I’d Let You Bleed

He had skated to the best of his ability, pushed past every limit he could. Ending the first day in fourth would have left him overjoyed in the years prior, but Yuuri could no longer settle for less than perfect. When you give your all, when there's nothing left to offer and it still isn't enough… Well, there's little else that can top such an all-consuming sense of disappointment.

Peach was loud and proud in his affirmations, Ciao Ciao was hooting and hollering words of praise, and Yuuri was just numb.

Imagine climbing the biggest mountain you've ever seen in your life. The entire trek upwards is filled with shouts of discouragement from the sidelines. Your feet are aching, blisters growing infected from lack of treatment. It's not like you can just stop, not when the other 50 people climbing the mountain are already miles ahead of you.

You pass a couple of people. It's nothing huge, but you're getting closer to baseline. Then you pass a few more and the discouragements begins to dwindle, echoes fading into something more reassuring. The blisters and muscle cramps feel like they will force you to your knees any second, but you press on, choking down grunts of agony. Soon, you're in second place, and nearly half of the spectators are cheering your name. Your opponent is growing weaker, signs of fatigue coloring their pained expression with malice.

You know it'll be ok though. At that point, as the peak enters your line of sight, it becomes a battle of wills. The two of you are moving at the same pace, and the blood trails that drag behind you and your fellow climber point to one conclusion; Whoever can tolerate the most torture will prevail. Time and time again, your mind wanders to the immediate relief you would feel if you sat down on one of the jagged rocks jutting out from the crested boulder. Still, unyielding, you continue.

The two of you are only 10 feet away now, so you kick off your shoes, using the blisters padding your extremities to excel your movement. Though you may never walk again, toes shredded like an old credit card, victory is just within your reach.

Then your opponent, feet still clad in sneakers, breaks out into a sprint, kicking up clouds of powdered snow and sediment into your eyes. It's over. Your best wasn't good enough. No amount of effort could have changed the outcome.

That's what it felt like to be Yuuri Katsuki on December 6th of his eighteenth year. Of course he'd watched Viktor's skate. Like the moron he was, he'd used it to fuel his performance, stepping out into the ice like a raging ox. That ire had muddied the step sequences, taking away the one thing Yuuri had on the other skater. Now he was unlikely to medal at all. They say greed is a slippery slope, convincing the afflicted that more is never enough. Never did those words ring truer.

Yuuri had smiled, even keeping his delicately balanced guard up and ready in front of friends and family. Oh how he grinned, widening his eyes to forge a look of shocked gratitude. The crowd seemed to love it. He felt like a raving madman playing with a bunch of ball-joint dolls. Had people always been so malleable, so easily swayed?

Sensitive at heart and empathetic to a fault, Yuuri knew he'd have to open up to his best friend about it after all was said and done, once the press parade had their fill of 'candid' shots and happy tears. He may be a fraud, but after seeing how much misery he'd caused Peach in the weeks leading to his birthday, risking their friendship and jeopardizing the younger skater's stability was off the table. Yuuri didn't know if he could hold out that long, though.

Overwhelmed, the future became just that, something to worry about later. Yuuri would need to reformulate his plan of attack because this one hadn't built him a bridge to victory thus far. The definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.", at least according to Einstein. If Yuuri wanted things to fall favorably, he needed to change up the variables and straighten himself out.

Anyways, with that stressor itching beneath his skin, time was of the essence. Celestino was distracted, deep in conversation with a group of well dressed businessmen in posh suits. Odds are he was incentivizing them to offer a sponsorship. Voice resonating across the walkway blithely, Peach chattered and chirped in his native language over a FaceTime call.

Ok. Cool. Yuuri could handle this.

The nearest bathroom was halfway down the C hall. Dodging and ducking below overzealous photographers was the easiest aspect of his odyssey, it was the maintenance of his countenance that took up the last of his energy. By the time he arrived, the boy was so out of sorts that he heard the seagulls of his hometown singing their morning poems in the humid sea breeze. Was the air actually salty and damp, or was he in dire need of some assistance?

The tightly wound hinges of the arching metal door complained boorishly as Yuuri shoved himself into the orderly capsule of a room. He could see the white rim of the sink shimmering in the mirror's edge, hear the white noise of emphatic whispers and cheers emanating from the arena, feel the breaks in texture between the repeating pattern of grout and white tile, and taste the egg whites he had eaten that morning returning into his throat.

Everything was pearlescent, sanitized and immaculate. He felt as if he were in an alternate timeline, one where nothing had ever been touched or tainted. The bathroom idea was turning out to be a horrible mistake, because out of all of the various regions spattered throughout the mammoth of an arena, this one was the most devoid of stimulation. Like a world unpainted, white reflected white. The absence of all but his own breath, flickering like a candle's dying flame.

His time had come, and Yuuri was ninety-four percent sure he would die in that hellscape of a room. Doomed to die in a bathroom, just his luck.

Something had to give. He weighed out his options, both realistic and implausible. Music would help. Peach would help. Clammy and unsteady, Yuuri jostled his phone from the pocket of his blazer, growing irritable at its insistence to remain right where it was. He very nearly chucked the damn thing into the toilet upon finally freeing it from the seam it had caught on.

Yuuri: Hey , So, Hairnet

Yuuri: I'm gonna be so fr I really think I'm abt to die

Yuuri: Ok wait sorry that's dramatic but I am gonna have a meltdown cuz I'm so freaked and stressed and I know I'm being ungrateful but fucks sake 😭😭 I'm not making any sense am I ugh

Yuuri: I'm sorry ily, C hall bathroom

Flicking his thumb up and closing out the iMessage tab, he dazedly scanned his Home Screen for the Apple Music icon. Spotify users loved to gasp, hands held against their chests in mortification, chastising him for his choice in streaming services, but in moments like these, the simplistic format of the app allowed his discombobulated stream of thoughts to make sense of what he was seeing.

Yuuri hit shuffle, but no music played. So he tried it again. Nothing. His phone had about thirty seconds before it was reduced to a useless hunk of metal, or more accurately, many useless hunks of metal scattered across the bathroom floor.

Breathing growing increasingly erratic, Yuuri braced himself against the porcelain sink closest to him, knees nearly buckling. Everything was blurry, not that it was anything to write home about, considering the fact that he purposefully left his glasses on the dresser of his hotel room in preparation for the day's events. He performed better when he couldn't see shit, when he couldn't decipher whether the crowd loved or hated him.

That said, things were twice as blurry as they should have been, leading him to believe his above-mentioned fears were becoming an unfortunate reality. Yuuri would have liked to wear Dior at least once before he died, but you win some, you lose some.

The Greek gods of yonder must have taken pity on him, or maybe Buddha, because the bathroom door swung open just as his tunnel vision dissolved into a full on black-out.

"Peach?"

Being met with silence, Yuuri began to catastrophize. Phichit was allergic to silence, with a tongue like a whip and a mind that worked fast enough to rival Yuuri's own. Had it been his best friend, three questions and four statements would have already been diffused throughout the stale bathroom air.

A stranger had found their way to his dingy sanctuary, one he couldn't identify through the persistent black spots and spilled monochromatic blurbs dancing around his vision.

"Nope." Returned a rubbery voice, pliant in its timbre.

Yuuri nearly crumpled to the ground. Out of all the people who could have interrupted his little come to grace moment, it had to be Viktor? What, could he smell suffering? Maybe he fed on it too, like some sort of energy vampire. Yuuri audibly snorted. His short lived moment of delirious whimsy came to a head when he realized the implications of his predicament.

Like a fox caught in a snare, the boy was powerless to defend himself. Viktor could literally curb stomp him and he'd have to grin and bear it. This feeling of helplessness wasn't unfamiliar. For as far back as he could remember, it had teased him with its ephemeral omnipresence during performances and class presentations, during moments of glory and defeat.

It waltzed around inside of him, gross and slimy, like a one dimensional mucous. What lived in his lungs was the lifelong sense of inferiority and panic that made a home out of him. He often felt he was nothing more than a carrier for said virus, a living means to an end.

And you know what? He couldn't be fucked to cater to it's tyrannical whims right now. Instead of laying down and dying, Yuuri spoke through broken gasps, eyes stinging as sweat dripped from his brow and onto his lashes.

"Ok-" Another puff. "Then leave."

Not one to seek conflict, Yuuri felt a little big in his britches upon achieving a coherent string of piercing words in the face of such calamitous circumstances.

He couldn't read Viktor's expression well enough to say for sure, but Yuuri was fairly sure he had jumped a little, taken aback by the younger skater's willingness to buck up instead of bowing.

"Yuuri, you need to-"

"Get my name-" Yuuri spluttered, choking on his own saliva as he heaved, "out of your mouth."

The boy's words had been unscrupulously discarded from his mouth like acid, sizzling through the empty space between the two. His brain was the only weapon he'd ever been able to make use of. Obviously, he was anything but intimidating at the moment. That didn't stop him from trying his damnedest to repel the Russian like the unwanted pest he was. Be gone with ye, foul knave!

"Bozhe moy, hop off it for a second and let me help you."

Anger overpowering anxiety, Yuuri propelled himself out of his position bent over the sink until he found his back against the wall. Viktor just couldn't take a hint, could he? Yuuri wasn't some damsel in distress, nor was he a tool to be used for the improvement of the older skater's rapidly deteriorating public image.

Voice deceivingly even, words articulate and precise, Yuuri spoke.

"I asked you to leave me be. Respect the line I've drawn, and kindly crawl back into whatever hole you scuttled out of."

Something about being the one in control was thrilling. On countless occasions, Yuuri had allowed himself to be talked down on, feigning deaf ears and turning the other cheek. Is this what it felt like to be someone? For once, he felt like a human being, someone capable of free-speech and worthy of obeisance. The aftertaste of his words accompanied by Viktor's injured expression was downright addictive.

It was his turn to bleed.

Unsteady on his feet, Viktor's eyes were hooded, expression a chaotic mix of emotion that Yuuri reveled in. He'd wasted enough time here, and he felt fine now anyways, riding the high of ascendency.

The boy pushed past Viktor, who still hadn't made a sound, and wound himself through the hodgepodge of hallways until he reached the rink. Peach was still on FaceTime, but Celestino was clearly searching for him, neck craned above the crowd.

"Over here!"

His coach smiled, beckoning him over with a flick of the wrist.

"Yuuri, I have someone I'd like you to meet. This is Mister Candiatto, he's taken an interest in your skating."

Clad in a dark blue blazer with matching pinstripe slacks, the strange man clocked in at a solid head and a half taller than Yuuri. He looked sort of like a Muppet would, if it were to come to life. With wide, stretched out features, from his comically long fingers to his rubber band smile.

"It's nice to meet you, sir." Yuuri gave a half bow.

"Oh don't mind the formalities with me, son. I must say, you've taken everyone by surprise. I can't believe you're fourth. These judges must be senile, scoring Nikiforov above you."

Yuuri felt the child within him preen at the praise, much like he would when his mother patted him on the head upon observing his exceedingly high marks in high school. Compliments from friends and family often pointed more towards their affections, laden with love but lacking in honesty. A stranger's regards were harder to reap, but they tasted much sweeter.

"Ah, well uh, thank you? I mean- Thank you."

Mister Candiatto chuckled warmly, sliding off his beige fedora and tipping it in Yuuri's direction before reaching into the interior pocket of his swanky suit and slipping a thin sheet of laminated cardboard into Ciao Ciao's bag.

"I'd love to sponsor him. Give me a ring and we'll see what we can do, hmm?"

"Sí, you know where to find me. I hope to see you at four continents as well."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. You three take care, y'hear?"

Was that a country drawl Yuuri was hearing? His last name was Italian, but he spoke like a cowboy. Funny. Bidding his new supporter adieu with a faint nod, Yuuri skipped over to Peach, setting his chin on the unsuspecting boy's right shoulder from behind.

He must have been visible in the phone's front camera, because Phichit didn't seem surprised in the least, instead angling the camera towards his best friend and slipping one of his AirPods into Yuuri's ear.

"Yuuri! Hey, hello, hi!"

"Hi, Violet. How are you?"

Violet Chulanont; Phichit's older sister. She was a Thai model, earthy in style, with a charming demeanor that left anyone she doted on week in the knees. She had a sadistic streak, a penchant for flirting with poor Yuuri, if only to see him squirm, but it was all in good fun.

"God, you were amazing out there! I think I fell in love."

Yuuri rolled his eyes, ignoring the shove Peach gave him when he clocked it in the small projected recording of themselves in the lower left portion of the screen.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, I'm being so for real right now! I'm coming down to Detroit next month. What do you say I take you out on a date, hmm?"

Cheeks growing rosy, Yuuri fiddled with the hem of his jacket, searching for his persona. Found it.

"Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

That caught Peach's attention. He made an odd face in the lens, biting his lip to fight off blossoming amusement. Yuuri wrinkled his nose, winking at the younger skater in the hopes of conveying his playful intent.

Violet leaned closer to the camera, mouth agape and eyes scopic. She made a show of gasping, one palm held to her forehead and the other gripping at the neckline of her marbled floral sundress.

"Good heavens! Are you flirting with me, Yuuri? I thought the day would never come, but our precious little skater has bloomed into a young man! Are you seeing this, Peach? I'm not going crazy, am I?"

"Nah, sis. Reporting from the ground; breaking news! Yuuri Katsuki, the international playboy-"

Yuuri cut him off with a friendly flick to the ear, ruffling the brunette's unruly hair as he snorted and whooped. Yuuri leaned into the frame, addressing Violet directly.

"Can I borrow Peach for a bit? You can have him back in, like, twenty minutes, scouts honor."

"Anything for you, babe!"

Peach made a vomiting gesture, sticking his tongue out and grimacing as he pointed down his throat.

"Ugh, don't call him that, I might be sick-"

"Yeah, yeah. Call me back tonight, ok? Mae wants to check in on you. She misses you, yknow? I get it, you're famous now, or whatever, but don't forget the little people."

Chewing on his cheek to avoid awkwardly speaking out of turn, Yuuri noticed a guilty shadow befall Peach's profile. It was unlike him to neglect family, blood related or not. Yuuri sensed a fragment of apprehension taint the previously jubilant air between the two. He'd have to bring it up later, at a more appropriate time. Could it have something to do with the whole 'under the sink' fiasco?

"I know. I'm sorry. Tell her to call me anytime. Phõm rák teer."

"Chǎn rák teer. Wái kui gan."

Peach pressed his pointer finger to the screens surface, ending the call and taking a moment to steady himself. Yuuri wondered if this was a bad time to bring up his own botheration, but Phichit was the kind of person who welcomed distractions. Still, he offered the young skater a knowing smile and gave him a soft pat to the cheek in solidarity.

"You good?" Yuuri questioned, doing his best to keep the potent concern from poisoning his tone.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just…" Peach looked a lot younger for a the passing second it took him to complete his thought. "Can we talk about it another time, if that's…cool?"

"Of course, dude. You know I'm always here."

Some of the apprehension faded from Peach's wary expression. He did a little stretch, both hands raised above his head as if he were expelling the bad energy from his body before offering his undivided attention.

"So, what's up? You seem a little antsy."

"Did you get my texts?"

Peach's eyes strayed to the phone that now rested on the rink's barrier, peering over at it by standing on his tip toes. From what Yuuri could see, there were no notifications illuminating the lock screen, not that Peach was under any obligation to tend to him on a dime.

"Shit. I turned my notifs off, did something happen?"

Yuuri held his hands up between himself and his rinkmate, vigorously shaking his head.

"No no no, it's not a big deal, really! I'm not upset or anything, I was just wondering how much exposition I needed to give you."

Appeased, but still speculative, Peach sat down on one of the foldable recliners, inviting Yuuri to do the same by patting the chair beside him.

"I'm gonna need a detailed synopsis. Now I'm geeked, what happened? Did you get scouted for the Olympics? Did Chris confess his undying love to you? Oh! I bet-"

Yuuri slid into the seat, slouching at the relief it offered to his burning calves and throbbing hamstrings. Peach continued to spout out increasingly egregious prospects until he grew tired of hearing his own voice, trailing off in expectancy.

"Nope, nothing crazy or life changing, sorry to disappoint… but I might have run into Viktor."

The 'i' in 'might' was drawn out facetiously. Peach clasped his hands in front of his chest, earnestly awaiting Yuuri's explanation, though his impatience was unmistakable.

Figuring he had built up enough anticipation, Yuuri launched into a detailed explanation, chronicling the evening's upheaval with meticulous attention to detail. He felt a little like Regina George, gossiping ardently and unapologetically enjoying every second of it. When he finally reached the end of his melodramatic tale, Peach was bursting at the seams, excitedly tapping his feet against the cold concrete.

"Your fucking joking! Oh my god, there's no way he thought you'd let him swoop in and save the day! How narcissistic can one person be? Like, what, did he think you'd fall at his feet if he acted like your knight in shining armor or something?"

Vindicated, Yuuri groaned, rolling his eyes and giggling out an exasperated "I know, right? To be honest, it totally snapped me out of my panic attack, too. As if he knows what's good for me."

Spirits high, the two continued their schoolgirl bantering session until prompted to head back to the hotel. Yuuri was more than ready to vedge on the couch for the afternoon, marathoning the newest season of 'Love Island' with Phichit to settle his nerves before the free skate.

As Yuuri uncoiled, decompressing from a day of stress and strain beneath the shower head's stream, his phone began to ring, blaring as the noise bounced off the high ceiling. Squinting, the boy leaned away from the water's steady flow, patting around the sink to grab ahold of it. No luck. He rinsed the chromatic suds from his hair, lazily resigning himself to finish what he had already started before dealing with anything else. Come on, he deserved at least ten minutes to himself before delving back into the cesspit that was his itinerary.

Fifteen minutes later, Yuuri succumbed to his fate, taking a seat on the velvety comforter of his bed and unlocking his phone. Oh? It had been Chris calling. Oh shit, it had been Chris calling-

Chris: Mon Cher! You made me a promise and I intend to collect 👹

Chris: Oops, wrong emoji. 👀**

Yuuri: Oh my god I totally forgot

Yuuri: Also, know that you gave me a heart attack. Out of all the emojis you could have misclicked, that's the worst possible outcome 😭😭 Jesus Christ

Chris: Yeah, that's my bad, lol.

Chris: Back to what's important

Chris: Get dressed, we're going out!

Yuuri: Could I persuade you to take pity on my poor soul? Perhaps with a heartfelt ballad?

Chris: Tempting, we'll come back to that later, but no. You brought your gift, right?

Yuuri: Yes, and I'm tempted to make you return it. Never spend money on me again.

Chris: You wound me ;(.

Chris: Wear the outfit or I'll stage a public breakup

Yuuri: You wouldn't

Chris: Don't test me, bitch.

Yuuri had to take a breather before responding. He was in such a fit, laughing hard enough for tears to well in his eyes.

Yuuri: Ugh, give me 15?

Chris: YESSSS!!

Yuuri: Ok but glasses, gold glasses, or contacts?

Chris: Hmm

Chris: Go with the gold 🫶

Yuuri: Bet, see you in a few!! :))

Phichit was still out and about grabbing evening snacks for himself. His black hole of a stomach knew no limits. Yuuri felt guilty for rain-checking on him, but a promise is a promise.

Yuuri: Peachhhh,,,,

Peach: Did u lock yourself in the bathroom again

Peach: Pull up on the handle, then try opening it k?? I'm in line rn

Yuuri: Ok rude but no,,, so I might have forgotten that I made plans with Chris this evening.

Peach: Oh word?? What are y'all doing?

Yuuri: He wants to take me out to a club since he wasn't with me on my 18th

Yuuri: Cuz the legal drinking age here is 18

Yuuri: Peach I'm getting nervous why haven't you responded yet, are you mad :((

Peach: No lol I'm just laughing my ass off imagining you in a club tbh 😭

Peach: CHOO! CHOO! Hop aboard the buzzkill express!

Yuuri: PEACH 😭😭

Peach: I'm teasing

Peach: Is that why you brought that fancy ass fit Chris got you with us?

Yuuri: Yeah 🥲🥲

Peach: are u sure u want be to be hungover at your first GPF?

Yuuri: I won't drink enough for that to be an issue, dw :(…

Yuuri: Fineeeee fine.

Yuuri: So I don't think we'll be out late since we still have the free tomorrow. If I do come back late I'll try not to wake you up tho

Peach: Yeah, ur nuts if you think I'll be asleep before 3am.

Yuuri: Ok true

Peach: I'm in my delulu era rn tbh. I'll just be posting pointless shit on insta and manifesting my imminent rise to fame or whateva

Yuuri: Sounds productive 😭😭,,,,

Peach: Kiss my ass, Katsuki. just u wait. When I'm on a yacht with Megan Fox, you'll wish you had faith in me ;(

Yuuri: Uhuh

Yuuri: Well I need to get ready, so text me if you need anyth ok??

Peach: Sir yes sir!

Now came the hard part; building up the courage to actually get dressed and step foot out of his hotel room. He managed, somehow, but the moment Chris saw him in the handpicked accouterments, the man let out a theatrical squeal, darting to Yuuri's side and fussing over the smaller details of his handiwork.

"I'm a goddamn genius. Look at you, Mister Belle of the ball. Tell me how amazing I am. Go ahead, I'm waiting." Wheedled the blonde.

Yuuri had no qualms about boosting his companions ego, spinning words of praise like a master poet, even going so far as to mimic Chris's dramatic demeanor. It provided a compelling distraction from what was to come, so no harm no foul.

The pair walked in tandem, the night closing in on them as the abated blue of the sky faded into an alloy of coral and lavender. One thing Yuuri had taken notice of after traveling from country to country these last few months were the sunsets. They manifested differently depending upon where you were, as if the people below directly affected their character and presentation. There was no rationale behind that assumption, but it was a pretty predilection nonetheless.

Hasetsu was a mix of seafoam and pearl, a simplified illustration of the happenings at its feet. Detroit was incarnadine, rose and burgundy spun together like woven thread. Las Vegas had been periwinkle and cerulean. Yuuri wasn't very well pleased with the implications of its presentation. Moscow was amber and aurelian, a mockery of what he had yet to achieve. Italy had proven to be the best yet, with its lilac and blush overpowering any of the nagging fears Yuuri carried with him as they journeyed to the mysterious club.

Though they had arrived just before nine, a long cue had already formed. Women in dangly hoop earrings and cropped satin dresses were interspersed with men in open collared polos. Yuuri felt overdressed, voicing his concerns quietly as they waited, but Chris was quick to assure him that he would fit right in.

Black was one of the few colors he felt confident in, as it was known for its slimming qualities, though Yuuri was unsure how flattering a sheer blouse could be. With pleated lantern sleeves and bow-knot neckline, the shirt exposed what he considered to be far too much.

The wait couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, but to Yuuri it was an eternity and more. Every passing second allowed more trepidation to pool within his churning gut, and in that time, the boy had made a tick out of tucking the hem of the top in and out of his slacks, leading to a perturbed Chris swatting at his palms, matter-of-factly stating that Yuuri would soon fray the fabric with his incessant stirring.

Aggressive strobe lights leaked from the building's curtained entryway, signaling their impending accession. When it was their turn to offer the bouncer a peek at their ID's, Yuuri found himself in a state of familiar lucidity, aware that there would be no going back once he willfully conceded his reluctance and passed through the threshold. The only thing keeping him within a hundred feet of the cigarette smoke-thickened vicinity was the promise he had made with Chris, one he would not soon repeat.

Squinting at Yuuri's round eyes and even rounder cheeks, the bouncer hesitated. It would be a godsend if he denied the boy entry, saving him from hours of playing the resident wall-flower. Alas, it wasn't meant to be, as he parted the hefty velvet curtain with one toned arm and nodded, allowing the pair to make their way inside without further resistance.

If Chris had hoped to make conversation, he would be sorely disappointed, because the music was pounding with a fervor unmatched by all but the Trojan army, its tinny vibrations spanning from floor to ceiling. Glitter clung to every surface, gleaming and catching Yuuri's eye whenever the strobe's beams latched onto a speck within range.

Feeling curiously violated by every aspect of his surroundings, Yuuri was more than ready to indulge in a few drinks. In an act of rare sovereignty, he took charge of the situation and guided Chris to the bar, their arms locked at the elbows so as to not lose one another in the rambunctious mob of drunken college students.

Thankfully, it was far away enough from the DJ booth that they could now verbally communicate. How anyone enjoyed this was beyond him, but to each their own, and hey, at least he could say he'd tried it.

"What should I get?" Prodded Yuuri as he surveyed the quaint cocktail menu nestled atop the bar.

"How much of tonight do you want to remember when you wake up tomorrow?"

"Honestly? None of it. If I can forget the rest of today, even better."

Chris patiently waited for the bartender, only flagging her over when the wall of demanding patrons dwindled marginally. Yuuri was both impressed and intimidated when the blonde spilt forth a flood of Italian, fluently (and flirtatiously) putting in their order without batting an eye. Had he not known Chris was going steady with someone, Yuuri may have swooned.

When their drinks were unceremoniously plopped in front of them, condensation dripping down onto the waxed wood tabletop, Chris directed him toward the one containing a milky yellow concoction. To be frank, it looked like someone had pissed in a margarita glass and called it a day. Not the most appetizing presentation one could hope for.

Ever the gentlemen, Chris took immediate notice of Yuuri's reluctance, smoothly scooping the drink up by the stem, settling its weight into the crease between his pointer and index fingers.

"It's harmless, see?"

He took a small sip to prove his point, pointedly savoring the taste before swallowing, shortly thereafter returning it to the coaster in which it was previously resting upon.

Testing the waters, Yuuri held his breath, hoping to extinguish some of the bitter astringency as he tilted his head back and allowed a faint trickle to wet his palate. Huh, it wasn't half bad.

"Wanna go full send?" Yuuri challenged, fiercely determined to keep the giddy spark that had lit up his lungs ablaze. It wasn't a common occurrence, for his excitement to overpower nearly two decades of finely honed caution, but something about the sleazy atmosphere had kicked him into thrill-seeking overdrive.

Chris shimmied his shoulders, grabbing his own Negroni in response.

"On the count of three?"

Yuuri nodded, awaiting the countdown.

"One."

Ok wait, maybe this hadn't been his smartest idea. What if he got plastered and woke up underneath a bridge?

"Two."

Celestino would drop him as a student and the respect he had worked so hard for would be gone in an instant. Peach would realize he was wildly unstable and move on to greener pastures and sunnier skies-

"Three!"

Yeah, fuck that noise. Yuuri chugged, casually gagging as the liquid heat singed his throat during its dastardly descent. Again, not nearly as bad as he had feared. As it turns out, drinking cheap vodka straight from the plastic bottle it came in pales in comparison to a twelve dollar cocktail. Who would have guessed?

When the bartender clapped, he knew he'd done something right.

"Another 'death in the afternoon' for you, tesoruccio?" Queried the bubbly bird behind the counter.

"Death in the- ah, sounds great. Thank you."

What a name. After four more, coupled with a delectable vodka cranberry, he learned exactly why it had such a compelling alias.

"Chris- I'm, and then, hold on a second." Slurred the young skater as he twirled a lovely ginger back onto the bustling dancefloor. She may be four inches taller than him in her red-bottoms, but that mattered naught. He was a man of simple pleasures, you see, and her radiant smile was all the encouragement he needed to respond to her flirty advances in kind.

"Adieu, Mon Cher. Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

The redhead giggled, tucking a stray curl behind her freckled ear and bending down to leave a bright red lipstick stain on Yuuri's already bruised lips before disappearing into the crowd.

He turned around, nearly falling flat on his ass as he attempted to regain any sense of coherence.

"Sorry, Chris, what was-" A stray hiccup cut him off. "What was… You asked me about something, or?"

"Hail Mary, you're blackout, aren't you?"

Chris's inquiry received two thumbs up and a crooked white smile. All was just swell, everything was shiny and enticing, and Yuuri hadn't a care in the world, nor a concern for what would come after he snapped out of his state of drunken decorum.

Yuuri had his first real kiss early on in the night, and had since been subjected to about seven more from various partygoers who had been lucky enough to enter his plane of orbit.

The conclusion he came to was that his night on the town could be nothing other than a lesson that the fates themselves had kindly bestowed upon him. The gospel it faithfully preached being the fact that existing as an adult was fucking amazing.

He could just trapeze around, being both flaunted and fawned over by strangers he'd never have to face again, eradicating any fear of consequence that would otherwise drive him into a paranoid stupor. Freedom in its purest form.

All the twine and interlinked manacles he wore like a distinguishing badge of status evaporated, their intricate beadwork scattering tempestuously and turning into a patchwork staccato of Jimmy Choos, lascivious kisses, and glitter bombs, and god did it make him feel divine.

"Fuck you, and you, and you. I hate your friends and I hate you too."

The sudden hype that swept through the building as the song rang clear was contagious. The trap music and R&B they gravitate towards weren't what he was used to, but even he knew the words by heart. Come on, who doesn't love Blackbear? Yuuri had a wonderful idea.

"Chris! Chris, selfie… selfie video time!"

"What?" Shouted the blonde, almost as drunk as his counterpart, so much so that even lip reading failed him. Rising to the challenge, Yuuri cupped two hands around his mouth, doing what looked like a solid cheerleader impression as he desperately tried to convey his plan of action before the first chorus hit.

"We need to record ourselves! The song! Iconic, it'll be iconic! Come hither, dude!"

If asked about it at a later date, Yuuri would claim to have only been keeping his promise with Phichit. He'd asked for pictures, hadn't he? Chris was more than willing to commit to the bit.

Yuuri propped his phone against one of the various napkin dispensers that were scattered throughout the club, squinting until he was fairly positive the two of them were in frame. The lights were flattering, alluding to the slender figure hidden beneath the translucent fabric that loosely wrapped his frame. Chris was visibly wasted, for lack of a better term, steps stuttering even as he stood in place, but his dressage was still stiff and spotless. Like a pair of gods among men, they were.

Right before the chorus encompassed the space with its high energy castigations, Yuuri did his best to make himself appear coherent and cohesive, statuesque and seductive. He wasn't exactly sure who he was trying to impress, but Peach would appreciate it, at the very least.

" fuck you, and you, and you. I hate your friends, and they hate me too!"

With Chris on his left and some random chick on his right, Yuuri spun both at the same time, playfully handing them off to one another.

" I'm through, I'm through, I'm through. This that hot girl bummer anthem, turn it up and throw a tantrum!"

That little recording session, and the Negroni that came afterwards was the last thing he remembered. There were brief blurbs of street lights that twisted like tree branches and chimes of ambient taxi drivers and late night travelers, but it was so sun bleached and grainy that he couldn't pinpoint how much of it had been real, and how much had been fictitious by-products of his alcohol induced fugue.

What was undeniably real were the train tracks that had been carved into his pounding cranium, deep enough to blind him but shallow enough to demand his full attention. It would have been a mercy if he woke up strapped to an IV, because he'd at least know all would be well, but as it stands, he wasn't entirely certain that he hadn't earned himself a good old fashioned case of alcohol poisoning.

Yuuri had been hungover before, though only once, and it had been so horrendous that he swore to drink two bottles of water for every shot his future self indulged in.

Obviously he'd neglected that oath.

It was four in the morning, and Yuuri had no clue what time he and Chris had waddled their way back to their hotel rooms, or how, for that matter, but if the aching bulbous, pressure behind his eyes was any indicator, they couldn't have gotten home before midnight.

"Wake up."

Thank god it was only Phichit.

"I covered for you last night, but if you want to, like, win, you need to take a hot shower, pull the trigger, and down a few Advil before Ciao Ciao comes a-knockin."

The groan Yuuri offered in response was eerily similar to the 'death rattle' he'd heard mentioned in a late night discovery special a few years back.

"Nope, up and at em', party animal. Actions, consequences, you know the drill."

Reluctant but grateful, Yuuri slid out of bed, eyes still closed and mouth wired shut. He lurched forward, seeking out the source of his best friend's voice, palming the boy's cheeks like a blind man in a hilariously desperate attempt at seeking solace.

"Peach. I'm dying."

It was only then that he managed to somewhat process half of what Phichit had said.

"Pull the trigger? What the fuck?"

"It's something Violet taught me. Last New Years she got so drunk at a frat party that when she woke up the next morning, she forgot her name."

Despite his dilapidated state, Yuuri managed to eek out a scoff of disbelief.

"No, I'm serious. Why would I make that up? Jesus, have you no faith in me? Anyways, she made herself hurl, and voila! Good as new. It's like purging the toxins, or whatever."

"Sounds like a roundabout way of suggesting bulimia, if I'm being honest." Yuuri sputtered through the bad case of cotton-mouth intent on plaguing his speech.

"You're insufferable when you're like this. Where did my sweet little Yuuri go? They grow up too fast, I tell you. Kids these days, am I right?"

Too much sass and a hefty dose of sarcasm would have been the antidote to Peach's playful ribbing, but Yuuri hadn't the strength to rebut with either.

"Ugh, please spare me. I'm blind, half deaf, and ten minutes from keeling over. Can you grab me some Advil and a water? I'll owe you one, no, I'll owe you twenty."

While his savior gathered the requested vendibles, the boy leaned against the air conditioner, savoring the relief that its brisk gusts offered in regards to his turbulent stomach and sweat stained flesh.

A flashbulb recollection interjected the brief stalemate he had wagered with the universe.

"Did you post it?"

"I dunno, did I?"

Chris tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, catching himself on the red brick of the hotel entryway, laughing in spite of himself.

"You totally did."

No shot. It had to be another one of the wispy dream fragments… but on the off chance that it wasn't, Yuuri was overwhelmed by a surge of self preservation that beseeched him to double check, if only for the sake of his own sanity.