Like. I always see people put Viktor amd Yuuri as different clothes sizes. But what if they both wore the same size? Say, Viktor being skinny but taller makes him one size, and Yuuri, being shorter but wide being the same size. I dunno, just random thought I wanted to write down, lol.
Yuuri’s unpacking in St. Petersburg, in Victor’s, no, their apartment, when he finds it. From his spot on the bed, Victor can’t see it. He can, however, see the way Yuuri goes pink. He can also see the way Yuuri freezes and then slams it back into the box at the sound of Victor’s voice.
“It’s nothing!” Yuuri shouts, loud enough to make Makkachin perk her ears up.
Victor hums. “Then surely you won’t mind indulging my curiosity.”
“It’s… it’s nothing you’d care about…” Yuuri says weakly, but Victor’s already skittering into the closet on hands and knees to sit beside Yuuri and peer into the box. He sees a t-shirt, white cloth thick and awkwardly wan. There’s a faded but still colorful graphic of some sort cloaked by the creases under Yuuri’s hands.
“If it has this much of an effect on you,” Victor says, “I care about it.”
“Really, it’s not-” Yuuri cuts off as Victor snatches up Yuuri’s hands between his own. He raises the tangle of fingers and fabric up to the level of their eyes.
“On three?”
Yuuri whimpers.
“One, two, three!” Victor snaps the shirt open with a flourish.
It’s Victor.
Yuuri groans at the same time Victor squeals. “Yuuri, this is so sweet! How much did you wear this?”
“Not that much,” Yuuri mumbles.
Victor holds the well worn shirt up beside his face. Yuuri’s eyes flick between both Victors. He sighs.
“It was too big. I wore it as pajamas.”
Laying the shirt against his chest, Victor runs careful hands over his own image. “You didn’t grow into it?”
Yuuri turns impossibly more pink. “By the time I filled out enough, it was…” He flaps one hand towards the cracked and worn print. “Besides,” he rushes to add, “it never looked good on me.”
“Can I try it on?”
Yuuri’s eyes go big.
Victor tilts his head. “What?”
“Why in the world… why would you…”
“Because it’s me!” Victor says with a smile. “And it’s yours! It’s the me that knew you before this me did!”
Yuuri sputters out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
In response, Victor just grins.
It takes a moment, but eventually, Yuuri shakes his head and says, “I guess, if you have to, you can.”
“Fantastic!” Victor chirps. “Now, what will you wear?”
Yuuri lets out a flat “what” and his nose scrunches up tight enough to make his glasses slip, but Victor doesn’t explain any further; instead, he flits to his feet and starts rummaging through one of the many drawers that line the back of his closet.
“Pink or blue?”
Yuuri blinks. “Blue?”
“Hmm, okay. Purple or blue?”
“Still blue. Victor, what-”
“Aha!” Victor spins around, triumphantly holding a wrinkled shirt out at arm’s length. It’s patterned with pastel salmon flowers all over a background of eye-searingly bright azure. “It’s perfect.”
“Perfect for?”
“You, of course!”
“Oh.”
“It never fit me quite right,” Victor says, somewhere between contemplation and stream of consciousness. “The shoulder seams sat odd and the colors washed me out, but they should suit your skintone much better.”
“Oh no.”
“Plus it always hung wrong on my ribs, made me look gaunt.”
“Victor.”
“Hit at such a tough place, too - right at my beltline. But on you!”
“Victor!”
Victor head snaps towards Yuuri as if he’d forgotten he was there. “Yuuri!”
Yuuri’s mouth sets in a thin line. “I’m not wearing that.”
Victor crumples, the shirt collapsing between the fall of his drooping arms. His eyes go wide.
“You can’t expect me to wear that,” Yuuri says.
“Why not?”
“It’s hideous.”
Victor’s lip wobbles.
“It… it’ll look ridiculous on me,” Yuuri tries, but in his gut, he can feel that he’s already lost. He says one more time, “I’m not wearing that.”
“I can’t believe I’m wearing this,” Yuuri grumbles a few minutes later, his voice muffled by the shirt currently covering his face. He drags it down over his torso and adjusts his glasses with a groan.
“Can I look?”
“Are you changed?”
“Yes,” Victor sings, drawing the vowel out like a trill. “So can I?”
“Sure,” Yuuri says. “Let’s get this over with.”
Slowly, they turn around to face each other.
“Wow,” Victor breathes, and honestly, Yuuri agrees. The shirt that Yuuri had slept in so many nights growing up looks reinvented on its model. White fabric glows against Victor’s pale skin, fluttering wispy around the planes of his chest, and the length that had been awkwardly short on a full-grown Yuuri sits stylishly cropped just above Victor’s belly button. Even the stretched out neckline suits him, a smooth sweep along the curve of his collarbone. The graphic looks so much brighter, Yuuri thinks, when he can look up from printed blue to see the rich reality of Victor’s eyes.
Said eyes flutter shut as Victor smiles, slow and languid. “I knew it would suit you better,” he murmurs. He was right - the flowers mirror the gold-tinged flush on Yuuri’s cheeks and the blue makes Yuuri’s hair shine deep. Those damned shoulder seams look tailored to land just perfectly on his frame. The shirt is that much longer on a shorter torso, enough to end at a flattering spot above the swell of hips, and it doesn’t hang awkwardly on Yuuri at all, instead sliding just so across every sweet dip and curve. There’s one printed flower tucked against the bottom of Yuuri’s ribcage; the fan of its petals matches the sway of his waist. Victor can’t look away. “We should share clothes more often.”
“Yes,” Yuuri says, and he licks his lips. “We should.”