Chapter Text
It’s a tattoo parlor like any other on this side of the city, except way more colorful. The same frames hanging on the walls, displays of art and prices; light yellow walls and wooden floor. Some classical piece or another plays on the sound system. It smells like flowers, probably from the aromatherapy machine steaming in a corner.
Up and coming principal dancer Viktor Nikiforov walks in, and is immediately starry eyed. He might have loved the decor, but unfortunately ignores it all in favor of perhaps the cutest man he’s ever laid eyes on.
He looks like if the word soft became a person – round flushed cheeks, silky black hair, and a small, sweet smile all wrapped up in a warm cardigan. “That’s Yuuri,” Viktor’s tattoo artist introduces, when it becomes evident the needle above Viktor’s ankle is of less interest than his coworker cleaning his station over there, swaying to the music. “He’s the lead sing for Against, don’t know if you’ve heard of them?”
That afternoon, the blue rose on his leg isn’t the only thing he leaves with: he’s got a face, a name, and a browser search history to carry home. Yuuri Katsuki, stage name: Ace. Ace as in the leader of Against. There’s a t-shirt with that name somewhere in Viktor’s drawers, next to a spiked leather jacket.
“Of course he’d have a side career! I don’t think Against is big enough to pay all of their bills, what do you think? They’re big in the area, but not like, national, you know? I don’t know why I stopped listening to them in the first place, do you remember how I got you to get their first album on day one? Chris, are you even listening to me?”
“I haven’t even started listening to you. I had thirty-three missed calls on my way here, I knew it couldn’t be about your new tattoo and I also knew it had to be about a boy. But do keep going mon cœur, you make a nice ambient noise.”
They migrated from a shared dorm room at the academy to a shared flat downtown. There’s noone else Viktor would have roomed with, because there’s noone else for Viktor to even talk to. No friend, no anyone able to bear either his workload or his intense personality. Limbs splayed in every direction on the couch, mooning over a pretty face Viktor is not a common occurrence, but one Chris knows easily enough how to navigate. He’ll let it slide as usual; it’s not as if they have the time to entertain more than the thought, what with their line of work.
“Anyway, I got you a ticket. Say thanks!”
“Ticket for what,” Chris muses distractedly.
“Concert for Against, on the 24th! It’s in twenty-three days. I know you’re free.”
Chris sighs. Viktor really shouldn’t assume he’s free, because they are suppose to take it easy before their own company starts touring. He doesn’t fight, though. He loves a good night out. He keeps on with his extra stretching practice, his leg high on the bar. He also knows Viktor could use one night of fun, now that he’s not surrounded by fellow students and the illusory companionship it offers. Now it’s just them and their coach.
“Do you know,” Chris muses, “I already had tickets to see the show.”
He’s even prettier on stage. Which is a blatant lie: Yuuri had been way cuter, way prettier in his oversized jumper and skintight jeans, browsing a portfolio. Soft and at ease and with the tiniest smile to be ever smiled. Viktor has a hard time reconciling pastel jumper Yuuri with baggy trousers and washed out tshirt Ace. But there’s something about him, surrounded by stroboscopic lights emphazing his thin build, in the midst of angry amp sounds and the grit of the audience. He’s owning it, eyes lined, both hand on the mic, and screaming to his heart’s content.
(That’s no problem at all, Ace having two sides. Having two crushes on the same person is a negative level of hardship.)
With a glance, Viktor lets all his worry go away. He casts a glance at Chris, jumping to the last notes of Let me loose. Chris is having a great time, if the sweat and the glitter mixing on his skin is anything to go by.
He slides his arm around Chris’ waist as they shriek as one over the opening of Mirror Citadel starts. It’s been on every radio station this past month. It’s entrancing. All of it. The music is beating, his heart thumping, the crowd screaming. He’s dancing, and ballet is not dancing – ballet is exhaustion and control and competition and art to its strictest degree. That’s dance, and now this is dancing; and Viktor doesn’t have to think about his arches and bends. He just has to be free.
The break begins. Viktor blinks.
“Why is a metal singer throwing tours jetés?”
In between the lead guitar’s solo and the chorus, Ace dropped his water bottle and started showing his moves. Step, step– jump. Turning to Chris who can’t have heard a word he shouted, Viktor find his expression either bemused or amused. It’s not just him, then.
It’s a bastardized version, but clear as day nonetheless. The eye of the danseur knows these positions, this jump entry. Ace may have stomped with both feet onto the ground and promptly squatted to scream into his mic, but there was no mistaking this form. And there! Some incredible barrel jumps.
“We are so going to stage door!”
The rest of the concert passes in a blur; mostly because Viktor knows most of the lyrics, also because the part of his brain that’s not singing or jumping around is noticing all these slight dance moves. Not all ballet per se, but there is classic training in this posture. Yes, in this slouching, squatting, growling singer.
Nothing can be heard outside of the stage door but the murmur of the crowd and the ringing of ears. They all have the same bone-weary, endorphin-high smiles. It all explodes when the door opens, the venue security guys coming out before the members of Against. In the flurry of cries and screams, Viktor and Chris’ well oiled machine takes the reign so they don’t have to rely on talking. There’s autographs signed, selfies taken, and all of a sudden:
“Y’all should definitely join us backstage!”
They say: don’t meet your idols. It’s true for Viktor. That’s what he’s thinking when Chris goes past those freaking door, and the security guy stops Viktor with a gentle but firm hand on his chest. “Not you,” is the only thing Viktor hears before the door closes, just in time to catch Ace’s eyes. “Ace doesn’t do commemorative photos.”
(It, once, was also true for Ace. Or rather, for Yuuri Katsuki.)
(But Viktor has Chris to comfort him. “I don’t know what happened, Chris! It’s like he took a look at me and decided I was trash! He doesn’t know me! He’s judged me on, what? My looks? I have great looks. Right? Right?” Fortunately, Chris is infinitely patient. It’s a superpower of his to be able to actively listen while doing virtually anything else. But not tonight. Tonight Viktor had to wait for him at home, and Chris is engulfing him in a very flexible hug. What Viktor doesn’t know, is what Chris does.
“I’ll try to get to know more.”
“How?”
“The bassist and I exchanged IGs.”)