“Are you sure we shouldn’t have gone with the pink wig?” Viktor asked. “I looked it up, and her hair is pink with the delivery girl outfit in the color version. I know we said we’re doing comics, not movie, but it’s pink there too.”
He arranged the bangs of his blue wig for the million-and-twelfth time—Yuuri had been counting—and studied the results in the bathroom mirror before switching them back. He was treating a simple Halloween-themed night out at a club with their rinkmates like it was a Vogue spread, but Yuuri didn't find it surprising after living with him for over a year now.
“You thought the pink made you look sallow,” Yuuri pointed out. “Even O’Malley joked about the color version messing things up, so we can do what we want. And the blue looks good on you. I’m the one who looks weird.”
Viktor paused with a mascara wand halfway to his eyes. He turned and fixed Yuuri with a pointed stare that had become painfully familiar over the course of their costume-making process.
“Yuuri, I told you, you don’t have to be Scott if it makes you uncomfortable. He’s not even your favorite character. I really liked that Kim outfit you showed me.”
“So you reject a pink wig for yourself, but you think I’d look good with ginger hair? Besides, nobody would know who we’re supposed to be. And…”
Viktor waited patiently for him to continue, but he nudged Yuuri a bit when he didn’t speak.
“Well, it’s thematically appropriate, isn’t it? You’re this amazing person right out of my dreams, and I’m the early-20s guy who has to get his life together. Plus, I mean, you have exes for me to fight.”
The mascara wand clattered on the counter and rolled into the sink. Yuuri glanced up at the mirror and met the reflection of Viktor’s eyes, widened in shock.
“What the hell, Yuuri? Do you really believe that?”
“Um, which bit?” Yuuri had expected Viktor to scoff at the idea of being Ramona Flowers to Yuuri’s Scott Pilgrim, of course, but not to act horrified.
“Any of it! That I was out of reach, that you had to prove anything to be with me, that you don’t have a whole crowd of guys who wanted to date you. Phichit and the Nishigoris are my friends too, Yuuri. They’ve told me all about it.”
Viktor turned to face Yuuri, crossed his arms, and leaned back casually against the vanity counter. Everything about his posture said, Checkmate, Katsuki.
“Okay, so some people tried to confess to me in high school, and guys at the rink got crushes—”
“Phichit says every single man at the rink was madly in love with you.”
“Phichit had to tell me about it every time because they wouldn’t even talk to me.”
“Right, and I’m sure that had nothing to do with you bluntly shooting down the first couple of guys who asked you out. There’s got to be some unresolved feelings out there. If somebody tried to get the guys I dated to form a league, the only one who’d care enough to show up is Chris, and he’d just be there to tell off the big bad for not supporting us.”
Yuuri smiled. He could easily see Chris explaining to a shadowy villain (played by Jason Schwartzman because Yuuri couldn’t picture anybody else in the role), in a cheerful-yet-threatening tone, that Viktor and Yuuri were a “life goals” couple who could make even the greatest cynic believe in love, and also that he and Viktor never called what they got up to “dating” in the first place.
“Good old Chris.”
“Good old Chris, indeed,” Viktor agreed. “But here’s the thing. Scott is a great character, and he figures himself out in the end, but he’s also a dick to just about everyone in his life. That’s not you, Yuuri.”
He reached up to stroke Yuuri’s face. Yuuri leaned into the warmth and nuzzled his cheek against Viktor’s palm before his hand fell away. Viktor didn’t quite seem to get what Yuuri meant. He didn’t think he shared Scott’s very worst qualities, but alienating friends and family because he was too focused on himself? That had been him the spring after he returned to Hasetsu, whether Viktor wanted to admit it or not. And maybe Viktor didn’t come with a league of evil exes, but he had burst into Yuuri’s life and fascinated him with the same vibrancy as Ramona.
“Anyway,” Viktor went on, “Scott may confront the fact that he’s an immature asshole who sabotages his relationships, but the ending suggests both he and Ramona still have problems and probably won’t last, cameos in Seconds notwithstanding.”
“We had to get therapy,” Yuuri countered.
“That was us being proactive adults who value a healthy relationship.” Viktor seemed to notice the edge of irritation in his voice because he paused for a deep breath. His tone was gentler when he continued. “I’m glad neither of us had to fight people so we could be together. I like that we chose each other, that we're going to keep choosing each other for the rest of our lives. It’s almost as if our lives don’t have to reflect the plot of some comic book just because we enjoy the story. It’s like that thing with Tolkien, right? Where he hated people thinking things matched up one-to-one between real life and his books, but some things had… What’s the word?”
Viktor’s reading habit was common knowledge among skating fans, but encountering it in person had been a surprise nonetheless. Every room but the bathroom in their now-shared apartment held a jam-packed bookshelf, and Viktor was eager to discuss a wide variety of fiction and non-fiction alike. He was incapable of snobbery, loving fantasy as much as the classics of Russian literature. He’d positively squealed when Yuuri unpacked his Bryan Lee O’Malley collection upon arriving in Saint Petersburg last January.
“Exactly,” said Viktor. “So maybe some things about us fit, but that doesn’t mean we have to twist everything else. Stories don’t work that way.”
He leaned in and pressed his forehead against Yuuri’s. The artificial fibers of the wig felt strange where they touched Yuuri's skin, but the affectionate gesture was as comforting as ever.
“For real, though,” said Viktor. “Do you want to be Kim instead? I’m sure we can get something thrown together on short notice. Who cares if people don’t recognize us? I ship them.”
“Nah. This outfit is comfy. I don’t know how you’re going to get through a whole evening in that wig.”
“Me neither, to be honest. Maybe we’ll have to, uh, leave the club early. To get me out of my costume, which is just too hot.” Those last words came out as a breathy moan.
Yuuri groaned. “Keep that up and we’ll miss the party entirely.”
“You’re my Manic Pixie Dream Girl, Yuuri.”
Yuuri snickered and tilted his head up for a kiss. Viktor obliged him, then turned back to the mirror. He fished the mascara wand out of the sink, made a face at it, and threw it in the garbage before pulling a backup tube out of his travel kit (which was, of course, larger than the container that held the entirety of Yuuri’s makeup). Yuuri stepped back to give him more space to work. Mascara went on, then lip gloss, and finally it was time for another round of fussing with the wig.
Yuuri felt his heart overflow with warmth as Viktor frowned at the latest configuration of his bangs.
“Hey, Viktor? If your life had a face, I would kiss it.”
Viktor looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Guess you’ll just have to kiss me instead.”