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Victor was an asshole.
Victor was a dickhead.
… Victor was in Yuri’s living room, scrutinizing his outfit for the day.
“Don’t tell me that’s what you’re wearing on your first date with the boy you’ve been infatuated with since you were fifteen,” Victor said with a wrinkled nose. “I thought you, you know, actually liked him.”
Yuri scowled back at him and looked at himself in the mirror. Lifted his hair into a ponytail, considering it. “Katsudon,” he called over his shoulder. “Do I look shit?”
Yuuri walked over from behind him and pressed his hands onto Yuri’s shoulders, gently guiding his hands and ponytail down. They looked in the mirror together.
Staring back at them was a tall, blond nineteen-year-old, golden hair spilling over his shoulders and a shirt with a wide neckline, showing off his admittedly sharp collarbones and the necklace glittering at his throat. His whole outfit was nothing special, really. Just a shirt and a pair of pants. Stylish. A Potya lookalike on his shirt.
“You look nice,” Yuuri finally said, after a moment of consideration. “Don’t listen to Vitya.”
Victor, behind them, wailed in anguish. “But neither of you have good fashion sense!” he sobbed. “The last time you wore a crop top was 2013, and Phichit had to force you to wear it!”
Yuuri glared at his husband, who withered slightly under its force. “Phichit said it was National Crop Top Day and I wasn’t as insecure about my tummy, okay?” He reached out to deliver a quick smack to the back of Victor’s head. “How would you feel if I made you wear a sunhat that highlighted your bald spots?”
Victor clutched his head. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Watch yourself.” He turned back to Yuri, who had been hooking and unhooking hair behind his ears. “You look fine. And remember, Otabek likes you as much as you like him. You have nothing to worry about.”
Yuri scrunched up his face as the older man let go of him to corral his husband back to the kitchen.
Deep down, he knew that Yuuri was right. When he asked Otabek out semi-ambiguously and Otabek had semi-enthusiastically responded with a ‘yes’, Yuri had watched his best friend smile at him for thirty seconds, and he’d been wearing a ratty t-shirt and a pair of tiger print socks. So this, the kind of outfit he always wore, the way his hair was, the way he wore the one necklace he owned— it was familiar. It was the Yuri that asked Otabek out, and the Yuri that Otabek had said yes to. So really, he had nothing to worry about.
But wow, was he worrying so hard right then.
“When’s he coming to pick you up?” Yuuri called from the kitchen, startling him.
Yuri thumbed through the text messages he and Otabek had sent back and forth. “Noon,” he replied loudly. He grimaced as he heard a loud clattering noise and the sound of rapidly thumping feet and turned to find Victor panting in his doorway, again. “What do you think you’re doing, asshole?”
“Please,” the dramatic old man gasped. “Please wear a jacket to not look stupid and ruin my good name in fashion. I don’t want Gucci to disavow me.”
Yuri rolled his eyes at him and pulled on his usual blue jacket. “Happy?” he spun around in a mocking circle for Victor, who seemed to have aged ten years. Or maybe it was just the hair making him look old. “Jacket’s on.”
Yuuri appeared from behind his husband, giving him a once over. “Wear your other one,” he advised. “It matches your pants better.”
Yuri nodded and exchanged his jackets. Once again, Victor wailed, and both of the younger skaters in the room winced.
“What is it now?” Yuri demanded.
“The blacks are two different kinds of black!”
What. The fuck.
Before Yuri could figure out whether to physically or verbally assault Victor, the doorbell rang and saved him from making that decision. He shot a glare at the both of them before stomping out to fling his front door open and greet—
— the most jaw-dropping vision of the man he called his best friend, what the fuck was happening right now, why was the universe determined to kill him?
Otabek, decked out in his usual outfit and still wearing his gloves, tilted his head slightly in a confused greeting. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. Blinked when he noticed Yuuri and Victor behind Yuri. “I didn’t know you had company.”
“I don’t,” Yuri replied automatically, putting a hand on Otabek’s (firm) chest and pushing him into the hallway, slamming his front door shut behind him. “They were bothering me. Like always. Let’s go.” And before he could chicken out— this was a date, after all— he blurted out, “You look nice.”
Otabek, to his credit, didn’t look entirely stunned by this sudden proclamation and silently nodded a thanks. And then— “You too,” he replied quietly. “You look really nice, actually. You always do.”
Okay, so the universe was trying to kill Yuri via cardiac arrest, that was good to know.
Yuri tried for a smile, but it felt like more of a weird grimace. He slid the helmet Otabek offered him over his head without another word, because he was convinced that if he did in fact say anything else, he’d end up self-combusting and ruin his outfit and this date.
The ride to the market was quiet, but that wasn’t anything new. It was only until they were five minutes into the actual date portion of their date when Otabek nudged Yuri gently and asked him what was wrong.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Yuri said quickly. “What’s wrong with you?”
Fucking idiot.
“I mean—” he tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear nervously, god, this man made him such a moron sometimes “— there’s nothing wrong with you, you’re great. You’re Beka. You’re my best friend and we’re on our first date and this is great and awesome and stuff and so nothing’s wrong, what could possibly be wrong?”
If anything, Otabek looked even more confused, and then he delivered the most heart-shattering question Yuri had ever been asked, and he was forced to be rinkmates with Victor “I have no sense of personal space” Nikiforov and Mila “I can and will hurt you psychologically” Babicheva for most of his skating career: “This is a date?”
Oh. Oh no.
His best friend’s expression morphed into one of some sort of panic as Yuri was helpless to screw up his face and cry. This was the fucking worst. He fucked everything up, didn’t he? He should’ve known it was too good to be true— that his semi-ambiguous asking-out was too ambiguous for Otabek to get it, and that he had just thought they were going out as friends. God, of course. Of course. Fuck.
“Hey, hey, Yura, I’m sorry,” he heard Otabek’s voice say distantly. “Yura. Yura.”
His face was wet. He was crying in public— god, that’s embarrassing. He hoped that none of his fans saw him and took a picture. Wait. This wasn’t where he sat down and started crying. Where the fuck was he?
Yuri blinked hazily, his eyes burning as he tried to take in his new surroundings. “Where...” He cleared his throat. “Where are we?”
“In an alley,” Otabek replied. His hands held onto his tightly. Yuri was thankful for the touch; it grounded him. But it was Otabek holding his hands, and he kind of internally freaked out a bit more. Otabek let go of one of his hands to cradle the side of his flushed face. “Yura. Are you okay?”
“No,” Yuri replied. He felt Otabek’s thumb swipe away a tear. “I’m dumb, okay? I thought— I thought you said yes to going on a date with me, and I assumed, and now everything is ruined. And I’m sorry because you’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you, because you’re all I have. Okay?”
“Okay,” Otabek said softly. “I didn’t realize it was a date. I mean, when you asked me, a part of me thought— hoped, more like— but I didn’t dare to really think that it might be what I wanted it to be.”
“You wanted…?” Yuri’s eyes widened.
Oh.
Oh.
Otabek’s smile was small. “I wanted. I still want, if you’ll let me.” He squeezed Yuri’s hand. “If not, I’m okay with keeping things the way they are.”
“I’m not,” Yuri breathed. “I mean, I can be, but I don’t want things to stay the same. Not really. Um.” His eyes darted down to Otabek’s lips and back up, hoping that he didn’t notice, but he did. “Did you put on chapstick?”
A barely noticeable flush rose on his friend’s cheeks. “Yeah,” a murmur, loud in the quiet of the alleyway.
Heart hammering out of his chest, Yuri asked him another question. “Will you kiss me, then?”
Otabek’s chin dipped in a tiny nod, and he leaned forward. Yuri closed his eyes, waiting, until he felt a gentle peck on his cheek, where the last tear had rolled down to. Then another, on the other side. Otabek was kissing his tears away.
Katusdon was going to tease him so much about this later.
Yuri parted his lips to exhale, “Beka,” and then they were kissing. Each other. He felt like his knees were about to give out. He was going to go into cardiac arrest. He was kissing his best friend.
After a very short lifetime, Otabek pulled away, and Yuri inhaled for the first time, and they stared at each other for a good thirty seconds before Otabek stuck out his hand, and Yuri took it.
And what do you know? They did get to go on his market date, after all.