled back, looked at Victor’s mouth with dark eyes, and his grip tightened in his Victor’s hair. Then, Yuuri tugged. Harder than usual. Victor’s head tilted back, Yuuri’s lips just hovering.
“Coward,” Yuuri said, before releasing Victor entirely and walked out of the bathroom, hips swaying as he did so.
“Yuuri— wait, what?” Victor stammered, abandoned in the bathroom. Quickly turning off the clippers, he bounced after Yuuri and back down the hall towards the living area. Yuuri was in the kitchen, making tea with the coolest expression Victor had ever seen on him.
“And I thought you loved me,” Yuuri sighed heavily, in a manner most unlike him. “Should’ve known Victor Nikiforov would’ve loved his hair more than his dime a dozen fiancé.”
“Yuuri!” Victor whined, walking straight through the kitchen to wrap his arms around Yuuri’s waist, resting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Don’t be like that, it was a joke!”
“Hmm,” Yuuri hummed, ignoring Victor. Victor tightened his grip, kissing Yuuri’s neck.
“Yuuri!” The whimper sounded excessive even to Victor’s own ears, but he could not bring himself to care.
Then Yuuri started to shake in Victor’s arms. Panic flashes through Victor at the thought that Yuuri might be crying. He twisted so he could cup Yuuri’s face in his hands and rain down apologies, and then realized that Yuuri was laughing.
“…You’re teasing me.”
“Only a little,” Yuuri imitated, relishing Victor’s broken expression before leaning back, turning a bit to kiss at Victor’s cheek. “You teased me first.”
“Does this mean you believe me?” Victor asked, more than relieved. The joke had been a little cruel. But that expression on Yuuri’s face had been so worth it.
“Technically you still haven’t proven anything,” Yuuri reminded him, even as he touched another kiss to Victor’s cheek.
A hum came from Victor and he tapped at his lips with a finger in consideration. “I’ve got some baby pictures,” he offered and even in their current position of back to chest, he could see the glint in Yuuri’s eyes. The one he’s dubbed Yuuri’s fanboy sparkle.
He was proven to be right when Yuuri’s voice trembled a bit at the start of his response. “O-oh? Well, if they’re not in black and white.”
“Keep talking and I won’t show you all of them,” Victor responded, kissing Yuuri’s hair before bouncing off to find an old photo album probably crammed somewhere dusty.
“All the more proof that you really don’t love me.”
Can we talk about how this is the second time Bellamy has quietly pleaded with Clarke to come inside?
With that epic Graveltone™ which Bob
uses when Bellamy is trying to dissuade Clarke from doing something
self-destructive and sacrificial (see also: “you’re out of your mind if you
think I’m letting you do this alone”)?
Only this time, the gate they’re standing at is metaphorical
and in the future – a gate that neither of them want to be standing at.
But this time, he isn’t
taking no for an answer. This time Bellamy Blake is not letting her walk away
into nothingness. Last time he thought it was what she needed, now he knows it’s
not. This time, he has faced the fact that he needs her and he cannot come to
terms with his own name on that list unless hers is right beside it. What’s more – and this is the clincher – he’s
got an honest to god reason to fight for his own survival because now he’s
convinced that Clarke believes in him and maybe, just maybe, that means he can
look himself in the mirror again.
And you know what else? This time she doesn’t fight him. She knows, now, that she doesn’t have to bear any of this alone. And what is more, when he writes her name down, he’s letting
her know that she, Clarke Griffin, deserves to be on the list. Not just for him
(and yes for him because that is also what he’s finally telling her) but for
everyone, all the people she couldn’t bear to face when she walked away last
time. Because even though she thought she could leave because they had you, ultimately that wasn’t enough. Not for
Bellamy. Not for her people. She matters to everyone and she only believes
it because Bellamy believes it and finally, finally she’s allowing her faith in
his judgement to override all her self-doubt.
Bellamy and Clarke’s belief in each other is life-affirming,
folks. They finally understand what they
mean to each other and that’s what validation looks like.
❝ Maybe I’m just selfish…But I can’t help it !! Look me in the eyes and say you never felt it !! ❞ His finger was pressed against the other’s chest, tears streaming down his face as the index finger jabbed the other. He felt as if his heart was shattering, and he couldn’t help but blame himself for everything happening at that moment.