Title: Stags of the Caribbean

Disclaimer: Weeeeeeell, if Yuri! on Ice were mine, why would I write this fanfic?

Credit: Immeasurable thanks to my beta readers, rasclieboobear, kleonlumi, starsorts, and Scarlet Forest

Warning: AU in which the characters have different jobs from their canon counterparts

Author's Note: May you enjoy your gift, Sandkopf!

Cultural notes:

Offering a very rich flavor, golden ossetra was the rarest form of ossetra sturgeon caviar.

In vino veritas is a Latin phrase that means "in wine, truth." In other words, the things said under the influence of alcohol reveal true beliefs that are not expressed when the speaker is sober.

Victor had attended bachelor parties involving dirty jokes exchange, heavy drinking, and wolf-whistling at the topless waitresses. However, he was yet to experience all those on a private island. Thus, when an F1 Grand Prix bronze medalist who was also the son of a billionaire created the opportunity, Victor readily accepted the invitation even though he had never considered himself to be J.J.'s close friend.

With the salty breeze of the Caribbean Sea caressing his cheeks and ruffling his hair, it'd be a lie if Victor were to say he didn't look forward to such a treat. The only drawback was that, compared to the Russian climate, the sun shone too strongly in this part of the world. After wiping the sweat from the bridge of his nose, he adjusted his sunglasses. More than personal reason, the soon-to-be bridegroom probably included him among the guest list for prestige—six-time Grand Prix gold medalist, holder of the world record, and all that. A handful more of the world's top ten Grand Prix champions were also invited: Emil Nekola, Michele Crispino, Otabek Altin, and Christophe Giacometti. One of the passengers, who had been taking pictures non-stop, alternating between his smartphone and digital camera, was likely to be the photographer hired to document the occasion. Maybe J.J. wanted to show his future grandchildren the photos of him clasping hands with the other champions or something, since none of them were his buddies either. The super-sized luxury yacht cleaved the aquamarine water, carrying him and at least three dozens of more guests closer to the shore of pristine white sand.

Tucked away in a secluded forest setting, the multi-storied resort was the only edifice standing. It was built under the supervision of Katsuki Toshiya and Hiroko—the hoteliers who had received accolades after opening a hot spring-themed hotel with floating restaurants back in the late 1990s. At the Leroys' commission, the enterprising couple had unveiled another resort, pushing the idea of sustainable design to even greater heights. Apart from hiring the world-famous architect Celestino Cialdini—the man behind the numerous Ritz-Carlton hotel establishments across the globe—they also harnessed the award-winning interior designer Okukawa Minako, who imbued the cozy guest quarters with her diagonal strokes and harmonious asymmetry, combining world class amenities with a style that accentuated the natural resources. The result? Rustic-luxe at its purest. That was what Victor had heard about the place he was heading.

Reality didn't disappoint. The resort hosted fifty suites, each with a naturally aromatic cypress hot spring bath. Diversions, too, were a treat, with a bar and restaurant rising above the treetops, aquatic sports galore, and scenic promenades. The room, with its big windows and lofty ceilings, offered the spaciousness that urban hotels could rarely afford. It was also cozily decorated with a nature-washed color palette complemented by matching cypress furniture and botanical artworks—a home away from home with an impeccable aesthetic. The party would start at six thirty, so the guests had free time until then. However, with the four-poster fluffy bed, not-so-small mini bar fridge, and a sixty-inch TV embedded in the wall niche, Victor found it to be a dilemma of which amenity to try first.

Thinking that he could always participate in beach volleyball at any other place, he decided to try his hands at a parasail wing. As the motorboat drove off and pulled the tow rope connected to Victor's parascender, he felt the familiar tugging sensation in his stomach. Excitement permeated through his being, making him grin. From the air, he saw from the coast to the horizon as he hovered along behind the boat, entirely at ease. He also spotted some guests snorkeling, surfing, playing Waboba in the shallow water, and taking strolls along the coast to discover the flora and fauna that made the isle uniquely charming and truly unforgettable. Now clad in one of the resort's rental wetsuits, the photographer from earlier was still busy taking more pictures, though this time, he had a third device that Victor suspected to be an underwater camera. The higher the altitude he gained, the more the resort and its amenities appeared like a miniature model. Above him, the stratus clouds were darkening; it was going to rain.

As soon as his parasailing session was over, Victor asked the boat driver to take a picture of him with his phone. He wasted no time to proceed with scuba diving; he wanted, at the very least, to catch a glimpse of the colorful reefs and tropical fish before rain chased away the sunlight. With every stroke of his limbs, the seawater felt cool against his skin and wetsuit. Here, he could roam freely without the noise from people and vehicles. The silence, combined with the feeling of zero gravity―controlling the rise and fall of his body through breathing―made it easy to forget everything outside the sea. It was just him, and the sensation of floating through the water, peaceful and calm. There was nothing else like it.

Still, he hadn't expected another wonderful sight at the end of his underwater adventure. The moment he surfaced, he was greeted by the twin mounds of a glorious ass, draped in neoprene, standing just one foot away. Every man on the isle wore the same rental wetsuit, so why must this one looked better than the rest?

Victor was opening his mouth with the intention to talk to the ass' owner when lightning struck down from the sky, accompanied by the furious rumble of a thunderclap. The owner of the sexy ass lifted his surfboard overhead and, like everyone else on the beach, ran for shelter. With the scuba tank encumbering his back, Victor could neither keep up with his speed nor had the chance to see his face.

A bunch of people playing underwater hockey in the resort's indoor swimming pool prevented Victor from doing laps in it. Swallowing his disappointment, he returned to his own room and took a shower.

The rain had let up about three-quarters of an hour before the party began. While the event planner the Leroys employed had prepared enough marquees in case of the bad weather, it sure was a relief to have an outdoor party under the clear sky. The route to the venue was lined with paper luminaries to create a lovely warm glow as guests arrived. Above the tables laden with sumptuous banquet, suspended jar lanterns were hanging en-masse at different heights from tree branches. Party guests were encouraged to indulge their senses in an assortment of cold cuts, cured meats, artisan cheese, cakes, and freshly-caught seafood that were flambéed to order by chefs on standby, in addition to those ready-to-eat victuals that were delightfully arranged to satisfy even the most discerning palette. Apart from a wide selection of gourmet tea and single-origin coffee sourced from around the world, freshly-squeezed juices and soft drinks were available throughout the event, as were a variety of alcoholic drinks.

The party turned out to be more casual than Victor had anticipated. After two naked girls emerged from a humongous cake and performed lap dances on two of the guests, the other guests gradually started to dance to the beat of the music, which turned the event into a dance-till-you-drop.

Before the turn of events grew even wilder and everyone became drunk, Victor located J.J. and congratulated him in person. "Congratulations, J.J! You're a lucky man to wed Isabella," he said, and he meant it. The year before had been J.J.'s first international race. He hadn't been able to make it to the top ten because he sustained severe injuries during the second day of the Grand Prix. Isabella might be too clingy to Victor's liking, but she had always been there for J.J., from the moment the bronze medalist's car crashed to the moment his full health was restored. Some of his Canadian fans from his junior racing days had converted to other racers during those months of recovery, but not her. Even when he had just gotten back on his feet and lost a regional championship, her devotion to her would-be fiancé remained second to none.

J.J.'s still nineteen. In my twenty-seven years of life, why there hasn't been anyone who loves me for who I am? Victor thought as he slipped both hands inside his pockets. The bed-warmers he had encountered thus far wouldn't have turned their eyes to him had it not been for his fame. Romantic love aside, his parents had disowned him once he turned eighteen for pursuing road racing as a career. Regardless of his copious social media followers, he had no one to love him, other than the old, faithful, Makkachin. It had been hard to say goodbye to that dog, but his trusted coach, Yakov, had sworn upon his life to take a good care of her while the pet owner was on vacation.

Somewhere in the background, what was supposed to be a seductively sinful strip show had begun. Victor took a glance at it, thought that it was a shame the one stripping wasn't the owner of the gorgeous ass he had seen that afternoon, and then went on his way to the bathroom. He passed a very drunk Michele, who was telling Emil his woes, "Can you … hic … believe it? Sara … hic … complained that she couldn't get a boyfriend … hic … because of meeeee~ How can … hic … that beeeeeeee?"

Reemerging from the toilet, Victor considered calling it a night. If he woke up early the next morning, perhaps he could have a go at coasteering before the yacht took them all back to the mainland at eleven that morning. However, as he strolled down an abandoned corridor, a whimsical sense of adventure stirred within him. He wanted to explore the resort before going to bed. One by one, he opened the doors along his route. Among them were a magnificent wood-paneled library, a drawing room, a business center, and a game room with a ping pong table and a pool billiard. The rooftop bar and garden were fitted with an infinity pool that boasted sweeping views of the isle, including the distant golf course.

"Enjoying the night, Victor?" Chris greeted genially from one of the stools before the classic horseshoe-shaped bar.

Perhaps it was because Chris was sitting alone—a habit he was prone to do when he missed his white Persian cat, just as Victor would do when he missed his brown poodle—but Victor felt a non-verbal invitation to join Chris there.

"I see someone enjoying it." Victor answered the silver medalist with his signature wink. He beckoned at the glass of multilayered martini and the dish of the blue prawn, sea urchin, pomegranate, and golden ossetra caviar bruschetta.

"I guess the travel magazines didn't exaggerate it when they said the food here was fit for a king." Chris chuckled and pushed his plate closer to Victor. "But by all means, help yourself."

"I don't think I can stuff another drop of drink, let alone a bite of those, into my full belly."

"You sure? I read that this bar has a collection of over a thousand gin bottles looming above patrons in a five-meter tower, while an exclusive rose gold–plated room houses no fewer than five hundred labels of champagne. Cocktails are by a Polish master who was previously employed in the bar that ranked the World's Best Bar for four consecutive years."

"Had I known that, I wouldn't have eaten so much at the party," Victor replied.

"That's nothing to regret. Every single chef down there comes from a renowned restaurant, too. Rumor has it that even the safety guards and instructors for every activity are professionals, some are retired athletes."

Victor raised his eyebrows. "And what did you try this afternoon? I didn't see you while I was parasailing and scuba diving."

"I was unwinding at the spa."

"Oh, how was it?"

"It was totally relaxing. I almost didn't want to leave when my session was over. They didn't exaggerate it when they said each treatment and wellness experience aimed to bring guests closer to nature," Chris answered with a dreamy expression. "Look." He showed Victor the latest photo on his smartphone. In that picture, he was lying naked on his stomach on a rustic-chic divan, with only a towel covering his ass. Next to the divan, stood a small table with a row of hand-crafted wooden bowls bearing different ointments. The floor was composed of mural pedestal stilted on a lotus pond and boasted local flair aplenty.

"Aw, no naughty bits?" Victor teased Chris.

"The masseuse warned me not show her those parts, in case she swooned in the middle of her duty," Chis jokingly replied. "Can I see your parasailing and scuba diving photos?"

Victor took out his phone and tapped open the photo gallery before handing it to Chris.

After a few photos, Chris commented, "Hmm, this fellow is there again. He appears in every picture."

"What fellow?"

"Here." Chris pointed at a figure in the background of Victor's afternoon stroll. In that picture, the said figure was hauling a surfboard without looking at the camera. Chris swiped the screen to show the next photo: Victor receiving a pair of diving fins from a member of the resort staff. The same figure was adjusting his swimming goggles, again not looking into the camera. In the third photo, taken shortly before Victor's dive, the figure was balancing himself on a surfboard amid the crashing waves. Photo after photo, the very same person kept appearing in the background without once looking at the camera. However, when the photos' timeframe moved to that evening's party, the figure looked at the camera's direction. His face was flushed and his gaze unfocused, although he was pulling a grimace, deliberately photobombing in some pictures. It was as though he had been drunk. The person seemed to be from the Far East, from what Victor could tell based on his ethnicity. He wore a pair of blue-rimmed glasses in some shots, but appeared without them in the others.

"Who is this person?" Victor and Chris asked simultaneously, and then exchanged glances.

Chris offered, "I can try asking my contacts in case any of them knows him, if you want."

"Thanks, you do that, please." Victor rose to his feet.

"Leaving already?"

"I'm gonna ask around myself." Victor waved goodbye. He returned to the party. The photographer would likely still be there, documenting the event. He might know that photobombing guy.

By the time Victor reached the garden party again, some guests had been filing in wait for their turn to go under a horizontal bar placed atop two vertical bars. Much to Victor's wonder and amusement, the usually reclusive Otabek was currently bending backwards under the limbo bar. Even so, Victor didn't stand and watch; finding the photographer was his priority.

Since that photographer is quite short, the strategic spots for him to take pictures would be somewhere high so that he could capture the scene without being blocked by taller party-goers' heads.

Victor scoured his surroundings. Other than the rooftop bar he had just dropped by, the only place that was higher than the flat ground of the garden was a portable stage for pole dance. Someone was dancing on it now, a guy no less! He had stripped down to his underwear, but a loosened tie still looped around his neck. Victor frowned; J.J wasn't the type of person who'd hire a male stripper. Perhaps it was one of the drunken guests going wild instead. Anyway, even from that distance, he could tell that the dancer's complexion was paler than the photographer's. He turned around and searched elsewhere. Why had that photographer appeared out of nowhere earlier and become so hard to find then?

Think again! Victor told himself. Other than taking pictures, what else is that guy likely to do? With more brain raking, Victor remembered that one of the photographer's devices was a smartphone. He could be uploading some of the photos!

Victor checked Instagram first, searching the hashtag of J.J.'s stag party. No results came up. He tried Pinterest next and found none of J.J.'s impressive outdoor party food and decorations. Someone tweeted the announcement about said stag party's venue, but that was it. The same thing went with Facebook, Tumblr, and Snapchat. No racer who attended the party had updated their status in the last five hours—perhaps too absorbed in enjoying the vacation to care about the outside world, just like Victor himself.

Victor's smartphone buzzed. On the screen, the incoming chat message sent by Chris said, "One of my friends suggested you try asking this person. He's at the party." Once Victor clicked the link for an Instagram profile included in the message, it opened to reveal the name and selfie of the very man Victor had been seeking. "Phichit Chulanont," the profile page said, "is a twenty-year-old Thai photographer."

Victor began to scroll down the countless photos Phichit had uploaded for the last couple of years. One particular picture caught his eyes. In that photo, a man was eating a stack of pancakes, maple syrup smearing the corners of his mouth. It was taken indoors and, judging by the man's casual shirt and the table arrangement, it was probably his own house, if not the house of a close friend. This was it. This was the man that had haunted Victor's photos during his entire stay on the private isle. The photo was tagged with "#yuuri" and "#pancakes." Does this mean his name is Yuuri?

Some more of the photographs on Phichit's Instagram page displayed Yuuri in various activities, but the one that caught Victor's attention most urgently was the one showing a nervous-looking Yuuri in a race suit, tucking his helmet, with a Honda race car in the background. Its tags said "#katsukiyuuri," "#racecar," "#racesuit," and "#f1grandprix." So, Yuuri competed with me in the same event before?

He was exploring more of Yuuri's photos when a blinking white light flared at the periphery of his vision. Hoping that it was the light from a camera blitz, he jostled his way across the crowd to approach the source.

"Hi! You're Phichit Chulanont, right?" Victor greeted the photographer, rather out of breath.

"My, my, the famous Victor Nikiforov!" Phichit smiled warmly back, no trace of sarcasm in his tone. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, I'm looking for this person." Victor tapped the relevant photo on Phichit's Instagram to enlarge it.

Phichit's eyes instantly lit up with joy. Then he adopted a calmer demeanor while maintaining his professional smile. "Yup, I know him. Why are you searching for him, though?"

"I want to introduce myself and get to know him."

Phichit was positively beaming now. "He's my best buddy. Name's Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri."

Victor nodded. "He competed in the F1 Grand Prix last year, but not this year?"

"Yes, he … quit." Phichit ended his answer with a sigh.

Victor, who had been itching to ask why, held his tongue. He'd better choose a safer topic for the moment. "And Yuuri's favorite food and movies?"

The smile made a comeback on Phichit's face. "You know what … I think he'll be delighted to tell you that in person." Then Phichit's smile grew lopsided as his gaze trailed behind Victor, before he added, "…when he's sober."

Victor turned around to follow the direction Phichit's eyes. On the stage, the same male stripper already had company. That two-toned blond and brown hair styled in an undercut, stubble, and fair complexion… "Chris?!"

Victor took a closer look. Yes, the taller of the two dancers was indeed the four-time Grand Prix silver medalist, who had stripped down to his briefs. As for the other one, only now could Victor tell that it was Yuuri. His cheeks were red as a drunkard's could be, but his movements remained sensuously precise. With each provocative motion, he deftly highlighted the contour of his body and made Victor's pants tighten. With shaky hands, Victor held his phone to record that sensuous display. At some point of the dance, Yuuri even mounted Chris' thigh and poured a bottle of champagne over Chris' exposed skin.

A grumble pierced from the crowd behind, "Fags!"

Yuuri dismounted. Having left the pole but remaining standing on the stage, he pointed at the spectators. At first, it seemed like he was going to challenge the offensive audience, and four of Leroy's security guards approached. However, when Yuuri spoke, his words were directed to none other than Victor. "Victor Nikiforov, have a dance-off with me!"

Yuuri jumped down from the stage. The spectators backed down to give him room. Although the music currently played by the band was not to Victor's liking, he had no intention to cower from a challenge. He stepped forward onto the area that the bystanders had just cleared out.

At first, the impromptu battle that ensued, requiring both fast footwork and quick thinking, seemed to be in a stalemate. Yuuri showed that his fancy footwork was decidedly creative. Not to be outdone, Victor also performed his own series of moves. The pair took turns putting their own spin on suggestions.

Wait … pair?

Somehow, their back-to-back moves had evolved into side-by-side ones, and their distance gradually narrowed. Before Victor knew it, he had found himself dipped by the steady arm of Katsuki Yuuri. The other man's face was so close that Victor could feel his partner's breath ghosting his mouth and the heat radiated from their bodies. Even without physical contact, the air crackled in the small gap between them. An urge arose within Victor to capture that man's lips with his own.

Shortly afterwards, Yuuri ended their dance together by hugging and grinding his body against Victor's. With a blissful expression, he spoke in a drunk warble, "My family runs their own hot spring resort. After this season ends, please come. If I win this dance-off, you'll become my coach, right? Be my coach, Victor!"

Those were his last words before he slumped against Victor's chest, snoring without a care in the world.

Holding Yuuri still, Victor looked around him in search for Phichit. The photographer was nowhere to be found. He sent Phichit a private message via Twitter, "Yuuri has fallen asleep. I'll carry him back to his room. Do you know where it is?"

No reply came for the next ten minutes, soVictor sighed and hauled the slumbering Yuuri back to his own berth. The idea of someone with such a degree of attractiveness bedding down in his room became a poison to his mind—a drop sufficed to kill. Victor had never slept with any partner outside their consent and never planned to do so in the future, but what if his self-control slipped that time?

Yuuri, why must you tempt me so?

Victor covered the sleeping man with a blanket in the middle of the bed, while he himself settled in the sofa. Next, he searched for Katsuki Yuuri's online presence. He had a decent eight thousand something followers on Instagram, but didn't update that account very often. Other than racing and photo shots of hotels here and there, the types of photos Yuuri uploaded was a brown poodle that looked a lot alike Makkachin, though smaller, and food. There were a huge range of variety, but the one that appeared most frequently was deep-fried battered pork cutlets over a bowl of steamed white rice, hashtagged "katsudon."

A ding notified Victor of Phichit's message: "Nope, sorry. I kept myself occupied the whole day and haven't talked much with Yuuri. It'll be a great help if you let him stay in your room tonight."

Victor reread that message over and over. No matter how amiable Phichit's personality was, would it be wise to trust his best friend in a stranger's care?

Like Victor himself, Yuuri had a Wikipedia page dedicated to him. However, unlike Victor's, Yuuri's was composed in Japanese and consisted of only one paragraph. From what Victor could make sense of the befuddling result yielded by Google Translate, Katsuki Yuuri was born on November 29 with an A blood type. 173 cm tall, he won a number of national and regional championships before placing tenth in the world championship 2016 Japan Grand Prix, but retired shortly afterwards without any reported injury.

In vino veritas. Since Yuuri asked me to be his coach while he was drunk, does it mean that deep down, he yearns to return to the circuit once more?

Since Victor had to focus on his own driving during the race, he had no knowledge of Yuuri's performance during the championship. Thankfully, YouTube revealed Yuuri's skills to him. More than once, Yuuri managed to maneuver formidable corner turns with greater accelerations than Victor ever could. It was a waste to let such a skillful racer disappear before he even uncovered his full ability. Even long after Victor had closed his eyes, a question kept haunting Victor's mind: What caused Yuuri to retire?

###

The following morning, Victor woke up to a nearby screech. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes, only to find Yuuri sitting upright in the bed.

"Morning," Victor chirped as soon as he wiped his drool. "Sorry, I couldn't find your clothes amid the sea of people out there, so I brought you here without them last night."

When Yuuri said nothing and continued to avert his eyes, Victor added, "Do you remember getting drunk?"

Yuuri nodded.

"What else do you remember?"

"I was…" His voice sounded wounded and hesitant. "I think I laughed a lot, but with whom … the memory blurs. And I also … moved a lot. I didn't stay in one place—that I can be sure of. I vaguely recall feeling tired last night…"

"We didn't … fool around—I mean, if that's what makes you feel uncomfortable."

"I know. You wouldn't sleep in that sofa otherwise. Thank you for helping me and sorry about … um, the inconvenience."

Although Victor found it puzzling as to why Yuuri's tone remained subdued even after knowing they hadn't slept together, he didn't press on. "My pleasure. Shall I ring room service and ask for a hangover medicine?"

"Yes, please. Thank you."

As Victor rose from the sofa, Yuuri rose from the bed, too. He asked, "May I use the bathroom?"

"Go ahead."

The bathroom door was soon closed, and Victor heard the sound of running water. He proceeded to dial the number zero from the phone on the desk and spoke with a receptionist. Yuuri did not come out until a bellboy arrived with a trolley of full breakfast.

"Are you all right? I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for us. I hope you don't mind," Victor explained as soon as Yuuri emerged from the bathroom, draped in a white bathrobe provided by the resort. He looked so enervated that Victor worried about how much Yuuri had retched.

"Thank you."

They sat and ate. Over a sausage bite, Victor offered, "Would you like to join me coasteering after this?"

Yuuri shook his head. "I don't think I'm in the condition to do it. My head is killing me even as we speak."

"So, what's your plan for today?"

Yuuri looked at him as though the question was something too taboo to be spoken out loud, and guilt crept into Victor's mind. What if he pried too much on Yuuri's privacy? Given that Yuuri had not even been sober enough to digest their conversation from the night before, this morning was practically the first time they spoke from a sober Yuuri's point of view.

"Nothing. I'll just return to my room and take a long dip in the bath."

"You can use mine. In fact, we can soak together." Victor regretted what he said the moment those words left his mouth. What was wrong with him to offer such an outrageous thing to someone he had just met? He usually had more finesse around strangers, for goodness' sake! Now Yuuri looked at him in horror.

"Aren't Japanese accustomed to socializing in the public baths? If I'm not mistaken, it's called 'hadaka no tsukiai?'" Victor quickly added, hoping that he didn't screw up his Japanese pronunciation.

Yuuri's eyebrows rose. "You can tell I'm Japanese? Not many people outside Asia can tell apart Chinese, Japanese, and Korean."

"But Katsuki Yuuri is a Japanese name, no? Most of Chinese and Korean names that I've heard consist of either three syllables or a combination of an English given name with their surname."

From the incredulity in Yuuri's face, Victor had a hunch that it was more than bacon that the younger man gulped down before he asked, "You even know my name?"

"Is that bad?" Victor attempted to joke.

Yuuri stared at his hash brown as he mumbled, "I … didn't expect you to know I existed."

"Well, if I must admit, I really didn't until yesterday. I found your presence in all my photos. See?" Victor opened the photo gallery app and handed his smartphone to Yuuri.

Yuuri's reaction was the varying chains of "I'm sorry," "I didn't know," and "I didn't mean to" no matter how many times Victor assured Yuuri none of those photos upset him. In fact, he found it amusing how coincidences could last so long. It was almost like their encounter was…

…fated.

"By the way, which one of the bubble bath scents in the bathroom is your favorite?" Victor asked, just to dispel the awkwardness between them.

"The Madagascan Vanilla."

"Oh, that's my favorite, too. Imagine soaking in that heavenly sweet in the peculiar comma-shaped sunken-to-the floor bathtub..."

Yuuri chuckled. "The bathtub's shape is actually not a comma. You see that in its middle, the floor rose to the ground level, which conveniently serves as a table for food and cocktails—that's to represent the hole in the real magatama. Since the late Joumon Period, the Japanese crafted them as decorative jewelry and ceremonial objects using beads or precious stones, most especially jade."

"Wow! I've already been impressed that the rooms look Japanese without any futon or abandoning other modern comforts, but I never thought that the bathtub had such a culturally rich origin."

"That's Minako-sensei's skill for you. Since nature and Zen-like relaxation are the hallmarks of this resort, she designed an ambiance that provides the requisite sense of peaceful harmony, known as wa." Yuuri smiled, a sense of pride flashing in his eyes.

"You know the interior designer of this resort?"

"Yes, she's a close friend of my mom, who conceptualized this building."

Victor slapped his forehead. "Of course! Katsuki Toshiya and Hiroko are the supervisors of this resort's construction, while Katsuki's your surname. Why didn't I connect the dots before? Did your dad design the garden? It's fabulous. It looks like a jungle yet still retains a Japanese feel."

"No, that'd be my sister, Mari, the landscape artist."

"So, are you here to inspect the property?"

Yuuri seemed like he was about to deny it, but in the end, he sipped his orange juice and nodded. A blush dusted his cheeks. "The construction finished a month ago, but this is the first time the resort has accommodated guests."

Perhaps because a mildly blush-stained Yuuri looked cute and Victor wanted to see what a heavily blushing Yuuri looked like, he said, "There's some egg yolk on your chin."

Yuuri dabbed his chin with a napkin.

"No, it's over here. Let me get it." Victor leaned over the table and licked Yuuri's chin.

The flustered expression it resulted was priceless. However, since Yuuri's breath caught in his throat, and he didn't seem to be breathing even after Victor withdrew, Victor could not help but feel guilty about it. It was as if he had stolen that man's first kiss, but it couldn't be, could it? Yuuri was in his twenties and had a killer ass on top of that insanely cute face, not to mention that his dancing could easily turn watchers into puddles of goo. His voice did belong to the goody-two-shoes type, though…

"Yuuri, are you all right?"

Only then did Yuuri release the breath he had been holding, and his stiffened body relaxed. Even so, he stared wide-eyed at Victor, mumbled an imperceptible phrase with shivering lips, and then resumed eating without taking off his gaze from the plate until the blush down his nape became a feast to Victor's eyes.

"I didn't see you in this year's Grand Prix," Victor remarked as casually as he could. He realized he was treading on dangerous water, but he was desperate to get Yuuri to look at him once more.

Yuuri directed his gaze while speaking to Victor, but his bearing was a queasy one. "I quit last year."

"Why?" Victor queried over a mouthful of grilled tomato while keeping his expression innocent.

Yuuri's eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not good enough. There are plenty of better racers out there."

While lack of confidence definitely laced Yuuri's tone, Victor sensed something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. However, his hunch told him that Yuuri would snap if pressured too much, so he gathered his smartphone, swim trunk, bathrobe, and spare room key card. "Take your time in the bathtub. I'm going to hit the pool."

As soon as he closed the door, he began typing another message to Phichit: "Can we talk? I'll be at the rooftop pool."

Phichit arrived only a few minutes after Victor finished changing into his swimming trunk. With so many other activities to choose from as well as the availability of comfy beds at such hour of the morning, the pool was theirs.

"It's about Yuuri, I presume?" Phichit asked after a few exchanged courtesy greetings.

Leaning forward, Victor brought both hands in front of his mouth and laced his fingers. "Yeah. He told me that he retired because he was simply not good enough, but I need to know the real cause."

"That part about not good enough is real, you know, but not all that's there."

Victor waited until the bartender had settled a glass of Piña Colada that Phichit ordered on the small table between their lounge chairs by the pool.

Phichit resumed his explanation after the bartender left, "To start with, last year's Grand Prix was Yuuri's first international competition. But in addition to the overwhelming pressure, his dog died on the same morning as the first day of that race. To this day, he has always regretted that he couldn't be present at the vet by the family pet's side. That feeling has grown into a precaution not to repeat the same mistake with his parents. Toshiya has his blood pressure, cholesterol, and whatnot, worsened by his lungs—he used to be a heavy smoker until he had a heart attack a couple of years back. Hiroko's health is almost as bad. She has shown symptoms for diabetes-induced partial kidney failure and has been on a strict diet ever since."

"So, Yuuri gave up his dreams to spend more time with his family?"

Phichit sipped his drink. "Things might have turned out differently if Yuuri earned one of the top three medals in that Grand Prix. If he had considered himself to be good enough to pursue those dreams, he would have continued to do so. The thing is, his parents' happiness means a lot to him. And although they've let him choose his own way of life, he thinks that they'd actually be happier if he becomes their successor. His big sister's job as a landscape artist requires frequent travels, so she can't stay at their resort to manage it all the time."

Phichit was happy enough with a few photo shots of Victor posing in the pool as a payment for his information. Before leaving Victor to ponder alone, surrounded by the clear turquoise water that seemingly blended with the Caribbean Sea, he gave the swimming vacationist a warning, "Victor, you're a living legend in the Formula One world whom Yuuri holds in high regard, but I won't forgive you if mess around with him, okay?"

Victor wasn't surprised to find an empty room when he returned an hour later. He had already acquired Yuuri's contact details from Phichit and thought it best to give him some time alone at the moment. What logic decided apparently didn't agree with the burgeoning feelings in his heart, though. While he wanted to leap to Yuuri's embrace that very second and never let go, there was even more in that man that he longed to discover. It wouldn't do for that raw talent to go down the drain. Clinging to the honesty of the drunken Yuuri's coaching request, he would point Yuuri to the right direction and guide the younger man to more improvements. Yuuri had the potential to surpass even Victor himself, after all.

Chris' cheeky chat message instilled loneliness in Victor's heart: "Hey, lover boy, how's your mysterious stalker in bed? I bet since he danced fantastically on stage, he didn't disappoint on the mattress, too?" That message ended with winking and thumb-up emojis. The bright side was that he also attached a video of Yuuri and Victor's dance-off from the previous night. At least, Victor would have something to hold on to.

Victor was packing his belongings when he found a strip of plain Prussian blue fabric that did not belong to him lying on the floor under the sink. A tie. He recalled that tie wound around Yuuri's neck the night before.

As he picked it up, a smile spread across his face. With the photoshoots he needed to do for his main sponsor next week and a regional race at hand, he could not chase Yuuri straight away. Since Yuuri's invitation to visit his home was spoken while drunk, the probability of him remembering it wasn't too high. Nevertheless, returning a lost item would supply him with a valid reason to visit Hasetsu a couple of months later. The Ferrari team could make do with Georgi as the substitute driver. Besides, the new sixteen-year-old recruit whose name was also Yuri, albeit with the surname Plisetsky, had shown promises that he could outdo Victor's world record after he was of age to compete officially.

###

Months later, Victor found himself standing in front of the Yuutopia Hot Spring Resort. From the rows of hanging red paper lanterns along the tiled gabled roof kouraimon front gate to the Noh mask-bedecked interior walls, the resort adhered to the Japanese style through and through. A bespectacled man Victor rightly guessed to be Katsuki Toshiya welcomed both him and Makkachin. Sharing the same genial spirit as her husband, the proprietress suggested "Vicchan"—that was what she nicknamed Victor—to wait in Yuuri's room on the second floor, for her son was running an errand for her at the moment.

Much to Victor's surprise, the room was not a bedroom as much as it was a personal shrine. Not only did posters and bromides of himself on and off the circuit cover the walls, but some of his framed photos also claimed residence on the study desk. Furthermore, those pictures depicted him not only after he made his F1 racer international debut, but also when he had still been a long-haired karting racer at the age of thirteen. Could it be really true that the shy man by the name of Katsuki Yuuri worshiped him to that extent? If that were so, it would explain why Phichit—who highly likely knew about this obsession—had trusted the drunken Yuuri in Victor's hands.

Victor couldn't stay in the room; his elation wasn't a justifiable reason to trespass Yuuri's privacy any longer. Claiming that he'd love to try the so-called Japanese traditional onsen, Victor went downstairs.

As per instruction of the Japanese etiquette book he had read on the airplane, he made sure to cleanse his body, sitting on one of stools before the rows of communal showers before taking a skinny dip in the bath. While traveling in such a region where foreigners were few and far between, he had received plenty of curious glances all the way from the Hasetsu train station. Now, as the only foreigner in the vicinity, he realized with painful clarity that those looks escalated to the point that some bathers even stared overtly at him, although none of them had enough confidence to communicate with him in English. Although he had considered socializing with the others in one of the large indoor bathtubs, he'd have rather not endure all those stares for too long. Not on his first day there, anyway. Thus, he smiled at them, said "konnichiwa," and then proceeded to seek the sanctuary of solitude provided by the open-aired bath outside.

Idyllically constructed on a peaceful stretch of natural rocks amid a few selected shrubs, the rotenburo was filled by spring water via bamboo spouts in an enclosure of bamboo fences. The stone fountain in its center was carved to resemble a perching frog. Once Victor lowered his body into the mineral-clouded water, he felt refreshed. He was gliding his fingers along his arm to test how well the resort's soap fared against his skin when the door to the rotenburo slid open with a yank.

Still draped in his full outdoor clothing, a bewildered Yuuri stormed in. "Victor … why are you here?"

There's no turning back now.

Even though there was no racecourse or rows of heated engines before Victor, butterflies of anxiety fluttered in his stomach. He put on a brave front, picked the small towel from his head, and stood up. With the most confident smile he could muster, he greeted, "Yuuri, starting from today, I'm your coach. I'll make you win the Grand Prix." He added a wink for a good measure, but it only resulted in Yuuri's incredulous shriek.

"EEEEEEEEHHH?!"

THE END