I wish you'd write a Viktuuri soulmate au where the first words your soulmate says to you is on your wrist so in this au people are taught to have a unique phrase they say to people for the first time and Yuuri's phrase is "I'm a pork cutlet bowl fatale that enthrals men."
Pairing: ViktuuriRating: GNotes: dreams, occasional wordiness [that’s my style], fairytale, dancing, first meetings, inspired by “The Nutcracker” and other works, very random, oh my gosh…what was i thinking?, was listening to “Sugar” from Maroon 5
Soulmates. The word felt strange over Yuuri’s tongue when he was younger. He could remember the first time he tried to mutter the word under his breath when he saw a boy and a girl cry in their parents’ arms. They had found each other at last. Yuuri was only a third year in primary school when he saw the joyous union and ever since, he always saw the boy and the girl together. How did it happen? At such a young age?
It seemed like it was straight of a fairytale, but the girl had the boy’s first words and the boy had the girl’s. Written on their wrists in fine cursive were: “You got me at ‘Hello’” and “Hello from the other side”. In a world where literally anything said from your soulmate could be put upon your wrist, the boy and the girl had the most casual, the most average phrases that Japan–perhaps the world–had ever seen. The phrases sounded like lines from a rom-com, but it worked out for them. They loved each other very much, but where was the fun?
If you and your soulmate had children one day and the kids asked how you both first met, wouldn’t you want to show your wrists, show a message that was powerful or downright funny? A simple phrase was yet another breath of air on the tongue, but something unique added a tangy flavor that made the joyous union between two souls…special.
Then again, Yuuri was young at the time. He didn’t have a phrase that was witty or cool or awesome. All of his other classmates had classy remarks written on their wrists while Yuuri’s wrist remained clean. His mother assured him that his soulmate was probably having trouble finding the right words to say as well.
“Don’t feel bad, sweetheart. Make a phrase that means something to you.” She ruffled Yuuri’s hair before kissing him goodnight. Having finished telling Yuuri the usual bedtime fairytale, Hiroko switched off the lights and watched her son slowly drift off into sleep. Sugarplums, delicate but powerful ballerinas, a swan by a lake, and the echoes of dancing footsteps weaved in and out of Yuuri’s mind as he slept that night. The dream didn’t make much sense, but it was a funny dream.
If Yuuri remembered correctly, he was a dancer in his Theatre of the Mind. A fog had rolled in, and this was his solo. Remembering the simple techniques Minako had taught him, Yuuri carefully fluttered along the misty ground, feeling the tips of his toes tense up painfully after a rusty landing from a jump. But the gentle music box lullaby went on in his ears, so Yuuri danced and danced on his own. Upon passing a crystal clear mirror traced along the ground, Yuuri’s eyes widened. He wasn’t human.
He was a pork cutlet bowl. A dancing pork cutlet bowl that had ballerina legs and arms for balance. There were even glasses over the bowl so that he could see himself. Perhaps his mother went a little heavy on the double fried pork cutlets for dinner, but Yuuri was mesmerized. Despite being portrayed as a roundish object that packed calories with each bite, he moved unlike a pork cutlet bowl. If that made any sense because it made sense to Yuuri.
Here he was. This comfort-food that had no purpose in a theatrical setting with ballerina slippers and comforting orchestra music. Here he was, yet he didn’t mess up. He followed along the tempo and ever-changing rhythms. He never broke his composure when the odds were stacked against him and his frame. No. Yuuri persevered.
He was not just a pork cutlet bowl lost in the mist. He was a graceful, beautiful pork cutlet bowl that proved his tenacity and ability to stay where he was and be the center of positive attention. That was who Yuuri was.
“I’m a pork cutlet bowl fatale that enthralls all men.” Yuuri rolled over in his sleep, imaging his cutlet-self dancing with rice ball faeries and a freshly sliced salmon prince. In a corner of his dream, a swan flew over a lake and disappeared into the horizon.
And ever since that whacky dream, Yuuri became the man he was. No, he didn’t turn into a pork cutlet bowl. But when he found himself in a jam or nervous before a performance, he’d close his eyes and visualize himself as a cutlet bowl that nobody could look away from. Then again, a cutlet bowl with arms and legs would draw anybody’s attention. But hey, it worked to calm Yuuri’s nerves. And ever since that fateful night with the weird dream, Yuuri finally saw a phrase written ever so neatly along his wrist.
Pretty much, it was the exact theme his cutlet dream was trying to tell him. Just in words and not as embarrassing. What was Yuuri thinking? Pork cutlet bowls were and will always be not embarrassing. Sure, they weren’t exactly the healthiest food that would come to mind, but it had good old comfort that never did anyone wrong.
So here Yuuri stood–age 23 with a “horrendous” blue tie and suit–watching people pass by him at a party. There wasn’t much to do, and Yuuri was still quite shy, even though he knew half of the people at the party. It was better to sit back and watch people dance around you. After all, most of the people at the party had a soulmate. Here Yuuri was, standing alone by the drinks, sipping his champagne as he watched pairs hold each other close on that New Year’s Eve.
“You have to be the opposite of what people expect. How else will you surprise them?”
Yuuri perked up. The owner of those words. It was none other than “The Most Prized Bachelor on Earth”, Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri slid behind a champagne bottle. What the heck was Viktor doing here? At a New Year’s Party in Sochi, of all places…Granted, the man lived in Russia. Yuuri had to give him that much but still…
“Viktor, just dance with someone. You never know when love will show up.” Yuuri definitely recognized that voice. It was Christophe Giacometti’s. What was Viktor’s reaction? A frown, a smile, or an odd glance? Maybe all three. At the same time. Maybe. Yuuri looked over the champagne bottle he hid behind. Damn it. Viktor was coming this way. Alone. Damn it.
Straightening his back, Yuuri whistled a tune as he poured himself his eighth glass of champagne. If he tried hard enough, maybe Viktor would ignore him.
“Sir, you’re spilling champagne everywhere.”
Yuuri blinked. Indeed, champagne was dripping down his glass, his hand, and onto the pristine table. Jerking the bottle away from him, Yuuri grabbed fresh towels and mopped up his mess while Viktor poured himself hot wine. Yuuri couldn’t even look at Viktor. Suddenly, everything seemed too much.
Yuuri loosened his tie. He was too much. Too much of everything. Too drunk, too messy, and too scared to look up at his soulmate and utter something to him. Hoping against all hope that it might be the words written on Viktor’s wrist. It was crazy talk. The chances of him having Viktor’s phrase? One in a billion. Perhaps it was someone else. Yes, it was someone else’s phrase. Of course. That had to be it. Nothing to fear. Deep down, Yuuri knew the answer but didn’t know how to convey how he felt.
His throat was tight. It was hard to take a gulp of fresh air. Viktor was still at the table. Even while sipping his hot wine, he stayed near Yuuri. Did he see the phrase written on Yuuri’s wrist? Oh God…
If Yuuri was another person, he would’ve bailed out. He would’ve stumbled across the dance floor, hopped into a taxi, and pretend nothing happened. Yuuri wasn’t another person. He was Yuuri Katsuki, and the damn message on his wrist meant something to him. It wasn’t just a fleeting phrase that could be said carelessly on a phone or while in a brief chat. No. That phrase changed his life and for the better.
Because of that phrase, Yuuri managed to love himself more and more every day. The faults that antagonized him as a child were now blessings that he cherished dearly. The skills that he didn’t have were simply things he could accomplish on his bucket-list. The person he wasn’t could never replaced the person that he was.
Strange. If you go against what people expect, you learn something about their character on the way they react. How would Viktor react?
“I heard that you don’t have a dance partner.”
Viktor looked up from his drink. “I guess word does travel fast.”
Keeping his breathing steady, Yuuri finally lifted his head and met Viktor’s gaze. “Would you like to dance?”
“I’m not much of a dancer.” Viktor’s drink remained near his mouth.
“It’ll be fun. Trust me.”
Viktor shook his head, but Yuuri offered his hand. Both men stared at each other before Viktor placed his drink down and took Yuuri’s offer. Making their way to the dance floor, a tango blasted off from one of the many stereos. Yuuri and Viktor were slow at first. Timid with shaking hands, they mimicked each other through the beginning. Slow and easy.
Then the tempo got faster. Could they keep up? Despite not being a dancer, Viktor had a few tricks up his sleeve as he reenacted bull-fights chivalry. Yuuri kept up with his fast footwork and unique improvisation-style as he and Viktor twirled, leaped, and held each other–hand in hand–in a tango that was beyond their imaginations.
It was getting hot. Yuuri pulled off his tie and wrapped it around Viktor’s neck as he pulled the man closer for a tango dip. A sudden snap went off in Viktor’s mind when he realized what was going on, but his feet brought him and closer to Yuuri until they were noses apart. Yuuri almost swept Viktor off his feet at the end of the song. Hovering over the Russian man, the bright tinge of red over Yuuri’s cheeks glowed brighter than the lights across Sochi.
Viktor didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but Yuuri finally eased Viktor back onto his feet.
“That was…fun.” Viktor’s eyes widened. Was he that breathless? It seemed to have amused Yuuri. “What’s with the smile?”
Yuuri brought a hand to his lips, fingers tracing his smile. How long was he smiling? When did he start smiling? When did Yuuri last had this much fun? Like a thief in the night, Yuuri turned his head to leave. But before he did, he glanced back at Viktor one last time.
“I’m a pork cutlet bowl fatale that enthralls all men.”
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