Ship/Character: Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice Major Tags: None Other Tags: Alcohol Use, Unrequited Relationships, Champagne, Angst, Parties, Old Sport, Great Gatsby AU, 1920s AU, Non-homophobic historical Word Count: 966 Remix Permission: Yes
Alcohol use is social, no drunkenness. See if you can spot the F. Scott Fitzgerald/Gatsby references!
***
“He ought to be here by now,” Chris says, half-full champagne flute perched between his fingers. “If he’s really coming.” It’s dark now, and the party, lit by hundreds of electric lanterns, has swelled and spilled like champagne from the foyer into the gardens below. The throngs of silk, each more beautiful and faceless than the next, flit between tables like butterflies.
“He’ll be here,” Victor scans his blue gardens below for a familiar face. They’re on the landing partway up the stairs, redone only last year with porcelain tiles imported from Italy. The tiles are patterned blue and white, and he knows Yuuri will love them if – when – he appears.
“Look, Victor – old sport,” Chris sighs. “This is, what, your fourth party –”
“Fifth.”
“Okay, fifth. Fifth party, fifth time hoping that this boy will just…appear? Then what happens?”
Victor pointedly avoids Chris’s gaze, instead scanning the guests and taking measured sips of champagne. And then, in the corner of his vision, laughing with another party guest… Before he really registers what happens, the flute slips out of his fingers and shatters on the floor in a mess of shards that glitter like the first ice of winter.
It’s him. At the bottom of the steps, in the yellow ochre glow from a lantern, Yuuri in a deep blue suit – blue like his silk shirts upstairs, Victor thinks. The shirts – he should show Yuuri, how pleased he would be!
Next to him, Chris is saying something, turning to someone in a black suit, a server, a guest, someone to clean the shattered champagne flute from the tiled floor. But Yuuri is so close he could touch, and before he can realize what’s happening, Yuuri is standing on the step below him, looking up at him through dark lashes and everything feels right.
“I’d hoped – ” Victor begins.
“It’s lovely to see you,” Yuuri smiles, and his heart pitches at the softness of his syllables.
“We have so much – so much to talk about,” he breathes. “The gates, did you see the gates when you arrived? They’re direct imitations of the Hotel de Ville in Normandy. We talked of France so often, I – I always thought of you.”
Yuuri smiles. “This was always your dream, wasn’t it? I’m glad you’ve got everything now.”
“So much has happened. I want to tell you all of it,” Victor says. “We should – by the champagne. No, I know, the gazebo.”
He motions for Yuuri to follow him, glancing around before taking him through a side door and around the outside of the gardens, where the gazebo, whitewashed again just last week, sits in front of the dock. The city lights across the bay sparkle and everything is silent, save for the quiet rush of water lapping against the shore in front of them. The green electric light fixed to the end of the dock across the bay shines steadily. Yuuri tears his gaze away from the water and steps into the gazebo.
In an instance, it’s almost as if the five years have shrunk to a single moment, as if nothing has changed. In the dim light, in the near-fairy-tale of the gazebo, Yuuri looks the same as he did that last night before Victor had to leave, and if he ignores everything but Yuuri, he can pretend that he’s the same too. Space and time are supple in Yuuri’s hands and as Yuuri leans on the railing, Victor wonders how he seems to hold the universe together.
“You left,” Yuuri whispers suddenly, breaking the fantasy. Victor hates it, how his heart drops at the smallness of Yuuri’s voice. “You left without saying goodbye.”
“Yuuri, I – ”
“All those years ago,” he says. “I’d dared to hope that someday – ”
“I wanted to come back,” Victor says. “I just, the war and we lost touch – ”
“Nobody can wait forever,” Yuuri replies.
“I’ll stay this time,” Victor says. “So much has changed in five years. I want so much to show you. Have you seen the grounds? No matter, I’ll show you the whole of them. And beautiful shirts, cotton from India and silk from China – they’re so soft that you’d cry.” Yuuri doesn’t respond, simply looks out beyond Victor’s dock. They stand in silence, watching light ripple across the lake.
Finally, Yuuri pulls back a little, grasps the rail behind him carelessly, and looks over at him. “Victor.”
“We could try again, couldn’t we?” Victor says. “It’s not too – ”
“Victor, I’m married.”
“You’re – ”
“He’s a very nice man, well-off,” Yuuri says. “We’re quite comfortable, and he has a beautiful house in East Egg. I came as a friend, but I see now that I perhaps I shouldn’t have. The past should remain.” He straightens and smiles, watery, or maybe it’s the green-lit water across the bay reflected in his eyes. “We were good, though, weren’t we? At least then,” Yuuri smiles and steps back. Behind him, in the gardens, there’s a great swell of noise as the jazz band begins and the guests flock to the dance floor. “And you’ve done well, I’m glad to see. You don’t really need me. The glittering parties, all of new society at your doorstep – you must be pleased.”
“Pleased,” Victor repeats, though his voice sounds oddly hollow. It echoes in his ears before he realizes that Yuuri’s pulled away from the railing and back toward the party. “Please,” he whispers, “you could stay.”
“It’s been five years, Victor,” Yuuri says. He steps out of the gazebo with one more look at Victor, like he’s drinking him in, and the green light across the bay flickers. “It’s time.”
In the blue gardens, the guests come and go, and the champagne flows like stars, and Yuuri Katsuki slips back into the crowd.
FILL: Team Victuuri, G
Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: Alcohol Use, Unrequited Relationships, Champagne, Angst, Parties, Old Sport, Great Gatsby AU, 1920s AU, Non-homophobic historical
Word Count: 966
Remix Permission: Yes
Alcohol use is social, no drunkenness. See if you can spot the F. Scott Fitzgerald/Gatsby references!
***
“He ought to be here by now,” Chris says, half-full champagne flute perched between his fingers. “If he’s really coming.” It’s dark now, and the party, lit by hundreds of electric lanterns, has swelled and spilled like champagne from the foyer into the gardens below. The throngs of silk, each more beautiful and faceless than the next, flit between tables like butterflies.
“He’ll be here,” Victor scans his blue gardens below for a familiar face. They’re on the landing partway up the stairs, redone only last year with porcelain tiles imported from Italy. The tiles are patterned blue and white, and he knows Yuuri will love them if – when – he appears.
“Look, Victor – old sport,” Chris sighs. “This is, what, your fourth party –”
“Fifth.”
“Okay, fifth. Fifth party, fifth time hoping that this boy will just…appear? Then what happens?”
Victor pointedly avoids Chris’s gaze, instead scanning the guests and taking measured sips of champagne. And then, in the corner of his vision, laughing with another party guest… Before he really registers what happens, the flute slips out of his fingers and shatters on the floor in a mess of shards that glitter like the first ice of winter.
It’s him. At the bottom of the steps, in the yellow ochre glow from a lantern, Yuuri in a deep blue suit – blue like his silk shirts upstairs, Victor thinks. The shirts – he should show Yuuri, how pleased he would be!
Next to him, Chris is saying something, turning to someone in a black suit, a server, a guest, someone to clean the shattered champagne flute from the tiled floor. But Yuuri is so close he could touch, and before he can realize what’s happening, Yuuri is standing on the step below him, looking up at him through dark lashes and everything feels right.
“I’d hoped – ” Victor begins.
“It’s lovely to see you,” Yuuri smiles, and his heart pitches at the softness of his syllables.
“We have so much – so much to talk about,” he breathes. “The gates, did you see the gates when you arrived? They’re direct imitations of the Hotel de Ville in Normandy. We talked of France so often, I – I always thought of you.”
Yuuri smiles. “This was always your dream, wasn’t it? I’m glad you’ve got everything now.”
“So much has happened. I want to tell you all of it,” Victor says. “We should – by the champagne. No, I know, the gazebo.”
He motions for Yuuri to follow him, glancing around before taking him through a side door and around the outside of the gardens, where the gazebo, whitewashed again just last week, sits in front of the dock. The city lights across the bay sparkle and everything is silent, save for the quiet rush of water lapping against the shore in front of them. The green electric light fixed to the end of the dock across the bay shines steadily. Yuuri tears his gaze away from the water and steps into the gazebo.
In an instance, it’s almost as if the five years have shrunk to a single moment, as if nothing has changed. In the dim light, in the near-fairy-tale of the gazebo, Yuuri looks the same as he did that last night before Victor had to leave, and if he ignores everything but Yuuri, he can pretend that he’s the same too. Space and time are supple in Yuuri’s hands and as Yuuri leans on the railing, Victor wonders how he seems to hold the universe together.
“You left,” Yuuri whispers suddenly, breaking the fantasy. Victor hates it, how his heart drops at the smallness of Yuuri’s voice. “You left without saying goodbye.”
“Yuuri, I – ”
“All those years ago,” he says. “I’d dared to hope that someday – ”
“I wanted to come back,” Victor says. “I just, the war and we lost touch – ”
“Nobody can wait forever,” Yuuri replies.
“I’ll stay this time,” Victor says. “So much has changed in five years. I want so much to show you. Have you seen the grounds? No matter, I’ll show you the whole of them. And beautiful shirts, cotton from India and silk from China – they’re so soft that you’d cry.” Yuuri doesn’t respond, simply looks out beyond Victor’s dock. They stand in silence, watching light ripple across the lake.
Finally, Yuuri pulls back a little, grasps the rail behind him carelessly, and looks over at him. “Victor.”
“We could try again, couldn’t we?” Victor says. “It’s not too – ”
“Victor, I’m married.”
“You’re – ”
“He’s a very nice man, well-off,” Yuuri says. “We’re quite comfortable, and he has a beautiful house in East Egg. I came as a friend, but I see now that I perhaps I shouldn’t have. The past should remain.” He straightens and smiles, watery, or maybe it’s the green-lit water across the bay reflected in his eyes. “We were good, though, weren’t we? At least then,” Yuuri smiles and steps back. Behind him, in the gardens, there’s a great swell of noise as the jazz band begins and the guests flock to the dance floor. “And you’ve done well, I’m glad to see. You don’t really need me. The glittering parties, all of new society at your doorstep – you must be pleased.”
“Pleased,” Victor repeats, though his voice sounds oddly hollow. It echoes in his ears before he realizes that Yuuri’s pulled away from the railing and back toward the party. “Please,” he whispers, “you could stay.”
“It’s been five years, Victor,” Yuuri says. He steps out of the gazebo with one more look at Victor, like he’s drinking him in, and the green light across the bay flickers. “It’s time.”
In the blue gardens, the guests come and go, and the champagne flows like stars, and Yuuri Katsuki slips back into the crowd.