That was what Yuuri told himself when he auditioned for the first strip club. It was a small place, but the bouncers were good and the clients kept their hands to themselves. It was a way to make good money doing something he loved doing--and, more importantly if he was honest, something that made him feel worthwhile. Dancing felt good, but dancing with every single eye on him, thirsty for more? That made him feel great. It filled him up until he washed off the makeup, picked up his tips and zipped his coat up to head back home as the sun began to rise. It was only in the weak beginnings of the light of day that he remembered exactly what he was doing, and that he should feel bad about enjoy it so much.
It was only temporary after all.
If anyone asked him why he switched clubs, Yuuri would have said there was no really exciting reason. It was financial, it was the neighborhood, it was the clients, it was the distance from home, it was the fact that his best friend and roommate tended bar there twice a week. None of that was, strictly speaking, true. The reason, if he was being completely honest with himself, was the man he had been avoiding for the better part of three weeks.
It started a couple of months before the opening for another dancer became available. He'd come by on one of his nights off to bring Phichit his phone charger. He was unremarkable, unimpressive in a baggy hoodie and jeans, but there was Viktor only a few yards away on the main podium. Yuuri couldn't tear his eyes away. He sat huddled at the bar ignoring Phichit entirely, barely breathing into his palms, as a barely dressed angel hugged a pole to Purple Rain. He had been in absolute, total awe at the way he moved, slow and sensual with elegance, poise and power.
Yuuri was never going to forget that. Two months later when the opportunity arose, he switched clubs. He regretted it the moment he saw Viktor again; this was all supposed to be temporary.
And so, Yuuri began to avoid Viktor at all costs. He would hurry to change, hurry to leave, keep to himself and hope, pray that Viktor didn't try to talk to him. What would he even say? What could he even say? He would just excuse himself, and regret everything afterwards. This was safer, playing shy when he was really terrified. He had done something so tremendously stupid in changing jobs just to be closer to someone else, someone he didn't even know, someone so full of talent, in a field he had no intention of staying in. This was all a huge mistake.
Another huge mistake? Being friends with Phichit. He was supposed to be gone already, but instead Phichit insisted on pouring him a drink and leaving him sitting at the bar while he did whatever it was he was doing in the back room. Left him at the bar in the giant hoodie his mom sent him all the way from home, the baby blue one with Doraemon on it, with his hair a mess, with the remains of his makeup having left him with a fingerprint on his glasses. Left him with Viktor.
Yuuri smiles awkwardly at Viktor, opting to finish his drink in order give himself mere seconds more time to think of what to do. There was only one thing to do, really, and that was respond. Shit.
"I can't exactly introduce myself if you already know my name."
Shit. What the hell was that?? Smile, just smile, what's wrong with you Yuuri?
no subject
That was what Yuuri told himself when he auditioned for the first strip club. It was a small place, but the bouncers were good and the clients kept their hands to themselves. It was a way to make good money doing something he loved doing--and, more importantly if he was honest, something that made him feel worthwhile. Dancing felt good, but dancing with every single eye on him, thirsty for more? That made him feel great. It filled him up until he washed off the makeup, picked up his tips and zipped his coat up to head back home as the sun began to rise. It was only in the weak beginnings of the light of day that he remembered exactly what he was doing, and that he should feel bad about enjoy it so much.
It was only temporary after all.
If anyone asked him why he switched clubs, Yuuri would have said there was no really exciting reason. It was financial, it was the neighborhood, it was the clients, it was the distance from home, it was the fact that his best friend and roommate tended bar there twice a week. None of that was, strictly speaking, true. The reason, if he was being completely honest with himself, was the man he had been avoiding for the better part of three weeks.
It started a couple of months before the opening for another dancer became available. He'd come by on one of his nights off to bring Phichit his phone charger. He was unremarkable, unimpressive in a baggy hoodie and jeans, but there was Viktor only a few yards away on the main podium. Yuuri couldn't tear his eyes away. He sat huddled at the bar ignoring Phichit entirely, barely breathing into his palms, as a barely dressed angel hugged a pole to Purple Rain. He had been in absolute, total awe at the way he moved, slow and sensual with elegance, poise and power.
Yuuri was never going to forget that. Two months later when the opportunity arose, he switched clubs. He regretted it the moment he saw Viktor again; this was all supposed to be temporary.
And so, Yuuri began to avoid Viktor at all costs. He would hurry to change, hurry to leave, keep to himself and hope, pray that Viktor didn't try to talk to him. What would he even say? What could he even say? He would just excuse himself, and regret everything afterwards. This was safer, playing shy when he was really terrified. He had done something so tremendously stupid in changing jobs just to be closer to someone else, someone he didn't even know, someone so full of talent, in a field he had no intention of staying in. This was all a huge mistake.
Another huge mistake? Being friends with Phichit. He was supposed to be gone already, but instead Phichit insisted on pouring him a drink and leaving him sitting at the bar while he did whatever it was he was doing in the back room. Left him at the bar in the giant hoodie his mom sent him all the way from home, the baby blue one with Doraemon on it, with his hair a mess, with the remains of his makeup having left him with a fingerprint on his glasses. Left him with Viktor.
Yuuri smiles awkwardly at Viktor, opting to finish his drink in order give himself mere seconds more time to think of what to do. There was only one thing to do, really, and that was respond. Shit.
"I can't exactly introduce myself if you already know my name."
Shit. What the hell was that?? Smile, just smile, what's wrong with you Yuuri?