The fitting model V

In a catwalk, the designer's main goal was glamour, a worthy fantasy to sell. Attractive people walked a clear polished floor with lights highlighting the aesthetics defined by a brand. Magazines always displayed perfectly photoshopped faces and bodies to die for. The fantasy itself went over the wildest dreams and created the misconception that models always wore makeup and nice clothes. However, Yuuri had the shock of his life, once more, the very moment he met at least thirty different models with no makeup on. All existing skin tones, body shapes and all imaginable features were on display in their natural state. They were scruffy and clearly jet lagged. Some even slept behind clothing racks looking like any average person would do on their basis.

Yuuri could see for the first time that those perfect beings had imperfections as well. Some got scars hidden under several layers of fancy clothes, others got subtle red acne marks and some even had almost invisible stretch marks on their bellies. They looked… plainly normal, like any teenager or adult in their early twenties. They starved, they felt tired, they got thirsty, they felt an agonizing pain from broken ampoules on their feet after wearing heels for a long time. They even looked scared when they had to step on the catwalk. What if they fell? Their fragile career would be ruined in the blink of an eye. They could stand the pain wrenching their ankles but never the shame and laughs among the public. Their success and term on the fashion industry depended on their ability to play and their strength to hold onto.

Most models were blond Russians who barely spoke a word of English. They were way too young and at some point, the hall looked like a High School rather than a fashion venue. Yuuri could only stare each one of the models in awe to the beautiful, yet tired faces and body complexions. He looked really short by their side, really overweighed even. He wondered until what point it was healthy for a human, model or not, to lose weight. Yuuri couldn't believe displaying one's bones with barely a thin layer of flesh covering them was beautiful or healthy. It was terrifying to see the sorrow in their eyes whenever freshly made food was put on the table for photographers to take. Yuuri had starved in the past when he needed to save money for fees. In those times, his stomach was always in pain and growling like an animal desperate for food. How could someone willingly hurt themselves over and over again like that?

Yuuri breathed slowly, holding the air in his lungs as if it had the courage he needed. Everyone chose the path and way of living they wanted. He may not agree with their destructive tendencies and food regime but he was no one to criticize others. He himself was an anxious man without a single outstanding talent. Just a bore with enough luck to stand in the place he currently was.

Yuuri made his way toward Viktor's office. The journey reminded him of a steeplechase. Every two steps there was something he had to either avoid or jump. But instead of having fun, his nerves wrecked further. Every single item in the building probably costed more than all of his organs together. If he broke anything, he couldn't afford to pay it with… Well, perhaps he could. Old habits die hard.

Yuuri was three feet away from the door when he crashed, nose first with a moving item. His eyes caught a blur of black, gold and brown mixed in a messy pattern before he found himself on the floor.

"Hey, watch your step idiot!" someone yelled at his left. The voice sounded young and slightly feminine, like the one from a soprano in a chorus. The teen was so ethereal and his tone innocent. It was a shame how hard words and a thick accent hid the grace it naturally had. It was simply wrong.

"I-I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention," Yuuri made sure to offer his hand to help the stranger stand. In answer to his offer, his hand was pushed away by another. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud in the busy hallway, attracting glances from several curious people nearby.

"No shit, you don't say," came a harsh answer.

The japanese blinked several times. The guy was barely a teen and he already sounded as dangerous as a criminal on the streets. The young blond wore animal print from head to toe and it was almost unbelievable how a pretty boy could speak such words. The longer the teenager stared at him, the more Yuuri felt like running away from such intense turquoise eyes.

"Yuri!" an assistant called from the other side of the hallway, saving him from the punk blond. The black-haired man excused himself with a reverence before walking away, though he decided it was pointless. His heartbeat was erratic and he was not sure if it was for the work or the moody boy he crashed into. Probably both.

"Here!" he shouted, though another voice answered at the same time, an oddly yet quite familiar one. He turned his eyes to the left. There stood the boy with animal print next to him. A moment later their shoulders brushed against each other. Yuuri immediately remembered that time years ago when he watched The Exorcist movie. The child possessed by the evil had spun her neck around in a creepy way that made him scream at the top of his lungs. Then, the punk teen had done something alike that sent a shiver down his spine.

"You again, can't you just get the fuck outta here?!"

Yuuri gulped hard.

"I-I ha-have work here," he explained himself, though his words came shakier than intended.

"You can clean the floor later, asshole. Only models can cross that door now."

A cough finished their pleasant conversation abruptly. They both stared at the assistant by the door. She arched a perfect eyebrow and hit the wood with her long-polished nails.

"Yuri Plisetsky, it's your turn for the photoshoot," she said.

"About damn time," the teen held a triumphal grin before stepping on the room. The blond even stood taller as a peacock displaying its feathers. The door was mostly closed when the assistant stopped.

"Yuuri Katsuki, the fitting session starts in an hour. You can sit over there in the meantime," she offered, it seemed she had a little pity for him after all. He was about to thank her when he was interrupted.

"THE FUCK YOU'RE THE FITTING."

Yuuri walked backwards and the teen followed forward. Every step the japanese gave felt heavier. It looked like a lion that cornered its prey. It felt dangerous and very scary. Then his back hit a wall and there was nowhere to run away.

"I don't know why the fuck Viktor would choose a piece of shit like you for that job but I'm pretty sure there is place for only one Yuri in the fashion world," the blond took the hem of his shirt and raised Yuuri an inch from the floor. His feet winged in despair for a second. "A fatso like you will never last in this industry so get away now, LOOSER!" The teenager yelled at his face. A second later Yuuri stood on his shaky feet as the door crashed closed.

He had just got in the industry and he already was hated.

Just perfect.

An hour and half later, the blond came out the room. Yuuri was sure that if the assistant wasn't there, he would be hit by the teen any moment. As soon as the teen was away, not after a threaten glance over him, Yuuri almost ran to the room and closed the door behind him carefully. The room was even busier than outside. Tailors wore lab coats while the other people dressed in casual black. Racks full of unfinished clothing stood everywhere along colorful shoes on the floor.

"Yuuri! I am impressed with your weight loss, you look amazing!" Viktor shouted from his place. A big and comfy couch in a corner of the room. The japanese had no time to reply because a ball of brown fur ran across the floor towards him. He found himself on the floor for the second time on the day but by a thoroughly different reason.

Yuuri laughed as he was licked all over the face by a lovely poodle. He scratched behind her ears and her paws moved in contentment.

"Makka! Bad girl, get off him!" Viktor ordered the dog. The weight over him disappeared shortly after and a hand stood before him. Yuuri took it with a thankful smile.

"I'm sorry Yuuri. Makkachin is very well behaved but it seems she likes you just as much as I do," he winked at him. Yuuri's cheeks dyed a beautiful crimson. Viktor was such a teaser.

"You should stop bringing her over, she could destroy something at some point you know," the assistant said with a serious tone.

Viktor brought a hand to his heart, dramatic stance.

"Mila, how could you say something like that, Makka will be hurt! Makka, don't listen to her, I know my baby girl would never do something bad and…"

"Whatever. By the way, I'm Mila. Viktor's assistant. I'm sorry for the late meeting."

"I-it's OK. Thank you for your help earlier, with… you know."

"No problem. Yura can be a pain in the ass sometimes but he's very professional. Don't mind him, keep your distance and you'll be alright," he doubted so, but kept quiet.

"Now, there's no time to waste," Viktor stopped crying, as if something in his brain had switched to another mood. Suddenly the childish russian was gone, replaced by a responsible boss.

"Please, take your clothes off and put this outfit," Viktor said as he held a jacket and pants on a hanger.

"WHAT? I-in here?"

Everyone turned to stare him carefully. The silence was becoming unbearable second after second.

"Easy guys, he's new. I'm sure he'll get used to it in no time," Mila said, "There is a changer room over there. Feel free to use it," She winked at him.

Yuuri was thankful to the deity that took pity on him. The work was already hard with so many people staring him. He could not stand the shame of being naked in the middle of the room as the day he was born.

The sky was dark and the street lights on when Viktor finished doing arrangements for the day. In a shift of eight hours Yuuri had only tried a jacket and pants. The Japanese never thought there were so many ways to wear those clothes that looked so simple to his eyes. Symmetry or asymmetry. Short, medium or long. Sexy or formal. The options were a world by themselves.

Yuuri's feet ached terribly inside his shoes due to the eight hours standing and a cramp threatened to come to his arms as he finally put them down to his sides. His nerves were wrecked after listening to breaking fabric and the hurt of pins all over his body. He also was a bit cold and his nose turned red.

He had been taken a photoshoot at the end in which he was sure he looked as bad as in his passport picture but smiled anyways.

"V-Viktor?"

"Yes Yuuri?"

"Is all your collection going to be white?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, everything I have seen so far is white. Even the clothes hanging in the racks are white so…"

Viktor stared him for a while. A long minute went by in silence and one could cut it with a knive. Suddenly, Viktor burst laughing whole heartily.

"Not a single thing is going to be white dear Yuuri! What you see now are only the molds. Once we are sure they look nice and comfy, the clothes are sewn in real fabrics and motifs. It's a complicated procedure but it's worth it all at the end."

Yuuri's face dyed with a bloody crimson.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know anything of the molds or the real thing a-and I…"

The Russian kissed his bare left shoulder with care. Yuuri jumped at the surprise and he was about to step back when Viktor's thumb drew circles on his cheek. A shiver ran all the way down Yuuri's back and, for the briefest moment, Yuuri felt as a porcelain doll worshiped in the hands of an artisan.

The blue in Viktor's eyes was a perfect mix of heaven, ice, sea and diamonds. Warm, yet cold. Changing as the seasons according to the angle they were observed. Yuuri could stay forever to count the stars he saw in those eyes. His silver lashes were long and delicate to shield Viktor's soul with blessing beauty.

"You did a wonderful job, Yuuri. I can't wait to try more designs on you."

The black-haired man smiled as his heart skipped a beat.

Viktor seemed spellbound. Eyes full of adoration. Time wasn't an issue when Yuuri looked back at him with the most delicious chocolate eyes in the world.

Makkachin barked loudy at Viktor's feet, craving for attention. Her tail swung happily on the floor and the russian blinked as if he had just woken up from a dream.

"Oh, sorry. You must be tired. Please go home and rest. We'll see you in two days."

Yuuri nodded shyly. As Viktor moved away all warmth faded away. Yuuri shivered. The clothes barely covered his skin and the cold gave him goosebumps.

"There is a jacket in the changing room. Please take it, your clothes are useless in this weather."

Yuuri was thankful to indeed find the jacket. In the morning, he thought it was a matter of a few hours to be finished with the job. He expected to be back home at four but his phone indicated it was past ten. The chilling of the night created a fog that hid most of the buildings a few miles around. The jacket was just his size and it had the most beautiful blue color he had seen on any fabric.

Viktor was gone by the time he finished dressing himself. He was touched for the trust his boss put on him. The Japanese made sure to turn the lights off as he went out. He checked out in the main hall in a few minutes and took a cab.

A few missed calls from Pichit were waiting for his answer and he shuddered. When Pichit wished so, he became a strict father. It didn't matter Yuuri was older, Pichit still considered himself a parent of his. And apparently, he was going to kill him.

Yuuri put his phone in the left pocket of the jacket. His hand found an object in its way. Something he didn't remember was there. He pulled it out and a beautiful yet unreal rose seemed to bloom in the middle of the gray streets. A magnificent blue one with a tag with his name written.

A blush covered his face in pink dust and warm feelings. Maybe, at the very core of his mind, Yuuri was enjoying the experience more than he was willing to accept.

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your sweet words and support. You've won a place in the Victuuri heaven. Merry X-mas and happy Viktor's birthday to all of you!