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Yuuri cracks open his eyes, blearily, to an unfamiliar ceiling. His head feels like it's either on fire or full of bees or possibly both and his stomach does a slow, sickening roll as he opens his eyes, but it settles, at least for the time being. Not just his head but everything hurts enough that, at least at first, he more just moves on auto-pilot, looking around for his glasses and taking what is obviously a pair of Paracetamol on the bedside table. There's a little note with them but he doesn't parse either the message or recognize the handwriting, so he just drinks about half the glass of water and looks around.

Memories leak back in slowly-- Vicchan, the competition, calling his mom, going back to the room, Celestino insisting that he had to go to the banquet afterwards, possibly worried he was going to do something stupid if he didn't. But he remembered saying no and refusing to open the door. So... shouldn't he be in the hotel room?

This is not the hotel room.

In fact, he swears he's seen this room before, somewhere, actually, but he's too tired and bleary to figure out where. So he just walks over to the bathroom, which he, for some reason, is able to guess the location of, and splashes water on his face rubs at it until he somewhat resembles a human being, and then goes in search of more clues to where he is.

The bedroom door creaks open and there's another sense of deja-vu as he looks around the apartment it opens on, but the pieces refuse to slot into place.

"He-Hello?"

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The door opens to a dimly lit condo space, beautifully decorated like it may as well be ready for a photoshoot. That's because it was done up for magazine article a few months back and Victor hadn't done much living in the place, since then. The only light is from around the corner, in the kitchen space. There's a single light on over a man with silver hair and a naked... well, it seemed like everything at first. He's all pale skin and long limbs, only wearing a pair of short, well... shorts. He's standing idle in front of a stove and perched on one leg, his other leg scratching casually at the back of his thigh. He yawns before the kettle he was looking at began to whistle.

He picks it off and goes to pour a cup of hot water, blue eyes looking up at the questioning call. Victor Nikiforov smiles and gives a little wave.

"Yuuri! You're awake. Morning tea?"

The pieces slot together quickly for someone who is really mostly exquisitely hungover. Where he had seen the bedroom before. Why he knows where the bathroom is. He's a fucking obsessed fanboy, is how, and he'd flipped through those shots in the magazines an extravagant amount. He'd imagined himself in these rooms, what they'd look like if he were really here. And now, here he is.

He squeaks in panic immediately and slams the door, leaning against the inside of it, trying not to go from hungover to panicking in the time it takes for the sound to fade.

He is in Victor's house.

He is in Victor's bedroom.

WHY is he in Victor's house/bedroom?

His head throbs and he wavers on his feet just a little bit, not sure if this is the point where he gets sick or not. Wait.

Wait.

Hungover. If he's hungover, he must have had alcohol. If he's had alcohol, then he must have gone to the party. And if he's here... Is it possible to die from mortification? Because, if so, that's how he's going to die, right here, hands pressed over his mouth and whole body pressed against Victor Nikiforov's bedroom door.

Yuuri will also notice he's only wearing his briefs and socks, any other clothes suspiciously missing. Victor hadn't really cared to wrestle clothes onto the passed out man in his bed. Admittedly, he'd taken Yuuri home with an idea he might get a hook up. It was more than clear to him once they got to his condo, and he sobered up himself, that Yuuri was far too drunk for anything more than getting tucked into bed.

Still, it definitely will seem to Yuuri like the morning of a one night stand. He'll blink at the door being slammed in response. He'll pour another cup of tea and set the kettle down, wandering over to stand outside the door curiously.

"Yuuri, are you feeling alright? Can I come in?" It's his room.........

...oh my god I am in Victor Nikiforov's bedroom... oh my god I am in Victor Nikiforov's bedroom... oh my god I am in Victor Nikiforov's bedroom...

It plays on repeat, louder and louder in his head and everything else feels like it's a long way away, suddenly, even the pain in his head. He's all but naked. He's waking up in someone else's bed, all but naked. He's waking up with playboy Victor Nikiforov's bed and he doesn't know how he got here and--

He almost screams at Victor's voice right outside the door and stupidly looks around for a place to hide, which of course is not forthcoming, or even sensical.

"I..." he manages before his throat seizes up and he's still mostly pressed against the door, "...why am I...?" it's all he can manage. Nothing else is immediately forthcoming, but that might be enough to put the pieces together about at least part of what he doesn't remember from last night.

"You drank a lot at the banquet, it's probably not good for your headache for me to yell at you through the door," he'll chuckle, sipping some of his own tea.

That's reasonable. It's also reasonable that Victor might want his bedroom back at some point, too.

Yuuri's not feeling particularly reasonable.

"Where are my clothes? Or any clothes. Some clothes. Something," to his credit, he's trying very hard not to panic and is actually mostly succeeding. That this is him mostly succeeding is it's own issue.

"Oh! Right, you're probably pretty sticky" from all the champagne Yuuri got showered in. Totally not any other reason.

Victor isn't the most thoughtful person ever, despite his attempts to be a good host.

"You're welcome to the shower. I'll get you something clean to borrow!"

Champagne is definitely the first place Yuuri's head goes. Totally. That's absolutely why he almost ends up screaming again. He knows that's not a real great reaction on any front, but all the panic feels like it needs to go somewhere and the alternative is that he chokes on it.

"Okay," he manages, because he can't think of any other way out of this other than flinging himself out of the window and he's not even sure it opens. Taking a shower delays the amount of time until he has to deal with Victor. Maybe it will calm him down. Maybe this will all make sense. Maybe he will remember something that makes all of this make sense.

He flees into the bathroom, shutting the door and leaning on it breathing heavily, knowing that Victor will have heard that.

After the slam from the bathroom, Victor will open the door to the bedroom and peak in. No tea, then... Was Yuuri upset? Embarrassed? Both might make sense, considering how the previous evening went. He was pretty outrageous and surprising, the night before. That was his charm, though, Victor fell for it hard.

He'll go into the room and set the cups down at the bedside, going to his closet. Finding some yoga pants a soft sweater, he'll fold them up and leave them on the bed. Oh, right, he should get the man some clean underwear and socks, too. Yuuri might have some feelings about Victor letting him borrow his very own underwear, but Victor knows no better, it just seems polite.

Actually, he should get a shirt on, that was probably also polite. He gets a clingy v-neck for himself and yet he keeps with the shorts. Sorry, Yuuri, there's only so much modesty for this man to have.

Alone in the bathroom with the door locked, which seems more reasonable than locking Victor out of his bedroom, if that was even a thing he could have done, Yuuri gets a moment while the water warms up to try to sort through things again. Everything still comes up blank. But he does finally realize that his underwear are still on and they're not sticky. In fact, nowhere that would make sense for... he can't even think the word sex, really... but he's not sticky in any of those places, either.

Okay. So they either didn't... do any of those things or they did... something that wouldn't leave evidence. That doesn't narrow it down much, really, but he's really glad about that and there's a little sigh of relief.

After all, if he'd gotten to have sex with Victor Nikiforov he wanted to remember it.

The thought is true, but having it almost sends him into another panic spiral, so he stops thinking about it, chucks off his poor underwear and socks with more force than deserved and turns on the shower, instead, stepping into water that would normally be uncomfortably hot, but he feels a bit like scouring his own skin off at the moment, mostly in embarrassment.

Victor will take his cup of tea and return to the kitchen, after leaving the clothes out for Yuuri on the bed. He'll flip on some lights so the condo isn't so dark and creepy looking. There's actually a lot of lighting, Victor had a love affair with having too many lamps, something he joked about in his magazine interview. Something about a "no filter" instagram joke going too far and becoming an actual preference for good light in his selfies.

You know what would be nice of him to do? Make breakfast. Yuuri would probably like that, he'd be starving after so much alcohol and so much sleep. He'll go back to the kitchen and start some omelettes.

In a lot of ways, Victor is kind of bad at this, but in some others he's pretty perfect.

Yuuri sort of sidles out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, peering out of the bathroom door suspiciously, but when it becomes clear that he's alone and there are clothes, he breathes a little sigh of relief. The shower has left him feeling a bit more clear-headed. He's still about two seconds away from panicking and he still feels like death warmed over, but he's at least a little more focused, now.

Which lasts until he realizes he's pulling on Victor's underwear and nearly has to run back to the bathroom with a nosebleed. He manages, though. The clothes hang loose on him and he thinks he looks ridiculous (he's actually adorable) but he manages to take a sip of the tea Victor's left for him and then a deep breath and to open the door and slink out into the apartment.

He's nearly silent as he heads to the sound of things banging around in the kitchen and he's still just woozy enough to let something completely impulsive and stupid tumble out of his mouth,

"Do you fix all of your one-night stands breakfast?" the tone's more playful than snide, thankfully, but he literally claps a hand over his mouth a moment later, "Sorry, I'm sorry, that was rude, I don't know why I asked--" there's a quick glance over at the bedroom door like he might just flee again, but it's too far to run with the hot tea.

Victor perks up as Yuuri emerges from the room, watching him cross out to the kitchen. He looks very cute all dressed in his clothes, however casual they may be. The stretchy yoga pants, a bit too long and crumpled at the ankles, the oversized sweater that covered down to the man's butt. Victor wants to take a picture, maybe he'll ask later.

Lucky for Yuuri, the comment makes Victor laugh softly and genuine.

"Only the ones I want to stick around," he'll throw a wink to Yuuri, "I hope you like veggie omelettes."

Yuuri is going to explode.

He flushes at the wink, the words, the easy way Victor laughs. Something sticks in his chest and there's that feeling like he can't breathe again, except this one isn't wholly unpleasant.

"I've never had one. They look good," he feels like maybe he can drift a tiny bit closer, get maybe a little more comfortable, while Victor's got his attention on someone else. So there's another sip of tea and another deep breath before he just kind of blurts out,

"I don't remember anything about last night," he flushes immediately and looks down into the tea, but it seems important to get out, "I don't know how I got here, or even how I got to... I presume the banquet?" he looks at Victor for confirmation on that, even. He can't imagine where else they would have run into each other, "So... uh... sorry..." he's completely red. He knows that a lot of the other skaters are friends, that some of them hook up after events, but he's never done any of that, so he's not sure what to do now that it's apparently somewhat happened.

At the comment about never had one, Victor almost teased with a one night stand? Instead, he let the thought die with another quiet laugh as Yuuri went on. Didn't remember anything? Well, no wonder he was acting so alarmed!

"Wow!" he'll exclaim, looking over his shoulder to the ever closer Yuuri, "You drank maybe three bottles of champagne, so I knew you were drunk. I wasn't sure if you were blacked out, considering how lively you acted!"

If he wants Yuuri talking in coherent sentences, it's probably a good thing he doesn't tease like that...

Though the way he does tease is bad enough, really, though Victor may not even be aware of it. Because it would have been a hell of a lot easier to just take him back to his own room at the hotel from the party, if Victor had just found him wandering around drunk or something. Which means that's also not what happened.

"How I... acted?" the flush is starting to deepen again, and he doesn't run away, which is an improvement, but he does set the tea down to bury his head in his hands, "Oh no... I... did something really stupid, didn't I? My dad's like that too. We get really wild when we're drunk and... please tell me I didn't-- no wait, don't tell me what I did, I don't want to know. No... I do want to know so I know if I need to apologize to anyone... oh god..."

It's probably a good idea to interrupt him, or this monologue is just going to continue forever, sorry.

"I'm not sure you need to apologize to anybody! Except, maybe, Chris? You nearly dropped him six foot off a pole." sorry, what was that about getting coherent sentences from Yuuri?

"Off a... pole?" sorry, is that English, actually? Maybe that's some kind of Russian euphemism he's not aware of?

Nope, he means it quite literally.

"You both stripped and hopped on a stripper pole. It was really very impressive!"

Wait. What?

"Wait... WHAT?" it's a good thing he's not holding the tea still because if he was, Victor would be down one mug. "I don't even know how to pole dance and I got on one with Christophe of all people? Oh my god my life is over," he buries his head in his hands. Maybe he can just sink through the floorboards and die. That would really be preferable.

He completely misses the "impressive" part.

"Well, I definitely can't go back to the ice now," he mutters, not really knowing that this time he's possibly the one lobbing an unexpected conversation grenade.

Victor will be casually getting some plates and sliding the first omelette onto one. He'll put a fork into it and slide it in front of Yuuri's slump figure. Cracking some more eggs for himself.

"What are you so upset about? You've got a great chance to advance your career with this. A scandal where you look really good is the dream!"

"My career?" Yuuri looks up from between his fingers, and there's something different in his tone, almost anger, for just a second, though it just melts into incredulity in the next, "I don't have a career. Did you even look at the scores? How am I even supposed to skate after this?" He stares down at his omelette, finds his manners almost reflexively,

"Thank you, this looks good." It sounds distracted, but genuine.

"You're a dramatic one!" Victor laughs, breezy as he sprinkles some mushroom and chopped zucchini in his omelette. "Even if you choked at the Grand Prix, you still made it there! Your season is far from over, if you don't crack at Nationals." He'll hum, reaching for his tea to sip.

"And even if you did, there's next season. Everybody likes watching a comeback."

Siiiip.

"Nationals..." he picks at his omelette. Just the thought of going back out there, makes him kind of want to dissolve into tears. He chokes it down. Now is definitely not the time or place. Some of it's probably in his tone anyway, though.

"Do people like watching the same person run into the same wall over and over. Because that's what they'll be watching," he does finally take a bite and blinks, "Is there anything you don't do well?" And again, he immediately realizes what he's said after he's said it and turns bright red, "Sorry, don't answer that. I don't know what's gotten into me. Thank you for the food."

Had he already thanked him? He's not sure.

"You're hungover and upset at yourself, I understand." Victor says this with a gentle sincerity. They were competitors, it felt terrible to achieve something like a spot at the Grand Prix, only to miss your shot, so to speak. He'll flip his own omelette over, folding it in on the veggies to finish frying.

"It's nothing fancy, I think I googled the recipe a couple years ago. Yakov would make me swallow a raw egg for breakfast, if I forgot to eat before practice. Not fun."

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