I know I'm actual trash but literally this anime has literally changed my life. Very AU, rated T for language. Also my submission for Day 5 of Yuri on Ice appreciation week! Word count: 8,937.
Disclaimer: disclaimed. I would never dare steal from Kubo-sensei.
Dedicated to Hazel (Hazelmallorn) and Zero (octocelot) for being super supportive of my trash during my writing of this!
the language of flowers
i.
FLORIOGRAPHY — (noun) The language of flowers, sometimes called floriography, is a means of cryptological communication through the use or arrangement of flowers. Origin: Latin floris (flowers).
-::-
ii.
"Oi, Yuuri!"
Phichit's slightly-annoyed voice cut through his daydreaming.
"I said we need more milk in here. Did you even hear me?"
"Yeah...sorry," Yuuri replied sheepishly. "I'll go get some from back."
As he made his way into the back storage room, Yuuri cast a glance over his shoulder at the cafe bustling with life.
He had been working at Ice Castle Cafe for months now, and Yuuri had yet to see a day where the shop was so full. Perhaps it was the winter chill sweeping into Detroit that rushed pedestrians off the streets and into the warm building like autumn leaves, perhaps it was the flocks of university students inevitably congregating in the shop with every exam season, perhaps it was that business was finally picking up for them.
Either way, Yuuri was glad that the shop was finally getting the attention it deserved—even if it meant crowds of customers. Crowds made him uncomfortable.
His roommate smiled his usual Cheshire-like grin as Yuuri emerged from the back with a carton of whole milk, a smile that stretched from ear to ear.
"What's on your mind, Yuuri? You seem to be distracted today."
"It's really nothing," Yuuri replied. "I'm just thinking about how many customers there are now."
Phichit made a noise of agreement.
"Who knows? We might even get a celebrity in here some day."
-::-
iii.
They were all art students of some kind—because calling themselves "students majoring in the fine arts" was much better than calling themselves "broke ass college kids renting a small apartment together in downtown Detroit." Although the latter would've been more accurate.
There were four of them, including Yuuri and Phichit, all of them in different fields, all of them with different habits, and all of them in different years from different backgrounds and different ages. And all of them paying slightly more rent than they could afford because it was a lot better than the alternative, which would be paying a lot more rent than they could afford.
A photography student, a drama student, a studio art major, and a music conservatory student. All living under one roof and just trying to claw their way out of mountains of student debt.
With some slight exceptions of who takes out the trash ("If I really wanted to take the filth out, I'd just shove Leo's ass out the door!"), whose turn it was to get the groceries or to do the dishes ("But I just did them yesterday!"), whose turn it was kill the rat-sized spiders that kept getting into their apartment ("Jesus fuck, it's going to kill me!"), the group was functional. Good enough for Yuuri, at the very least.
That small apartment had been his home for over a year now, and Yuuri never stopped loving it there.
-::-
iv.
It was already the middle of November when Yuuri met Victor for the first time.
And by met Victor, he really meant he embarrassed the absolute living crap out of himself in front of a life-long idol.
Leo and Guanghong, Yuuri's younger roommates who never stopped their bickering with each other, were hanging around Ice Castle Cafe again during Yuuri and Phichit's shift. Even despite the constant "For the last time, Leo, just because you are our roommate does not mean you get a cappuccino for free."
"But you owe me a favor," Leo moaned, begging his two roommates for presumably much-needed caffeine. "I composed that music score for you guys! And I'm pretty sure you guys said it was the best study track you've ever heard in your life."
"Actually," Guanghong cut in, looking up from his sketchbook. "I'm pretty sure they both swore not to listen to your music ever again."
The music conservatory student pouted.
"You rude folks just don't appreciate good music. But what about that time..."
Yuuri had tuned out of the conversation by now to take the next customer's order, a tall man with silvery hair hiding half his face who just sat down at a table with a book. Leo's pleas were nothing he hadn't heard before anyway.
"Hi," he greeted the customer as he approached the table.
Phichit, with his cheerful disposition and constant radiation of energy, was always better at interacting with the customers than Yuuri, but it was a skill Yuuri was trying to improve on as well. Sometimes he didn't know why he decided to go into acting if he couldn't even fake a steady voice and a smile for the customers.
"What can I get for you today?" Yuuri asked.
The new customer looked up through his bangs with piercing blue eyes, eyes that were almost too bright to be real. Instinctively, Yuuri took a step back ever so slightly; the stranger looked familiar.
"Just hot chocolate for me, thank you," he said with a smile.
-::-
v.
As he was stirring the hot chocolate pensively with a spoon a few minutes later, the realization hit him.
He whipped around to face his roommate a little too fast, spoon still in hand. Guanghong made an indignant noise as the metal utensil flew from Yuuri's hand and smashed into the side of his face.
"What the actual fuck?" the studio art major exclaimed. "Yuuri!"
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Yuuri hissed at his roommate, though he wasn't really apologetic considering the circumstances. "Dear God, I just realized who that guy sitting over there is. Dear God."
"Come again?" Guanghong rubbed his nose, disgruntled.
"It's Victor Nikiforov!"
"Sounds Russian, would that explain why he tells his acquaintances to hit their roommates with flying metal objects?"
By now, Phichit had joined the conversation and even Leo had decided to take a break from begging his friend for caffeinated drinks, leaning in to hear Yuuri's whispers.
"Okay, okay," Yuuri explained, taking a deep breath.
If he didn't know better, he would say he was getting heart palpitations, a mixture of surprise and excitement as adrenaline coursed through his veins like fire. His voice came out in slightly high-pitched and rapid-fire whispers that he wasn't even sure made any sense.
"That's Victor Nikiforov; he's becoming a rising star in the world of theater, and he's kind of a big deal, especially these days. I knew he graduated from this university two years back, and he's been scoring bigger and bigger roles ever since according to the news. Literally everyone says he's on his way to fame. And he is like. Sitting. In this cafe. Right there. In front of me? How do you guys not know about him?"
"Maybe because we're not complete nerds," Leo snorted, but Yuuri's mouth barreled ahead, going a million miles faster than what his brain could keep up with.
He lowered his voice a bit more. It felt like a bubble had been expanding in his heart and was now rising to the surface, a whirlwind of emotions.
"I've been looking up to him for ages, always trying to catch up to him and copy him. I can't believe it took me this long to recognize him! Did my brain just simply malfunction when I saw him? From shock?"
Phichit chuckled and patted his friend, who was still taking deep breaths but not sure if he was getting any oxygen into his heaving lungs.
Guanghong cast a glance over his shoulder at Yuuri's customer.
"That still doesn't explain the fucking spoon," he grumbled. "Jesus, Yuuri, just go serve the man some hot chocolate."
-::-
vi.
As it turned out, Yuuri's skillset as a waiter had left him along with the oxygen from his lungs.
"Dude," Phichit said with a horrified face as Yuuri returned to their small circle, red-faced and flustered with hot chocolate dripping from his hands and uniform.
Across the cafe, Victor's table was in no better shape. Yuuri had made it within two feet of his table before unceremoniously stumbling over his own feet and falling. Which, although comical, was also tragic news for the book Victor Nikiforov was reading, now stained with brown liquid despite Yuuri's blubbered apologies and attempts to wipe up the hot chocolate.
He was never going to be able to recover from this.
"Get out of here, my friend," the photography major continued, patting roommate on the shoulder again. "Go, I'll take over for you from here."
Yuuri could only give a small whimper of gratitude before he grabbed his bags and bolted out of the cafe as fast as his legs could carry him.
-::-
vii.
The next time Victor came by on Yuuri's shift was a week after the initial incident.
To be honest, Yuuri was surprised the esteemed actor even came at all after he had ruined the book—along with all of his chances at a simple friendship with one of his life-long role models.
Despite the words of encouragement his roommates had given him since the encounter, when Victor walked into Ice Castle Cafe again, Yuuri took one look at the customer and ducked behind the counter.
"Hide me!" he hissed to Phichit, who shook his head firmly.
"Come on, Yuuri," he said simply, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You need to face him eventually, especially if he keeps coming back to the cafe. Just go and talk with the guy! I'm sure the hot chocolate was no big deal to him anyway."
-::-
viii.
Eventually, Phichit had convinced him to leave his hiding place and approach the actor.
Though his roommates didn't know, Yuuri had rehearsed his apology to Victor over and over again in his head since their first meeting, trying to prepare himself for the hypothetical situation in which they would meet again. Yuuri had even went out to the local Barnes & Noble to pick out a new copy of the book he had ruined to give to Victor—something to do with flowers though Yuuri hadn't dared to read it.
I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. He chanted the words in his head over and over again.
Taking a deep breath, Yuuri closed his eyes and approached Victor's table, deliberate determination in his step. Hands trembling slightly, he set down a cup of hot chocolate and a book in front of the returning customer.
"S-Sorry," he stuttered—it sounded more like a squeak. God, why was he so embarrassing?
Yuuri cleared his throat and tried again, still not daring to make eye contact. "Sorry about last time you were here. I bought you a new book to replace the one I ruined. It's the one you were reading that night, right?"
When he finally dared to look up and make eye contact through his trembling hands and pounding heart, he found Victor's face smiling up at him.
Almost instinctively, Yuuri smiled back.
-::-
ix.
Over the past month, Victor had been coming more and more often to Ice Castle Cafe, visiting at least three or four times a week and always during Yuuri's shift for some reason. They had easy conversations, often about the changes in campus since Victor's graduation but sometimes about their personal lives as well.
Yuuri had talked to him about things he had trouble talking to his own family about.
Maybe it was easier because he knew Victor might've been able to relate, maybe it was easier because he'd always seen the man as a role model and there was absolutely no embarrassment in sharing his failures with a man he pretty much spilled hot chocolate on while trying to start a conversation. Nothing can get quite as embarrassing as that, really.
Maybe it was simply because of the way Victor Nikiforov's eyes twinkled in the light when he was interested in a conversation or the way he never judged anyone, not even Leo and Guanghong when the pair somehow locked themselves inside the freezer in the back of the cafe.
Regardless, Yuuri found himself talking about his acting career, about how it fizzled weakly and went out entirely from time to time. About how he could never land the roles he wanted and the ones he did simply were lackluster in performance and received bad reviews from critics. And about the difficulty of going on stage when he was cast in plays, even about how mentally unprepared he was to face an audience and yet still chose to pursue the career because he loved and lived for the rare occasions where he could perform his best, strange as it may seem.
"Have you ever read this book, Yuuri?" Victor asked him one night.
"What book?" Yuuri asked in reply, turning around from wiping one of the cafe's tables.
It was almost closing time, and most of the other employees and customers have left, including Phichit, but Victor always had a habit of staying later than the other customers.
Yuuri sometimes wondered why Victor stayed for so long—was it because he was simply bored? Did the cafe have a special meaning to him? Or did he genuinely view Yuuri and the circus show of his roommates as friends? Still, no matter how many conversations he held with Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri still found it difficult to control his heartbeat whenever they exchanged words.
Victor held the book he was reading, which Yuuri immediately recognized as the one he had unceremoniously spilled hot chocolate on during their first meeting.
"I thought I got you a new copy!" he exclaimed when he saw the familiar stains.
"You did, but I like this one anyway. Reminds me of when we met."
Victor smiled again as Yuuri's cheeks flushed.
"Anyway, have you read it by any chance?"
Yuuri already knew the title, but he leaned over to read the chocolate-stained words anyway. The Language of Flowers: A Victorian Flower Dictionary.
"No, I don't think I have."
"Ah, that's a shame," Victor said, still smiling. "I think you will enjoy it very much. Give it a try if you find you have the time."
-::-
x.
After Ice Castle Cafe officially closed, Victor offered to walk with him as they lived in the same direction.
As they strolled in comfortable silence, their breath coming out in small clouds that curled skyward, Yuuri finally voiced the question he had been meaning to ask since Victor came to the cafe—only a little over a month had passed since then, but it felt like forever ago to Yuuri.
"Victor, what are you doing in Detroit?"
The taller man laughed an easy laugh.
"I live here," he replied simply. "I have an apartment not too far from yours."
"I know that," Yuuri quickly added, turning a little red. "But I heard after you graduated, you got a lot of job offers—pretty big roles, too. What are you doing here of all places? You could be anywhere in the country if you wanted to."
Victor stayed silent, long enough to make Yuuri regret asking at all.
"I think," he answered at last. "That I don't really even know the answer myself. I did act for a while after graduation—but somehow, I've lost my love for it in the process."
Yuuri looked up, surprised.
"The truth is, Yuuri," Victor said, keeping his eyes to the ground. "I'm afraid I'm a bit lonely."
He laughed again, this time with a hint of bitterness. Yuuri's eyes widened as he continued.
"I know," the tall man continued, brushing silvery hair from his eyes. "You'd think that the man the press insists on being the next big star would have a few friends, but I don't. Probably quite a few fans, but not many friends. I can count the number of people I'm close to these days on one hand, and most of them are busy with their own careers as actors anyway. I've lost a lot of inspiration in acting because of this, I'm afraid."
Yuuri desperately wanted to say something—a word of condolence, reassurance, even encouragement. But no matter how hard he tried, the words got tangled up in his throat and no sound came out. All he could do was listen as Victor went on speaking.
"I came back to Detroit because I wanted to look back on my college years, because I needed a break," the tall man sighed. "Be reminded of times where I didn't feel so damn lonely all the time, you know?"
He smiled sadly at Yuuri as they arrived at the crossroads where their paths separated—Yuuri hadn't even realized they had walked that far already.
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
-::-
xi.
The Language of Flowers: A Victorian Flower Dictionary.
Why was the damn book so hard to find online?
-::-
xii.
"On the house," Yuuri said as he set the cup of hot chocolate in front of Victor without making eye contact.
It was amazing how he was actually following through with his half-assed plan and how he wasn't desperately fleeing the premises of Ice Castle Cafe out of sheer and utter embarrassment already.
"Oh, and this," he added.
Hands trembling, Yuuri set down a flower next to Victor's napkin, a small but pretty thing, vibrant and yellow with five petals and fresh from the store two blocks down.
Jessamine flower. You are cheerful and graceful.
-::-
xiii.
As Yuuri found out through his reading, in the Victorian Era, assigned meanings to flowers replaced verbal messages and written communication between lovers, especially between lovers who went against their family or society's wishes.
Victor was right in saying that Yuuri would enjoy the read.
-::-
xiv.
The next day, Yuuri found a flower in his apron pocket.
He smiled as he examined the delicate plant and spun the stem around carefully between his thumb and forefinger. It was a fragile but beautiful plant, just as vibrant as the flower he had given Victor the day before and just as yellow, also with five petals.
Agrimony. Thank you.
-::-
xv.
Time passed quickly, too quick for Yuuri at any rate. The hours he spent in class, the hours at the cafe, the hours talking and texting with Victor, the hours playing board games with his roommates—everything stacked up and before Yuuri knew it, the university had went on holiday break.
"You know, Yuuri," Guanghong said, lounging on the carpet of their small apartment with his roommates and his phone. "When are you and Victor going on a formal date?"
Yuuri choked on his tea and promptly entered a coughing fit.
"Oi, stop trying to change the subject just because I'm kicking your ass at this game," Leo snapped, not paying attention to Yuuri's coughs and reaching across the small circle they were sitting in to wave his hands in front of Guanghong's face.
"It's not even my turn!"
"Well, it is now—Jesus, I didn't know someone could suck so much at 8ball."
Guanghong gave his friend the finger and a few choice words before returning to his phone screen, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Around this apartment, 8ball was taken as a serious, competitive sport.
"But still, Yuuri, when are you gonna ask Victor out on a formal date? You know me and Leo have placed bets on this stuff and if you don't make a move within the next ten days, I'm about to be even more broke than I am right now. Make your move before the end of winter break, man."
"Yeah," Phichit added, plopping down next to Yuuri with his own mug of tea. "You guys talk so much! It's very cute and I've definitely talked about you guys on my Snapchat story. You guys obviously like each other, so why not?"
Yuuri could feel the heat rising to his face, and it definitely wasn't just steam from the tea.
"Why is my relationship with Victor suddenly the gossip of this apartment? Actually, hold on a second, how many Snapchat followers do you even—"
-::-
xvi.
On Victor's birthday, he sent a pot of red flowers, lush and rich in color and in full bloom.
Poinsettia. December birthday flower. You are the special one, be of good cheer.
-::-
xvii.
It turned out that Guanghong won his bet with Leo after all, though Leo insisted that there were loopholes involved.
"No, get your filthy, thieving, conniving, weasling hands off my money!" Yuuri heard Leo shouting from the kitchen. "It doesn't even count because Yuuri wasn't the one who asked him out!"
"They're dating and to my amazing, artistic, happiness-deprived soul, it feels like the universe is gently cradling my face and smiling at me for the first time since I was brought into this cruel world of awful friends and student debt," Guanghong replied dramatically. "So give me my damn money. Leo!"
Phichit shot Yuuri a wink; he had been looking over the two and smiling the whole time without a word.
Earlier that day, Yuuri had received a small note along two flowers (a thickly petaled pale pink flower and a five-petaled pastel purple flower). It was two days before New Year's Eve and four days after he sent the birthday flowers. As expected, his roommates gave him hell until he explained their meanings, which then rapidly escalated into the wrestling match for a twenty dollar bill Yuuri was witnessing.
Ranunculus. You are radiant, I am dazzled by your charms.
Viscaria. Will you dance with me?
The note read: "New Year's Eve?"
-::-
xviii.
He made Guanghong draw a picture of a brilliantly red flower to be sent in return the very next day. Partially because, again, they were broke ass college students. But also mainly because all the stores were closed for the holidays.
He also had Guanghong write the words "please pick me up" on the bottom of the paper. Partially because there was no flower in existence to express something that specific. But also mainly because he was still a broke ass college student with no means of transportation in case Victor wanted to go somewhere far.
Solid red carnation. Yes.
-::-
xix.
Somehow, Victor appeared to be even taller than Yuuri thought he was when wearing a suit, ironed and prim for the occasion with a flower Yuuri couldn't make out in the dark sticking out of his breast pocket. And, as Yuuri's rapidly-beating heart and hitched breath forcefully reminded him, Victor also looked strikingly beautiful in that suit. Which was just not fair for the respiratory issues Yuuri was sure his lungs were starting to develop.
They walked in comfortable silence for a long time, their gloved hands entwined with each other's and nothing but the sound of fireworks in the sky to keep them company. Yuuri watched his breath curl and rise into the night as he tried to keep track of where Victor was taking him.
As they rounded another corner, Victor broke the silence.
"You know, I almost want to turn away from what we're doing right now and go buy you a new neck tie," he said, chuckling. "Your current one looks awful."
"It's the only one I own," Yuuri replied sheepishly. "And I kind of like it."
Victor laughed.
"Maybe another day then?" he asked. "I've wanted to give you something since that jessamine flower, but I couldn't find the right thing. Until tonight, of course."
He paused.
"Have you ever been to the town square on New Year's Eve, Yuuri?"
Yuuri had heard about the annual New Year's Eve events in the town square, which mostly consisted of couples dancing but also a countdown until the new year and possibly something to do with shaving cream. He wasn't exactly clear on the details.
Phichit had nearly dragged him to the dance himself a year ago ("It doesn't matter if we're not together, we can still dance!"), but the poor boy woke up the morning of feeling sick and feverish, leaving Yuuri no choice but to stay behind and look after his roommate. Not that he minded that in the least—he had always felt uncomfortable in crowds, especially crowds with hundreds of couples dancing.
He'd never imagine that he would end up being one of the couples dancing there one day. And certainly not with someone as beautiful as Victor Nikiforov.
As they entered the brightly-lit town square, Yuuri caught a glimpse of the flower at Victor's breast, the one he couldn't see in the dark a minute ago. It was a solid red flower, its round petals curling skyward.
"Come on," Victor said, his bright eyes twinkling as he offered his hand. "Will you dance with me, Yuuri?"
Red tulip. A declaration of love.
-::-
xx.
There were a lot of things Yuuri was unsure of at that moment.
He wasn't sure if his heart was racing from dancing or from the sheer excitement of the night in general. He wasn't sure if his cheeks were flushed from the hot wine Victor bought for the both of them or from the embarrassment of stepping on his partner's toes all night. He wasn't sure if the overwhelming dizzy giddiness in his head came from twirling under Victor's arms at least a hundred times that night or the effects of alcohol on New Year's Eve—New Year's Day by now.
Still, he tried his best to listen despite the uncertainty of his self-reflections as Victor began to speak.
"There's another thing I've been meaning to give to you today," Victor told him as they filed out of the square later that night.
He was still holding Yuuri's hand as he spoke and, to be honest, Yuuri wasn't sure if he'd let go of it at all that night. Not that he had any complaints.
"Another thing?" Yuuri wheezed. "It really is my lucky day."
"I meant what I said to you earlier this year—about how lonely I was and everything," Victor began, leaning slightly on the sides of Yuuri's shoulders as they walked through the gently-falling flakes of snow. "But doing this, meeting you, everything about the last month and a half has been a wonder for me."
He smiled that contagious smile again, more brilliant than the rising sun.
"I want to tell you that I've found my inspiration again, just by being together with you. I want to go back to the world of theater, Yuuri, but I want you to be there with me—I want to give you something back for everything you've done for me."
They had stopped walking by now, simply standing under a streetlamp on the sidewalk as the snowflakes gathered around them.
"But," Yuuri stuttered weakly, eyes downcast. "Victor, I really haven't done anything."
He felt a gentle finger lift his chin up and looked to meet Victor's eyes, still shining in the dark and filled with a fierce sincerity. With their faces mere inches away, Yuuri was sure half the air in his lungs had suddenly decided to abandon his body.
"You've done everything," Victor whispered softly.
The rest of the air in Yuuri's lungs left as Victor closed the gap between their lips.
-::-
xxi.
A single flower was at Victor's door the next day, a sweet-scented purple blossom with large petals.
Ambrosia. Your love is reciprocated.
-::-
xxii.
"The thing is, Yuuri, you are actually a great actor," Victor told him one day.
They were in Ice Castle Cafe again, with Phichit insisting on taking over Yuuri's shift because he "had more exciting things to do, right?" Before Yuuri had a chance to refuse, his roommate had already donned the remaining apron and left the flustered Yuuri with a wink.
"You're kidding me, right?" Yuuri replied, taking a break from shooting Phichit death glares over Victor's shoulder.
"No, I'm serious."
Yuuri rubbed the back of his head, slightly embarrassed.
"You get nervous, that's all," Victor continued, taking a sip from his hot chocolate. "Messing up lines is just a side product of your stage fright, but all the emotions behind your acting are there. As your new acting coach, it's my job to help you get over the stage fright."
"You're really serious about this then, aren't you?"
"Well, why wouldn't I be?"
"I mean..." Yuuri began, still scratching the back of his head. "I know you said you wanted to do something for me, but becoming my acting coach? Victor, I barely have enough money to pay my share of monthly rent. How am I going to pay you a coaching fee?"
"I guess I'll just have to bill you after your break-out role then."
Victor winked.
"Let's just start out small, shall we?"
-::-
xxiii.
It was a small town play, just as Victor promised. Shakespeare's Hamlet. For one week only, at a local theater.
Yuuri had already heard about the casting calls from his classes at the university but hadn't really taken an interest. Deep down, he was still afraid of embarrassing himself in front of hundreds of audience members again. He shuddered to think about the last play he had completely and utterly fucked up in—he stumbled over every line, forgot every stage direction, and accidentally spouted a line or two from A Midsummer Night's Dream while in character during a performance of Macbeth. Not to mention he almost knocked a fellow actor off the stage.
Victor made him audition either way.
"How are you going to improve if you don't try out again?" he had said, despite Yuuri's pleas that he was definitely not ready for this. "Besides, you've definitely already done this play before. It's a classic, and you're more confident in yourself now."
It was true that his confidence had gone a long way since he began working with Victor. His enunciation improved, as did his flow on stage, and he had even started adding more and more little quirks to each character.
Still, even with Victor's fingers around his shoulders in encouragement, the waiting room he found himself in felt more like a prison cell than anything.
"Have faith," he heard Victor whisper in his ear as they waited for his name to be called. "I believe in you, Yuuri."
With one hand still around Yuuri's shoulders, Victor pulled a small flower from inside his jacket pocket—six petals and a deep shade of violet-blue. Carefully, he placed the delicate flower in Yuuri's jacket pocket, his long fingers taking care to not ruffle any of the petals in the process.
He planted a kiss on Yuuri's cheek just as a woman emerged from an adjacent room, holding a clipboard and calling his name.
Hepatica. Confidence.
-::-
xxiv.
"I still can't believe I'm doing this," Yuuri whispered shakily, pacing back and forth.
It had been two months since the audition, and to Victor's delight (and Yuuri's horror), he had been placed into the role of the Prince of Denmark himself. He thought his audition had been decent, certainly better than the ones in the past, but he never imagined being put into the lead role.
"Have faith," Victor whispered to him again.
It was opening night, the curtain had already risen, and they were backstage, waiting for scene one to finish before Yuuri entered as Hamlet. From the applause at the show's opening, Yuuri estimated there was no small crowd out there, which made him even more nervous if nothing else.
Ordinarily, they wouldn't even be allowed to be talking backstage, especially not when the play had already begun. However, the director, a tall woman with brown hair named Minako, had been more than supportive when she learned about Yuuri's stage fright and how Victor was the only one who could calm him down. She insisted that Victor would follow him backstage and give him a pep talk before his entrance, provided that they spoke only in whispers.
He shivered, still jittery.
"You were fine in practice this morning, and I'm sure you'll be fine now."
"I'm just a little nervous."
"I know," Victor whispered reassuringly.
In two quick strides, he crossed the small space between them and pulled Yuuri into a bear hug. Whereas he had been tense with hugs before, Yuuri quickly adapted to Victor's displays of affection and now melted against his coach's signature trench coat.
"Thank you," Yuuri whispered into Victor's ear as he pulled away, just in time to hear Marcellus finish his last lines as he was ushered onto the stage.
-::-
xxv.
He found Victor waiting for him by the back of the theater after the crowd had dispersed.
With only a wide smile and without saying a word, Victor handed Yuuri a bouquet, a bundle of blossoms with white petals, streaked with red.
Amaryllis. Pride.
-::-
xxvi.
Once again, time passed for Yuuri at an alarmingly quick rate.
His performance in Hamlet had garnered him the attention of other groups and play directors, some of whom began to ask him to audition or to play in certain roles. Despite the offers, he simply stayed with Victor in Detroit, working largely with Minako on some of her other plays. She insisted he take the lead roles, saying that the audience adored his performance and that he was one step away from fame.
The hours he spent working with Victor, working at the cafe, working for his classes—they all rushed by in a blur. With a blink of an eye, the school year passed and the university closed for summer break.
By that time, Yuuri had moved in with Victor, his roommates cackling over the bets they've placed and simultaneously discussing—and arguing over—new arrangements in rent.
"Seriously, Yuuri," Phichit told him as he began to load his possessions into cardboard boxes. "It's about time you moved in with him."
"What about you guys though?" Yuuri asked. "Are you and the others going to be okay?"
Phichit waved off his question. "We'll be fine! Miss you a little, obviously, but still fine. We still expect you to fill us up on the details about you and Victor's relationship though."
Yuuri laughed.
Admittedly, a part of him was still very much uncertain about moving out of the apartment. After all, he and Phichit had roomed together for two years, with Leo and Guanghong joining them just that year. A part of him wanted to stay, desperately wanted to stay, but even a bigger part of him knew that he had to start trusting himself and believing in his decisions, starting with the one he made about moving.
And so he was greeted by Victor later that day with a handful of small, white, four-petaled blossoms.
Mayflower. Welcome.
-::-
xxvii.
He wasn't sure how the idea came to Victor, only that they were drinking hot chocolate and eating poorly-cooked Bisquick pancakes at Victor's kitchen table when his boyfriend threw the project at him.
"Yuuri," Victor mumbled over bites of pancake. "I have an idea."
"That's never a good sign," Yuuri teased.
"I know we've been doing plays at Minako's theater a lot," he began, pouring more hot chocolate into Yuuri's mug. "But I want to try something else, something I've always wanted to do but haven't really found the time or the people to do it with."
"Am I going to like it?" Yuuri asked.
"Probably not, but you know I'm going to make you follow through with it anyway. Besides, I'm bribing you with hot chocolate."
Victor placed a long finger on Yuuri's mug, tracing the outside edge of the cup and staring at his murky reflection.
"I want to write my own story, Yuuri. I've wanted to for a while, ever since I became your acting coach actually." Victor laughed. "I've come to realize I like things from the other side of the stage a whole lot more than expected."
"You want to write a play?"
"No, I want us to write a play."
Yuuri sat in stunned silence for a while, unsure of what to say. He supported Victor with all his heart, there was no doubt about that—hell, he'd still support Victor even if the man told him he wanted to drop out of theater once and for all to begin again as a competitive figure skater or an equestrian—but he couldn't find the right words to express what he wanted Victor to know.
"Well?" Victor prompted after a moment of silence. "What do you think?"
"What would your play be about?" he asked instead, still searching for the right words.
Victor grinned, his eyes bright.
"I was just thinking," he answered softly. "There is no better story to tell than our own."
-::-
xxviii.
As it turned out, Yuuri did manage to find the right words to describe the feeling that carried over to him from breakfast—that tingly feeling he felt inside his fingertips and the numbing, calming sensation in his head when he thought about Victor. The strange, slightly frightening, yet wildly exhilarating feeling of Yuuri's own unconditional support and care for him. The feeling that rushed to his chest when he heard Victor confess he wanted to write a play about their relationship and share it with the world. The feeling of hot wine and New Year's Eve dances and kisses under streetlamps.
Actually, Yuuri found that it was better expressed with a flower than with his own words—a truly beautiful red-tipped flower with many petals that he placed on Victor's pillow that night.
Victor cried when he saw it, and to be honest, so did Yuuri.
Alstroemeria. I love you and am eternally devoted to you.
-::-
xxix.
Their anniversary came and went—a trail of flowers and blossoms even Yuuri had trouble keeping organized in their apartment.
A single white carnation from Victor to Yuuri. Endearment.
A wreath of blue roses from Yuuri to Victor. Immortal majesty and love for those who seek it.
A string of celandine blossoms on Victor's apartment door. Joys to come.
A pot of coreopsis for the kitchen table. Eternal cheer.
A vase of pink convolvulus flowers in the bathroom. Worth sustained by judicious and tender affection.
And finally, a bouquet of red roses from Yuuri's old roommates. Victor had stared at the flowers for at least five minutes, confused and slightly flustered as to why Yuuri's roommates were expressing their feelings of love, until Yuuri pointed to the note nestled inside the bouquet, written in Leo's slanting scrawl.
The note read: "To Victor and Yuuri: we know that you guys somehow communicate in some obscure and pretentious 1800s flower language, but we got these roses for you because we're poor as fuck and these were the only ones on sale. Happy anniversary, you disgusting lovebirds."
-::-
xxx.
Somehow, somewhere along the line, Victor convinced him into getting a dog.
Actually, "convinced Yuuri into getting a dog" would be interchangeable with "shoved a squirming newborn puppy into his arms as a birthday present" in this case.
Even Yuuri, who wasn't a huge dog person, had to admit that the puppy was beyond adorable—a purebred poodle that Victor had christened as Makkachin. It was a small creature with fluffy fur the color of hot chocolate and warm eyes and a pink tongue and a huge tail that wouldn't stop thumping against Yuuri's chest as he held him there, trying to keep the puppy away from licking his glasses with little success.
"Happy birthday, Yuuri," Victor proclaimed proudly as he laughed and tucked a single purple flower behind Yuuri's ear.
Violet. Faithfulness.
-::-
xxxi.
"How do you think the play should end?" Victor asked him one day, comfortably lounging on the living room couch with a stack of papers in his lap and a pen behind his ear.
"I thought you had already planned that all out," Yuuri remarked, leaning over the back of the couch.
"I'm more or less making it up as I go," Victor replied. "I've written about Ice Castle Cafe, your hilarious roommates, my old and lonely self, New Year's Eve, the Hamlet role, moving in together, how we inspire each other with our pretentious flower communication, the anniversary, and even Makkachin. I'm up to date now, but I just can't think of an ending."
"A happy ending?"
"Any kind of ending, really. Something that gives closure."
"You should ask Minako," Yuuri suggested. "I bet she knows a lot more about how to make a good ending."
"Maybe you're right."
Victor heaved a sigh.
"To be honest, I don't know if we even really need a good ending, a happy ending, or an ending at all," Victor continued after a brief pause. "No story is more compelling than one that never ends, no?"
-::-
xxxii.
"Lovebirds! I haven't seen you two around here in a while," Leo exclaimed as Yuuri and Victor sat down at their usual Ice Castle Cafe table.
The newly-hired waiter shot a glance at Makkachin, who wagged his tail and slobbered at the sight of Leo. Yuuri thought the poodle was rather adorable despite the apparent lack of training, and he knew Leo thought so too as his old roommate simply shook his head and dropped a snide comment.
"Normally, I'd tell you that we don't allow dogs in here, but seeing that Yuuri is already seated, I suppose I can make an exception for this dog, too."
They stayed well beyond closing time that night, gathered around the small table and drinking out of cups of hot chocolate—Phichit, Leo, Guanghong, Yuuri, and Victor. Even Makkachin drank from a small bowl Victor laid out for him under the table. Yuuri could feel the poodle's tail thumping against his foot from time to time.
"You assholes are writing plays now?" Guanghong asked, slamming his cup of hot chocolate onto the table. "Why did no one tell me about this? Who's going to do the artwork for the sets? Yuuri? You know you can't paint for shit, pal."
"It's not even done," Yuuri said weakly in defense.
"And it's not like Yuuri's completely giving up on acting or anything," Victor supplied. "I, for one, like things better from the other side of the stage. Yuuri's still doing his acting thing, but we just want to get this one play out there."
"So basically," Leo joined in, mocking Guanghong's dramatic cup-slamming. "You guys are leaving us out of this? The three most talented art majors on campus?"
"Yeah, are you gonna leave us out of your wedding invitation list next?" Guanghong added.
Yuuri could feel the heat rising to his face.
"When is that by the way?" asked Phichit, gently tugging on Yuuri's sleeve despite his indignant splutters. "I want to come and be your photographer."
"Screw the wedding," Leo declared as Yuuri's splutters grew louder. "I just want to write the soundtrack to their new romance novel, damn."
"Oh, but I'll also make the music for your wedding too," he added as an afterthought.
-::-
xxxiii.
On December 25th, the day of Victor's birthday, Yuuri swore he couldn't breathe.
Actually, he was also pretty sure Victor couldn't breathe either, seeing as how the man was bent over on his side of their bed, wheezing and coughing with tears running from his bright blue eyes and Yuuri's hand resting on his shoulder through the sobs.
Yuuri tried to speak, tried to say the words he'd been meaning to say before they both broke down like children. Though through the tears, he guessed any of his attempts at words sounded more like childish blubbering than comprehensive syllables.
Instead, he simply waited until Victor straightened again, both of them blinking rapidly as the tears flowed relentlessly from their eyes.
"Let's try that again," Yuuri said, half-laughing and half-crying.
It sounded more like "L—hic!—let's t-try th-that a—hic!–again."
Nevertheless, Yuuri figured Victor knew what he was trying to say.
He extended the present he had made for Victor again, the flowers that caused both Victor and himself to break down into disjointed sobs mixed with peals of laughter as soon as Victor realized their meaning mere minutes ago. Red-faced and trembling, Victor slowly accepted the flowers from Yuuri's grip. One red flower and one white flower, held loosely together by a piece of string with a note and a golden trinket attached.
Yuuri had planned to give it to Victor earlier, while he was still bent down on one knee—they were both on the ground now, so he supposed that part didn't matter.
One red rose with one white rose. Unity.
The note read: Will you marry me?
-::-
xxxiv.
The response was a vibrant and stunningly red flower, its petals pointing outward. Yuuri cried a bit more when he saw it later that day, arranged artistically on his tear-stained pillow.
Red camellia. My destiny is in your hands.
-::-
xxxv.
"Am I still blotchy?" Victor asked Yuuri.
"Er—not really," he replied.
Victor groaned before turning back to the bathroom mirror to splash more water onto his face. Yuuri complained a lot about the wedding organizers (and by wedding organizers, he really meant Minako and his old roommates), but he was thankful in that moment for the mirror and stack of towels they left in the bathroom.
"What about now?"
Victor turned around to face him once again. His face was damp from the water but his blue eyes were sparkling—though still a little red from the crying earlier.
"I told you, you look fine," Yuuri answered. "You always look fine."
"Yeah, except you were lying the first time."
"I was being honest," Yuuri added. "You just look like you had an incompetent makeup artist do up your face. Or maybe some allergies. Seriously, I don't think anyone is going to notice. If anything, I look worse."
"You look worse?" Victor asked, incredulous. "I couldn't even get halfway through the vows."
Yuuri laughed as he handed Victor a fresh towel.
"It was a cute kind of crying though," he reassured Victor. "And I messed up my lines too."
"You know, for people who work in theater, we're absolute crap at delivering our lines, huh?"
"Only at our own wedding," Yuuri objected, turning the handle of the bathroom door to let them both out. "And to be fair, it's not as if we haven't done stuff that was just as embarrassing in front of the people out there. Remember the hot chocolate?"
Victor smiled, a smile that was as brilliant as the rising sun and just as pure and contagious as the day Yuuri met him.
"Darling," Yuuri's husband replied. "Of course I remember the hot chocolate."
-::-
xxxvi.
There was only one type of flower at the wedding—they had both agreed on that.
The wedding planners were free to do whatever they want, a choice that Yuuri almost regretted, but there would only be one type of flower at the wedding.
Sure, they could've lined the walls with roses to display their cryptic plant-messaging love to the entire world, and sure, they could've arranged tulips in all kinds of different ways for the same purpose. But it was too cliche, even for their tastes, and they both wanted something more—something better—than just plain old showcases of affection. Besides, even if they wanted love-symbolic flowers, Yuuri was sure there weren't enough genus and species of plants in the entire world to satisfy the both of them.
So they settled for a different flower, and only one type. Vibrant yellow flowers with six beautifully-sculpted petals, each one with an orange center.
Daffodils. A new beginning.
-::-
xxxvii.
"Are you done yet?"
"Almost."
"Are you done now?"
"Almost."
Yuuri sighed, carefully disentangling himself from a sleeping Makkachin. The poodle insisted on napping on Yuuri's chest at least once a day, and he had to take extra care to squirm his way out from under their beloved pet—who, as Yuuri noted, was growing at an abnormally fast rate.
"What about now?" he asked Victor as he successfully emerged from under the mass of brown fur.
"It's done."
"Can I read it?"
"No," Victor teased. "I put in some pretty embarrassing things about you at the end."
It was a lazy Sunday morning, with Victor lounging in the couch with his ever-growing stacks of paper and pen behind his ear. Yuuri was on the carpet next to him, stroking the fur between Makkachin's ears with one hand while half-heartedly snatching for the now-finished play with the other.
"I just need a title," Victor told him. "Any ideas?"
Yuuri scratched the back of his head, desperately searching for something creative. By now, he had already secured numerous lead roles in local plays and Victor even wanted him to audition for an upcoming movie. In theory, Yuuri should know at least something about creating a good title, especially when the story was based on his own life, but he didn't.
"Consequences of Spilling Hot Chocolate?" he suggested meekly.
Victor shook his head.
"Creative Ways of Proposing?"
Still no.
"How I Met My Husband?"
He got a laugh out of that one, but Victor still shook his head.
"Don't worry about it," he reassured Yuuri. "It'll come to us eventually."
-::-
xxxviii.
Ice Castle Cafe was still bustling with life when Yuuri entered, preparing to stop by before the shop closed and maybe sneak a few more packets of powdered hot chocolate back to his apartment with Victor.
It had been almost two years since that fateful night where he spilled Victor's drink all over the Victorian flower language book. A lot of things happened since then—his career finally starting, his graduation, and his marriage, just to name a few.
And yet at the same time, nothing has changed, Yuuri thought to himself. The people change, but the stories never seem to end.
Phichit told him there was a new drama student, a freshman, who was now rooming with them. A short and strangely adorable kid named Minami who greatly admired Yuuri.
As he looked around the cafe, he saw Leo and Guanghong, now huddled together over a sketchbook. Yuuri had noticed they were becoming closer and closer as the years passed, and he even contemplated placing a bet with Phichit over when the two roommates would finally confront their feelings for each other.
Different people. Same story.
At any rate, perhaps Victor was right.
Perhaps no story is more compelling than one that never ends.
-::-
xxxix.
"The language of flowers," Yuuri triumphantly stated later that night. "That's the title we've been looking for."
Victor smiled as Yuuri extended his hand, offering him a dark pink flower. It had been the last one in the shop when Yuuri bought it, but the owner still insisted on giving it to him for free.
"You are one of my most frequent customers," he had said with a wink, shaking his head when Yuuri offered him a five dollar bill for the rose. "Besides, I know Victorian flower language. This one is on the house for you."
His eyes sparkling and still smiling, Victor accepted the flower and placed a kiss the topmost petal.
"It's perfect," he whispered gently.
Deep pink rose. Thank you for being a part of my life.
[see you next level.]
Anyway, I had so much fun writing this! I just loved the show's usage of flower language, so I had to write more. I took a lot of liberties with characterization I think, and I'm so sorry if my writing is shit (I haven't written in ages, also I was high on painkillers for most of this because of wisdom teeth removal).
Feedback is appreciated as always!