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It’s late in the afternoon when Viktor realises that he has yet to get in touch with Chris, like he’d planned. He still has two meetings to go, one with a very promising supplier of Italian wine and another with a manufacturer of Belgian blue cheese that he’d honestly rather just cancel. Thankfully, his visit to a local apple orchard cuts short, giving him a fifteen-minute window to make the call.
Chris answers on the first ring.
“Viktor,” he greets, his tone warm. “It’s been a while.”
“Has it?” Viktor asks, unsure. “I feel like I was just here.”
“So you’re in town?” Chris’s tone is still friendly, if a little more reserved. “For how long?”
“I leave first thing tomorrow,” Viktor says. “I don’t suppose you’re free, tonight?”
Chris hums, contemplative. Viktor waits. This is how things typically work, between them, Viktor asking and Chris taking his time, considering. And while Viktor is tactful enough not to try and make Chris decide more quickly, the fact of the matter is that Christophe Giacometti has never refused Viktor’s advances, before.
“I’m actually a little busy tonight, Viktor. I’m sorry.”
Well.
“That’s new,” Viktor can’t help but say, yet somehow it doesn’t sting quite as much as he’d thought it would. “Had a change of heart?”
Chris laughs. He still sounds relaxed, Viktor notes with interest. Still friendly. And yet…
“You’ve met someone.”
“Viktor, that’s not…” Chris pauses again. Considering, just like always. “Things are a little complicated, right now.”
“He’s cute though, right?” Viktor teases. “He’d better be gorgeous, if he’s the reason you’re standing me up, tonight.”
“Don’t do this, Viktor,” Chris begs, yet his tone is all breathless laughter. “I really am sorry. I hope you’ll be okay?”
I hope we’ll be okay, Chris doesn’t say. Viktor still hears it.
“I think so,” Viktor replies. And this time, he’s the one who’s considering. “I mean, we can still be friends. Can’t we?”
Chris let’s out a breath.
“Yes. We certainly can.”
“Then it’s settled,” Viktor decides. “Good luck, tonight. Let me know how it goes?”
“I will,” Chris promises, and then immediately continues. “Unless…”
“Unless?”
“You could come with.”
“On your date? That’s a truly terrible idea, Chris.”
“It’s not a date, not exactly.” Chris’s tone is eager. “He and his friends do this potluck thing every Thursday night. I’ve been a few times, with Phichit.”
“Phichit? That’s your boyfriend?”
“We’re technically not officially dating just yet, but yes,” Chris confirms. “It’s very casual, everyone brings something to eat and there’s usually at least one new face in the group. It wouldn’t be weird if you came along.”
“And you don’t think they’d be somewhat… Intimidated? By me?”
Chris laughs again.
“I see your confidence never fails you, Viktor.”
“Hey, I’m serious,” Viktor protests, because he actually is. “Remember how I have a primetime show where I insult professional chefs for any dish that’s mediocre or worse? Forgive me if I’m reluctant to assume that your boyfriend’s friends will be okay with me crashing their potluck dinner.”
“Not my boyfriend, remember?” Chris is quick to correct. “And I’m sure it’ll be just fine. I mean, they’ve all been cool with me joining in. It’s not a big deal.”
“I think it’s a little different, for you.”
“How insulting,” Chris says amiably. “I’ve founded no less than three award-winning restaurants and just published a bestselling cookbook. Did you get it, by the way?”
“No, not yet.”
“Viktor,” Chris says, tsking. “I’ve changed my mind. You’re not invited.”
“I’ve been meaning to order it,” Viktor claims, which is mostly true but also kind of not. “And you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t come tonight, Chris. For everyone’s sake.”
“Oh come on, Viktor, don’t be like that. I’m sure you’ll be as welcome as anyone. They’re all really nice, and so far none of them have served anything you’d deem unforgivable. I think you could give them all fairly honest compliments on their cooking. They might even be excited, to hear your opinions.”
“Maybe,” Viktor hedges, still a bit hesitant. Still considering.
“There’s actually one person in particular who’d be ecstatic, if you came.”
Viktor frowns slightly. “Not your date, I assume?”
“No, one of his friends,” Chris explains. “It’s his apartment. He happens to be a professional chef at a restaurant in town, lovely little place. I especially like how he’s able to combine different flavours.”
For some reason, Chris’s tone has turned rather sly. Almost as if he knows something Viktor doesn’t.
“He’s good?” Viktor can’t help but ask, feeling oddly as though he’s walking into an elaborate trap.
“Very. And I think he’d particularly suit your taste, all things considered.”
“Are we talking about the man, or his food?”
“Yes. Yes, we are.” Chris sounds infuriatingly smug. “So? Will you come?”
Well.
“I guess so,” Viktor decides. “It’s not like I’ve got other plans.”
“Excellent! I’ll send you the address.”
“Great, thanks.”
“And you’ll bring something to eat?”
“Right,” Viktor belatedly realizes. “It’s potluck. I don’t have access to a kitchen, and it’s potluck. This will be fun.”
“Surely the famous Viktor Nikiforov can figure out something to cook, even without pots and pans,” Chris teases. “Be there at seven, sharp. And wear something nice.”
***
Yuuri surveys the various bowls and plates lined up before him, his expression one of deep concentration. There’s a pot of some kind of spicy chicken that Phichit made, and a plastic container with honey-glazed broccolini from JJ. Yuri has brought his signature plate of pirozhki, this time filled with bacon and mushrooms. On a more surprising note, Yuri has brought a friend tonight, and although Yuuri can’t quite recall the man’s name he is positively delighted with the large bowl of black bean salsa that came with him. It should go well together with Phichit’s chicken, as well as with JJ’s odd but surprisingly tasteful broccolini. Now, if only there was something to really complete the dish… A sauce, maybe?
“Here’s one more,” Yuuko says, stepping into the kitchen with yet another bowl in her hands. “Tzatziki. Chris just came.”
“That’s nice,” Yuuri says, immediately scooping himself a spoonful of tzatziki. “Do you know if he and Phichit are officially dating, yet?”
Yuuko shrugs. “I think so? Although I suppose Phichit hasn’t actually said.”
“Okay, this is seriously great tzatziki.” Yuuri immediately decides that he can taste more than just the one spoon. His kitchen, his rules. “How about we serve only this for dinner?”
“Phichit will be sad if you disqualify his chicken,” Yuuko points out, arming herself with a spoon of her own. “And I’ll be sad if I don’t get to see what you’ll make out of all this. It’s a nice turn out, this week.”
“I guess.” Yuuri dips the other end of his spoon into the chicken, tasting the sauce. “I really do like this chicken.”
“Oh my God, Yuuri, the tzatziki!”
Yuuri smiles.
“I know. You can really tell that it’s made by a top chef.”
“Definitely. Think it’s too much if we ask for the recipe…?”
“I don’t know. How about we just ask Chris for private cooking lessons in his award-winning restaurant?”
“No, that’s definitely too much,” Yuuko says, giggling. “But anything in between should be fair game, eh?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Why aren’t you guys cooking yet?”
Yuuko and Yuuri look up to see Yuri entering the kitchen – for some reason he’s carrying yet another bowl. He dumps it unceremoniously on the very edge of the counter, because at this point that’s the only place where it actually fits.
“Salad,” Yuri declares. “But not just any salad.”
Yuuri looks from the salad, to the chicken, to the broccolini and the bean salsa and finally back towards the heavenly tzatziki. Then he snaps his fingers, delighted.
“That’s it!”
“Hey, Yuuri,” Yuri says, something particular in his tone. “Ask me what’s so special about this salad.”
“In a minute,” Yuuri says, distracted. “Yuuko?”
“Yes, chef?” Yuuko is grinning excitedly. “What’ll it be?”
“We’ll make the chicken our main,” Yuuri starts, gesturing towards it. “Served with the broccolini, the salsa, tzatziki and salad. It all works. We’ll keep it simple, tonight.”
“Sure,” Yuuko agrees, because she knows he’s right. “So that’s it?”
“Not quite – I was thinking we could do with some fresh tortillas? That way, everything together becomes a spicy chicken taco.”
“Okay, I love the sound of that. Let’s do it.”
“What about the pirozhki?” Yuri interjects sharply.
“The pirozhki is perfect on it’s own,” Yuuri tells him, knowing that the compliment won’t be lost on Yuri. “We’ll make that our starter. And I guess I should whip up something for dessert.”
“Chocolate,” Yuri says, immediately. “Something with chocolate.”
Yuuri smiles.
“We’ll see.”
“Um,” Yuuko says. “Yuuri? This salad. It’s…”
Yuuri follows her gaze, taking a moment to actually look at the contents of the salad. It’s… Well.
It’s a lot.
Although there’s a fair amount of lettuce in the bowl, that doesn’t make up more than maybe a third of the salad. In addition there’s tomatoes, and cucumber, but also small pieces of what looks like apples, and strawberries, and… Is that mango? Tentatively, Yuuri picks up a fork, piercing a piece and bringing it to his lips, to taste.
It is mango.
“Those are pomegranate seeds,” Yuuko points out, peering further down into the bowl. “And that’s… I don’t even know what that fruit is called.”
“Durian,” Yuuri supplies. “It’s finely cut pieces of durian. I’ve had it once, it’s nice.”
“Of course you have,” Yuuko says, smiling a little. “Well. I guess this will still work pretty well with the chicken? A bit of sweet to Phichit’s spicy.”
“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees, his eyes still fixed on the salad. “Should taste good.”
He turns the bowl around, looking at the salad from a different angle. Not that it makes much of a difference, but it’s still… There’s something about this salad, Yuuri thinks, something peculiar or perhaps even familiar? Which is a ridiculous thought. The specific combination of fruits and vegetables in the bowl is both complicated and completely unheard of. It simply can’t be something he’s ever eaten before.
Still…
“Who brought this?” Yuuri asks, turning towards Yuri again. “Someone new?”
Yuri nods. And for some reason, he’s grinning.
“Yeah. A friend of Chris.”
Yuuri stares at him, trying to decipher the smugness in his tone. A friend of Chris. Which could mean…
“Someone else in the restaurant business?” he guesses, yet he sounds about as doubtful as he feels. “You sure about that?”
“You don’t think so?” Yuri says, his grin widening. “Why?”
“Well, it’s…” Yuuri looks back down at the salad. “I mean, I don’t think it’s bad, necessarily. It’s just… Unexpected? I would have been very surprised, if I was served this at an actual restaurant.”
Suddenly, there’s a voice coming from behind Yuuri.
A familiar voice.
“I suppose that means I have to put it on the menu.”
To his credit, Yuuri doesn’t scream. He doesn’t even yelp. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath, before slowly turning around.
Viktor Nikiforov is in his kitchen.
“You,” Yuuri says, helplessly. “You.”
Viktor brings a finger to his lips, his eyes fixed on Yuuri. He looks curious, more than anything else, and if Yuuri’s mind was spinning a little bit less he might be trying to figure out why that is. Yet as it is, Yuuri’s thoughts are a complete mess. He barely remembers to breathe.
Viktor Nikiforov is in his kitchen.
“I think what Yuuri means to say is, ‘hello’,” Yuri supplies from behind him, and Yuuri can practically hear him roll his eyes. “Any day, now.”
“That would be nice,” Viktor says, calmly, and Yuuri isn’t sure if he’s sad or relieved that Viktor shifts his attention towards Yuri for a moment. “I’m sorry to intrude, like this. Chris was kind enough to invite me along.”
“Oh, we don’t mind,” Yuuko quickly reassures him, her tone actually quite genuine. “Everyone’s always bringing someone new over for potluck, that’s what makes it fun. Isn’t it, Yuuri?”
Yuuri manages a nod. He feels a bit less dizzy than before, and that’s good, but also kind of bad. Because now he’s actually managing coherent thoughts, which means that he’s able to realize that his behaviour for the past minute has been… Well. Interesting?
“I didn’t mean to insult your salad,” Yuuri says, quickly. “I wasn’t… It doesn’t look bad.”
That makes Viktor smile.
“But it surprised you,” he says, brightly. “To me, that’s the highest form of compliment.”
I know, Yuuri doesn’t say.
“Well.” Yuuko clears her throat. “We should probably get started on those tortillas? And the dessert.”
“Oh, don’t let me get in your way,” Viktor says graciously. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Okay.” Yuuko smiles at him again. “I guess we’ll see you at dinner?”
“Yes,” Viktor says, his eyes meeting Yuuko’s briefly before finding their way back towards Yuuri again. “You certainly will.”
Viktor sees himself out, quietly shutting the door to the kitchen.
Yuuri slowly sinks to the floor.
“Yuuri!” Yuuko’s hand is on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “Deep breaths, okay?”
Yes, Yuuri thinks. That’s it. Maybe breathing will fix everything.
He breathes in, once, then out. Repeats. Repeats again. It doesn’t help. Yuuri is still lying in a pile on his kitchen floor, his mind consumed by one thought, and one thought only.
“I just met Viktor Nikiforov, and the only thing I managed to tell him was that no restaurant would ever serve his ridiculous salad. I didn’t even…” Yuuri takes another, deep breath. He shudders on the exhale. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“No, Yuuri, you didn’t…” Yuuko pauses, apparently struggling to find the right words. “That’s not exactly what you said.”
“No, but it’s clearly what he meant,” Yuri cuts in.
“Well, maybe Viktor didn’t realize that’s what you meant?” Yuuko tries. “I thought he sounded kind of pleased about… Well. About you. I think?”
“Maybe Nikiforov’s a complete weirdo,” Yuri mutters.
“Not helping, Yuri.”
“No, it’s okay.” Yuuri slowly makes himself sit up, pulling his knees towards his chest. “I don’t want to pretend that this was anything that… That it wasn’t.”
“Oh, Yuuri.” Yuuko’s tone is quiet. “I know meeting Viktor wasn’t everything you’ve dreamed, but…”
“You guys do realize Viktor’s still here, right?” Yuri points out briskly. “You know, for dinner. Which we’ve still got to serve. Preferably before tomorrow.”
“Still not helping, Yuri!”
“I’m just saying,” Yuri huffs. “The dessert isn’t going to make itself.”
Yuuri abruptly turns to stare at Yuri.
“Dessert,” he repeats, revelation in his tone. “Dessert. Yes.”
“Oh, fuck,” Yuri says, an unusual edge in his voice that isn’t entirely unlike concern. “I think we broke Yuuri.”
“No, I’m fine.” Yuuri reaches up to adjust his glasses. “I’m great. And I’m going to make dessert.”
“You sure?” Yuuko wonders tentatively. “We can deal with everything, if you’re not feeling up to it. I’m sure no one would mind a repeat of Yuri’s ‘Death by Chocolate’.”
“Also known as ‘The Best Cake Ever Made’.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Yuuri is actually getting to his feet, now. “I’m good at dessert. Really good. And Viktor will eat it. Viktor.”
Slowly, a smile spreads across Yuuko’s lips.
“That’s the Yuuri I know! Okay, let’s get to it.”
Yuuri nods. And then he turns resolutely towards Yuri.
“Passionfruit,” he says.
Immediately, Yuri scowls.
“Not chocolate?”
“Not this time,” Yuuri says. “I really need it, and we don’t have it. Yuri, please.”
“What, you expect me to go shopping for you?” Yuri rolls his eyes. “You do realize I brought someone to potluck, today? And the one time I do, you ask me to abandon him alone with fucking JJ and run to the store just because you’ve decided to bake some over-complicated monstrosity of a dessert to seduce your favourite TV star?”
“You’ve already left him out there more than fifteen minutes,” Yuuko mutters.
Yuri pointedly ignores her.
“What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll bake,” Yuuri says, immediately. It’s his strongest weapon. “Chocolate gateau. Not today, but… Soon. Whenever you want.”
“Hm,” Yuri says. “With raspberry sauce?”
“Yes. Or whatever you’d like.”
“Can you teach me to make it?”
Yuuri blinks.
“Sure. Of course. If that’s what you want?”
Yuri nods.
“Can we add pistachios? They’re Beka’s favourite.”
Realization suddenly dawns on Yuuri. He makes a great effort not to smile.
Yuuko makes no such effort.
“That’s so sweet!”
“Shut up,” Yuri mutters.
He’s blushing.
(It is sweet.)
“I’m going now,” Yuri announces, already hurrying towards the door. “Passionfruit, right? Anything else?”
“No,” Yuuri says, quickly adding, “But I’ll need at least seven.”
“I’ll get you ten!” Yuri calls over his shoulder.
The door falls shut behind him. For a moment, Yuuri allows himself to smile.
Then he turns resolutely towards the pantry.
***
Once dinner is actually served, it doesn’t take Viktor long to conclude that Chris had been absolutely right – all of Phichit’s friends cook perfectly enjoyable food. If any of these dishes had been entries on Viktor’s cooking show he would have passed them with very decent marks. Viktor doesn’t actually say as much, though, because that sounds like such a line, the kind of thing he tells everyone. Instead, Viktor makes an effort to point out what it is he likes, about each dish. He compliments the delicious seasoning of the chicken, and the nice combination of flavours in the pirozhki, and the perfect, soft texture of the tortillas.
His strategy works – everyone seems pleased to hear what Viktor thinks of their food. And after he’s made his opinions clear, the conversation starts to flow a bit easier around the table. Which is, well. Viktor can’t say that he is surprised. Because even though no one has mentioned Viktor’s profession, he’s fairly certain they all know he’s that guy who’s made a habit of insulting chefs on television. And he wouldn’t blame anyone for considering the possibility that Viktor would take one bite of their food, and then proceed to mercilessly list all of it’s flaws.
Chris had also been right about something else – Viktor isn’t the only new face around the table, tonight. Apparently, the reserved but polite man named Otabek, who sits next to the scowling-and-blonde other-Yuri (really, another Yuri? What are the odds?), also hasn’t been to potluck before. The others take turns asking Otabek questions for a while, curious about his job as a professional DJ. However, that abruptly comes to an end when Yuri aggressively changes the topic to music and bands in general.
Viktor silently notes that Otabek looks relieved at the change in conversation.
(He also notes that Otabek and Yuri are holding hands under the table, which is unexpected, but somehow not entirely illogical.)
Yuuri sits directly across the table from Viktor.
He hasn’t contributed a single word to the conversation, so far. Instead he’s kept his head down, eating quickly. Viktor doesn’t think to consider why that might be until a ringing sound is heard from the kitchen.
Yuuri immediately gets up.
“Dessert,” he mumbles, addressing his feet. “Be right back.”
‘Right back’ turns out to be a good twenty minutes later. By that time, Viktor has glanced curiously towards the kitchen door on multiple occasions. Because apparently, Yuuko had been in charge of making tortillas and everything else was brought by one of the other guests, but the dessert seems to be all Yuuri.
Viktor can’t wait.
There’s something about Yuuri Katsuki that has really caught Viktor’s attention. He’s attractive, for one, with soft black hair and the most breathtaking eyes. Also – perhaps more importantly – it’s obvious that he really loves cooking. Viktor had been very curious when he’d snuck into the kitchen earlier to get a glimpse of the man Chris had told him about, the one with a special talent for combining flavours. And even though he had only watched Yuuri briefly before making his presence known, Viktor’s become extremely intrigued. Yuuri had seemed not only knowledgeable about different ingredients and styles of cooking, but also very proficient in creating a well-balanced dish from a limited selection of elements. It almost reminds Viktor of the food he and Chris used to cook for themselves back in culinary school, when they’d wanted to practice as many techniques as possible despite their severely limited grocery budget. Needless to say, their dishes always had at least one unexpected ingredient.
Viktor can’t recall the last time that he cooked a proper meal without a fully stocked pantry at his disposal. And surprisingly, when he thinks back on those times, he finds that it’s something he misses. Not the part where he couldn’t buy anything he wanted at the supermarket, perhaps, but rather the creativity that was born from their lack of resources.
When Yuuri finally comes back out of the kitchen, he has a bit of flour smeared on his cheek. It’s adorable.
“All done?” Yuuko asks him.
“Almost.” Yuuri’s tone is quiet. “It’s got to cool off a bit, before I add the meringue.”
Yuuko nods. “Need any help?”
“No, it’s okay.”
“What are you making for us tonight, Yuuri?” Phichit asks eagerly. “Something special?”
“No,” Yuuri says hastily. “Just a pie. It’ll be done, soon.”
Phichit looks a bit like he wants to ask something else, but for some reason he doesn’t. He does, however, glance briefly towards Viktor, and when he looks back towards Yuuri he’s grinning. Yuuri’s cheeks turn faintly pink, yet much like before he carefully avoids making eye contact with anyone.
Viktor spends the next ten minutes trying to think of a way to actually strike up a conversation with Yuuri. It’s difficult, because he’s beginning to understand that Yuuri must be quite shy. Viktor doesn’t want to overwhelm him, if he can avoid it, but he really does want to talk to him. Yet in the end, Viktor’s strategizing is futile – Yuuri ends up retreating back to the kitchen before Viktor has figured out what to say.
It’s another ten minutes before Yuuri emerges again. This time, however, he doesn’t come empty handed.
The conversation dies down as Yuuri carefully places a pie form in the middle of the table. It’s large and covered with a perfectly even layer of what must be Italian meringue. The pie crust is visible around the edges and Viktor can tell from just a glance that it’s been perfectly baked, but other than that the contents of the pie remain unknown.
“My my, Yuuri,” JJ, the Canadian, exclaims. “This looks like something I might whip up myself – very ambitious, I must say.”
“Ah, not really.” Yuuri attempts to shrug. “It’s just a pie.”
“You’ve used the torch on the meringue,” Yuri says, and for some reason his tone is accusing. “You literally cooked this using fire, yet you didn’t do that out here where we could see? Are you stupid?”
“I just…” Yuuri clears his throat. His cheeks are more than a little bit pink, now. “I’m really not trying to show off, or anything.”
“Sure you’re not,” Phichit says, grinning.
“Well, I think we should dig in,” Yuuko says brightly. “We’ll need plates, of course, and perhaps coffee… Yuri, can you help?”
Yuri frowns, grumbling something that sounds a whole lot like why is it always me. Yet he also gets up to follow Yuuko into the kitchen without further complaint.
Soon, everyone has been served a slice of pie. Viktor carefully manoeuvres a piece of it onto his spoon, making sure it contains both crust, and filling, and meringue. He pauses briefly just to admire the perfectly smooth texture of the filling, before tasting it.
“Oh my God,” Chris exclaims next to him. “Yuuri, this is fantastic.”
There’s a murmur of agreement around the table.
“I’d kill to be able to make crusts like this,” Yuuko sighs. “Yours are always perfect. I don’t know how you do it, Yuuri.”
Yuuri smiles weakly.
“Lots of butter, I guess?”
“You’ll have to show me properly, sometime.”
There’s a lull in the conversation after that, because apparently everyone are too busy devouring the pie to comment on it any further. Viktor, who has only just swallowed his first mouthful and then spent a second or thirty just staring at his plate, slowly looks up to face Yuuri.
“The filling,” he says, eagerly. “I expected a lemon curd, but this is actually passionfruit.”
“Yes,” Yuuri says, timidly. “It is.”
For the first time since their brief interaction in the kitchen, Yuuri is looking directly at Viktor.
Viktor offers him a wide smile.
“It’s delightful,” he declares, because it is. “It’s got just the right amount of acidity to match the sweetness of the meringue, and it’s incredibly flavourful. This combination is absolutely perfect.”
Yuuri ducks his head, carefully setting his own plate back down on the table. And for the first time that night, his lips are curved into a small smile.
“Still. It could’ve been a chocolate cake,” Yuri points out.
More than one person turn to glare towards him. Yet before anyone can jump to Yuuri’s defence, Yuuri laughs.
He actually laughs.
It’s the most beautiful sound, Viktor thinks dazedly. He wants to hear it again. And again. He wants Yuuri to always smile so widely that his eyes crinkle, to look so relaxed, and content, and happy.
“Next time,” Yuuri promises other-Yuri, his tone quite fond. “Thanks for your help, today.”
Yuri shrugs, shoving more pie into his mouth. Otabek glances at him from his side, his gaze openly affectionate. Which is sweet, really. Except that Viktor can’t bring himself to care, at the moment, because he’s a little busy trying to come up with a way to speak with Yuuri one-on-one, before the night is over.
The perfect opportunity presents itself when Yuuri stands up to gather everyone’s plates.
“I’ll help,” Viktor says, swiftly getting to his feet. “It’s the least I can do.”
He quickly arms himself with the empty pie form and a few cups, because that’s his ticket to go back into the kitchen with Yuuri. Alone.
Unfortunately, JJ also gets to his feet.
“I guess I’d better live up to my reputation as the politest of guests,” he says, his smile wide. “In fact, I am often told that I’m polite, and modest, and-“
“Sit down, JJ, you brainless shitface,” Yuri says, sharply. “Obviously, Yuuri and Viktor have got this covered. Now finish your coffee like a reasonable human being.”
Slowly, JJ sits down. He looks like he’s about to sulk, which is unfortunate for anyone still seated around the table, but as Yuuri and Viktor enter the kitchen Viktor feels immensely grateful towards the other Yuri. Evidently, he’s not quite as unaffectionate as he makes himself out to be.
Yuuri sets down the plates he’s carrying, before slowly turning to face Viktor. He looks a bit nervous again, Viktor notes, but not as much as before.
“You really did make an excellent pie,” Viktor says.
Yuuri flushes prettily.
“Thanks. I do like to bake.”
“It must have been quite difficult,” Viktor notes. “You did the curd from scratch, not to mention the crust, and Italian meringue is probably the most complicated form you could have attempted.”
“Maybe,” Yuuri says. He looks a bit uncertain. “Is that bad?”
“No,” Viktor says. He sets down the pie form he’s still holding and takes a tentative step closer to Yuuri. “But I’m just saying. You chose a dessert that has three different textures, all made with different techniques, and your combination of flavours was very unique. So, I just can’t help but wonder...”
“Yes?”
“Would it be terribly presumptuous of me, to think that you were trying to impress me?”
Yuuri tilts his head a bit to the left, considering. He’s almost smiling, Viktor notes giddily, and there’s a glint in his eyes that definitely wasn’t there before.
“That depends,” Yuuri says, speaking slowly. “Did it work?”
“Absolutely,” Viktor reassures him eagerly. “Your dessert was the best I’ve had in months. This can’t be the first time you’ve baked something like that?”
Yuuri smiles, tentatively.
“It’s not,” he says. “But I never went to culinary school, or anything. I’ve just always helped out at my family’s restaurant.”
“I see,” Viktor says, intrigued. “You grew up in a restaurant kitchen?”
That earns him another smile.
“I suppose you could put it that way. I actually work there, now. Some of the dishes on the menu are from my recipes.”
“Then I’ll have to come, sometime,” Viktor decides. “I would love to try more of your cooking.”
Yuuri flushes again.
“I could say the same about you,” he says. “You’re very… I always watch your show.”
“Really?” Viktor says, feeling incredibly pleased. “I hope you don’t think I that always go around yelling at people. That’s reserved for chefs who can’t tell duck from chicken, or who completely forget to add salt.”
“Yes, I… I know.” Yuuri’s smile is a little helpless. “But I’ve always thought you seem very... Compassionate? Despite everything. You always help everyone, in the end.”
That makes Viktor smile so wide, his cheeks physically hurt.
“Have you ever thought of applying to be on the show?”
“Maybe,” Yuuri says. “Although I’ve never… I’m not sure what I would cook.”
“Well,” Viktor says. Considering. “I suppose it’s good that we met like this, instead.”
“You think so?”
“Yes,” Viktor says, continuing before he can change his mind. “If you were a contestant on my show, it would be terribly unprofessional of me to ask you out.”
Yuuri’s eyes widen.
“… oh.”
Viktor offers him another smile. It’s hopeful, this time.
“I would love to take you out, on a date,” he clarifies, because really, ambiguity is tremendously overrated. “If I may?”
“That’s… Yes.” Yuuri’s cheeks are flushed. His smile is soft. His eyes are shining. “I would really like that, Viktor.”
“Great,” Viktor breathes out. “Great. Can I have your number?”
“Yes,” Yuuri says, immediately. “Of course.”
Viktor steps closer, handing Yuuri his phone. He watches as Yuuri carefully inputs his contact information. When Yuuri hands the phone back, Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand, keeping it in his.
“I’ve had a really nice time, tonight,” he says, quietly. “I’m so glad Chris was able to persuade me to come along.”
“Me, too.” Yuuri’s smile is warm. “I’m glad you’re here. And I… I’m really sorry I insulted your salad.”
Viktor chuckles.
“You didn’t, exactly.”
“But I sort of did.” Yuuri sighs. “God, I felt so stupid.”
“Did you like it, by the way?”
“Yes,” Yuuri says immediately. “Yes, it was very… Interesting.”
Viktor stares at him.
“You didn’t like it?”
“No, Viktor, that’s not what I-“
“Oh my God,” Viktor exclaims. “You have to let me cook for you, next time. So that I can redeem myself.”
“Really, Viktor, you don’t have to-“
“I insist. I’ll make you a three-course dinner, unlike anything you’ve ever eaten before. And this time, you will love it. I promise.”
Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s hand in his. His smile looks almost fond.
“Well,” he says lightly. “I’d be a fool to say no to that.”
***
By the time Viktor and Yuuri have actually dealt with the dishes and made it out of the kitchen, all the other guests have seen themselves out. Which means that there’s no one there to see when Yuuri bids Viktor goodnight with a brief kiss, just a soft touch of lips before Yuuri pulls back, his smile shy.
“I’ll call you,” Viktor says, leaning forwards to brush his lips against Yuuri’s cheek, just because he wants to. Because he can. Because really, he doesn’t want to leave. “Goodnight, Yuuri.”
“I’ve already said goodnight,” Yuuri points out. “Can’t very well say it again.”
“True.” Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s hand one last time. “Sleep well.”
“You, too. Goodnight, Viktor.”
Viktor grins.
“You said it again!”
“Oh, hush,” Yuuri says, his smile sheepish. “Take care, okay?”
“Yeah. You, too.”
Finally, Viktor goes.
On his way back to the hotel, he texts Chris.
you were right. he’s amazing. how could you know?
It takes a few minutes before Chris texts back.
Phichit was kind enough to inform me that his best friend Yuuri never shuts up about you, and when I met Yuuri I realized you’d be all over him, too. I don’t make a habit of standing in the way of destiny.
Viktor smiles, quickly typing another message.
touché. I seriously owe you for this.
The response is almost instantaneous.
I guess that’s my cue to request a glowing review of my cookbook from the Viktor Nikiforov himself ;)