i was yours before i knew (and you have always been mine too)

by: tg

summary: "Ah, I'm sorry, let me –"

Viktor looks up.

Viktor stares.

"Oh, wow," he breathes.

He's wearing an ugly green apron with smears of dirt and wet patches, a pair of dirty jeans, and a very alluring light pink blush. His black hair sticks up on the side and his glasses sit askew on his face, probably a result of Makkachin's exuberant kisses. He looks about as dazed as Viktor feels.

warnings: depression

an: this is a viktuuri flower shop universe alteration / au wherein they never meet at the banquet in sochi. viktor is still out looking for his inspiration, and yuuri has gone back home to help out rather than continue with the costly life of a figure skater. they still manage to cross paths, because of course they do.

this was done for the yurionicebigbang event on tumblr in tandem with my artist partner rynyn! this fic is very important to me so pls consider taking a few moments to review!

originally posted july 21, 2017

i. winter

my lovers suffocate me … calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush, lighting on every moment of my life … noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them to be mine. - walt whitman

Viktor spends his life, from age six to age twenty-seven, in a committed relationship with the ice.

He loves everything about it – the chill coming off the ice, the way the rink looks in the early mornings when the water sun filters through the windows, the commotion of his rinkmates. The moment his blades touch the ice he knows he's in for life. He loves the strength, the artistry of it. Loves watching the senior skaters fly. He falls a lot, bruises his knees and his pride and scrapes up his palms, but he falls in love with the exhilaration of getting back up and trying again.

Eventually he learns to fly too. Eventually he stops falling, and as he gets older he learns what it really means to chase gold. He learns that being a professional skater is about more than just the twelve or so collective minutes he spends performing, pouring every ounce of his skill and artistry into the routines he helped cultivate from the ground up. He learns politics. He learns sacrifice.

Eventually he stops falling.

(Eventually he stops flying.)

He learns how to smile in front of a camera, how to be who everyone else wants him to be. He's a star now. Stars are beautiful, stars are studied. Worshipped. Stars are the bright pinprick culminations of childhood dreams, the symbols for a vastly unexplored frontier that's held captive the minds and hearts of entire civilizations.

(Stars have power, stars are beautiful, and, well.

They die beautifully, too.)

Eventually he ends up on the podium after winning the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona, a gold medal around his neck and a bouquet of flowers in his arms, wondering if there's something wrong with him.

(He doesn't remember how he got there.)

Because everyone around him is ecstatic. Christophe is grinning, pressing his tongue lewdly against his silver medal, and Jean-Jacques is pouting over his bronze even though everyone can tell he's pleased to be on the podium. Russia's tri-color flag hangs behind him, the national anthem playing over the speakers, and Viktor knows what he looks like – perfect hair, perfect posture, perfect smile. Keeps his chin up, keeps his body angled just so, smiles til his jaw creaks. He knows by now what people want from him. He looks like a national hero – he is a national hero.

He should feel like a national hero, too, but all he feels beneath his painted face and sparkly costume is suffocated.

(He just wants to be able to breathe again.)

Standing there and listening to his name fill the arena, he remembers what it'd been like all those years ago, when he'd first set foot on the ice with his mother's loving eyes and proud smile trained on him. Remembers what it had felt like to wholeheartedly love the sport he'd given everything to. That one magical moment had seemed like the start of his life.

Turns out, Viktor had been mistaken.

Turns out, Viktor's life actually starts on a cold January morning, the day he meets Katuski Yuuri.

—

Somehow, on the tail end of winter, Viktor ends up in a backwater town in Japan.

Hasetsu is small but not compact. It spreads itself out, fingers of municipality reaching through forest and over mountain, dipping into the sea. The smell of the ocean and the cry of the seagulls remind Viktor of home, but Hasetsu is downright balmy in the winter months compared to St Petersburg, which is why Viktor feels like he can finally, maybe, relax the tension in his shoulders and settle his searching heart.

(He hasn't figured out what he's looking for yet, but at least he can breathe now.

The first few breaths had been hard, like needles in his throat and shards of glass in his lungs. But it's getting easier, day by day.)

He's discovered that Hasetsu is a great town for running. He runs a different route each morning, half because old habits die hard and half because he loves the feeling of his lungs filling with fresh air tinged with salt and ocean spray. The smells and sounds of Hasetsu are familiar enough to cut through the nerves of being alone in a foreign country where he lacks the language skills to truly get around. It's a comfortable feeling, and it brings him back to the home he's been feeling a bit nostalgic for – the home without artifice, the home without the constellations of camera flashes all going off at once, the home where gold medals don't feel quite so cold against his skin.

He runs a different route each morning, tries to put a map together in his head of the places Makkachin likes to sniff and which sidewalk cafes are open early and have the best breakfast. In this way Viktor finds he can map out its people, too.

He knows that there's an old fisherman who stands on the bridge each morning with his pole and a bucket of bait, and Viktor knows that he arrives before the sun and departs after it drops beneath the sea. He knows what the sea looks like bathed in the pastel colors of a winter sunrise, and the timbre of delivery trucks that fly from the docks to the markets with the morning's catch. He knows that the castle on the hill looks ethereal when sprinkled with powdered sugar snow and that it sparkles when the sun catches it just right. He knows the chatter of barflies who come for a drink before their commute to work, and the very, very faint sounds of families waking up to start a new day together.

He knows where the ice rink is at all times, can feel it lurking there at the edge of his awareness, just beneath the castle.

(He has this habit, this compulsion, embedded in him from a lifetime of answering the ice's seductive siren call.

People instinctively seek the familiar in strange places – closest metro station, a fast-food restaurant, a well-loved department store. Places that are recognizable and radiate comfort, places that prove that this new town, this foreign country aren't all that different from home.

Viktor seeks beaches and ice rinks.)

He sometimes likes to make up stories about the people he sees on his runs. Maybe the fisherman has a wife and children who moved on to bigger and better things, leaving him to stare forlornly into the ocean as time marches on without him. Maybe the barfly he sees stumbling out of the bar in the early rays of the morning is trying to drown out the embers of a dying relationship by dousing it with alcohol and miserable company. Maybe the delivery drivers making their runs from dock to market are secretly in love, but they can't express their feelings because they work for rival companies. Maybe the lights he sees in the shuttered windows of the ice rink are the remnants of dying stars, of a skater trying to hold onto the last vestiges of a lackluster career.

(He's always felt a kinship with the stars, always wanted to be one.

Stars are beautiful.

But stars are also lonely, and the space between them is cold and empty.)

Viktor relates.

Today he runs with Makkachin. She's getting older, and it's not something he likes to think about, but winter is harsh on her joints and Viktor loves her too much to make her go out when she's curled up asleep on her doggy bed, no matter how much she likes being outside and no matter that Viktor misses her companionship. But today his best friend is with him, and his steps are light as she bounds a few feet in front of him. Every few moments she looks over her shoulder as if to make sure her human is still there, and oh boy is that endearing.

As a treat he takes her along the white sand beaches of Hasetsu Bay, and then cuts through Niji-no-Matsubara. The weak morning sunlight barely penetrates the thick fingers of the pine trees, and it's peacefully quiet. Makkachin flits back and forth, sniffing trees and chasing the soft trill of birds. They burst out into brighter sunlight and heavier traffic as the morning moves sluggishly along, running along the wide sidewalks of the main road leading to the castle.

He's been in this neighborhood a few times at various points in his runs – the castle sort of draws him in, he can't really help but be fascinated – but hasn't been here with Makka yet. So he's shocked and a little alarmed when she pauses ahead of him and suddenly bolts off down the street at a dead gallop.

He stands there gaping like a fish for a moment before he realizes what just happened, and then he jolts into action, chasing after Makkachin's curly tail disappearing into the distance.

"Makkachin! Wait!" He's winded from an already long run but he lengthens his stride and manages to catch up to his companion just as she takes a running leap at some poor unsuspecting soul standing outside a small flower shop.

"Ah! Makkachin, no!"

To his increasing horror, Makkachin bowls the person over. She's got her front paws on the man's chest and is happily snuffling all over him, her pink tongue coming out to drag across the stranger's face and neck in overfriendly kisses.

Viktor hurries the last few meters over and drops to his knees to gently push his dog off of her unsuspecting victim.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" he says, hastily pulling her leash out of his coat pocket and clipping it onto her collar. He doesn't normally have to do this and he feels bad for it, but he doesn't actually know the leash laws here and he doesn't want to watch his dog go sailing off again without him. He puts a hand under her chin to look her in the eyes, and says, "Makkachin, no. We don't jump on people."

She whines a bit and pushes her nose into his chest in apology, and Viktor can feel his stern demeanor soften as he cards his fingers through her fur.

"Um."

Viktor jumps and immediately flushes in embarrassment. He'd forgotten all about the man his dog had just unceremoniously flopped on.

"Ah, I'm sorry, let me –"

Viktor looks up.

Viktor stares.

"Oh, wow ," he breathes.

He's wearing an ugly green apron with smears of dirt and wet patches, a pair of dirty jeans, and a very alluring light pink blush. His black hair sticks up on the side and his glasses sit askew on his face, probably a result of Makkachin's exuberant kisses. He looks about as dazed as Viktor feels.

The man his dog knocked down is easily the most gorgeous person Viktor has ever seen. Beautiful. Stunning. Devastating. He wracks his brain for lists of synonyms and comes up blank, perhaps because his brain has melted and dribbled out his ears.

Viktor realizes he's staring way too long judging by the rather alarming shade of red that creeps over the man's cheeks and disappears into the collar of his shirt. It takes a supreme effort to muster up the wherewithal to hold out a hand to help the man up.

(The man bypasses his hand to grasp his forearm, and Viktor has to remind himself to breathe through his nose because the man's grip is strong on Viktor's wrist and the muscles in his arm shift beneath Viktor's palm as he pulls himself up. His t-shirt covers most of his upper arm but Viktor can see his bicep tighten with the effort of it.)

(This is glorious. This is divine. Viktor can die a happy man.)

An awkward silence permeates the air between them once they're both finally on their feet again. The man fidgets – shifts his weight, curls his fingers in the hem of his apron. His eyes flit everywhere, from the ground to Viktor's face to Makkachin to –

"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" Viktor says when he sees the broken pieces of flower pot and mess of dirt on the ground. Now Viktor feels doubly guilty; his dog just assaulted a Very Handsome man, broke his merchandise, and killed a flower! Makkachin boofs up at them both as Viktor scrambles for his wallet. "Here, let me pay for it!"

"N-no need, Vi – um, sir. Your dog is just being a dog," the man says, and wow, even his voice is attractive. He sounds fond – obviously a fellow dog-lover. Viktor feels like he's floating. He wants to know if he can leverage this into something more.

"Viktor, please. Viktor Nikiforov."

(The man's nails are stained green at the edges, and his cheeks are soft and pink like cherry blossoms. Viktor decides to call him Flower Boy.)

Desperate, he searches around for something else to say, some way to keep time from moving forward. Some way to make sure this marvelous being, with his otherworldly chocolate brown eyes and his sweet round cheeks from ever leaving his presence.

"Say, is there a place nearby that makes a decent cup of tea?" he blurts out.

"Oh, um, yes," Flower Boy says. He bends over to pick up the sharp pieces of pottery so that Makkachin doesn't hurt herself, and Viktor feels himself short-circuiting yet again at the view he's presented with. The man's jeans pull taut around his thighs with the motion and holy heck,Viktor is going to launch himself straight into the atmosphere. "If you just go down the street a little ways there's Tea and Space Kikouan that's decent. They sell tea and supplies too if you find one that you like."

Viktor nods vigorously. He will go anywhere this man suggests, both because Viktor is irrevocably enamored and would go to hell and back with this man and still consider it a date, and because he is a tourist here and has approximately zero knowledge on what there is to do around here.

The hope is, of course, that Flower Boy will offer to take him there himself. But the silence lingers awkwardly between them, Viktor still nodding like an idiot and the man shifting his weight awkwardly from side to side and appearing uninterested in meeting Viktor's gaze. Or gazing in the remote vicinity of Viktor.

Ahh, please, you are so beautiful, he thinks desperately.

"Alright, um. Have fun."

Oh.

Oh. Of course. Flower Boy is probably just starting his shift. It's eight in the morning. Of course he can't just drop his work and join Viktor for a beverage. Of course.

"Thank you," he says sincerely. "I'll let you get back to your job. See you later, Flower Boy!"

The man sputters adorably at Viktor's retreating back.

(Viktor goes to Tea and Space Kikouan by himself, like Flower Boy suggested. The sencha is the most delicious tea he's ever tasted. He takes no less than seven photos of it to put on Instagram – location left off, of course.)

(He wonders what kind of tea Flower Boy would order. Wonders what the afternoon sunlight would do to the pretty golden flecks in his eyes, what he'd look like laughing across the table from Viktor, if he'd like to share a matcha affogato in the evening.

He vows to find out.)

Viktor calls Chris as soon as he gets back to the hotel.

"You will not believe the man I just met. Oh my god Chris he is so beautiful! His eyes! His hair! And — and his face ! He blushes and the angels come out to sing! His lashes are so long Chris I don't even — ! Shit, I think I'm in love?"

"Merde."

The next morning Viktor goes on his run as usual. He's tempted to go run the same route, past the flower shop, just so he can see Flower Boy in his native environment, but he knows they hadn't met on the best circumstances the day before and he wants to make a good second impression. So he runs up Kagamiyama instead, and goes back to the hotel to take a shower and make himself presentable.

He spends an inordinate amount of time debating which color Flower Boy might like on him better. Green? Lilac? Oh, but what if he thinks those colors are too cliché because of their association with plants… Maybe blue? By the time he's ready to go it's past breakfast and his plans of bringing Flower Boy a muffin and coffee are totally derailed. Which might actually be a blessing because he doesn't actually know if Flower Boy likes muffins or coffee, or what flavor of muffin he might prefer.

(Viktor is a mess.)

(Viktor is a mess but he feels so giddy with anticipation and excitement that he almost doesn't know what to do with himself. He thinks this must be what it's supposed to feel like, in that moment between the end of a really good skate and reading his scores in the kiss and cry.)

(He wouldn't know. He can't remember.)

He makes it to the flower shop just in time for lunch. It looks different in the midday sunlight, not as magical but still charming and quaint. It's small, tucked in between a couple other buildings Viktor doesn't know the use of. There are shelves on either side of the door, presumably for holding flowering plants during the warmer months; now they just contain what look like miniature Christmas trees. Some of them are even decorated with tiny ornaments.

Viktor smiles to himself. They're cute. He wonders if Flower Boy decorated them.

A bell over the door chimes delicately when Viktor pushes it open, and a curl of warm air meets his skin as he steps in from the outside chill. Outside the shop looks small but inside it's good-sized, with a counter, a work station, glass-doored coolers and a walk-in. Green and flowering plants sit in the closest corner, and bouquets line the foot of the counter at the cash register. There are enough windows to let in all kinds of natural light, sinking the entire shop into a Ghibli-esque slice of liminal space. Streaks of sunlight illuminate dust particles floating in the air, striping up the floor and the walls with patches of warmth.

A voice calls something in Japanese. Viktor doesn't understand Japanese but he understands customer service, so he hums in response and moves along the walk-in coolers. Inside are dozens of arrangements, ranging for simple and delicate to full and complicated, color bursting everywhere he looks. They're all beautiful, with perfectly curled ribbons and complimentary vases. A pretty blue and white one catches his eye, its centerpiece a beautiful blue rose, blown wide.

"Oh!"

Viktor jumps and turns, warmth spreading across his chest and cheeks at the sight of Flower Boy. He'd been knocked on his ass yesterday but today, standing there in front of Viktor with his wide brown eyes, messy hair and slightly round stomach, Viktor is sure that his original assessment had been correct – this is the most gorgeous man he's ever seen. He's got the same dirty apron and jeans on but today he's holding a little baby blue watering can that's shaped like an elephant, with the trunk as the spout, and that kind of cements the concept of attractiveness in Viktor's mind.

(He's perfect.)

(He looks familiar somehow.)

"Um, hello Viktor," he says shyly. He glances between Viktor and the arrangement he'd been looking at and, inexplicably, turns pink. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I just wanted to thank you for your recommendation yesterday," he replies smoothly. "The sencha was really good."

"Ah," Flower Boy says, looking surprised. "You're welcome." He turns away and begins watering the buckets of bouquets near the counter. Viktor follows him, eager like a puppy.

"Mm. I was wondering if you had any others? Recommendations, I mean. For anything. I'm new here – a tourist, but I'm staying here a while."

Viktor had come up with a foolproof plan at three that morning. If he, a tourist, asks Flower Boy to show him around town, take him to all of his favorite spots, he can kill two birds with one stone – he can get to know Flower Boy and maybe their outings will eventually become dates, and he can get to know the little town he's landed in through the eyes of someone who, for all Viktor knows, is native. It's perfect! Ingenious!

"Sure," Flower Boy says. His voice is still tinged with surprise, and he keeps sneaking sidelong glances at Viktor when he thinks Viktor's not looking, as if he expects him to dissolve into stardust and float away. "Have you been to Kagamiyama yet?"

"Yes! I ran up this morning actually, the view is gorgeous!"

Flower Boy's mouth curls up in a half-smile that makes Viktor's heart hammer in his chest.

"Well, if you like history, maybe Hasetsu Castle? It's a tough walk up the hill but there's a museum about the castle's history, and if you go up to the top floor you get some great views. The grounds are pretty nice too, even in winter."

"Hmm," Viktor puts his forefinger to his lips in thought. "I think if Flower Boy suggests it, then I should go!"

"F-flower Boy!"

"You don't think it's fitting?"

"No!"

Viktor laughs as Flower Boy's eyes screw shut and his face explodes with color. He's so expressive!

"You! You should go so you have enough time at the castle!"

Viktor can only laugh harder as Flower Boy plants his hands on his back and pushes him out the door.

"Flower Boy!" Viktor cries when he walks into the flower shop the following week. Flower Boy, whose back is to the door, startles bad enough to fumble the arrangement he's in the process of placing in the walk-in cooler.

"Viktor!" He says. He puts a hand on his own chest, fingers curling in to his collar in shock. "Don't scare me like that, I might hurt the flowers."

Viktor winces. "Sorry."

The place is starting to fill up with carnations and roses of every color, and the wintery-themed arrangements give way to soft pinks, snowy whites and bright reds. Flower Boy picks his way over through the forest of flower-filled buckets littering the floor of the shop.

Viktor idly wonders if the scent of roses permeates Flower Boy's hair, or lingers on his skin.

"What are you – um, what can I do for you?" Flower Boy asks, hands wringing together at the hem of his apron.

"The castle was so awesome! The view from the top was even better than Kagamiyama, and! It's a ninja house! A ninja house!"

Flower Boy bites his lip, but Viktor can see the smile straining in the curve of his mouth and the sheen of his eyes anyway. "I'm glad you liked it."

"Of course I did, you recommended it!" Viktor says happily, oblivious to the way Flower Boy flushed and sputtered. Viktor would happily go anywhere Flower Boy recommends.

Of course, he'd rather go with Flower Boy, but this is okay too.

"I – I'm glad," Flower Boy says again, soft-voiced but somehow satisfied. Viktor gives him a heart-shaped smile, and they both stand there a bit awkwardly until Viktor remembers his gifts.

"Ah, I didn't know if you preferred coffee or tea, but I figured there are probably fewer ways to prepare tea than there are coffee so tea seemed like a safe bet? And I realized halfway through my order that I don't actually know if you even like pastries, or even what some of them are because I can't read Japanese, so I panicked and bought one of each." Viktor holds out three slightly crumpled to-go bags and a to-go cup of still steaming matcha.

"I don't – it's not – okay, thank you," Flower Boy says, looking a bit dazed. He reaches out for one of the bags and retreats behind the counter, Viktor automatically following behind him.

They end up splitting the pastries between them. Viktor learns that Flower Boy likes warmed up blueberry muffins, red bean paste filled pancakes called dorayaki, custard filled fish-things called taiyaki, and a sweet bread crusted in sugar granules called melon pan, and a white sponge-cake type of thing that Flower Boy says is native to Kyushu called karukan. Viktor learns that Flower Boy likes matcha tea the best, but that he also likes the bitterness of black coffee and the subtle sweetness of kabusecha.

Viktor learns that Flower Boy laughs easy when he's relaxed.

(And oh, the sound of his laughter is enough to build a fire in Viktor's cold, empty chest.)

He shows up at least three times a week, sometimes with tea in hand and sometimes begging Flower Boy for somewhere new to go. Sometimes both.

He goes to the Hikiyama Exhibition Hall to see the floats used in the famed Kunchi Festival (Flower Boy tells him with shining eyes that that's his favorite festival, because it's so close to his birthday). He goes to the Yobuko morning market and mingles with the locals (he rests his chin in his hand while Flower Boy recounts spending Sunday mornings there as a small child, and how he'd been afraid of the chaos until one very nice woman had given him some dango to cheer him up). He goes wherever Flower Boy gently suggests, because he wants to know more about the culture and because there's a certain intimacy there in knowing that Flower Boy grew up here, and that the places he's sending Viktor to are places that he holds inside him, places that helped shape him, places that have seen him grow.

Flower Boy never goes with him, but that's okay, because when Viktor brings him tea in the morning and tells him his favorite parts, Flower Boy meets his eye and smiles openly and when their fingers brush together he doesn't turn away.

(One day in early February Viktor catches him flinch as he slices his finger on a rose thorn. His fingers are already covered in a collage of mismatched bandages, but he lets Viktor take his cold hands in his and gently bandage him up.

His cheeks are stained a soft pink but he doesn't turn away.)

This is the pas de deux they dance. Viktor leads with gentle guiding hands and patient understanding, and Flower Boy –miraculously, unexpectedly, beautifully – follows.

Viktor wakes up one morning and it dawns on him that it's Valentine's Day.

(Sometimes – sometimes he loses time. Sometimes the minutes and hours slip by him, and when he comes back to himself the shadows have drifted across the room and he can't even recall what he'd been thinking about all that time.

But it's been easier since he left. Easier to mark his place when he can count the number of times Flower Boy has sighed exasperatedly in his direction (twenty-seven) and the number of times he's asked Viktor to bring Makkachin along with him (forty-three) and the number of times he's stuttered out Viktor's name in his sweet voice (sixty-three).

It's hard to lose days when he has Flower Boy to help him keep track.)

He's got no gift.

He's got no gift and he doesn't know where to go to find a gift, and even if he did he doesn't know how to say 'I need to find the perfect gift for a boy who is beautiful and sweet and kind of sassy sometimes but I like it so he's kind of perfect and I really really want to make him happy, can you please help me?' in Japanese.

"Fuck," he says with feeling. Makkachin gives him a look over her shoulder, like she understands his predicament and is berating him for not having thought of this earlier. He throws an arm over his eyes. "Yes, yes, I know."

He spends most of the morning and early afternoon alternating between brainstorming and facetiming Christophe, who is of absolutely no help because all he does is make innuendos and laugh at Viktor's increasingly frantic googling.

"You are so not helping," he mumbles, deleting the 'what do you get for a man who is soft and perfect and likes the color blue' from the google search function.

"I'm not really the guy to call for romance, mon cher," Christophe says with a shrug. He watches Viktor plug 'I'm going to die' into the search bar and sighs. "Okay okay, listen. You said your boy has told you some of the foods he really likes, right? Maybe bring him something like that instead of something commercialized."

"I don't want to bring him food though," Viktor says, making a face that makes Chris laugh. "I do that all the time, it's not special."

"Not everything has to be over-the-top, you know."

"Excuse you," Viktor gasps, fake-affronted.

"Yeah yeah, I forgot who I was talking to for a second," he jokes. "Well you said he works in a flower shop, right? What about –"

"Chris, that's it! Flowers! Everyone likes flowers on Valentine's Day!"

"Ah, no, I don't think – not everyone –"

He hangs up on Chris in his excitement and rushes through a shower. He pauses long enough to give Makkachin a good petting and some extra treats for being his best girl, but then he's out the door and on his way to Flower Boy.

He's feeling pretty good about his plan but all of that is upended when he throws open the door to the shop and finds utter chaos.

It's nearing dinnertime, but there are still so many people.

People crowding the walk-in coolers, people crowding the counter, people lined up at the register. There's a constant barrage of noise. The coolers are working on overdrive because of the constant opening and closing of the walk-in doors, and there's a steady stream of customers asking questions about the arrangements. Flower Boy and another coworker who Viktor thinks is called Yuuko look absolutely overwhelmed, red-faced and practically vibrating with adrenaline as they try to take care of customers and design arrangement simultaneously.

He'd seen the stress slowly creep over Flower Boy's features over the last week, but now he's practically buzzing with it. Even so, Flower Boy moves behind the counter with a smooth grace, dodging his coworker here, tucking a flower into a vase there. Even stressed out he's exceptionally beautiful, and all Viktor wants to do is press his fingertips into his temples and massage until the tension drains away.

Instead, he waits. He wanders by the walk-in coolers, by the corner with all the green plants. Looks at the shelves of stuffed animals and decorations that go in vases and flower pots. By the time he makes it back to the walk-in cooler to check out what hasn't been picked over, the crowd has thinned, probably in a rush to make dinner reservations. Viktor is a walking cliché so he grabs a bouquet of a dozen red roses that still look to be in pretty decent shape and heads up to the blessedly empty counter.

"Hi," he says, propping his elbow up on the counter.

"Hey." Now that everyone is gone and the adrenaline is flushed out of his system, he looks absolutely destroyed. Even his voice sounds wrecked, and Viktor winces with sympathy. Flower Boy spots the bouquet and raises an eyebrow at him. "Getting some flowers for a special someone?"

"You could say that," Viktor replies with a grin.

He watches Flower Boy rewrap the bouquet and tie it off with thick gold ribbon, enjoying the graceful movements of his hands.

"¥4,000 is your total."

After he pays, Flower Boy hands him his bouquet and smiles prettily at him.

Viktor hands it back.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" he cries.

"Wha – I – But you said it was for someone special!" Flower Boy says almost accusingly. He looks adorably confused.

"It is for someone special. You!"

There's a screech from the back room.

"You bought me flowers?"

"Yes!"

"You bought someone who works in a flower shop flowers. From his own flower shop."

"Yes."

"You bought someone who works in a flower shop flowers from his own flower shop on Valentine's Day."

"Yes?" Viktor pauses. He takes in the exhaustion that haunts Flower Boy's eyes, and the multitude of multi-colored bandages on his fingers, and the mess of scattered rose stems and plucked petals that litter the floor behind the counter. "Ah. Perhaps I did not think this through very well."

Silence, and then the coworker in the back room snorts and starts laughing, and then Flower Boy is hugging the bouquet gently to his chest and breathing in the petal-soft scent of the roses, trying to hide the flush spreading down his neck.

"Thank you," he says quietly into the roses.

"I…can't believe I did that, you must be tired of flowers," Viktor says. He rubs a hand across the back of his neck. This definitely isn't how he imagined this going, but he can still save it. "Can I maybe take you to dinner? To make up for it? As friends maybe? No pressure of course! I just, um, well, I –"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. But I pick the place."

"Okay!"

They meet up in front of the flower shop an hour later. Flower Boy takes his hand and leads him to a ramen stall a few streets away, the sunset over the ocean in full view.

(Flower Boy's hands are still bandaged and stained green but they're warm and his fingers fit between Viktor's like they were always meant to be there.)

It's the best ramen Viktor's ever had.

They'd been slowly but steadily growing closer, but after Valentine's Day they're magnetized.

Flower Boy still suggests things to keep Viktor occupied, still doesn't come with him. But each place Viktor visits feels infinitely more personal than before, no longer tourist attractions but places like Flower Boy's favorite restaurant and the park in which Flower Boy whiled away his time after school when he was a child.

Each day he looks more and more familiar to Viktor too, and it's starting to drive him crazy because he's sure he knows him from somewhere. He would take a photo and send it to Chris if he didn't think Flower Boy would be upset if he ever found out.

(And god he would rather cut off his own arm than be the reason for Flower Boy's disappointment.)

Things come to a head on both fronts in mid-March.

Viktor starts seeing hearts popping up around town again, so he asks Flower Boy about it.

"White Day is today," he says as he pulls rotten petals from a stack of roses. "It's when Valentine's Day gifts are returned."

"Oh! Does that mean you're going to give me a gift too?" Viktor asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Flower Boy rolls his eyes but his cheeks stain a lovely red, which tells Viktor he is. Warmth spreads through his chest all the way to his fingers and toes at the thought of it. He knows he will treasure anything Flower Boy gives him.

Turns out, Flower Boy's gift to him is something completely unexpected – it's intimate and unassuming and profound and Viktor holds it close to his heart with gentle, loving hands.

"Please call me Yuuri."

Flower Boy – Yuuri – glances up at him, brown eyes alight with nerves, glasses slipping down along his nose, and –

Oh.

Oh .

His memories shift, something falls into place, and suddenly Viktor knows. He knows why Yuuri had looked familiar.

Katsuki Yuuri.

an: because hasetsu is based on a real town in saga prefecture called karatsu, i decided to use real places and real history in this fic. if youre interested in that sort of thing youll want to read the notes at the ends of the chapters. if youre not interested then feel free to smile and nod.

- niji-no-matsubara is a strip of pine trees located near the bay in karatsu. it was originally planted to protect the town from strong winds and is considered one of the 100 most beautiful places in japan.
- tea and space kikouan is a cafe near the long bridge that least to karatsu castle. it serves a variety of tea and desserts, including sencha and matcha affogato.
- blue roses symbolize the desire for the unattainable and were worn in a flower crown by viktor (i think while he was still in juniors?). yuuri is anxious here because viktor is looking at an arrangement dedicated to himself lmao
- kagamiyama is a small mountain in town that boasts rly amazing views of the area, including the sea
- valentines day is actual literal hell. i work long hours in my current job in the emergency room, but its nothing compared to the 14-16 hour days i pulled on valentines day in a floral shop. yuuri and yuuko are probably praying for death.
- red roses convey deep feelings, including desire, respect, love, and admiration. a dozen of them classically means 'i love you.' yuuri is totally aware of this.
- in japan valentines day is typically when girls and women give chocolates to the guys in their lives, and white day is when the men reciprocate. i tried to stay away from gender norms (bleh) so in this fic and universe its just giving and reciprocation.