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Give Me a Reason (7/11)

February, 2015

“Hair of the dog, mon ange?” Lounging on the bed nude, relaxed, and disgustingly unhungover, Christophe tipped an open bottle of Grey Goose toward Victor. The store name on the price sticker was written in Cyrillic, and was quite familiar.

“You went through my luggage?” Mock outrage would not have been possible before the painkillers, water, and hot shower. It would probably have been more convincing after two or three cups of tea. “I brought that for your birthday.”

Chris smiled sweetly, showing off his dimples. “And today it is my birthday. What a wonderful surprise; I’m touched by your thoughtfulness.”

Victor shook his head, unable to contain a fond chuckle at his friend’s antics. “This is why I don’t wrap your gifts,” he said. “It would be a pointless gesture.”

“If you did, the customs officials would only make you unwrap them again at the airport,” Chris pointed out.

“True enough. What time is it?”

Christophe checked his phone. “We’ve more than enough time for breakfast before the men’s free.”

“Wonderful.” Hopefully a full stomach would chase away the remaining aftereffects of the prior evening. Chris had insisted on dragging Victor out on an impromptu club crawl of every gay hotspot in Bern. It was fun for as long as they were together, but the crowd on the dance floor invariably separated them, and whether he was recognized or not, Victor was never left unpartnered for long. Dancing led to grinding, and then to drink offers that were far less awkward to accept than to turn down. Next was more dancing if he was lucky, and shouted pick-up lines and attempts at small talk if he wasn’t. Chris eventually appeared to rescue him, but not before the Sharpies materialized. By the end of the night, Victor had been covered in scribbled names and phone numbers, not one of which he could match with a face if he cared enough to try. The marker had scrubbed away in the shower with the aid of some hand sanitizer. The three different colors of glitter turning his skin into a teenage vampire fantasy were more stubborn. “Shall I make you some birthday blini?”

Chris appeared to consider the idea. “Why not?” he decided finally. “I’ve been wanting to remodel my kitchen, and you burning it down will give me the excuse that I need.”

Victor gasped as Christophe’s lips twisted into a smirk. “That happened once!” he protested hotly. “More than three years ago! I’ll have you know that I’ve improved since then.”

“Like a fine wine, darling, but whatever does that have to do with your cooking?”

In the end, Chris was the one to make the pancakes, preferring the texture of true crepes to the egginess of blini. His honor on the line, Victor produced both a cream cheese sauce and a berry reduction for toppings. The mimosas were a joint effort, Christophe declaring that they paired far better with sweet crepes than Bloody Marys did, the latter made with natal day vodka or no. Settling into the comfort of Chris’ leather sofa, the two men solemnly clinked their champagne flutes together in a silent toast.

“Mon dieu, you have improved.” Having dipped the tip of a spoon into one of the serving bowls for a taste, Chris was now enthusiastically dolloping both red and white sauces onto his plate. “To what do we owe this miracle?” His face turned thoughtful. “Or, should I say, to whom?”

Victor flushed. “You know I’ve been watching a lot of American television lately,” he began evasively.

“Entirely on your own initiative, of course.” Chris wasn’t having any of it. He’d been teasing Victor about Lukewarm Mess a lot over the past year, ever since noticing that Victor suddenly seemed to be glued to his phone whenever they met at competitions. He had jumped to entirely the wrong conclusion, labeling Mess and Victor’s correspondence a long-distance romance instead of the comfortable friendship that it actually was. Of course, if Victor had told Chris the nature of the chat channel, rather than letting him form his own assumptions…

No. There were things that Victor couldn’t say out loud, not even to his closest friend. He didn’t think that he could face the disappointment in Christophe’s eyes – or, worse, the sympathy.

He sighed in defeat. “All right. My friend Mess and I,” he emphasized the word, “have been watching an instructional cooking show called Good Eats together. His parents run a bed-and-breakfast,” or something like one; Mess had always been rather vague on the subject of his family business. And his family in general. Having no taste for hypocrisy, and holding personal secrets of his own, Victor never pressed, “and he started helping in the kitchen when he was five.”

“Ah. So when he learned that you actually eat those revolting nutri-meals the sports dietitians try to inflict on us…”

“He was shocked and appalled and took immediate responsibility for remedying the situation, yes.” Victor smiled at the memory. There had been exclamation points. The phrase ‘Purina Human Chow’, accompanied by a slew of kaomojis. And descriptions of various meals that Mess and his roommate liked to cook, so loving that they had verged on pornographic.

“And the result?”

He shrugged. “I’ve started making real food for myself on rest days, sometimes. I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy cooking enough to want to do it after a full day of practice, and I’m not exactly creative in the kitchen, but I can follow a recipe just fine. Yuri says that my stroganoff isn’t completely disgusting, which is high praise coming from him.”

Christophe’s eyes were comically wide. “Marry that man,” he breathed. “Marry him quickly, before he escapes.”

“We live on opposite sides of the world. We’ve never even met.” The opportunity had been there a few months ago, and not only had Victor well and truly blown it, he’d nearly destroyed his and Mess’ friendship in the process. But Chris didn’t need to know any of that, either.

“All the better. Ensnare him before he knows what he’s getting into.”

Victor was saved from further prodding into his nonexistent love life by his phone alarm, alerting them to the beginning of the men’s singles coverage. Chris turned on the TV, and the familiar sight of Mokdong Ice Rink illuminated the screen. A pair of commentators preened for the camera as they discussed the history of the Four Continents Championship and the year’s host city, Seoul. In the background, the first group of skaters was warming up.

The woman promised a ‘hot time on the ice’, which prompted her male counterpart to chuckle as though she’d said something both witty and original. Victor winced. “Isn’t there a raw feed we could watch instead?” he asked plaintively.

“Not for a competition that Switzerland isn’t invited to,” Chris said. “Besides, Florian and Sarah really are quite knowledgeable once the actual skating starts.” Now the announcers were trading cold weather puns back and forth. Victor had first heard every single one of them while he was still in Novices. “They’re national treasures, really.”

“Then by all means, lock them away in a secret vault under armed guard.”

Chris tsked at him. “Someone’s ready for more alcohol.”

By the time the drinks were poured – and, in Victor’s case, immediately slammed back and poured again – the warmups had finished and the skating begun.

Watching others perform was never easy for Victor. It was impossible to lose himself in another’s program when some part of him was always watching with a champion’s eye, analyzing every edge and gesture. If he were the one dancing, he’d change the jump composition so, and the choreography thusly. Victor tended to think of that critical little voice as his Inner Yakov, and it had only grown louder and less forgiving over the years.

If he’d hoped that he could manage to silence it given enough vodka, it turned out that he was very much mistaken.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped at the screen. The current skater was part of the second group, or was it the third? The half-empty glass in front of Victor was definitely his fifth. “That idiot needs to go home and skate nothing but figures until he learns his left from his right.”

At first Chris had been delighted with his friend’s scathing remarks, but as time went on and Victor’s tongue stayed sharp enough to cut, glee faded into something between horror and awe.

“A fitting tribute to the bombast of Wagner,” Victor declared of another performance. “Pity he’s actually trying to dance the Sugarplum Fairy.”

Not even the medal contenders were spared. Hometown favorite Seung-gil Lee’s program earned wondering amazement that technology had advanced far enough to allow robots to compete against humans. JJ Leroy was branded a little lost hockey player whose goalie probably missed him.

“Unless he is the goalie,” Victor continued, warming to his subject. “He certainly skates like he’s used to being stuck in a ten-foot box for hours on end.”

A dark-haired figure in blue took position. “Disney called; they want Prince Charming’s wardrobe back,” Victor sneered. But then the music started, melancholy synthed-harpsichord and violin, joined by the breathy velvet of Freddie Mercury’s vocals. The man – Yuuri Katsuki -- started to dance. And Victor found his mouth snapping shut.

It was far from perfect. The jump composition was unambitious – safe, Inner Yakov whispered snidely – and even then Katsuki was struggling with his landings. But his spins and transitions were solid, and his footwork was… exquisite. Better than mine, Victor thought, and for once Inner Yakov didn’t disagree. But all of that was background noise. Katsuki’s musicality had always been his greatest strength; when he moved, he appeared to shape the music rather than allowing it to direct his body. This skate was no different. Or rather, it was different, because Victor couldn’t recall ever seeing him dance a conversation before.

Who wants to live forever, the music asked. Do I? Katsuki’s body wondered in return. Should I? Why should I?

Give me a reason to want to.

Neither Freddie nor Katsuki seemed to have an answer to that.

His eyes were stinging. When was the last time that Victor had thought, really thought about his own reasons? He’d made it a daily habit, just as Mess had suggested so long ago, until the process was as automatic as the rest of his morning routine. Wake up, brush teeth, apply face mask, walk Makkachin, come up with some sort of motivation to keep putting one foot in front of the other for another day, go home and get ready to skate. What had his reason even been that morning? Oh. Right. Watching Four Continents with Chris. And how’s that working out for me? Drunk, in a foul mood, and getting looks from Chris like he’s worried I’m about to go for his throat.

What a way to celebrate his best friend’s birthday.

Despairing. Lost. On the edge of surrender, the song had one final, hesitant, suggestion. Love. What about loving forever?

A heart-wrenching pause, the words either too late or not enough to reach the despondent skater. But then Katsuki’s head snapped up, and he exploded into motion. Twizzles, spins, a three-jump combo that nobody had any business attempting so late in a program, but nailed with textbook precision and a resolve so fierce that it burned. Suddenly, after all of his searching, Katsuki had his answer. His reason. His forever. The music – and performance -- ended in triumph, two hands clutched against a heaving chest, newfound love held fast to his heart.

I wish someone would skate like that for me.

And wasn’t that thought just the most surprising thing?

“Nothing to say, mon coeur?” Chris was looking at him curiously. On the screen, Katsuki took his bows, a broad grin splitting his face. Someone tossed a plush dog on the ice that looked rather similar to the toy Makkachins that Victor was usually showered with. The skater collected it on his way to the kiss and cry, where he crushed it against his chest while waiting for his scores.

What was there to say? That Victor had been struggling to answer that very same question since the moment he’d realized that sleepwalking through life wasn’t normal? That he’d somehow managed to trade all of his human emotions for gold medals, but couldn’t remember making the bargain? That the one person he wanted so badly to trust, the one he came closest to unburdening himself completely with, didn’t know Makkachin’s name, or even that she was a poodle? Because when Lukewarm Mess had asked to see pictures of KingElsa’s baby, as both a friend and fellow dog-lover inevitably would, Victor had panicked? What kind of pathetic person needed to use their elderly neighbor’s Samoyed as a catfish? Did it even count as catfishing if he wasn’t actually misrepresenting himself… except, oh wait, he was doing that, too.

When exactly did Victor become as big of a dick as his public persona?

He muttered something in response to Chris, and was immediately asked to repeat it. “I said his jumps could use some work,” Victor said again, barely louder the second time. “And I should send his coach my costume designer’s card. That generic getup didn’t support Katsuki’s performance at all.”

Chris blinked at him, his eyes taking on a contemplative gleam that Victor wasn’t sure he liked. “Really? How interesting.”

There were only a handful of skaters left after that. Once the dust had settled, Cao Bin topped the podium, his famous stoicism giving way to tears when China’s anthem began to play. To Bin’s right, a young powerhouse from Kazakhstan stood straight and proud, a hero who had been granted his just reward. And to Bin’s left…

Yuuri Katsuki looked composed at first glance, but his gaze was unfocused and there was color riding high in his cheeks. A soft, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and one hand kept creeping up to brush his medal with reverent fingers. And at one point, although the camera was panning away to focus on Bin, Victor could have sworn that he saw the bronze medalist surreptitiously pinch his own forearm.

Adorable.

“See something you like?” Chris purred, and Victor flushed. Had he honestly just said that out loud? “I’ve been trying to get you and my darling Yuuri in the same room for simply ages, but the dearest pain au cannelle always refuses me.”

“Really?” A senior skater who wasn’t frothing at the mouth at the chance to be introduced to Victor Nikiforov? Now that was interesting. “Do you know why?” The likeliest explanation was that Katsuki was uncomfortable with Chris and wanted to limit contact with him. It was a shame, but very few skaters looked past the over-the-top flirting to see the genuinely good man behind it. Although, wouldn’t they have to be on at least friendly terms for Chris to extend the offer in the first place? Chris would never abuse Victor’s trust by acting as a go-between to strangers, and a friendship would certainly explain the English pet names. Christophe might shower a room full of acquaintances with French endearments until the words lost all meaning, but he had very few dearests or darlings. So why, then?

Something of Victor’s interest must have shown on his face, because Chris had gone from mischievous to downright predatory. “Alas, but my sweet Yuuri is shy,” he murmured sadly. “Do you know how long it took to get him to stop calling me ‘Giacometti-san’? Most of Juniors, and he never looked up to me the way he does you.”

Oh. It was like being doused in cold water. Of course there was nothing different about Katsuki; of course he was a fan. He was simply too timid to act when given an opportunity. Victor had always known he’d been an influence on the Japanese skater; there had been echoes of his own skating in Katsuki’s performances for as far back as Victor had watched them. Nothing overt, probably nothing that was ever deliberately inserted, but always present. Victor should have realized what that would mean before…

Before what? Before I fell for a pair of sad eyes and a routine that I thought was speaking to me? He’s a performer, no more genuine than I am. He couldn’t understand how I feel, and if he did he wouldn’t care. Because he’s my fan, and at best I’m nothing more than a goalpost to him. At worst? Victor had read the fanfiction. He knew what sort of person read it. Wrote it.

“Well, don’t push the poor boy’s boundaries on my account,” he said with a careless shrug. “I only thought it was cute to see someone so excited to finish in third.”

Chris blinked at him, nonplussed. He obviously hadn’t expected such a non-reaction, but when Victor just smiled blandly at him he sighed, and dropped the suggestion. “Ah well, you know what they say; silver is bitter, wishing it were gold, but bronze is simply happy for a place to stand.”

“Is that how you feel?” Victor was off-balance. Off-balance and drunk, that was the only explanation for the too-honest question that spilled from his lips, too soft and raw to be taken as anything other than the plea that it was. Already rattled, Christophe stared at him in shock, his mouth falling open. Victor knew with a sinking feeling that it was probably a futile effort, but he forced his mouth to twist into an amused smirk anyway. “Because I’m afraid I can’t go easy on you simply to spare your feelings.”

Chris clearly didn’t believe a word of it. “Victor—“ Whatever he was planning on saying next was interrupted by his phone, which loudly declared that it was too sexy for various articles of clothing as it started vibrating across the table. Chris glanced at the display. “It’s Josef,” he said, frowning. “I can—“

“Take it,” Victor was still grinning, not knowing what else to do. “It’s probably important.”

Another hesitation coupled with a long, searching glance, and Chris thumbed the green icon to accept the call. Victor looked away, ostensibly to give his friend some privacy. The fake smile slid off his face like the lie that it was, leaving something blank and empty in its place. Victor’s French was good, and Josef tended to shout into phones; the coach was calling about a last minute interview request, a magazine article with a photo spread.

Something that might get Victor off the hook, at least for a little while.

“Non,” Christophe was shaking his head. “Pas aujourd'hui. Nous fêtons mon anniversaire, et—“

“Il va le faire!” Victor called out, loud enough for Josef to hear. “Il va le faire! Je l'aurai prêt dans vingt minutes!”

Chris glared at him. “Un moment, Josef,” he said into the phone, then slapped his finger over the microphone. “Victor—“

“It’s a good opportunity,” he said, cutting Chris short. “You shouldn’t pass up a chance at exposure just because I drank a little too much and got maudlin.”

“You need to brush up on your English.” His voice was low, upset. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘honest.”

Victor winced. “Look,” he tried again, “just go—“

“Absolutely n—“

“Please? I don’t want to wreck this for you. Besides, I need some time to…“ Sober up. Muster some defenses. Run for the consulate. Or, better yet, the airport. “…get my head back in order.”

“And we’ll talk when I get back.” Chris still looked worried, but he’d started considering the idea. Good.

“Of course.”

Green-gold eyes measured him for a moment longer. Victor did his best not to shrink from the concern in them. “Answer me one thing first.”

Was he being too eager? Not eager enough? Damn it, Victor couldn’t think. “Anything,” he said.

“When was the last time you were happy?”

His mouth opened. Closed again. “I…” he began. Stopped.

“Oh, Vitya.” And then Chris was hugging him. Warm, strong arms wrapped around him, one hand still holding the muted mobile. Chris smelled like spiced amber, and maybe it was weak, but Victor’s self-control had drowned itself hours ago. His pride put up a feeble protest, but the worst had already happened, hadn’t it? His mask had finally slipped, and someone had seen inside. He hugged Chris back, burying his face in his shoulder.

“You really want me to leave you like this?” Chris murmured. Victor nodded without pulling away. “You’re sure?”

“Please.” Victor’s voice cracked on the word. “I just need some space. Some time. I just need…”

Christophe’s arms tightened around his shoulders. “All right, darling,” he said finally, his voice thick. “All right.” One last squeeze, and he released Victor to hold the phone against his ear.

“Josef? Pardon.” Chris hurried into his bedroom, the door closing behind him. Victor sank back into the couch and closed his eyes, tucking his knees up under his chin. He could hear the faint sounds of rushed dressing and Chris’ replies to his coach, and did his best to tune them out. He felt sick to his stomach. Exhausted. Empty. So very empty. Was this a panic attack? It wasn’t anything like Mess’ descriptions, but then Mess always seemed to feel everything, so an excess of emotion made sense for him. For a hollow person like Victor, maybe this numb sort of dread was as close as he could get.

What did Mess say that he did when he got lost in his own head? Victor couldn’t remember. Counting breaths, maybe?

Can’t hurt, I suppose. All right. One… two…

Long moments passed, and then there were gentle fingers in his hair. He opened his eyes.

“Here.” Chris was pressing an object into Victor’s hands. He blinked at it for a second before recognizing it as his laptop. “I know you want to be by yourself for a while, but don’t be alone. Talk to your friends.”

“Chris…” Victor knew that he should be feeling something. Gratitude. Affection. Shame, even. And maybe there was a tiny glow of emotion stirring beneath the haze of alcohol and numbness. It wasn’t enough. “I… I will. Thank you.”

“I am not happy about this.” Chris was still moving, now clattering around in his kitchen. He emerged carrying a glass of water and a plate piled high with cheese, fruit, and crackers. He set them down on the coffee table in front of Victor. “Eat something while I’m gone. And drink.”

Victor eyed the platter. The cheeses were supposed to be for later, for what should have been a happy evening. Reminding himself that he was ruining Chris’ birthday hurt, but the pain was better than nothingness. “I won’t be able to properly appreciate the Bregaglia.” It was a feeble joke, and neither of them smiled at it.

“Eat it anyway.”

“Oui, maman.”

Chris was fussing over him now, delaying his departure. “And call if you need me. For anything.”

“I will.”

Christophe shook his head. His smile was sad, and all too knowing. “No, you won’t,” he said softly.

“Probably not,” Victor agreed.

Then there was a brief press of lips against Victor’s forehead, and Chris left.

The bottles were gone, put away while Victor was lost in his fog. He didn’t think Chris would go so far as to hide them from him, but it would be humiliating to be proven wrong, so he decided not to check. The snacks in front of him looked revolting, and the glass full of nothing but water was mocking him.

I should go out, he thought. Get some air. Get away… He could walk along the Aare, feed the ducks some of those crackers. Maybe take some selfies under the Child-Eater fountain or do some other touristy thing that he and Chris always joked about but never actually did.

Or he could go farther. It wouldn’t be the first time Victor changed flight arrangements on a whim, and it would hardly be the last. Chris might be upset – don’t lie to yourself, Vitya. Chris will be furious – but he was responsible. Responsible, and nowhere near as impulsive as Victor. He wouldn’t hop on a plane this close to Worlds, and Victor would have time to get his shit together, come up with an excuse—

His phone chirped an incoming text alert. It had barely been five minutes since Chris had left; he couldn’t have arrived at the venue yet. Sure enough, when Victor tapped the notification bar more out of habit than actual curiosity, the photo Christophe had sent him showed an empty leather bucket seat. Or almost empty. A very familiar red leather booklet emblazoned with Russia’s double-headed eagle was prominent in the image, resting proudly on top of…

That devious Swiss bastard.

There were no emojis that could possibly express the level of outrage that Victor needed for his reply.

MY SHOES??!?!?!?

Bonjour, mon coeur! How is your online sweetheart?

YOU STOLE. MY SHOES.

And your passport. I *have* met you before, darling.

Now be a good boy and stay put, and I’ll see you when I get home.

I could stretch out your Ferragamos for you…

And risk blisters this close to Worlds? Be my guest.

I’ll buy a new pair or three with my gold medal winnings.

…Damn it. Outmaneuvered by an overgrown Alpine moppet. If word got out, he would never hear the end of it. Well. Never let it be said that Victor Nikiforov didn’t know how to cope with defeat.

I hope the camera adds thirty pounds to your ass.

He sighed, and reached for his laptop.

* Joined channel #therapycouchfort

* Topic is ‘Happy Half-Off-Chocolate Day Eve!’

* Set by SockPuppet on Feb 14 10:39:02 2015

StandardDeviation: hey king

KingElsa: Hello.

KingElsa: Where is everyone?

SockPuppet: Mess is conferencing for business again

StandardDeviation: i haven’t seen mess today

KingElsa: I don’t just come her e to talk to Lukewarm Mess you know.

StandardDeviation: of course not

SockPuppet: You just keep telling yourself that

StandardDeviation: you also come here to talk ABOUT mess.

KingElsa: …

StandardDeviation: it only stings because its true <3

* Peaches_and_Dream has joined #therapycouchfort

Peaches_and_Dream: Hello, boy and girls! Isn’t it a lovely day to be alive?

StandardDeviation: hey peaches

Peaches_and_Dream: ( ❁ ´ ▽ ` ❁ )* ✲ ﾟ *

SockPuppet: Someone’s getting laid…

* lukewarm_mess has joined #therapycouchfort

Peaches_and_Dream: Close, only even better!

SockPuppet: What could be better than getting laid?

Peaches_and_Dream: Mess

Peaches_and_Dream: And

Peaches_and_Dream: I

lukewarm_mess: peach no

Peaches_and_Dream: Received some very prestigious awards tonight!

lukewarm_mess: it’s not necessary to tell everyone

StandardDeviation: congrats you two

SockPuppet: !!! Wtg!

lukewarm_mess: nobody even cares outside of our industry

lukewarm_mess: pls don’t make a fuss

Peaches_and_Dream: Says the man whose numbers were THIRD

Peaches_and_Dream: In almost the entire world

StandardDeviation: that’s really impressive mess

lukewarm_mess: hardly the entire world

Peaches_and_Dream: 6/7 of it

lukewarm_mess: you’re counting antarctica??

SockPuppet: Don’t downplay your achievements, mess

SockPuppet: If you were recognized, it was for a reason

Peaches_and_Dream: ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ *fistbumps Socks*

StandardDeviation: what did you win peach

Peaches_and_Dream: I came in fifth! Which isn’t actually an award category or anything but still. Top five!

Peaches_and_Dream: The high scorers had better watch their backs. I’m coming for them next!

StandardDeviation: you sound so competitive lol

Peaches_and_Dream: It’s a competitive field

Peaches_and_Dream: Practically an olympic sport, really

lukewarm_mess: PEACH

lukewarm_mess: can we change the subject now

StandardDeviation: *pokes king to see if he’s dead*

StandardDeviation: *poke*

StandardDevation: *poooooooooooooooooooke*

SockPuppet: That’s enough

KingElsa: I’m not dead.

lukewarm_mess: hi king

SockPuppet: We were teasing him a little bit and he’s been quiet since. Sorry if we overstepped, King

KingElsa: Hi Mess.

KingElsa: It’s not you guys.

lukewarm_mess: bad day?

KingElsa: You could say that

KingElsa: I accidentally let slip to a friend that I’m…

Peaches_and_Dream: …gay? (͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °)

KingElsa: :P

KingElsa: Not always as happy as I act

StandardDeviation: accidentally or “accidentally”

*lukewarm_mess>> {{{hugs}}}

KingElsa: Definitely unintentional

SockPuppet: How did they take it

/msg lukewarm_mess: Thanks <3

Peaches_and_Dream: I’m sure if it’s a good friend he’s concerned about you

KingElsa: he had to go out for a work thing, but he wants to talk when he gets back.

*lukewarm_mess>> i know you’re upset but i can’t help but think this is a good thing

KingElsa: I’d rather run away than face him.

*lukewarm_mess>> you know how i feel about you not having a rl support base

SockPuppet: Running away is a bad idea

lukewarm_mess: don’t run away

/msg lukewarm_mess: The way he looked at me hurt.

/msg lukewarm_mess: I don’t want to be pitoeid

/msg lukewarm_mess: pitied*

*lukewarm_mess>> now i know you’re upset

KingElsa: I…. um. can’t.

*lukewarm_mess>> if you’re making typos

StandardDeviation: ???

/msg lukewarm_mess: Hush, you. Do you even know what the shift key is for??

lukewarm_mess: sure, symbols and emojis :P

KingElsa: He kind of took my shoes and passport with him when he left.

Peaches_and_Dream: OMFG my kind of friend!

StandardDeviation: :O

lukewarm_mess: did you have to tell everyone that

lukewarm_mess: you’ll give peach ideas

SockPuppet: I’m glad you have a friend who cares about you, King

Peaches_and_Dream: Because keeping you inside the apartment is always such a problem, Mess ( ￢ _ ￢ )

Peaches_and_Dream: King ask your dude if he has any solutions for getting people to come out of their room

KingElsa: I wish he cared a little less, to be honest.

StandardDeviation: really? harsh

*lukewarm_mess>> you don’t mean that

KingElsa: No… I guess I don’t mean it. I’m glad he cares. Mostly.

KingElsa: I just wish he didn’t have to?

StandardDeviation: are you wishing for neurotypicality or not to need other people

StandardDeviation: because while we’re at it i wiould like a pony

KingElsa: …I’m being an ass, aren’t I

lukewarm_mess: no

Peaches_and_Dream: A bit

KingElsa: …

Peaches_and_Dream: Okay, serious talk now so pay attention

SockPuppet: This should be good.

Peaches_and_Dream: You seem to me like one of those people who needs to act untouchable in public. It’s even in your screen name. And you’ve mentioned being in a position of high visibility before

KingElsa: Yes…

Peaches_and_Dream: Where does the line between the public you and private you begin? And which side of that line does your friend stand on? Or any of the other people in your life?

KingElsa: That’s the problem. I’m not sure there *is* a line anymore.

KingElsa: If ther eever was.

Peaches_and_Dream: So there’s no one in the world you can turn to? Nobody who can call you out on your bullshit?

KingElsa: You seem to be doing a pretty good job of that right now >.>

Peaches_and_Dream: I’m on the internet, I don’t count. Even if I knew who you were irl, we’re not friends. We’re certainly not close.

KingElsa: True.

Peaches_and_Dream: So my question stands.

KingElsa: My co

KingElsa: boss*

KingElsa: I guess

Peaches_and_Dream: But he’s work, so he’s part of your public life

KingElsa: So is Chris.

KingElsa: My friend, I mean. I met him through work.

Peaches_and_Dream: And did the relationship stay there?

KingElsa: No.

KingElsa: Well. It’s complicated.

KingElsa: We’re rivals as well as friends, so…

Peaches_and_Dream: Do you think he’d take advantage of you professionally if he thought you were vulnerable?

KingElsa: No.

KingElsa: He’s not like that. He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.

Peaches_and_Dream: So he’s someone you feel you can trust?

KingElsa: I don’t want to be a bother to him.

Peaches_and_Dream: That’s not what I asked.

*lukewarm_mess>> Are you okay with this?

KingElsa: …Yes. I can trust Chris.

Peaches_and_Dream: But you don’t want to bother him. Because he’ll stop being your friend if you’re an annoyance to him?

KingElsa: I toldy ou he’s not like that!

lukewarm_mess: peach, that’s enough

Peaches_and_Dream: I believe you. So why don’t you want to bother Chris with your feelings, then?

KingElsa: …

KingElsa: Because I don’t’ want him to see me as we3ak

SockPuppet: OK TIME OUT PEOPLE

KingElsa: I have been on top since I was sixteen yoeuars osld and since I was sixteen I have understoond that if others are oging to look up to me I hvae to be someone that is worhty of being looked up to. I can’t slip I can’t fall I can’t crack because If i do I will let someone donw. I can’t show weakness becausew i can’t BE weka.

SockPuppet: Peach you are overstepping boundaries like woah

Peaches_and_Dream: You’re allowed to be human, King

SockPuppet: BUT I’m hesitant to bounce you because I think you’re acting out of good intentions

KingElsa: says a SALSEMAN who has NO DIEA what I go throu

Peaches_and_Dream: You’d be surprised. We have a lot more in common than you might think

SockPuppet: ENOUGH

KingElsa: you don’t eve n blong here you aren’t even depressd

SockPuppet: THE NEXT PERSON WHO TYPES ANYTHING IS GETTING A THREE DAY KICKBAN

The stark line of text brought Victor up short. What was he doing? He was flinging insults at a college student, that was what he was doing. A college student who had never spoken to him with anything other than kindness, even if it often came paired with a healthy dose of mischief. One who certainly didn’t need to be treated like an enemy or an obstacle.

SockPuppet: Take a deep breath and calm down, both of you

Calm. He’d been calm. Or numb, at least. When did the deadness change into anger? And why? Because Mess' roommate was right; Peaches was just a name on a screen, no more real or relevant to Victor Nikiforov than someone he passed on the street while walking Makkachin. Nothing he said – typed! – should be able to affect Victor in the slightest. Unless…

*lukewarm_mess>> i’m so sorry

*lukewarm_mess>> i don’t know why he’s pushing you like this

*lukewarm_mess>> are you okay

Those three short private messages pulled something like a smile from Victor’s lips. Trust Mess to obey the letter of the law while doing what he thought was right behind the scenes.

He started tapping out a reply PM to reassure his friend that he was okay. Stopped. Decided, for once, to tell the truth.

/msg lukewarm_mess: no

/msg lukewarm_mess: I don’t think that I am okay

/msg lukewarm_mess: but I also don’t think that’s entirely Peach’s fault

SockPuppet: Now then.

SockPuppet: Before our safe space devolved into a school playground, I was trying to say that I thought the ideas that Peaches brought up might be worth discussing

*lukewarm_mess>> hmm. in that case…

*lukewarm_mess>> i seem to remember telling you about shoving a girl off my lap in a hospital waiting room full of people

SockPuppet: IF King was open to discussing them. He did not consent to an intervention.

*lukewarm_mess>> what was it you said to me?

SockPuppet: And now there has been bad behavior on both sides.

/msg lukewarm_mess: …

*lukewarm_mess>> (¬_¬;)

SockPuppet: So here’s what we’re going to do:

/msg lukewarm_mess: okay, okay

SockPuppet: KingElsa will decide whether Peaches_and_Dream crossed a line.

/msg lukewarm_mess: I told you that anxiety is a liar,

/msg lukewarm_mess: and that literally nobody with half a brain thinks that your’e weak

SockPuppet: If he did, then Peach will get a 3-day ban for being invasive

/msg lukewarm_mess: and that it’s okay to accept help when you need it

SockPuppet: and King will get a 1-day ban for ad hominem attacks

*lukewarm_mess>> so… and i ask this with love… can you take the advice that you dish out?

/msg lukewarm_mess: I also distinctly remember telling you that the little cow deserved to be dumped on her ass for tryig to take advangate of a coworker’s injury to put the moves ony ou.

SockPuppet: OR, and guess which option I prefer, King agrees to forgive your transgression, you both shake virtual hands or give internet hugs or whatever, and either decide to continue the conversation in a controlled and CIVIL manner or change the subject.

*lukewarm_mess>> not relevant

*lukewarm_mess> also she was not trying to put the moves on me

SockPuppet: I imagine there are a great number of sportsball games going on that we could be discussing instead

/msg lukewarm_mess: I guess I do have at least one person who can call me out on my shit

lukewarm_mess: BITE ME

SockPuppet: I

StandardDeviation: lolwut

lukewarm_mess: omg that was supposed to be a pm i’m so sorry

/msg lukewarm_mess: To me? D: D: D:

*lukewarm_mess>> nonono omg (/> / ᗣ / </ /)

Peaches_and_Dream: I only suggested we could discuss the results of the figure skating championships

lukewarm_mess: ψ (▼ へ ▼ メ) ~ → PEACH

SockPuppet: I CAN STILL KICKBAN YOU ALL

SockPuppet: A CHANNEL OF SILENT PERFECTION IS WITHIN MY GRASP

SockPuppet: DON’T THINK THAT I WON’T DO IT

/msg lukewarm_mess: Don’t like figure skating?

/msg lukewarm_mess: Or… secret fan?? (͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °)

*lukewarm_mess>> no changing the subject!

/msg lukewarm_mess: spoilsport

KingElsa: Um. Can I have the floor?

SockPuppet: You may.

KingElsa: So, um. I’m not exactly happy about being blindsided by this convo

KingElsa: but but as Socks said I also said some things atha I shouldn’t have

KingElsa: And I probably should hae said somethign earlier but I’m actually pretty drunk right now

*lukewarm_mess>> omg

KingElsa: so it’s an even wo2rse time than usual to try and call me out

*lukewarm_mess>> peach just spit out matcha through his nose

/msg lukewarm_mess: does it make me a horrible person if i find that a little satisfyring?

KingElsa: So if it’s up to me Id’ rather just channel my namesake and let it go

*lukewarm_mess>> haha no, i think that’s a healthy reaction to peach

Peaches_and_Dream: Oh shit, sorry king. I would never have jumped on you like that if I’d known you weren’t at 100%

SockPuppet: You shouldn’t have “jumped” on him at all. >.>

Peaches_and_Dream: yeah no, that’s fair. Fuck though. Sorry.

KingElsa: I’ll… think about hwat you said. later. But I will think about i8t

Peaches_and_Dream: ^^

StandardDeviation: hey socks, would you feel better if you kicked us all?

lukewarm_mess: ??

SockPuppet: You… have my attention.

StandardDeviation: and then we can all come back and start over fresh

Peaches_and_Dream: I… don’t actually hate that idea

KingElsa: I’ve been kicked out of finer establishements than this one *sniffs*

SockPuppet: This pleases me. Okay, then. Take five, children. Eat or go look out a window or something.

*Disconnected from #therapycouchfort (Quit: Kicked by SockPuppet)

To be continued...

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