Just Acting.

"Viktoooorrrrrr~! I wanna eat some pork cutlet bowls! Ka-tsu-don! Ka-tsu-don! I wanna eat some ka-tsu-don!"

Currently, a very drunk Yuuri Katsuki was hanging off of the side of the very famous figure skater Victor Nikiforov, who was actually quite amused by the sight of the smaller, Japanese man chanting like a small child.

Presently, the two were at banquet similar to the one where both Yuuri and Viktor had first met. Yuuri had tried his best to avoid conversation with anyone other than Viktor, Pichit, and Minami, though the latter hadn't quite been his own choice. As the others had occupied themselves, Yuuri had taken to being a wallflower with an obscene love for the nearby champaigne. Viktor hadn't forgotten him, though, and as he finished talking to one of the Chinese skaters, he noticed Yuuri's already tipsy state. Viktor had made a promise to himself that although he had enjoyed their first meeting, there was no way he was letting his Yuuri from his sight.

No stripper poles this year, he thought to himself. Shame.

"Viktor," whined Yuuri, poking the taller man's cheek, bring him back to the present. "D--hic!--did you hear me? I wanna go hoooooome and eat some k-katsudon!"

Viktor patted the smaller's head as he attempted to hold back a smile. Even if Yuuri was drunker than someone who had just fallen into a barrel of wine, he was still incredibly adorable. If Viktor were being truthful to himself, he would have admitted that all he wanted to do was go home to their hotel room, get Yuuri and himself ready for bed, and go to sleep with the smaller in his arms. The day had been unbelievably stressful. No one had told him that being a coach would be this difficult.

Victor saw no reason to say any of this aloud, however, not even to Yuuri; he knew that the other would scream it across the room.

Viktor glanced at the people who were leaving and waved to them as he said, "We'll leave in a few minu--Yuuri, no, put your shirt back on!" He had looked back at his boyfriend just in time to catch him taking his shirt off for the first time that night, and he rushed to pull it back over Yuuri's back and chest.

No one needed to see those hickies. Not a single, solitary soul.

Yuuri turned to face Viktor with a pout and whined, "But Viktor, it's hot in here!"

"That's just the alcohol, Yuuri. I think you've had enough partying. Let's go get you that katsudon I promised you."

He began to protest, but at the mention of his favorite dish, the smaller man's face lit with such a joy that Viktor had no doubt that he would be completely and utterly hungover in the morning. Viktor could remember the days where his drinking had led to many fun nights, embarrassing moments, and two-day hangovers, and he physically cringed. He was not letting Yuuri go through that humiliation, not even if he had to handcuff the them both together to avoid the those situations.

Handcuffs, Viktor mused to himself. That might be the best idea I've had since becoming Yuuri's coach.

He shook himself from his thoughts. Now was not the time, not when Yuuri was completely hammered.

After he collected the few items that the two had been carrying--including one silver medal that he was secretly proud of--Viktor hooked his arm around the inebriated man and pulled him to his side. He was lucky to do so at the time that he did because Yuuri's lapsed judgment had allowed him to decide that drinking more of the champagne was a good idea.

"No more for you, little piggy," said the Russian as he pulled the other's face closer to his own. He wouldn't dare kiss him--he had to know that Yuuri was completely sober when he made any advances. Even still, it was enough to distract Yuuri from the drink in his hand. Viktor plucked it from the other's fingers and drank the amount in one go. It was his first drink of the night, anyway, and he definitely wasn't a lightweight by any means. "Time to go."