Chapter Text
Static electricity along the line. Goosebumps along the spine. A tingling that seems to follow each line Yuuri’s ever drawn.
Viktor looks down at his forearms, both adorned with flowers and waves, notes and patterns. They’re all so delicate, precise, pretty, it’s not even funny. That is something Viktor once whined about Yuuri, how pretty he is. Now he’s got some of Yuuri directly on his skin. For everyone to see, or for Viktor to keep to himself under his sleeves when he feels more protective of what they have.
And what they have. What Viktor has. Yuuri brought living back into his life. He is not a dancing machine anymore. He’s got a work schedule, and a work-life balance, and he even discovered he has hobbies! He likes to party, and he actually likes running, and days off. What a surprise it was to him, to learn to be a human being.
On the other side of the backstage door, someone screams and the rest of the audience follows. Jitters erupts on Viktor’s inked skin.
“Can you believe last time we were in this position, you didn’t let me in?”
“Can you believe the last time I was in this position, you refused me a selfie?” Yuuri answers, cheeky tongue poking out.
“What?”
“What?!”
Both Yuuri and Viktor whip around in one mirrored motion, staring at each others like deer in headlights. That’s usually a look Yuuri saves for coming up on stage at the beginning of his shows. Now he’s missing his winged eyeliner that Phichit just got there to do. Against’s bassist looks between Viktor and Yuuri, a very controlled expression schooled on his features. He sighs.
“How the hell did you get through a Wired autocomplete interview without ever getting your story straight?”
It’s a feat that Viktor doesn’t react to the straight allegation, with how shocked he is. In the concert hall, the audience gets more vocal by the minute. They can also, somehow, feel the atmosphere backstage getting quieter.
Viktor’s never been known for his patience. He’s almost sure he’s never been patient once in his whole life. It takes everything he’s got not to chew Phichit’s head off.
“Phichit. Explain.”
If Chris were here, he’d swat Viktor’s arm, tell him to chill and leave them be. But as it happens, Chris has been a fan of Against since way before Viktor knew, and he’s never one to miss a good party – he’s already in the pit. He and Phichit are also the ones who put the pieces together when they tried to set Yuuri and Viktor up. (They consider it a huge show of character that they succeeded.) They thought, though, that Viktor and Yuuri knew. They shouldn’t have given that much credit to those two idiots in love.
“Haven’t you been talking during the last four years? Or have you just exchanged longing glances and saliva?”
Of course, Yuuri blushes. He’s also the first to regain his footing. “We’ve been almost long distance! We’ve been managing our carreers, growing the tattoo parlour, and with Viktor’s debut in New York, there hasn’t been time…”
“And Against is huge now!” Viktor adds. “It’s not our fault we…”
“It’s certainly Yuuri’s fault he’s never mentionned you attended the same school,” Phichit cuts in. “Though I know why you didn’t. And I know it’s dumb you were afraid to tell him.”
“What? But I thought it was Minako…”
In the silence stretching between them, they can hear the audience getting rowdier. It doesn’t get as far as their ears. Phichit is calculating, looking at them.
“I’m gonna leave you be for a while. I’ll deal with the crowd. You come find me in ten Yuuri, right? You know we can cancel if you need to.”
Yuuri would argue, but Phichit is already out the door. With him, it’s like a cold wind going on his sweaty skin, adorned with nothing but fears and anxieties. In front of him, the confused face of precious Viktor, who the years and more greedy fans have proven that he can trust.
Still.
“I…”
Viktor takes a big inhale. “Is there a… bad? … reason, you never told me?” He takes careful steps towards Yuuri. “Is this an anxiety thing?”
Yuuri purely and simply breaks down at that. He’s but a sobbing mess in a grimy make up room, a yoga mat forgotten on the floor, a crowd he can’t hear chanting his name. He heaves, even. “It’s… It’s not! I was just…” But that’s about what he can say with the body he’s got. The words get stuck in his too tight throat, the letters he could write with his fingertips get smudged on his palms, the music he composes with becomes gritty white noise in his ears.
“I am not mad at you, solnyshko. What does it matter? I get it. You were scared, and hurt, and then scared again. It’s okay. Sssshhh, it’s okay. And I wouldn’t change a thing. You know how I was when we met, Chris told you, right? I was nothing, and sometimes I was an ass.”
Viktor keeps on soothing him; he’s got years behind him of soothing Yuuri. He knows the gestures, he knows the sounds. He lets Yuuri slowly, very slowly relax, all the while keeping an eye on the clock on the wall, ticking away. Viktor folds his own lack of understanding for later, somewhere between his ribs, where Yuuri can reach. There’s something warm about all these pieces of Ace and Yuuri settling yet again together in his mind. The shy and sweet and confident and dancing angel, and his smirks and his footwork and his tattoos; all this time, walking the same path.
“I’m sorry I probably made you feel like you didn’t matter. But you’ve got to know, now, right?” He tries his luck, and lifts Yuuri’s face toward his own, so he can see his big, Ghibli tears clouding his eyes. “You know I wish I could move like you? Dance like you? I’m the big name dancer, but you’re so much better than me.”
Yuuri wipes his face, a small smile coming around.
“You don’t know shit about talent, Nikiforov, or you would know you’ve got more than me.”
“Tell that to the screaming crowd, you hear them? I’ve got noone screaming like that at my shows. Oh, you smudged your eyeliner,” Viktor cuts in, knowing to well that he can get Yuuri to his show in no time now. “Good, it looks very grunge.” With a kiss on the tip of Yuuri’s nose, he gets them both up from the couch they had collapsed on.
“It all makes sense, now, how you were always so good on stage! Now go, lyubimaya. I’ve got you now, I’m not going anywhere. Not on my own anyway!”
Once Yuuri gives the go to their sound engineer and Phichit has engulfed him in a thight and short hug, the lights drop on stage, and so do the voices of the crowd. He’s left his eyeliner smudged. It is a good look.
Shoulders back, muscles loose, Ace gets on the stage.
“Hello everyone, sorry we had you waiting, we had a slight adjustment to make. Tonight, we have a special guest with us.” Phichit dons his bass and gives him a cheeky smile. “Someone who’s inspired me this whole time, and who also happens to be a much better dancer than I am. Please give him a warm welcome!”
It’s a new number. Viktor takes to the stage, gives their dancers the opening pose.