Mr. Katsuki Yuuri, it's nice to meet you. What brings you here all the way from Japan? Victor mentally practices his greeting, debating on if he'll hit them with that knock out smile before or after a firm handshake. Though he isn't usually one for planning, Victor thinks fast on his feet, and it's much easier to catch people by surprise if he reacts in real time. No one can anticipate what Victor will do next if he doesn't even know himself, his unpredictability gives him an edge, lets him stay half a move ahead.
Yuuri beats him to the punch every step of the way and can't even remember it the next morning.
Victor remembers the banquet just fine given that he never drinks on the job. The only alcohol he comes in contact with is what Yuuri spills into his jacket. Upon arrival, Victor scopes out the place in order to assemble a layout of the hall. He spots Yuuri early on, standing alone by the hors d'oeuvres, the glare on Yuuri's glasses making it hard for Victor to get a read on his face.
When Victor circles around to get a better view, he catches a quick snapshot of Yuuri's expression. Yuuri's eyes are down cast, he stands with his shoulders hunched forward, a flute of champagne resting half forgotten between his middle and index finger. His body language says don't want to be here loud enough.
There's nothing spectacular about him at first glance, attractive but unassuming, plus a serious case of baby face. Victor might not have even noticed this man if he weren't literally the target.
Yuuri shrouds himself in an air of detachment, it's a familiar look, a raw version of something Victor recognizes in himself. Guarded? Aloof?
A closer inspection reveals an underlying hardness in Yuuri's gaze, Victor stops looking when it elicits an involuntary pang in his gut.
Maybe it was just the hideous tie.
Victor weaves in and out of the crowds, waiting on an opportune moment to make his approach. He has all the time in the world, the evening has just begun.
Until all of sudden, there's a row of empty flutes lining the table by Yuuri and Victor stares a little too long because he has no idea when this happened.
Then, Yuuri spots him, Yuuri's eyes sparkle, the ground shifts and both of them feel it. How cliché.
Victor finds the explanation in that mysterious pang.
Lonely. Katsuki Yuuri looked lonely.
I see you. Can you see me?
"Victor. That's your real name, right?" Yuuri says rather than asks, this is the first time he brings up subject of Victor's past unprovoked. It's been nearly two weeks since they've returned from Hong Kong. There's no contempt in Yuuri's voice, Victor is equal parts impressed and befuddled. "The way you write it, seems second nature, a fake name wouldn't come so easily."
"How come you didn't push for answers?" Victor asks.
Yuuri shurgs, "I dunno. Guess I figured you left it behind for a reason." He bites down on his lip, reluctant to give up the rest of the answer.
I didn't want to break the illusion.
"You always told me to trust my own judgement and yeah, I had doubts but spending all that time with you... it was genuine. Wasn't it?" Yuuri purses his lips off to one side, looking up tentatively at Victor, looking for confirmation.
You can keep your past but just... just as long as you give me your time now. Just a little longer, that's all I wanted.
Victor visibly melts, just a little. "What made you think I left it behind?"
"Because you're still here too."
Besides, Yuuri thinks Victor's had more than enough chances to screw him over. He never left with Plisetsky, after all.
"He wasn't really your godson, was he?" Yuuri asks the next evening, as Victor is chowing down his second bowl of Katsudon. When Victor freezes mid bite, Yuuri attributes the lack of response to a lack of context. "Plisetsky, I mean. The Russian Yuri."
"How do you know his name?" Victor exclaims, eyes wide and a grain of rice stuck next to the corner of his mouth. A far cry from the immaculate mirage that Yuuri could not bring himself near in those early months, choosing to revere from a distance. And now, as they both sit crossed legged on the tatami, Victor's hair flat on one side from an impromptu nap, blissfully unaware of the food on his face, Yuuri realizes how foolish he'd been.
Yuuri smirks, he's petty enough to find enjoyment in bombarding Victor with the loose ends. After all, Victor is only human; there are shortcomings and blind spots even the most rigorous training cannot eliminate. Plus, Yuuri thinks it's incredibly cute.
Your imperfections make you real.
"Well for one, he seemed to respond every time someone called my name." Yuuri initially assumed that Plisetsky went by something other than his first name to keep things from getting confusing. Although, that godson story has always been a bit fishy. "Was he a colleague? At fifteen?"
"Damn Yuuri," Victor snorts. "you really are something else."
Plisetky was rough around the edges but how many teenagers aren't? So Yuuri tried his best to strike up a conversation, fishing with a wide net of topics that he considered to be fool proof. Yuuri suspects family life to be a touchy subject, so he sticks with something a little more lighthearted.
What do you do for fun?
Music?
Books?
Social Media?
He soon discovers that Plisetsky doesn't watch any TV shows or movies, doesn't play video games, and has no apparent hobbies or friends. When Yuuri pressed, Plisetsky curtly responds that he's usually too busy, shutting the conversation down. The triplets have better luck when they invite Plisetsky over to play Mario Kart. According to Yuuko, he almost ends up whipping a controller out the window until Loop reminds him that he'll need that for a rematch. She also confirms Yuuri's suspicions ("Did you know his name is Yuri too?").
Still, it seems a little off that a fifteen year old would travel to a completely foreign country for weeks at a time and no one calls to check on him. When the subject of family comes up, Yuuri is tempted to point it out to Victor but decides otherwise when Victor shows no indication that this is out of the norm.
Victor always seemed surprised when Yuuri's mom called him during days out, asking questions as moms tend to do.
Have you eaten? Are you coming home for dinner? It's going to get chilly tonight, did you bring your hat?
"You're very close with your parents," Victor commented, like it was a strange concept. This is around the time Yuuri begins to notice all that he's been taking for granted. When Yuuri musters up the courage to ask Victor about his parents, he braces himself for a worst case scenario. Victor's response is somehow sadder.
"Are they still alive?"
"I don't know, probably." Victor responds like he's talking about the weather.
"Estranged?" Each question brings Yuuri a figurative step closer to Victor, and without the distance, the illusion begins to crumble.
"Yeah, I guess you can say that. They were both in high power, high demand positions and I didn't interact with them much, they were overseas most of the time. I had some nannies that I remember but then I uh... was enrolled in a boarding school during early adolescence. It was very strict, closed off, minimal outside communication, that kind of deal." Victor seems nonchalant about it. "I just lost touch."
"Oh." Oh. Yuuri's heart sinks to his stomach. Victor doesn't notice because this is what he grew up with. So whatever he was doing didn't have childhood as part of the itinerary. Get' em young and they'll hit the ground running.
The pieces were starting to fit together, Victor comes from a background of social isolation, specialized training, significant wealth and above all, confidentiality. Most people could get somewhere with that.
So when Victor comes clean, Yuuri is honestly kind of relieved.
To be fair though, he kind of saw it coming.
After the whole banquet ordeal, Yuuri spends hours scouring social media for the mystery man called Victor. Just who exactly did I embarrass myself in front of? Was it the alcohol or was he really THAT good looking?
Yuuri just has to know.
Half a day in and the profile count pushing triple digits, trawling through pages and pages of social media only to hit another dead end, Yuuri reaches out to the one person who could help.
Phichit is surprised but pleased by the phone call. Yuuri's former roommate back in University, Phichit Chulanont, was fast tracked through his high school's advanced placement in Thailand and given a full ride to the IT program at Berkeley two years early. Now, he designs online security for several Fortune 500 companies.
"I need your help, could you find out what you can about this person? His name is Victor and this is his number." Yuuri proceeds to slowly recite the digits to his friend.
"Do you have a last name? Where did you guys meet?" Phichit's questions were coupled with a knowing lilt, one that Yuuri chooses to ignore.
"The guest list had him listed as V. Nikiforov but his card only has Victor, he's a business man I met at this networking event last night."
"And you didn't think to ask?"
"Uh.." Yuuri hesitates. "I had a little too much to drink and wasn't really on top of my game." He gives a liberally condensed version of what he remembers to Phichit, hoping to leave it at that.
"Uh huh." Phichit sounds unconvinced. "So, what's he look like? You remember that right?"
Oh I remember alright. Yuuri knows he can't avoid the interrogation, he cooperates considering it's his best friend and a fair trade for information. "Tall, um, blue eyes, cropped silver-ish hair, mid to late twenties I'd guess. And uh... fashionable?" Yuuri tries really hard to avoid the term sex in a suit.
"Fashionable." His friend repeats through barely suppressed amusement.
Phichit starts clacking away on his keyboard. A few minutes later, he exhales. "Well, either you had an unforgettable night with the ghost of a hockey player or Victor goes by a different name."
"Why would he use a fake name?"
"Did you check for a ring? On the right hand or the left?" His friend teases. "Cause Russians wear it on the right."
"Phichit! I'm serious." Yuuri is not amused. (And yes, he DID in fact check both hands).
"So am I. I did my usual search across all the big social media platforms and even a few business oriented directories, I got nothing. Usually, even unlisted numbers leave a trace in the data base but the number you gave me straight up doesn't exist." Phichit drums his fingers on the table top. "Give me some time and I'll do a more detailed run to see if he's just got privacy settings ramped to the max but this is weird. Who did he say he was again?"
"A business man, maybe a consultant or some sort of financial advisor? I can't remember what he said word for word, but a lot of people at the banquet seemed to know him." Again, Yuuri berates himself for such a missed opportunity. "Okay, just let me know if you find anything in the meanwhile."
Phichit chuckles. Yuuri pointedly asks "What?"
"I spend four years trying to drag you out to school mixers and you wouldn't even pretend to consider. Now I'm getting a call from you in Sochi, Russia asking about a man who has the online presence of a 90 year old hermit. You must really like this guy, huh?" Phichit's tone is careful, Yuuri feels like it's an accusation.
"Eh? N-no... it's more complicated than that. Like I mean... it's just..."
"You know you could just call him yourself..." Phichit slyly prods at him.
"Uh huh." Yuuri knows he could, he also knows he won't. "Just- just let me know."
He hangs up and waits.
When Phichit finally calls him back, the playful lilt in his friend's voice is gone. "There's virtually nothing on him, I even looked into governmental databases, no birth certificate, no educational history, not even a freaking drivers licence. Russian servers can be inconsistent but getting basic info like this is pretty standard for anyone with an internet connection. In my experience, this kind of blank slate, well... it's usually intentional."
Phichit has dirt on everyone, short of being a literal hermit, it's inevitable to rack up a few tally marks in ones lifetime. His experience says in no uncertain terms that the most incriminating record is a nonexistent one. Not having a criminal record is one thing, but not having any kind of record just means the former is well hidden and likely extensive at that.
"Yuuri, be careful." Phichit is uncharacteristically solemn. "He's off record for a reason."
Oh well, Yuuri was never planning to call him anyways.
"Where are you!? We're going to be late!" Yuuri urges when Victor finally picks up. Lately, Victor has been going through phone numbers like tissue paper, the previous number Yuuri had been calling was only in use for two days before Victor decided to unceremoniously ditch it this very morning. Not only that, Victor doesn't even think to text Yuuri his new number until less than a minute ago.
Stupid Victor.
The seminars Yuuri has been attending turn out to be more fruitful than expected. With his blossoming confidence, Yuuri manages to secure contact with an agent representing the bank of Da Lian. One of their investors is interested in branching out in foreign tourism, specifically targeting undiscovered small towns that are rich in culture and relatively off the grid. The agent calls to say he'll be flying over to Kyoto for some business and Yuuri asks for a chance to make his pitch. They agree to meet at the agent's hotel, Victor is picking out the conference room before Yuuri gets off the phone.
Victor has been helping him put together an iron clad presentation for their meeting, they've been revising and practising around the clock until Yuuri has it memorized to a tee. Victor even styled Yuuri's hair, combing it all back and smoothing any unruly strands down with gel.
Victor was also supposed to check in at the front desk hours ago. Yuuri is going to give that man a piece of his mind when he finally gets here.
"Yuuri!" Victor calls out when he strolls into the front lobby, dressed to the nines, turning the heads of guest and staff alike.
Yuuri isn't wearing his glasses and can't single out which blob called out to him, instead he just follows everyone else's gaze to a fast approaching figure.
Victor walks up to him, leans in and says, "You look vkusno."
Yuuri has to take a second to remember that he's supposed to be really mad.
"You're late." He tries to will away the blush staining his cheeks. "We didn't check in on time so the room we booked was taken by someone else. We got downgraded to a smaller one but the equipment is the same so we should be fine."
"Hmm." Victor presses a finger up to his lips, eyes scanning around to the front desk. "Hang on, I'll get our room back."
He sure is careless with his charms, Minako once noted with a generous eye roll.
Yuuri disagrees.
Victor, who flashes his playboy smile to persuade uncooperative strangers, can be very careful when he wants to be. Victor's blue eyes dance with mischief, looking up at his victim through his eyelashes, chin tucked and an elusive smile playing on his lips. Like cloying sweets served on a silver platter, wrapped a two tone melody.
For me?
Yuuri knows from first hand experience how hard it is to say no, has even fallen for it knowingly because, well... it's Victor. Though in his defence, Victor always looks at Yuuri with sincerity, with his hair pushed back, with nothing but open warmth.
So Yuuri has seen the real thing enough times to recognize a cheap imitation. Like how Victor's got his hair carelessly (or so it seems) flopped over his left eye, a veil for his hidden intentions, half covered for half truths.
Fake, calculated, and definitely not his first time. (Old habits die hard.)
Yuuri can feel his insides bleed acid, his anxiety is going to have a field day with this. He pushes it all down in the meantime, opting to focus on the upcoming meeting.
But there's Victor leaning unnecessarily close to the concierge, soft laughter like wind chimes when the mildly flustered employee slides over the conference room key .
Floppy haired Victor accidentally (not even a little), innocently (no) caresses his fingers over the back of her hand during their exchange and Yuuri is willing to bet, while glaring holes into the back of Victor's head, that there was a wink thrown in for when they inevitably check out at least another two hours late.
When he finally turns around, Victor is clearly preening with triumph, waving the key card in Yuuri's direction. Yuuri isn't sure what his face was doing but he's glad it's enough to wipe that annoyingly handsome smirk off Victor's face. Right when Victor squints curiously at his expression, about to ask (stupid, stupid Victor), the elevator arrives.
It buys Victor about 15 more seconds before the doors slide closed and Yuuri's hand darts out like a viper to yank on the other man's designer necktie.
YANK
Victor is thrown off balance, his arms flapping in a rare moment of gracelessness.
"Eyes on me, Victor." Yuuri demands, his firm grip keeps Victor from pulling back to fully regain footing.
Only me.
Victor doesn't seem to mind.
"Of course." He says, hushed and breathless.
When Yuuri lets go, he looks to see if Victor really means it and is met with quite a sight.
Blue eyes dilated, lips slight parted, Victor looks ready to devour.
you look vkusno
Yuuri, in an outburst of possessiveness, essentially manhandles Victor just to boss him around.
oh how the tables have turned.
Victor responds by getting excited. Like, Excited excited.
aroused
Yuuri doesn't dare look into it because they're alone in a slow elevator and doing so could snowball into an inappropriate situation very fast. They've worked too hard on this presentation for it to be dismissed by scandal, Yuuri wants it to be memorable for the client, not traumatizing.
When the meeting starts, Yuuri is riding the tails of his jealousy induced assertiveness. The agent looks intimidated but impressed, listening intently, occasionally asking questions with genuine interest. With quiet confidence and compelling points supported by hard data, Yuuri ensures that his audience is fully engaged until the closing bit.
"Do you have any questions? Comments? I'm more than happy to go over anything for clarification."
"This has fantastic potential, my client will be very pleased." The agent says, beaming and furiously typing something into his phone. "Mr. Katsuki, you really blew my expectations out of the water. Be prepared to deliver this presentation again to a bigger audience, I'd like to schedule something before the end of the month."
By the time they shake on it, Yuuri's burst of confidence was starting to wane but he wears the costume until the client walks out the door and disappears around a corner.
Phew, that was kind of embarrassing.
Regardless, they now have a meeting with the commercial loan manager of a major bank in Da Lian to discuss their sponsorship of not only Yutopia but the entire tourism sector of Hasetsu. Victor, face lit up like a Christmas tree, ponders out loud if he should try and provoke Yuuri into this state more often. Yuuri asks if Victor can charm front desk into giving them separate rooms. Victor loops his arms around Yuuri's waist, plants a kiss on Yuuri's cheek and says he's sorry even though they both know he's not.
Yuuri barely manages to hold his pout trying not to smile.
That very night, while discussing the logistics of pushing two queen beds together without blocking the electric socket conveniently located smack in the middle, Victor's phone rings non stop.
"This number is only six hours old." Victor sighs, after disassembling the device into parts. The silence between them stretches uncomfortably thin. "Yuuri."
Yuuri plops himself onto one of the beds. "We're gonna do this now, huh."
"When else?"
(How's never?)
"Yeah. Okay."
Victor is right, they've put this conversation off for long enough.
"Yuuri." Victor says like his name like an apology.
"So when are you leaving?"
Several weeks ago, in Hong Kong, Victor tried to reason with Yuuri after he gets called out for a frankly appalling attempt at a cover story.
"This is only the beginning, Yakov is making a statement and I don't know how much is a bluff." Victor says, towards the tail end of their fight at the hotel. "I have to go back to Russia." Victor says and Yuuri's stomach knots with urgency at what he really means. you're right, but I'm still leaving sorry goodbye Between the exhaustion, the injuries, and an onslaught of confrontations, Yuuri is understandably hysterical. For the same reasons, Yuuri is also painfully honest. Through tears, he pours out the contents of his heart. "You're the first person I've ever wanted to hold on to!" "I'm afraid of losing you." "This feeling, I don't know what else to call it..." These words work their way under Victor's skin, under his fingernails, under his silence. because what else is there to say?By the time Yuuri is all cried out, Victor is still at a loss for words. So Victor does what he does best and pushes the topic aside for more practical conversation (Let's figure out our returning flights.) They fly back to Hasetsu together and their unfinished conversation is packed into the luggage along with Yuuri's dirty laundry.
Victor thought it would be best to give Yuuri some down time before rehashing the topic, that perhaps Yuuri will also be more receptive in the familiar settings of home. He goes on runs in the meanwhile, hoping to formulate a game plan. Just when he has something concrete to put into action, Victor comes home to a CD on his pillow. Well, damn.
Then, the agent calls and the whole thing takes them by whirlwind. Victor prioritizes this opportunity and estimates that he has enough leeway to wait until afterwards.
He was right, but now that the grace period is over, Victor isn't sure who dreads the conversation more.
"I want to protect you, this is the only way I know how." "That's not your choice to make." Yuuri says and stands his ground. The layer of nervous tension shed bit by bit in their time together, terror protruding through as anger. "Why don't you ask me what I want? As far as I'm concerned, you can protect me by staying by my side. Victor tries another angle, but he's scraping the bottom of the barrel. "I won't be able to help you with Yutopia if I stay. My accounts, contacts, hell, even the arrangements I've made to keep all these property vultures out of your hair are... conditional on my return. Otherwise, they'll freeze everything they can get their hands on, which is a lot." He smiles ruefully at Yuuri, who doesn't seem to fully grasp the scale of his suggestion. "When that happens, I might not be as useful as you'd like." "Don't insult me like that! Is this supposed to be some kind of deterrent?" Yuuri's shoulders shake when he yells, the room they're standing in feels too small. "I know a lot of the strings you've been pulling are tied back to your past, but even without all that, our Da Lian meeting is still happening, isn't it? That was all us!" Victor opens his mouth to respond, gears already churning, before Yuuri unabashedly cuts him off. "Why are you looking for excuses? Don't you get it yet? I don't care about your money or your connections or you being useful." Yuuri grimaces at such an ugly notion. "I want YOU. Just you, just Victor. That's it." Victor, lips now pressed into a thin, tight line, can't think of a single thing in response. "If you want to go back, if that's what makes you happy then I have nothing to say. But you need to look me in the face and tell me that's what you REALLY want rather than some... than some convoluted scheme to martyrdom! If you're going to leave, make it genuine." Yuuri thinks he might be out of line, but it doesn't matter; he trusts his instincts, Victor taught him well. "Or else I will follow you there." Run if you have to, but not from me. "How can you say something so reckless, you have no idea what some of these people can do." "I mean what I said. It's my decision and I made up my mind." "It's a selfish decision." Victor scolds him, furious. "Why is it selfish for me to chase what I want but not for you to do the same?" Yuuri has no qualms about calling this man on his bullshit. Their anger drips like gasoline, the room is thick with tension, ready to combust into flames. "You're supposed to be here for some job right? How's that going then? The people blowing up your phone, I don't know what they can do, but you know. So why are we still having this conversation then? What are you still doing here?" Yuuri has his fists clenched, body tilted forwards, waiting for his desperation to ignite and propel them both into a timeline where this problem is no longer a problem. Left with no other option, a current of panic rushes through Victor's limbs. I was really hoping to avoid this. If his conviction wasn't strong enough to carry through with the original plan (as anticipated), Victor had a wild card that will tip the scales one way or another. He isn't sure if this is the right thing to do but they've come this far and well, the chips will land where they land. "I was assigned to attend the banquet as a means to establish contact with you. The client wants the land deeds to Yutopia because there's a diamond mine underneath potentially worth billions. That's why I came here, Yuuri." "Oh my god." Yuuri whispers, eyes like saucers, barely audible. A breeze slips past the barely cracked window, a few strands of black hair tucked behind Yuuri's ear fall forward against his cheek. The bitter taste in Victor's mouth lingers, tastes like regret. He's jolted back when Yuuri scoffs, and boy is it worth hearing. "You know that's just a rumour, right?" Yuuri is surprisingly composed, and even a little amused. "What?" "The diamond mine beneath Yutopia?" Yuuri, bewildered that such a ridiculous rumour has the credibility that it does, clarifies for them both. Victor nods, just barely. Yuuri actually laughs. "Remember when I told you my family got swindled when we bought the property? Well, it was cause they were told that too. That's how they ended up with a random piece of land in the middle of no where..." you paid a fortune for this place "My great grandparents bought it under that assumption but it wasn't until after the papers got signed and the digging started that they found out it was all a rumour designed to chalk up the price of the land. They were lucky enough to hit a geothermal water reserve but too embarrassed to admit their bad business move so that piece of false information never got dispelled. Instead they just chose to cut their losses and leave it as a hot springs like a lot of other small time businesses in town. And three generations later, we're still here." "Victor, it was just a stupid rumour." Yuuri tells him. "There's no diamonds." It tips the scales indeed, which makes the next part easy. Victor didn't stand a chance.I have to go back to Russia, but I'll be coming home to you.
St. Petersburg is quieter than Plisetsky is used to, he develops a habit of leaving the radio on in his apartment. A habit that results in some local news channel droning on just loud enough to mask the sounds of a light footed intruder. Plisetsky sees an unfamiliar blur in his peripheral and immediately starts to reach for the folding knife he consistently keeps clipped onto his waistband.
"Don't treat me like a stranger now," The voice is all too familiar, Plisetsky hates that he knows exactly who it is. The knife is reluctantly tucked back into its hiding place, it wouldn't do much good anyways. Plisetsky knows he couldn't win a fair fight given the opponent, too bad he wasn't a fan of handguns.
Victor's ability to bypass his radar is very irritating.
"What are you doing here?" He finds Victor perched on a tall stool in the kitchen, Plisetsky gives the legs a good kick, both chair and intruder toppling towards the tile floor. Victor rolls seamlessly onto the balls of his feet and the former hits the ground with a loud clank.
"You know Yakov's ready to take your head after that little stunt you pulled with Ren." Talk about dramatic.
"His security is more competent than I thought, considering they're just glorified babysitters." Victor is obviously here for a reason and Plisetsky is uncomfortable with all the possibilities.
"What do you want?" Plisetsky asks him, Victor always has a knack for deflecting when he's playing a hand close to his heart. Russia was the last place for Victor to be given everything that's happened. Victor is here for a reason.
Plisetsky pauses for a beat when Victor shifts to cross his arms in front of his chest. Defensive body language huh?
"You're getting sharper." Victor drops his arms when he catches Plisetsky looking but the lines in his hands are still tight.
"Seriously, what do you want? "
"I need your help. Consider it a favour." Victor's voice is low and steady, his eyes boring into Plisetsky's face.
"HA HA" The absurdity of it all has the boy barking out in not quite laughter.
Victor continues without missing a beat, lining up the next hit. Plisetsky is still reeling when it comes.
"I'm resigning." Victor says, just throws it out there like he's run out of witty retorts.
"Oh you have GOT to be kidding me. You of ALL PEOPL-" The boy struggles to reign in his erratically increasing volume. Plisetsky jams his hands into the shallow pockets of his sweater.
"Are you going to tell Yakov for me or does the old man miss me enough to require a personal visit?"
"You're... resigning. Like permanently..." No way in hell is Yakov going to let him leave and Plisetsky doesn't plan on being the dead messenger.
"Yep."
"Who are you?" Plisetsky spits out at him, disgust and incredulity etched into a scowl. "Certainly not the Victor Nikiforov anyone in this business knows."
"Is that why you've given up on having me mentor you?" Victor's voice is controlled. "Because make no mistake, you still have a lot to learn."
Plisetsky scoffs, but otherwise remains silent.
"When Yakov finds out, he'll react... proactively. He can come after me if he wants but I need you to convince him to leave Yuuri out of this."
"How about I convince the old man for a chance to kill that pig myself." Plisetsky jeers, taunting Victor.
"You had a chance, and decided otherwise." Victor snaps back, his icy stare reminiscent of their standoff that night, through the wooden steps leading to Minako's studio.
"Someone interrupted me."
The air buzzes with strife, neither of them is willing to back down. Then, Victor redirects.
"How's surveillance duty? "
"You knew." Plisetsky remembers a handful of times where Victor looks directly through the screen, directly at him, like an act of defiance. Victor never bothers to take the cams down, there was little point, Plisetsky knew the deal the moment he left Hasetsu alone.
VIctor's gone for good, this is a lost cause.
Yet, when Yakov asked him to keep an eye on the pair, Plisetsky obliged when he should have spoken up right then and there.If this was Victor's way of humbling him, it's working.
"Why should I help you?" If anything, Plisetsky starts to come around, this is an opportunity to bargain with an upper hand.
"Here is my offer, keep Yuuri safe and I'll tell you anything you want. You want information? I can get you my entire client list and more than half their personal accounts within twenty four hours. I'll train you if you want, for as long as you want, you'll have my undivided attention."
"You're not exactly in the position to make that offer." Victor will have his plate full with repercussions, the political implications that will follow care not for intention.
"Well then, let's sweeten the pot, if I step down then you're my predecessor, no? Yakov has invested a lot into your training, he's got enough affluence to get your name plastered across the map. Isn't that what you wanted? Infamy, in the most prestigious sense."
What Victor says is true, his resignation will end the legacy of one of the most notorious assets the criminal world has ever seen. It will also give others a chance to step up to the plate and Plisetsky is nothing if not ambitious. But a downside lies in the possibility of living in the shadow of Victor's name, unless...
"Or did you want to be the one that takes me down?" Victor interprets his hesitation all too well.
In reality, Plisetsky knows that even if he gets to be one who pulls the trigger, the bullet is nothing more than a formality. Victor Nikiforov was already dead, fallen, at the hands of some nobody who can't shoot his way out of a wet paper bag. Plisetky has questions, one in particular.
Why?
"You were a living legend. Money, power, respect, anything you could have wanted. And you're willing to throw all that away, in exchange for what? Sneaking around on your own turf, asking a fifteen year old for help? A pathetic, washed up has been, why don't you just roll over and die. "
Victor's fingers are around his neck before he can take another breath. A grip just tight enough to remind Plisetsky how little force it takes to crush a adolescent's windpipe, just loose enough for him to consider his next words. Victor's expression is uncannily neutral, masking how the comment touches a nerve that hasn't yet frozen numb. The only tell resides in the tremor in Victor's fingers, trying to fight the temptation to clench just a little harder.
"I don't want your mentorship, you've fallen from that pedestal a long time ago." Plisestsky's voice is strained, he can't manage enough venom in his tone with the bright spots dotting his vision.
When Plisetsky's eyes begin to turn glassy, Victor loosens his hold just a hair.
Plisetsky knows this chance might be the only one he gets and wrangles himself out fueled by survival instinct and muscle memory. He moves well out of arm range and starts coughing up a lung. When Plisetsky looks up with watery eyes, Victor is smiling and it's only partly vindictive.
"Why?"
Victor just keeps smiling. "First, yes or no?"
"What if I say no." Barely contained rage packed within those five words. Now out of reach, Plisetsky wants to retaliate with his newly acquired bargaining chip.
Victor looked unfazed, almost bored.
"People never think to wipe the hard drive when they delete important information." Victor pulls a phone out from his pocket and starts scrolling through it.
Plisetsky feels goosebumps break out across the nape of his neck when he recognizes the all too familiar silhouette. It's Plisetsky's personal cell, the one that he keeps stashed in an empty deodorant case under the bathroom sink.
"You're paranoid enough to use a burner but not paranoid enough to do more than a soft delete. Rookie mistake, Yuri."
"Don't call me that." The boy scrambles for an out, this conversation is not going where it needs to go.
"Yuuko calls you that." Victor says too casually, he continues scrolling while the boy squirms. Victor raises his eyebrows in amusement before delivering a final blow, ensuring Plisetsky's cooperation. "Or do you prefer Yuratchka?"
Too late.
"Looks like you've got some ties in Moscow." Victor turns the phone around to show the evidence, the screen is too dim to be read at a distance but Plisetsky can hazard a guess as to what's being displayed. Victor is usually more bark than bite, but it's not a gamble Plisetsky is willing to take.
Victor tosses the phone back to the boy, who then begrudgingly pockets it without a word. And after all is said and done, Plisetsky really could learn a few things.
"What am I supposed to tell Yakov?" This is as close to Yes as Plisetsky's willing to give. "You know he'll be coming after you himself, right? The old man doesn't fuck around."
"Are you worried about me?" Victor asks, his elbow propped on the granite counter top. "Maybe I should send a gift basket."
"If you want my help then stop patronizing me! Give me something to work with."
"You know why the client wanted the deeds right? Why he was willing to pay what he does?" Victor straightens until he is squarely facing Plisetsky.
"Rumours about an untapped mineral mine underneath the property worth exponentially more than what they're investing."
"Right." Victor smiles but the corners of his lips barely manage to inch upwards. "Except there's no mine."
"You're lying." Plisetsky retorts immediately, like a knee jerk reaction.
Victor shrugs. At this point, why would I?
"You haven't answered my question." Plisetsky reminds him, but Victor is already headed out the door.
"Nice place, looks like my old apartment."
Ah, let the comparisons begin.
"I'm going to forge my own legacy, one that leaves yours in the dirt." The boy says, though it's mostly to himself.
"And then?"
"What do you mean and then?" The words scrape against Plisetsky.
"Nothing. I'll be flying over to Da Lian next week, if you're going to tell Yakov, at least wait till I get back."
The door clicks shut behind him.
"And then?"Plisetsky chews on the question for all its worth.
A legacy immortalized in history but you are still flesh and blood. All that wealth and status, but a name only lives on for the living.
At some point, there will be a cold body left in some ungodly place, decomposing and irrelevant. On balance of probability, how many circumstances could that happen under? Are they worth dying for?
For a client? A pay cheque? A rival?
(god knows old age is out the equation)
"Why?"The answer is wedged in that empty deodorant case, operating system now wiped to factory settings. Because having someone to protect is more gift than curse. Because loneliness will make you untouchable in every sense of the word. Because you can become a god only if you're willing to sell your soul.
The view is great from the top, just don't let the cold swallow you whole.
Yuuri had been waiting at arrivals for almost two hours by the time Victor's flight touches down. A large part of his attention dedicated to staring at the listing display, wondering if he can speed up the flight time by sheer will.
On time. 94 minutes to go.
On time. 71 minutes to go.
On time. 56 minutes to go.
How can on time feel so damn late? Victor is gone for approximately forty seven hours and Yuuri think's it's forty eight too long.
Yuuri sees Victor first, they run parallel to the glass corridor, eyes glued to the other before colliding into a long awaited embrace. Bystanders are either moved, envious or a confusing mixture of both.
With all the strength he can muster, Yuuri manages to pry them apart. He holds Victor at arms length, and Victor looks confused, even hurt at the sudden distance.
Let me make it up to you.
"Victor, please stay with me," Yuuri asks, "until the end."
I've done some thinking, and whatever the end entails, I want to be by your side.
Japanese culture is steeped in subtlety, and Victor has picked up a few things during his stay.
"Sounds like a marriage proposal."
Yuuri can't believe he just got called out like this. But Victor takes Yuuri's hand, kisses his ring finger and everything is more than forgiven. They fall back into each others arms and Yuuri's eyes well up far too fast when Victor whispers, just above his shoulder, "In that case, I wish this would never end."
On the way back from the airport, the two of them sit squished against each other in the back seat of a taxi. When Yuuri begins to doze off, Victor fights the urge to follow suit. Neither of them has gotten any decent rest lately, but Yuuri is sleeping against his shoulder, warm and peaceful, so Victor stays awake to savour the moment.
Victor is sitting by the window, looking at Hasetsu in passing.
It's good to be home.
Plisetsky is left waiting in Yakov's office, told to sit tight while the old man debriefs with an operative after a successful assignment. A young lady named Mila, a few years his senior, was returning from negotiations with the Crispino siblings in regards to an upcoming dead drop taking place in Barcelona. Yakov calls Plisetsky in to do the prep work, which usually involves setting up a base somewhere nearby and making sure there's an exit strategy in case things go wrong. Standard procedure, a little tedious if anything, but Plisetsky is glad for the distraction.
His last conversation with Victor still sloshes around in his mind, not fully digested. For now, Plisetsky chooses to omit the entire thing to Yakov.
It's a bad time for everyone right now, this can wait till I get back.
The telephone's shrill ring cuts through his thoughts, it's Yakov's personal line and Plisetsky jumps on the chance to find out who the old man has been shaking hands with.
"Wei?" A woman's voice comes through the speaker.
Plisetsky freezes, betrayed by inexperience, he was not prepared to answer in any language other than Russian.
The caller can read his silence accurately, because Yakov doesn't just give out his personal number to anyone.
"Where is Yakov?" She asks, her English is choppy and lightly accented.
Plisetsky clears his throat before answering. English, I can do.
"He's busy, what do you what?"
"Put me through to him, I want to make a deal."
"I told you, he's busy." His voice teetering on the edge of impatience.
"Oh, he'll want this." She insists, rustling papers can be heard in the background. "It's about Victor Nikiforov."