ft. gender fluid phitchit :'))
yuri katsuki looked down at the phone screen and smiled a little, but it was held together by threads that weren't strong enough to keep it up for long.
"hey," phitchit said, poking his head around yuri's bedroom door and giving him a quick smile. "you got eyeliner?"
"eyeliner?"
phitchit gave yuri a teasing smile, and moved away from behind the door to show off the knee-length silver dress that he was wearing. he bit at his nail anxious as yuri looked him up and down.
"what do you think?" phitchit asked.
"you feeling fem today?" yuri asked with a smile, slipping his phone under his pillow and sitting up straight to get a better look at phitchit's outfit. phitchit nodded shyly, before poking out his tongue at yuri.
"i know i look great, silly!" he giggled. "and celestino (i'm sorry) said that people like it when i wear clothes like this, so he'll buy me something nice if i make up to around sixty tonight."
"sixty?" yuri asked with wide eyes, and phitchit nodded eagerly.
"i know, right? we're gonna be rich, yuri, all thanks to celestino. if it weren't for him, i'd still be out on the thai streets, and i wouldn't have a bed to sleep in or food to eat. aren't you grateful, yuri?" phitchit asked quizzically, biting at his lip which shone with gloss. yuri have phitchit the nod he wanted, before handing over the eyeliner he barely used.
"thanks yuri! you're the best!" phitchit giggled, hugging yuri tightly before hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind him.
yuri sighed, and lay back on his pillow, listening to phitchit bustling about downstairs, the jangle of his keys and the following slam of the front door.
yuri knew that there was some big party that this young and rising millionaire seung-gil was hosting downtown, in a glass-walled penthouse at the top of one of the highest high rise buildings in japan. and yuri knew that celestino would be angry that he wasn't going - tonight was supposed to be a big night - but he was worried that victor nikiforov might be there, and that the silver-haired boy with the ocean blue eyes who had held him as he cried over every fucking thing he had done in his life so far and who had held him as they slept, would watch yuri flirt and bat his eyelashes to make a few dirty dollar notes for his pimp.
yuri caught sight of himself in the mirror opposite his bed, and bit at his lip. he didn't want to go - he didn't want to flirt, bat his eyelashes and have someone else's hands all over him.
he wanted to lie beside victor nikiforov on his grey couch, and listen to the sound of his chest rise and fall, rise and fall as yuri breathed in the sweet smell of vanilla from his white shirt and started to drift off, unlike the night's in the tiny apartment he shared with phitchit, where he'd stumble home early in the morning, scrub off the different, alien and unwelcome feels and smells in the shower with boiling skin and curl up into a ball on top of the covers.
i'm not going.
yuri checked his phone; he had fifteen minutes to get to seung-gil's penthouse - phitchit would already be there by now, sitting prettily in his silver dress and eyeing up anyone who looked as if they were willing to use his beautiful body to earn celestino a wad of cash.
he looked at the last text victor nikiforov - the victor nikiforov - had sent him.
victor💋: i love you, yuri katsuki
yuri was enveloped in his fantasy, which was filled with katsudon, vanilla, lemon cologne and salt tears, but he had the terrible fear that it would all but wear off soon enough.
he doesn't love you.
he can't love you,
he's the victor nikiforov, yuri.
he's famous.
he's rich.
he's well-known.
he's my going to fall for some slut like you.
he's like the rest.
but the thought of victor's touch, and his fingers rubbing away the tears that nobody else cared about, the arms around his waist and the gentle murmurs of comfort and love made the thought of dressing up, getting into a called car, courtesy of celestino and driving up to a crowded apartment to feel the unwanted touch of anyone else but victor nikiforov was what drove yuri to stay.
yuri.
who cares if victor is there?
who cares if he thinks less of you?
he doesn't love you, yuri.
he doesn't.
he's bored.
he's playing with you.
celestino will hurt you if you don't go, yuri.
but yuri's mind was made up, and he spent the next fifteen minutes on his bed in his cramped apartment, list engine to the cars go by, biting at his nail and waiting for the call from celestino that would come any minute.
he checked once more to see if victor nikiforov had replied; god, did yuri wish he would reply, because he wanted to see the words on the screen that watered the small seed of hope that victor nikiforov had planted in his head of dark, dark hair.
sugar🍭: do you love me, victor nikiforov
sugar🍭: i need to know if you love me
sugar🍭: because he's going to hurt me, victor
sugar🍭: and i want to hear that you love me
sugar🍭: even if you're lying to me