Intention By Design

Smoke Is In The Air

Chapter Text
It had been a silly oversight on his part, neglecting to look into something that should have been obvious.

The series of events that led up to Yuuri smashing his face flat as a pancake in front of a crowd of thousands weren't anything uncommon or even exciting. It was their aftermath and the feelings that accompanied the incident that would ensure a heartfelt promise to never repeat them. In order to do so, he'd need to categorically metabolize them.

His first mistake was getting shit-faced.

Hangovers were not to be trifled with, and Yuuri had chosen the worst possible time to fuck around and find out.

His second misstep could be attributed to neglecting to factor in the possibility that cocktails had calories. Straight liquor is light enough for its caloric value to be considered forgivable, but fifteen cocktails? No way. He may as well have eaten half of a chocolate cake.

Bloated and nauseous, Yuuri made his third mistake; fasting. Even salted egg whites would have eased his rumbling stomach, alleviating some of the dizziness and brain fog, but he couldn't cope with the idea of adding any more lard to his Michelin Man physique. Sue him, it was the one attribute that he didn't regret in the slightest.

Remember; the long line of critical mistakes have to directly succeed one another for their results to be duplicated. As long as he didn't reproduce the exact chain of events, it would be highly unlikely for him to find himself in the same predicament a second time.

Finally, the true faux pas; Checking Twitter. Yes, he had in fact posted the video of Chris and himself busting it down at the club. Humiliating, terrible, truly traumatic, etc, etc. Celestino was pissed, Phichit was having the time of his life poking fun at his poor bestie, and Yuuri was mortified. The fans were picking it apart, assigning obscure meanings to every detail, including, but not limited to his song choice, attire, companion, and location.

It was there, in the bustling comment section of his own post, that Yuuri was clued in to something far more sinister. He had been tagged in the same article at least a hundred times, many commenters speculating that his own post had something to do with it.

It didn't.

Thirty minutes before he was to perform, Yuuri learned just how low Viktor Nikiforov was willing to go. The rat bastard had done it again, chewing up his name and spitting it out into the face of a reporter and his microphone.

" If I'm being honest, I was kind of concerned earlier. The poor boy looks awful."

Poor. To hell with that. He was perfectly capable of worrying about himself. Pity was to be reserved for the weak, and Yuuri was anything but.

Awful. The sweet cashier from the bakery didn't seem to think Yuuri looked awful. Neither did the half dozen people he made out with the night prior. Viktor must have bad taste, because he was in the minority.

Piglet. Fair analysis, he'd give him that much. It's a work in progress.