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Four chefs… Three courses… Only one chance to win. The challenge: create an unforgettable meal from the mystery items hidden in these baskets before time runs out… Our distinguished panel of chefs will critique their work. And one by one, they must face the dreaded chopping block. Who will win the ten thousand dollar prize? And who will be chopped ?

“I’m your lovely host, Phichit Chulanont, on this special episode of Chopped ! Today, we’re meeting with four chefs that have never cooked in their life .”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A raven haired man fidgeted nervously in his spot, waiting for the cue from one of the backstage helpers to signal him into walking onto the well lit stage and onto worldwide television (even if this was more of a pre recording than anything). This is it! He thought anxiously, wringing his hands together, eyes flitting around the bustling crew behind the scenes.

He could already feel a balmy sweat beginning to coat his skin like oil. It didn’t help that the other specimen chatting amiably away with another contestant was oh so very aesthetically pleasing either. Katsuki Yuuri gulped, guiltily straying his eyes far far away from the piece of eye candy that was the blue eyed beauty across from him.

Appearing akin to a siren straight out of a fairytale book, the male a few meters away from Yuuri clad in tight pressed jeans and a casual gray v-neck was like the modern prince to Yuuri’s swooning maiden figure, despite the fact that this was the 21st century and only a few countries had royal figures left.

Long silver strands flowed down from his head like a waterfall while silver bangs covered the left side of their face. Unmarred pale skin and bright crystal eyes caused Yuuri’s heart to tremble painfully, and Yuuri turned away once the piercing gaze of the stranger met his.

It was like the stars aligned together for Yuuri to meet the breathtaking man across from him. Half of his mind tempted him to sneak a peek at the silver haired man’s identity, to discover whether or not he was a human or a supernatural creature. His fingers itched to sprinkle revealing powder into the air around the attractive stranger, but his more rational side shut up the curiosity quick enough.

“Five minutes to go!” Someone yelled, and Yuuri’s nerves nearly rattled out of his shaking teeth. He shrivelled up within himself as black tendrils of anxiety appeared as dots in his vision. He practiced his breathing exercises and popped open a lavender vial with a calming potion he brewed up before arriving on the set. On his fifth intake of air, Yuuri jolted and nearly spilled all of his potion on the ground had he not quickly capped the vial before.

“Yuuri!” Yuuri blinked at the familiar voice before his brain processed the not-really-a-stranger.

“Phichit?” In his defense, Yuuri rarely watched cooking shows unless it was with that Bizarre Foods fella, Leo or something? Regardless, he was more than surprised when Phichit’s arms enveloped him into a warm hug.

The taller male smiled, patting his friend’s back. “It’s been a long time, Phichit!” His eyes grew fond as he regarded the Thai man with a soft tinkling laugh.

Phichit beamed at him, eyes flashing a pleasantly bright gold as he twirled Yuuri around with him in a tiny circle. Yuuri could only laugh as he was sucked into his friend’s vivacious aura, sickly sweet like caramel and a warm shade of sunrise hues.

“Yup! How have you been, Yuuri? Still the resident witch at Hasetsu?” Phichit snickered as he drew himself back but kept their hands entwined.

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “The whole town is full of supernatural creatures, Phichit. Besides, Minami and other humans are beginning to show more magical abilities.” He didn’t add on that those said humans (especially young Minami) held a rather… Incredible infatuation with his magic.

“Must be something in the water, bud.” Phichit sighed in mock sadness, shaking his head. His eyes twinkled slyly, “Explains why Vicchan turned into a seal that one time.” Ah, yes, that one story that should not be named or told ever again. Yuuri grimaced, but a smile weaseled out of lips as it usually did in the presence of his best friend.

They shared a short silence, basking into each other’s comforting existence before a sharp yell of, “ one minute!” alerted them of the reality and time. Yuuri separated from Phichit first; he shyly smiled and beckoned for Phichit to hurry over to the waving camera crew, who were about to shoot Phichit’s opening scene first.

Phichit groaned, but slowly complied. “Dinner after the set is over?”

“Only if you’re paying.” Yuuri teased. Phichit snorted, chortling at the same time.

“You should be paying when you win, champ!” Phichit called, notifying everyone in the vicinity of their playful bantering. Yuuri flushed under the scrutinizing eyes, but waved back timidly as Phichit mock saluted him and scampered off before he was yelled at.

Yuuri sighed, but a tiny smile played on his lips. He was glad to see his friend after such a long time apart. It’s been almost a decade since we’ve last seen each other, and look at us now, he mused, content, to himself. Fortunately, his nerves began to wane as the moon, and he lazily stretched out his shoulders.

“Oi, pig.” Yuuri startled at the sudden sharp growl sent his way. He swiveled his head over to the side, where a short, thin teenager stared up at him with piercing foam sea green eyes, a perpetual snarl on his lips, and a mop of shoulder length white-blond hair with long bangs shielding his right eye.

Yuuri internally shuddered with fright. Why is this teen just staring at me like I’m dirt beneath his feet? Externally, he replied with a slight quiver of his voice, “Yes? Uh, c-can I help you?”

The younger teen suddenly pointed at him, clawed finger nearly scratching his nose at how close they were to each other. “Don’t think you’ll win so easily, pig . I’ll beat you into the dust.” He abruptly turned, wildly meeting the two other contestants’ eyes (who were finding all too much entertainment in the young teen’s outburst and the other socially awkward male shaking in his boots) with the same snarl embedded on his lips like a sewn line.

“I’ll beat all of you old geezers and win the money for myself!” The teen declared before stalking off to god knows where before the show started. Yuuri, feeling more like he should book the next flight back home, could only flush embarrassingly as he noticed the cameras videotaping the whole dramatic scene and the occasional high pitched laughter from watching crewmen.

“Well, that was certainly something.” One of the contestants mildly commented. Amusement colored his tone. Yuuri blinked, staring at the also devilishly beautiful creature standing next to heartthrob number one. The silver haired person giggled an adorable bell like chime giggle before gifting Yuuri with a friendly smile.

Yuuri nearly passed out.

“I’m Christophe, but you can just call me Chris, baby .” The attractive male with short honey colored hair and a brown undercut practically purred. And poor Yuuri--the never been hit on as far as he knows Yuuri--nearly melted into a flushing puddle of goo on the floor. He smiled weakly back to the flirtatious person, ticking off the possible supernatural origins Christophe could come from. Definitely a demon or incubus of some sort, judging by the heavy aroma of roses and liquor wafting from Christophe’s close proximity.

“Christophe,” the beautiful stranger Yuuri has totally not been ogling this whole time warned with clear amusement in their voice, “don’t startle the poor thing.” Yuuri didn’t know whether to feel offended or not, but he was too busy trying not to lose himself in heartthrob's dreamy ice blue eyes.

“Hello,” a handsome toothy grin full of glittering white teeth like sunlight on a snowy day blinded the brown eyed witch, “I’m Viktor.” Oh. Yuuri gulped, feeling another wave of prickling heat cascading down his body. Oh, so that’s the name I’m going to be screaming in my pillow tonight. Wow, haha, that’s not--I shouldn’t be--aah, Yuuri’s mind internally screamed ten thousand exclamation points. As it turns out, extremely anxious/sweaty Yuuri is not so different from drunk Yuuri after all.

“Uhhhh, h-hi!” He squeaked, fiddling with his fingers and trying not to look too constipated as he flashed Viktor a less brilliant, less beautiful grin. “I’m, uh, Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki. I’m a witch. Yeah.” He mentally facepalmed, feeling more sweat billowing out of his skin like daisies in the springtime. His eyes flashed away from the bright auras of the two ethereal beings in front of him as he conjured a thousand ways to escape from his unpleasant situation.

Viktor, for the most part, continued his handsomely nonchalant, detached facade and grinned back, hand out for Yuuri to shake . “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yuuri .” Did Viktor have to roll his tongue on the “r” like that?

Yuuri’s mind hadn’t stopped “!!!!!!!!”, but he still managed to discreetly wipe off any sweat on his palms on the inside of his oversized jacket and gingerly clasped his hand with Viktor’s firm hold. He prayed he would not start raining sweat all across Viktor’s soft, sweet smelling hands ( wow, way to be subtle, Katsuki, he berated himself).

“Nice to, um, meet you too.” His eyes flickered up and down, ranging from staring up at Viktor with not too well contained awe and glaring harshly at the concrete ground. In the background, he could hear Christophe chuckle lowly. Yuuri jolted in realization; he quickly snatched his hand back like he’d been burned, despite Viktor’s hands feeling like -1000 degrees.

Before either party could say anything to diffuse the awkward situation, the director yelled for the contestants to “get ready” and Yuuri was whisked away for a last minute makeup check (though no amount of makeup could erase his anxiety). He didn’t once look back.

After being rid of his oversized jacket, Yuuri awkwardly shifted from foot to foot as he waited for his turn to step out into blinding yellow light. He was informed that he would be the third contestant to calmly stride from out of the shadows, after both angsty teen and Viktor.

He breathed in, out. Yuuri clutched onto his amethyst pendant, breathed in deeply once more, and released bits of his anxiety out of his nose. He remembered who, what he was competing for, despite not knowing a lick about being in a kitchen.

For Hasetsu, he thought firmly. The makeup artist (or whoever, this wasn’t a fashion show) gave him an encouraging thumbs up. For Yutopia. He took one step forward. The crewman gestured for him to begin walking. For my family. Yuuri strode out, head up, shoulders back, and a determined gleam of his eye unlike his past character. The show had begun.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“And, introducing our chefs for tonight!” Phichit’s loud voice boomed across the makeshift kitchen set. “Chef Yuri Plisetsky!”

“I’m Yuri Plisetsky, eighteen years old and working part time at a bunch of other places.” He scowled at the camera before crossing his arms. “I’m here today so I can win the ten grand and beat the other “chefs” into the ground. None of us know how to cook, but I’ve worked enough near kitchens to at least know the basics.”

He scoffed, “I’d like to see how far those fu--bleep will do compared to me.”

Phichit continued, wide grin directed to the invisible audience behind the camera, “Chef Viktor Nikiforov!”

“Hi! I’m Viktor Nikiforov from St. Petersburg, Russia!” He waved cutely to the camera while a heart shaped smile formed on his lips. “My mom used to teach me how to cook a lot when I was younger, so I’m confident that I’ll do great in the kitchen! I don’t really remember a lot, but cooking shouldn’t be that hard, right?

He winked to the camera, “I’m going to win today for my dog and for someone special … I know they’ll notice me!”

“Chef Yuuri Katsuki!”

“Hello, my name is Katsuki Yuuri--err, well, Yuuri Katsuki? It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” He bowed slightly, an adorably sheepish grin on his face as a light sprinkling of pink dotted his cheeks like freckles. Immediately, he straightened up as a determined, almost confident front appearing.

“I’m here today to learn more about cooking and hopefully win the ten thousand dollars. I want to be able to help my family and their business during these hard times, so the award money will help a lot!” He paused, a fond glint of his eye shiny in the camera light. “I’m not really a huge talker, and I never really cooked for myself, but I think that if I cook for others, I’ll definitely be able to convey my thoughts to them and motivate myself! Thanks for having me!”

“And finally, Chef Christophe Giacometti!”

“Hello,” his voice practically sang out; in the background, a tiny sigh escaped from a camera person which the microphones barely picked up, “I am Christophe Giacometti, but I like to be called Chris or, occasionally, ‘oh God’.” He winked.

“As for why I’m here, well…” He shrugged. “I’ve never felt a need to cook, but I was hoping to find… pleasant company today. Money is nice too.” The camera panned to him blowing a kiss to the host while Phichit giggled and winked back. Once the camera was back to the “confessional room”, Christophe smiled smugly.

“It also helps that I know Viktor personally and seeing him not like himself is too much for me to pass up.” He winked at the camera suggestively; the scene cut to Phichit standing next to Yuri’s little prep kitchen as he gestured to the baskets in front of them.

“Well, as you know, there are three rounds: appetizer, entree, and dessert. Each course has a basket of its own mystery ingredients and you must , emphasis on the must by the way, use every ingredient in the basket or you’ll be chopped! We also have a pantry and fridge full of ingredients for you to use, but it’s first come, first serve!” He winked at the four contestants. Out of the four, Christophe winked back, Yuuri smiled slightly, Yuri scowled back, and Viktor grinned confidently.

“Each round is timed, so once time is up, our judges will critique each of your dishes on presentation, taste, and creativity. Please try to hold back on your creativity…” Phichit looked a little sick as he remembered the last meal he happened to smell and, unfortunately, taste.

“And! If your dish is deemed a horrible monstrosity, you will be chopped!” Why is he saying that so cheerfully?

“Alright chefs, open up your surprise appetizer baskets!” The four obliged, each with varying degrees of enthusiasm. “Your ingredients today are: garlic bread, cream of mushroom soup, jackfruit, and ricotta cheese!” Next to him, Yuri immediately groaned, albeit quietly. He looked a little pained with the options, but otherwise didn’t say too much (a shocker for everyone, really).

“Oh, god .” Viktor complained, looking a little miffed at the ingredients, particularly the garlic bread. To his side, Christophe winked across the way (past Yuuri in between the two friends) to Viktor with a teasing grin.

“You called?” The short haired blond playfully flirted.

“Not this time, Chris!” Viktor snipped back, laughing when Yuri growled at the both of them.

“Both of you stop f-- bleep-- ing  flirting and f-- bleep--ing start cooking!”

Phichit just watched on, too bemused to interrupt the tiny blond leshii whose skin around his face was beginning to harden into wood. He waved away the director’s frustrated signals before loudly clearing his throat. God, he could already feel the day being hectic with this rowdy bunch. Fortunately, Yuuri remained the good child of the bunch for he carefully laid out his ingredients and patiently waited for the golden words.

Finally, the three children stopped their fight enough for Phichit to vaguely gesture over to a large red clock. “ Twenty minutes on the clock. Your time begins… Now!” With that, the four contestants scrambled to begin working within the twenty minutes given to them. Unfortunately, despite all of them being amateurs, the time limit was still the same. Phichit wandered over to where the judges’ table was and watched as within the first five seconds, Viktor managed to nearly burn down his section of the kitchen, Christophe bumped into a stuttering Yuuri, and Yuri flipped them all off as he stole nearly everything from the pantry and fridge for himself.

This was going to be a long episode.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The camera panned to Yuuri first. “I’m a little anxious--ok, maybe most of the time, to be honest--but I was expecting a lot worse. I think the last time I watched Chopped, there was a canned chicken, macaroni and cheese, and instant gravy involved.” He shuddered. “Anyway, I’m thinking of making garlic bread bruschetta with a cream of mushroom, jackfruit soup. I don’t know a lot about cooking, but I once had this really nice bruschetta with Phi--uh, my friend!”

Yuuri was seen hurrying over to the pantry to pick up four tomatoes before hustling back to his spot. To the side, Phichit grimaced, mouth clamped shut lest he helpfully supply his friend with kitchen knowledge, such as yelling “behind!” when you’re crossing through someone else’s spot and they can’t see you. Too late.

Two tomatoes were squished beneath Viktor’s foot, the other two nearly pulverized in Yuuri’s strong grip. Yuuri blinked, staring straight up into gorgeous blue eyes.

“Oh, my .” Both Phichit and Christophe uttered at the same time. Phichit snickered at his friend’s face, resembling much like the tomato in his palm, while Christophe performed lewd hand gestures for Viktor. In the corner closest to the judges, Yuri just painfully sighed.

“S-Sorry!” Yuuri squeaked, his whole body growing numb and warm under Viktor’s careful touch. Around his waist lay two cold hands catching him before he tumbled onto the ground. Viktor’s cool breath washed over his face, causing Yuuri to blink slowly and wonder if he could count every single long eyelash layered across Viktor’s lidded eyelids.

“ Yuuri, are you alright?” Viktor’s perfectly pink lips moved, and Yuuri’s heart fluttered wildly. He unconsciously licked his dry lips, marvelling at how Viktor’s pupils flared with--almost?--desire.

However, the witch snapped out of his dreamlike trance with another squeal and clutched the remaining tomatoes to his chest. “I’m fine! T-Thank you!” Head down, Yuuri returned to his station with a strong feeling of bitter humiliation rising up his throat like bile. He blinked, shook his head to clear his thoughts, and began prepping for the bruschetta. Yuuri was definitely more careful when he made a second and third trip to the pantry and fridge.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yuri looked into the camera like he was in The Office . “I’m sick and tired of these flirting old geezers. If being old and sappy like them makes me fall and get caught by that as-- bleep Viktor, I’d much rather die. Again. God, I wish I didn’t have to grow up; they make me sick.” He stuck out his tongue at the camera, rolling his eyes.

“I’m making a cream of mushroom dip with garlic bread bits. Dunno what I’ll do with the jackfruit and ricotta cheese, but I’ll figure something out.” His eyes hardened, tough as oak. “I’ve always figured everything out by myself.”

The camera panned to Yuri and his gigantic hoard of stolen food. No one seemed to want to berate the bad-tempered teenager, so he was allowed to just carry as much produce and spices from the kitchen as necessary (and yes, owning a full farm of fresh produce was necessary ).

In the corner of his eye, Yuri caught the three judges slinking into their seats after walking from backstage. A burly, balding zmei (minus the evil) stiffly sat down in his seat first, narrowed, aged eyes calmly observing the (no doubt) trainwreck occurring in the kitchen currently. Next to him, a very youthful looking woman followed with a friendly smile, but a levelheaded, keen glint of her eye as she surveyed the contestants. She appeared human, but Yuri’s instincts screamed for him to be cautious of her deceiving looks. Finally, the last man settled down in his seat, coffee in his hand as he flipped his long brunette hair behind him, which was in a clean ponytail. Yuri guessed he was some sort of descendent of a nymph or centaur or something.

The blond leshii reverted to his concentrated state. As he sliced open the jackfruit, he heard more squeals from the pig, chuckling from the pervert, and lovesick sighing from the dumbass. Yuri grit his teeth. Time couldn’t pass fast enough.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Christophe lounged comfortably on the plush velvet couch he managed to persuade the crewmen to bring into the confessional room. He winked at the camera, skin tight shirt riding up on his stomach to reveal a toned stomach and a little peek of his v-line from the very very low skinny jeans he currently wore. It was a goddamn wonder he wasn’t a) booted from the show due to his inappropriate… everything or b) politely asked to change into something more kitchen friendly.

“Well, my lovely fans, I will be honest with you.” He nonchalantly stretched, scratching his belly; the epitome of content, lazy comfort. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” The camera switched to Christophe in the kitchen as he stared blankly at the ingredients. He sampled each of the foods out of curiosity but found it too bland for his extravagant tastes.

“I hope I don’t hurt any of you when I say this, but I don’t even like food.” Christophe in the kitchen shrugged casually before he delicately tossed everything into a large saucepan with a careless comment of, “I guess I’m making soup.”

He at least had the decency to peel the skin off the jackfruit and drain excess liquids from the ricotta, but everything else was a lost cause for him. Even when he was peeling the jackfruit skin off, Christophe took an embarrassingly amount of time deciding on which knife to use before opting on a butter knife. That looked to be the safest and less likely to knick his flawless skin. Christophe ended up cutting himself anyway.

After being sufficiently bandaged and forced to wear gloves (when asked why he had to, Yakov grumbled, “Is he trying to give us a blood disease?” which then prompted Minako’s response of: “Or STD’s!”), Christophe discovered a different knife to use. Except this time, it was a Chinese cleaver.

(“I think he’s really trying to kill himself.” Celestino muttered in slight horror. “Shouldn’t we be stopping this?”

Yakov stared at Christophe, who he vaguely remembered throwing up on his carpet a few times with Viktor after raiding his stash of fine, aged wine and vodka and installing a stripper’s pole in his basement bar. “No.”)

Christophe blinked, confused, as the Chinese cleaver missed the jackfruit completely and instead, found a lovely home imbued in the countertop. He shrugged aimlessly. He could always find a different knife. However, before he could embark on his journey for a new, no less sharp knife, a warm hand on his shoulder halted his movements. He could smell something like the scent of wind if it had one, melted gold bars, and a hint of tangerines. His lips curved up into a devious grin as he turned around to face the lovely man before him.

(“Is he allowed to do that?” Celestino pondered, scratching his chin. Minako shook her head with glee, happy that both her boys were relentlessly going after these hot men. Yakov groaned, wondering when this would all end.)

“Hello, host . And what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely visit?” Christophe flirted, winking at Phichit and delighting in the radiant laughter emitting from the Thai man’s pretty throat. Phichit didn’t bother hiding his rolling eyes, but he snuck in closer to whisper in Christophe’s ear.

“I’m making sure this cute guy I know doesn’t accidentally kill himself while cooking.” Phichit giggled, his nose nuzzling against Christophe’s ear. A thrill raced down the older male’s spine. “Would be a shame if he died before I could properly make out with him.” Phichit finished the taunt with the brush of his lips against the other’s ear. When he backed up, nonchalant to the viewers, Christophe could see his reflection in the flashing gold irises of the kinnon’s eye.

The blond smirked, eyeing Phichit as the man casually pried the cleaver out of the counter and handed it to Christophe.

“A real shame, mon amour.” Christophe purred. Phichit mimed cutting the fruit in half, which the other male obediently followed the instruction. The Thai man left after a voluminous, phony exclamation to the audience of how Christophe wasn’t injured by the knife. Before he fully left the station, Phichit winked at the man, mouthing, “Storage room. Later.” Christophe licked his lips, smirking to himself.

“What can I say? I’m more of a classy wine bi--bleep paired with a lovely fu--bleep with a small sprinkle of roses.” He suddenly gained inspiration. “I can definitely only survive on banana juice.” He grinned at his own joke before the camera hastily panned back to his interesting stew on the stove.

“Well, whatever happens, I’m glad I could at least see Viktor pining after Yuuri. At this point, I’d be fine with being chopped first and then watching this rom-com cooking show happen with some very enjoyable company.” Christophe turned his head, snapping his fingers to catch someone’s attention. “Yes you, beautiful. Be a dear and get me some nice champagne. I’ll make it up to you, cheri.” He winked suggestively, causing another intern to pass out from his seductive pheromones and deadly charm. Fucking yikes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So, I’m standing there, looking down at the basket and wondering what I’m going to do with the garlic bread.” The camera showed a short scene of Viktor scrunching his eyebrows in irritation at the basket, then cut to the garlic bread laid out on the table before panning back to Viktor in the confessional.

“Listen… I’m a vampire.” He flailed his arms wildly around his body. “What in Lucifer’s name am I supposed to do with these ingredients?” Viktor sighed, pinching his nose in exasperation as he glanced around for any sort of inspiration. Fortunately for him, he caught the adorable Yuuri’s eye and he couldn’t help but smile lightly. In the confessional, he sighed with a tiny, fond curve of his lips.

“So, I have no idea what I’m doing because I’ve had jackfruit before, back in ‘87--don’t ask if it was 1987 because I will say ‘no’ and it’s not important which ‘87 it was, ok?--but… Wait, what was I talking about again?” After the tomato fiasco involving a gross squelching feeling underneath his nice Nike’s and a lovely feeling in his cold, dead heart, Viktor wandered over to the pantry to slowly gather up a few items he thinks he’ll need.

“Anyway, I was thinking of making a sandwich with the garlic bread, the jackfruit as like pulled meat substitute or something, and everything else in there? I don’t know much, seeing as well, I don’t need to eat real food.” The silver haired male began to lay out the sandwich. He decided to make some sauce with the cream of mushroom soup and threw it in a pan on the highest heat possible (so it’ll “get done faster”). He brandished the tiniest carving knife Chopped has ever had on the show and lightly sliced up a few tomatoes, amongst other things.

“Is anyone going to tell him?” One of the judges, Minako, whispered to the other judges plus Phichit. Everyone shook their heads. “Alright then.”

Phichit checked the timer before shouting out, “Five minutes, chefs!” The four “chefs” hastened their pace and added finishing touches to their unique dishes. Viktor, meanwhile, felt like something was missing. Something he wished he could sink his fangs into (or teeth) if he was a human. Something meaty…

Aha! Viktor flashed over to the fridge in a second, grinning triumphantly to himself. He wrapped his hands around the plump meat, squeezing lightly and causing Phichit and Christophe to grin like the little shits they were as he turned around to excitedly display humanity’s most massive, mightiest, meatiest sausage that everyone sans Yuri and Yakov (the other judge)--and arguably Yuuri--had the pleasure of seeing. Celestino (last judge) coughed lightly in his palm. Yakov straight up smacked his hand against his large forehead and prayed to whatever deity that would smite him. Minako just grinned wildly.

The camera smoothly transitioned from showing each of the judges’ reactions to Viktor messing with his long hair tied back in a ponytail. “Yeah, here’s when things get a little weird.”

“Hey, Yuuri!” Viktor cheerfully greeted his fellow neighbor, almost giving Yuuri a heart attack. Yuuri managed to set down the plate he was holding none too gently on the table, but at least it was still in tact (unlike his scattered emotions at the moment). The raven haired male let loose a miniscule smile that still had Viktor’s dead heart thumping erratically, like a butterfly stuck in a spider web.

“You’re almost done right?” Viktor motioned to Yuuri beginning to plate his dish. Yuuri nodded, afraid his voice would betray him. Viktor grinned, still holding onto that damn sausage and unconsciously massaging it within his grasp. Yuuri’s eyes flitted from Viktor’s innocent, broad smile down to the sausage he was hand-jobbing. Yikes.

(“...I’m quitting the show after this.” Yakov sighed, defeated. He rubbed at the growing headache around his temples and pretended he didn’t know Viktor, even though they were old family friends.

“On the contrary, this is the reason why I’m a judge on this show!” Minako all too gleefully cackled, earning her a stern, watered down version of Yakov’s menacing glare. She grinned back at him before shifting into a comfier, more laid back position to watch the absolute sausage fest going on between Yakov’s boy and her own. Double yikes.

“Haha, well at least the contestants are about to be done in a bit! Nothing could possibly go wrong here!” Celestino, always the positive, encouraging individual (and like that supportive, fun uncle everyone needs in their life), laughed. Oh, if only he knew.)

“Uh, Viktor?”

“Hmm?” Viktor blissfully hummed, gazing deep into Yuuri’s warm chocolate eyes and wondering if vampires could suddenly crave hot chocolate.

“We have, like, two minutes left. Maybe you should uh,” here, Yuuri’s cheeks painted a splash of delightful pink and a pleasant, heady scent wafted into Viktor’s nose and down his thirsty throat, “do something with that s-sausage before time runs out?” Yuuri’s blush grew hotter on his face as he realized the implications of his vague wording, and as quick as ever, he spluttered out apologies while Viktor could only sigh lovingly.

Yuri, who had been done for the past five minutes and just wanted the damn show to be over already, debated on whether or not to walk out of the show right now, prize be damned .

“Oh, right! The sausage!” Viktor yelped as he rapidly sprang to life and began chopping the Italian sausage up so he could quickly cook them on the highest setting. Unfortunately, because he forgot the oil in the pan (“Are you fu-- bleep --ing kidding me?!”) and the sausages were on the highest setting, Viktor managed to burn the absolute hell out of them.

Saddened, he scraped the chopped up sausage off of the pan and into the trash can, just like his dreams. Viktor sighed forlornly, ignoring the collective groan/sigh from his dramatic antics. While he mourned for five seconds over the burnt sausages, Phichit checked the timer again.

He called out: “One minute, chefs!” A surprise really, since so many things happened in the brief course of twenty minutes. Viktor brought out the plates for presentation as he laid out the sausage-less sandwiches onto the plates with a little cup of the cream of mushroom sauce (with other stuff he thought sounded good with it) sat next to the sandwich. He stared at the plain looking plate. Part of him wished for it to be more artistic, but seeing as Phichit was beginning to count down from 10, he figured he didn’t have enough time.

“...five, four, three, two, one. Time’s up! Chefs, step back from your dishes!” Phichit announced just as the clock struck zero. The four chefs blankly peered up at Phichit since they’ve been done for a bit now (or a while, depending on who you asked).

“Well, I think that went pretty well for my first time cooking in a long time.” Viktor cheerfully summarized in the confessional. The camera switched over to a bristling Yuri.

“Viktor is fu--bleep--ing stupid if he thinks he did well. And did he have to have his hands all over the pig, and then the sausage? What is this gay sh--bleep?” Yuri paused in the middle of his rant. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m gay as fu--bleep too but you don’t see me giving a Jimmy Dean sausage a hand job to impress the guy I like. Christ.”

He waved away the intrusive thoughts like they were gnats. “Whatever. I’m here to win and I’m confident I won’t get put on the chopping block.” He shuddered. “Especially after seeing the pervert’s dish.”  

Christophe mouthed one word as he mimed holding the sausage like Viktor did before. “Impressive.”

When it was Yuuri’s turn in the confessional, he blushed slightly. A bit of a besotted gleam was in his eye, but he masked it with a light cough. “I’m just glad that no one got seriously injured this round. I was expecting most of us to like, not know what to do with all these fancy knives and stuff? Oh no…” His eyes were slightly watery as he gazed up into the camera. “Please don’t say I jinxed it!”

He suddenly jumped up out of his seat, one last call being hurled behind his shoulder. “I’m going to get my protective charms and cast a few spells so no one gets hurt!” The camera instantly turned back to the kitchen setting, this time panning across the serious faces of the judges as Phichit stepped back for the trio’s turn to shine.

“The first dish up is Chef Plisetsky’s!” The three judges cast all their attention on the youngest member of the group as he boredly, yet determinedly explained his concoction. He stepped forward, the picture of nonchalance as he flicked blond hair out of his eyes.

“I made for you a bean, cream of mushroom dip with bite sized toasted garlic bread and pulled jackfruit on top.” Yuri’s arms were crossed, but if anyone inspected his hands closely enough, they would notice he was slightly shaking.

“Oh, wow.” Minako commented first as she delicately dipped the pieces of bread into the odd looking dip. “It doesn’t taste as bad as I thought it would!” Yuri grit his teeth, biting back a snarky reply as Celestino took the opportunity to critique the dish next.

“I actually think the dip is great, but…” He stirred the piece of bread around in the dish. “I’d like to have tasted the ricotta cheese more.” Cue the dramatic music that Chopped always added in whenever a judge says something negative about the dish. Yuri half expected it anyway--ricotta is a soft, light cheese that would easily be overpowered by the taste of the cream of mushroom and black beans.

“I agree with Celestino.” Yakov said, idly messing with the square cut garlic bread before placing it gingerly back down onto the plate. “Overall, the concept and creativity is good, but the tastes are a little bland.”

“So, Yuri, what brings you here today?” Minako asked to lighten up the mood. Yuri straightened up as he brought his arms behind his back. His visage was crafted from hard stone as he recited the lines he had been practicing when he was first accepted as an applicant for the show.

“My grandfather is ill.” A sympathetic look from the three judges and mildly surprised, yet empathetic looks from the three other contestants shot at him. He ignored them with an aching heart. “I’m going to win so that I’ll be able to afford his surgery.” His eyes unconsciously darted back to the ground as he held back a few stray tears. His grandfather always brought his expressions and emotions out whenever he thought or talked about him.

“I’m sorry, Yuri. I hope he feels better.” Celestino politely replied, but his eyes were a touch sad. To his side, Yakov and Minako nodded in agreement.

“Yes, chef. Thank you.” Yuri cast his gaze down to the floor. Two out of three liked his dish. That counted for something, right? The camera changed to an usually quiet, sullen Yuri as he stared down at the floor before bravely meeting the camera’s eye.

“It’s too early for me to be afraid. I know that I will get past round one, then two, then three. I will be the winner, and I will not go down without a fight. Grandpa, this is for you.”

“Next chef! Chef Nikiforov.” Yuri hastily stepped back. He hoped the camera didn’t catch him wiping away a small tear. He nearly yelped when a hand lay on his shoulder, but once diffusing the person as a non-threat, the leshii frowned at the pig--witch, but allowed the other to squeeze his shoulder for comfort.

Viktor stepped forward, a brilliant thousand-watt smile on his face. “Oh, Yakov! I didn’t know you were the judge!” Behind him, Christophe chuckled under his breath while Yakov facepalmed.

“Your dish, chef.” Yakov spoke through mashing teeth. Viktor laughed, carefree.

“Of course. Today, I have made a garlic bread sandwich with a jackfruit meat substitute and a cream of mushroom sauce to go with it.” Viktor gave a grand flourish of his fingers as his finished his description, and he grinned boyishly to the judges. Two out of three admired his charm.

“Meat substitute?” Asked the one judge that was unimpressed by Viktor’s dramatic ways.

“Oh, yeah.” Viktor shrugged. “It was supposed to have sausage, but unfortunately,” he sighed deeply, “the sausage burned.”

“We are all well aware of the sausage incident.” Minako pointedly stared at Viktor with a well contained smile before she not too subtly glanced over to Yuuri. Yuuri eeped under the attention from his family friend, but didn’t utter a single word. Phichit, on the other hand, released boisterous unabashed laughter and had to be physically removed from the vicinity.

“The sandwich and the sauce make a surprisingly good combination.” Celestino complimented after two bites.

“Yeah, and I really like how each ingredient stands out. You can definitely taste each of the ingredients.” Minako nodded decisively. Viktor grinned at the both of them before turning to the sour old puss that was his grandparent’s friend. As to be expected, Yakov instantly listed out the flaws.

“The presentation is bland and the dish too big for an appetizer,” Yakov remarked, gaining nods from the other two judges, “and contrary to Plisetsky’s dish, this one has too much flavor, especially in the sauce.” Celestino drank smoothly from an offered glass of water before arguing back.

“Actually, I disagree with you, Chef Yakov. The fresh, light taste of the sandwich balances well with the stronger taste of the sauce. The sauce is meh by itself.” He made a so-so hand gesture. “And the sandwich is not great by itself either.” Here, he used his other hand to make another so-so motion.

“But together, they taste pretty good for someone who hasn’t cooked for themselves a lot.” His hands joined together, clasping gently to mime his explanation.

“Ooh, high praise, coming from Celestino.” Phichit idly observed, finally coming back from his laughing fit and actually performing the duties of his host job.

“Why are you here, Viktor?” Yakov asked this time, though he most likely needed to know for Viktor’s family’s sake. As long as Viktor didn’t say anything along the lines of, “I’m trying to woo this one specific witch on the show and the only way I can do it is by winning here or, you know, manhandling a gigantic sausage”, then Yakov didn’t care.

“Oh! I’m mainly doing it for my poodle, Makkachin!” Of course, his initial response was to whip out his phone to show adorable pictures of his endearing puppy, but he pouted once he recalled that the staff confiscated any technology on the contestants before the show started. Would be awfully unprofessional if a ringtone went off during the session or if they were caught texting in between cooking.

“You’re on this show… for your dog?” Minako slowly worded out. Viktor nodded vigorously as he bounced on his toes. In the background, he swore he heard Yuuri softly whisper, “cute,” and felt all too pleased by that.

“Yup!” When it was obvious he had no further explanation nor comment on the issue, the three judges nodded respectfully to him. He offered no thanks, but they couldn’t really blame him when he stepped back excitedly just so he could gaze at Yuuri with the equivalent of goo-goo eyes.

“Alright, next chef!” Phichit parroted. Yuuri gulped under the intense gazes of the well renowned chefs. He respected their line of work and could only hope they wouldn’t start bashing on him right at the start. Glancing to the side, Phichit offered him an encouraging smile and quick wink, which instantly brightened up a bit of the dark anxiety coiling around his head. Yuuri breathed in, out.

He stepped forward into the light and respectfully dipped his head to the judges. “Hello. Today, I have made for you a garlic bread bruschetta with a jackfruit and cream of mushroom soup.” Yuuri nervously bit his lip as the judges started to taste the dish he created. He fidgeted a little on the spot, but halted all movement when the first judge opened his mouth to speak.

Surprisingly, it was Yakov. Unsurprisingly, his harsh, negative list came out first.

“The soup isn’t creative since it was just soup in a can and you can barely taste the jackfruit in it.” Yakov paused, however, as his eyes dipped down to stare at the neat, brightly colored bruschetta on the plate. “However, the plating is more presentable than the other two chefs before you and the bruschetta is good.” Yuuri gaped. Hell, everyone on the show showed some sign of shock.

“Oh, my. Pretty high praise from Yakov as well, wouldn’t you say so, Phichit?” Minako grinned at the Thai man. Phichit shot back finger guns to her and winked at the audience.

“Yup, Minako. Wonder if dealing with someone other than Viktor and the angsty teen is making Yakov more forgiving?” Phichit snickered; he ignored the glower from Yuri and the pout from Viktor.

“Shut it, the both of you.” Yakov warned, but it was more a mutter at this point after having to deal with the hectic shit so far. And it’s only been twenty minutes (minus the waiting time in between each match).

“I agree with Yakov, but I think the soup is still not bad. It doesn’t only taste like cream of mushroom, but something more original. Not bad for an ‘amateur’.” Celestino criticised.

“As Yakov said, I really like the bruschetta. The soup is decent, but I like the creativity behind the garlic bread bruschetta.” Minako thumbed a piece of her hair. A wicked gleam flashed across her chestnut orbs as she leaned in, smiling at Yuuri all the while. “So, Yuuri. What brings you to our show?” Her eyes flickered to Viktor briefly, but Yuuri knew she was just teasing. She already knew the real reason anyway.

“My family owns a business, um, a hot springs resort, but they’re still struggling.” He paused, feeling his confidence waver underneath the pressure of winning, the pressure of pleasing high class chefs such as these three. However, he remembered the drive of young Yuri and even the self-assuredness of Viktor.

“I want to be able to help them more, so I’m going to win the competition.” The witch steadily stated. Instead of the fire burning within his eyes like the other Yuri’s, an iron will, like prison bars meant to keep his monsters in , shone through rich brown orbs. Unbeknownst to Yuuri, Viktor wasn’t the only one floored by his sudden declaration of war.

“Thank you, chef.” Minako nodded at him, but a proud twinkle of her eye revealed her true feelings to him.

“Thank you.” He bowed shortly once more before stumbling backwards so that Christophe would be able to present next. In his urgency to move out of the way, Yuuri tripped back and began careening backwards. Before he could fall down and injure his back, a set of strong arms ravelled around his waist, balancing his unsteady weight until Yuuri could stand up straight again.

“Oof!” Yuuri stumbled, but he was able to right himself using the person behind him. “Ah, thank you.” He half expected someone like Christophe to help him readjust, but turns out it wasn’t the passionate man. Yuuri’s eyes grew to the size of the full moon as Viktor swooped him in his loving arms and peered into the shorter man’s soul with stunning light blue eyes and a cute scrunch of his eyebrows.

He laughed lightly, “Looks like you’re falling for me, Yuuri.” Viktor winked teasingly at Yuuri. Yuuri responded in kind with an open mouth and pink dusting across his cheeks and nose--he could even feel the tips of his ears grow hot under his hair! Mortified, yet also embarrassed at how fast his heart was beating, Yuuri nodded at Viktor thankfully before wrenching away from the other male.

They were in a cooking competition right now, not some rom-com show that was slowly becoming Yuuri’s life! Yuuri ignored Viktor’s bright, beseeching eyes (as if asking if Yuuri felt the same connection, same tingles as he did) and hunched in on himself. The cold hole where Viktor once filled ached fiercely.

“Ahem… Next chef!” Phichit announced, grinning when Christophe blew him a kiss. The devilishly handsome man strode up to the judges, even going as far as to wink to the judges. Minako, as predicted, swooned at the sight of a gorgeous man and squealed into Celestino’s shoulder. Celestino pat his friend’s back, but smiled amusingly. Yakov remained unfazed.

“Hello, judges. I made a stew.” Christophe gesticulated to the odd, murky brown “stew” in front of them. Yakov’s frown deepened as a hint of a grimace appeared on his face. Even Minako, who was a little too supportive of Christophe, looked hesitant to try the mysterious slop Chris created.

“Uh, what did you put in this, Chris?” Minako questioned, her face a little green. Phichit, as if remembering the last time someone decided to cook something inedible landed him in a hospital, slowly backed away from the judges’ table. He held back the queasiness of his stomach and shrugged weakly when Christophe pouted at him.

“Well, I put in everything.”

“ Everything ?” Celestino inquired with a small frown.

“Everything.” Christophe confirmed.

“Listen, Christophe… Thank you for your time here in cooking this lovely… dish, but there’s just a little--” Minako tried to sugar coat it. However, Yakov was not having it.

“We’re not going to eat this.”

“Why not?” Christophe swerved his head back to meet his best friend’s gaze. Viktor only shrugged. It’s not like the two needed actual human food anyway. Maybe some creatures didn’t prefer to digest stew? Christophe honestly didn’t know.

“Last time we ate an experiment, all of us landed in the hospital for two weeks. All of us.” Yakov grimly explained. He scooted the bowl forward, nearly shivering at the pungent odor and nauseating taste of “mystery meat” the last contestant basically tried to poison the judges (plus the host) with.

“Did you even taste this, chef?” Celestino asked, hesitantly poking at random lumps in the soup. Christophe shook his head.

“Everything tastes bland to us, chef.” At the blank stares from the judges, Christophe winked before placing a delicate hand on his chest. “I’m from a long line of incubus descendents, I’m afraid, so even if that dish tasted awful, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. We only need passionate love for our meal, after all.” He smiled smugly, seeming all too satisfied with his own “meals”. Yuri shuddered in disgust, openly gagging.

“Right… Then why did you decide to come onto this show then?” Celestino quizzically asked. Christophe looked him dead in the eye.

“I like money.”

Silence. A long stretch of silence so long that an immortal would wonder how many years passed by. A silence so awkward that Yuuri could relate and he stared at Christophe’s back empathetically. Finally, after what seemed like a tense forever , Yakov sighed and dug his knuckles into his aching temples.

“We will discuss who will be chopped. Thank you, chefs.” He stiffly said. Nodding at Phichit and jerking his head to the side, Yakov dismissed them with a tired wave of his hand. Phichit understood the signs of Yakov’s bad mood and quickly shooed the four chefs away to the backroom.

The camera showed a disgruntled Yuri sitting as far away from the other three guys as possible. Yuuri fidgeted in his spot on the stool while frequently sneaking a peek at Viktor, who was all too content with sitting as close as possible to Yuuri while shamelessly eyeballing the other with nothing short of fond ardor. Christophe wandered off for a little bit before returning with glasses of bubbling champagne and a can of soda for the minor.

“Well, that was interesting.” Christophe broke the silence first, nursing his wounded pride and a glass of champagne in the same hand. He shrugged off the negativity easy enough; just because his one flaw was to be a bad cook didn’t mean that he wasn’t an attentive, sexy, wild lover that could satisfy anyone’s needs.

“You’re one to talk.” Yuri snapped, bellicosely wrestling his can open draining the sugary caffeine in less than five seconds. Yuuri copied the aggressive action as he tilted his head back and proceeded to drink like he breathed. Viktor all too gladly gave away his own flute in favor of watching Yuuri’s pretty neck gulp down alcohol.

...Who even brought alcohol on the set?

“I’m a man who can’t cook. That’s not too bad.” Christophe shrugged. “Besides, now I can relax and watch the rest of the show with some fine company.” He licked his lips afterwards, eliciting a shriek of disgust from Yuri and a casual chuckle from Viktor. Yuuri gave in to his desires after a shot of liquid courage and leaned up against Viktor with a heavy sigh.

While the younger Yuri argued with the playful Christophe, Viktor fished through his pockets until he finally found what he saved from the basket. Christophe--who was usually his impulse control for about 99% of his actions--was all too distracted in riling up the blond. So, what Viktor did next was not anyone’s fault to blame but Viktor’s.

Yuuri heard the crunching first. He blinked, giggling inwardly at how he could feel Viktor’s jaw moving up and down against his head. Then, he realized two things: 1) Viktor was a vampire and didn’t need to eat and 2) the strong smell of garlic and the crunch-crunch of the morsel (the only item in the basket that could make such a noise) registered inside Yuuri’s head. But by the time he snapped his head over to Viktor and hopefully pry the piece of poison out of the man’s jaw, it was a little too late.

A faint sizzling sound could be heard, loud enough for Yuri to pause, and an acid scent leaked into the air, enough for Christophe to wrinkle his nose and immediately pin his eyes on Viktor. Fucking Viktor.

“Dude,” Yuri said, absolutely shocked, “are you eating garlic bread ?”

“Uhh…” Viktor offered a weak smile and could barely speak with his severely swollen tongue that was burning, “yes?”

“Viktor, oh my god .”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You’re lucky Yuuri’s a witch and was able to make you a cure before your tongue fell off.” Christophe pointed out to his childlike friend. In the background, Yakov heaved out another long breath of air as he cancelled the paramedics. Fortunately, recording was postoned for another two hours once they found out about Viktor’s stupid curiosity. The worse part was that Christophe predicted something like this was bound to happen, yet didn’t bother paying more attention to his accident prone friend. In his defense though, Viktor was literally thousands upon thousands of years old (much older than Chris) and should have the mind of a matured, wise elder like Yakov (even though Christophe is sure Yakov has been alive since the earth was a speck of dust).

Unfortunately, all Viktor has in common with Yakov is the fact that they both are stubborn, strong minded men who fought worse than most human wars in the world. That and they both couldn’t work a piece of complicated technology (ie. computers) if their lives depended on it.

Currently, Christophe watched as his friend blissfully grinned with his heart shaped mouth as the “resident witch”, as Phichit joked about, fret over Viktor with lingering touches and soft magic that was like a second Yuuri caressing Viktor. Christophe rolled his eyes good naturedly when Viktor insisted that his burning mouth would only heal with Yuuri’s “healing saliva”.

The incubus settled down comfortably in the plush velvet chair he convinced someone to move out near the small snack bar. And yes, the alcohol was on the next table over. Christophe considered himself gifted for his breathtaking looks that managed to offer everything on a golden platter (or diamond studded, if he laid the pheromones on thick) to him. While he lounged in the comfy couch, the younger Yuri raged and left outside for some much needed cool air. The judges just hung out together, probably unfazed since there were other supernatural creatures out there that have probably done worse.

“Yuuri!” Viktor whined, puppy eyes melting down Yuuri’s will as he begged for “just another kiss, please, Yuuri? I’ll stop if you don’t want it; I won’t force you! But you’re just so cute and you taste good,” etc, etc, and Yuuri would give in until they were making out on rigid stools while Christophe sipped away at his cool champagne. Life was good.

Christophe eyed the host, who so happened to be alone and lingering near the snack bar as he decisively picked through several kinds of muffins. He smirked. Christophe downed the rest of his champagne, gently set the glass aside on a nearby table, and sauntered over to his next “prey”. Life was good, but Christophe was about to make it better .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After Yuri was nearly sent to the hospital from laughing too hard at Viktor’s more interesting choices, the male stormed out once the director announced that the shooting would take longer than required and the second round would not go under way for at least another two hours. Yuuri hasn’t seen the bad tempered boy since. He’s concerned for the young teen’s sake, and a part of Yuuri’s soft heart feels for the boy, he really does.

However, Viktor was clinging to him like a handsome octopus and Yuuri was already slightly emboldened by a few more glasses of champagne. So, Yuuri found himself seated on the lap of Viktor while said clingy vampire nuzzled distractingly into Yuuri’s neck and planted delicate kisses all across the expanse of his exposed skin. Yuuri’s eyes fluttered, and he found entirely too much satisfaction at having a handsome man such as Viktor direct all of his attention onto him.

“Are you still hurt, Viktor?” Yuuri asked, happily petting Viktor’s beautiful, long silver locks and smiling at the elated noise buzzing from Viktor’s throat.

“Mmm… I’m still in pain,” Viktor fakely whined, but continued his ticklish, yet enjoyable ministrations on Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri rolled his eyes. He’s known Viktor long enough to know that the man is the definition of overdramatic. Instead of scolding him on his lies, Yuuri pretended the world didn’t exist, that his anxiety and insecurities were only bad nightmares and not the twisted reality he lived in.

“We have ten more minutes before we go back onto Chopped , Viktor.” Yuuri pointed out, but didn’t make a move to clamber out of Viktor’s lap. Viktor sighed overdramatically, long arms splayed over all over Yuuri while his hands cradled the man’s back like a fragile piece of artwork and he was the proud artist. Viktor sighed happily; his tongue was in tact from Yuuri’s magical medicine, said beautiful witch was now sprawled on top of him and playing with his hair, and the two would sweetly and softly make out whenever they so desired. The world could have ended, and Viktor would have mirthfully embraced it.

“What did I ever do to deserve you in my life?” Viktor exhaled dreamily, as if in a trance. Yuuri rolled his eyes again, slightly tearing himself away from Viktor’s body to arch an eyebrow at the man. Viktor whined until Yuuri returned back to his spot against him, frozen fingers starting up again to comb through Viktor’s long hair.

“Oh, shush you. I’m not that amazing.” Yuuri bat at Viktor’s honey like words drizzling over his warm body. The witch hummed as he boldly dipped down to press a soft kiss on Viktor’s sweet, addicting lips. They never surged beyond playful nips and candied, innocent pecks shared between them; in fact, Yuuri mainly instituted all contact, which Viktor all too delightedly returned.

If anyone later asked Yuuri why he attached himself to Viktor like a parasite on its host, the man would conveniently forget his daring moves alcohol induced Yuuri gladly encouraged. Instead, Yuuri did what he always did: act upon his thoughts while slightly tipsy and let the chaos he unfolded be cleaned up by sober, regretful Yuuri. For now, he basked in the pretty vampire’s icy touch and reciprocated another kiss.

Even after ten minutes, they refused to detach themselves, even when the staff had to bring out crowbars and threats. It wasn’t until Yuri began yelling at them for being “a disgusting disgrace to their ancestors,” that Viktor and Yuuri reluctantly separated. And despite all of Viktor’s cheesy, heartfelt attempts, nothing could be done when Phichit whisked a giggly Yuri away, provided copious amounts of water and a sobering potion (courtesy of the witch himself), and ultimately wiped away the past two hours out of Yuuri’s mind--mainly because of the strong mortification in his actions, mind you.

Viktor’s puppy eyes were no match to a repenting witch, and they spent the rest of the time sneaking pining looks at each other whenever they thought the other wasn’t paying attention. The show was about to restart in the next two minutes, with the judges whispering (or pretending) smack talk to each other about the chefs while “deciding” which dish was the worse--even if it was clear as day. Hell, Christophe already succumbed to his fate and was currently splayed out on the ridiculously soft couch he sex bribed someone to bring in.

The camera flickered back on and instantly honed in on Christophe lounging on his signature velvet couch. The staff apparently brought another couch for the incubus, permitting him to switch between the confessional room and the backstage (plus snack/alcohol bar) with comfy ease. He stretched again, smiling handsomely to the camera.

“I’m not surprised if I get chopped first.” He tapped his pursed lips thoughtfully. “I wonder if this is the first time Chopped's had a contestant as beautifully detached as me? I personally don’t care whether I win or lose.” He licked his lips with a shamelessly proud smolder of his peridot eyes.

“Well, I got what I wanted in the end, so I don’t mind conceding defeat this time. Don’t miss me too much, my lovely kittens.” He purred out a last goodbye, blowing a few kisses to his “adoring fans”. The cameraman may or may not have snatched up one of the air kisses and stuffed it in their pocket with a fiery passion. When Christophe dramatically exited, his hips swayed teasingly as he waved. The other two interns never stood a chance.

Next, the camera cut to a heavily scowling Yuri, whose visage stuck to the same furious expression and seemed to be perpetually fixed on. “I hate this show. I hate everyone on here. I hate the fu-- bleep --ing contestants on here and I hope they all burn in h-- bleep .” He painfully rubbed at his reddening face and stuffed his hands under his armpits with a vengeance.

“I only remember that I’m doing this for my grandpa. That’s the only thing going for me, even if I have to be stuck with the two lovebirds that won’t stop thinking of ways to stick their di-- bleep into each other. Fu-- bleep , I can’t wait for this shit show to be over with so I can rub my ten thousand dollars in their face and pretend this never happened.” Yuri shook his head and huffed out angrily.

Next, Yuuri’s face appeared on camera, looking as sullen and dead as a grim reaper. “I can’t believe I acted like that.” He stuffed his pink face into his hands and quivered lightly. His pink ears could be seen past short tufts of black hair as Yuuri mourned his pathetic existence on camera. “I think I have a problem.”

He bit his lip, “I should be concentrating on like winning and preparing myself to the really weird ingredients I’ll have to cook with in the next round, but…” He flushed endearingly, tucking a fly away piece of raven hair behind his pink ear and smiling dopily at the ground. “I can’t stop thinking about uh, someone, and oh gosh, this is pointless. He probably hates me now.” Yuuri buried his face in his hands once more, the perfect picture of hopeless pining. It was fucking terminal.

The camera, as if almost done with how the show was devolving more and more into some soap opera, rom-com instead of a fierce battle between pumped up chefs and a ten thousand dollar prize on the line. Viktor’s face popped up next, a sulking pout on his lips and his hunched up shoulders enough for the executive director to consider annexing the episode and finding more serious chefs out there.

“I already know Chris is going to be chopped,” he waved the information away with a careless hand before longingly eyeing the camera, “I’m more worried about Yuuri and how he’s ignoring me! Did I do something wrong? Was it because I didn’t brush my teeth after eating garlic? Or maybe he felt a bald spot in my hair? Yakov’s always stressed out and screaming--oh god what if my stress is gonna make me bald as fast as Yakov?! Yakov--” Viktor fretfully screeched out as he sprang up from the seat and bolted out of the confessional room. In the background, his frantic yelps for the older Russian man could be heard. Fucking hell.

“Alright, have the judges made a decision?” An affirmative nod confirmed their decision. Phichit smiled, arm out to beckon the chefs from out behind the scenes. “Cool beans! Chefs, come out!” He cheerfully called out. One by one, the chefs filtered into the kitchen setting in a neat, single file. Yuuri headed out first, as if all too grateful to continue ignoring the man behind him sending him sad puppy eyes. Viktor followed, then Yuri.

“So, we’ve decided on who will be chopped.” Yakov stated, eyes closed. He reopened them, “We’ve decided---where in the devil is Christophe?” He demanded. Celestino and Minako chuckled, already well aware of the absence of the gorgeous incubus. Yakov turned to Phichit, whose lips were suspiciously red and collar abnormally high on his neck. Phichit noticed the harsh glare from the judge; he sheepishly laughed and tugged at his collar higher on his neck.

“Dunno, Yakov.” Phichit smoothly said. He shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face as a blood vessel clearly popped on the older man’s forehead. Viktor dropped his kicked puppy facade for two seconds to cough a laugh into his palm. Even Yuri snickered.

Yakov sighed sufferingly. “Just open the da- bleep thing, Chulanont.” Phichit obliged, although he was chortling lightly to himself the whole time.

“And the dish that’s been chopped is…” Phichit’s voice trailed off mysteriously as the camera zoomed in on the chopping block. The silver tray lid opened, revealing Christophe’s ugly slop of mystery stew. It gurgled menacingly, prompting Phichit to hurriedly cover up the damn thing again. He cleared his throat, amusement openly bubbling on the surface.

“Christophe Giacometti is chopped!” He exclaimed, probably for Christophe’s benefit, who was most likely watching from his VIP section surrounded by fawning staff members and an all you can eat/drink buffet. Not for the first time, the director sighed deeply and slumped back into their seat.

“Anyway, onto the next round! Chefs, open your baskets please.” Phichit adapted to his usual host voice and stepped back to exchanged a bemused look with Minako and Celestino. Softly clearing his throat so the camera wouldn’t pick up on it, he reopened his mouth to continue:

“Your ingredients for the entree course are: squid ink pasta, Chinese century eggs, beef jerky, and bell peppers.” Yuuri deftly plucked out the odd arrangement and blankly stared at them. To his right, Viktor made a strange noise in the back of his throat and little Yuri at the end of the line cursed softly under his breath.

“You have thirty minutes for the entree section. Your time begins… Now!” With those dreaded words, Yuuri shot off to begin grabbing essential items he would need, the younger Yuri on his heels while Viktor followed at a more leisurely pace.

“This is a really weird combination. I opened the basket thinking ‘this can’t get any worse’. I mean, it’s not too bad, but god, did they really have to add in the Chinese century egg?!” Yuuri carefully placed a pressure cooker on his prepping table, plugging it in on the outlet on the ground. With precise movements, he quickly filled the inside with a few cups of water and a bit of instant miso. The judges commented curiously on his actions, but he blocked them out in favor of chopping up the beef jerky into chunky, large pieces and splitting the Chinese century eggs in half.

“Chinese century eggs are very salty and strong in taste, but I figured I could just add it in as an extra thing. I’m just going to make a kind of ramen, I guess? There’s pasta, egg, a protein, and a vegetable. Most traditional ramen dishes consist of these items--for the most part--so I guess I’m making ramen, haha.” He laughed awkwardly in the confessional. Back to him in the kitchen, the camera panned in on his hands carefully, yet quickly preparing the food.

Beside him, Viktor didn’t have as much luck in deciding what to cook. “So, we find out about these ingredients, and here I am thinking, I hate bell peppers.” He shuddered, staring deadpan at the camera in the confessional. “I had them when I was still alive, and god, I wish I could die again tasting those disgusting things.”

“So, I don’t know what Chinese century egg is. I’ve never heard of it before and it looks like a goose with bad diarrhea pooped this out.” The camera revealed Viktor confidently (or obliviously) shoveling half of the egg into his mouth. The watching judges winced as they had a front row seat to the vampire retching out the egg into the sink. From the side, Yuuri’s face pinched like he swallowed something bitter. Yuri snorted, shaking his head and learning from the elder’s mistake--he ripped off a tiny piece of the egg and sampled it instead.

“Well, I can safely say I’m never doing that again!” Viktor cheerfully recounted in the confessional room. On closer inspection, his mouth trembled in distaste and his eyebrow twitched.

“Anyway, I don’t think this is a shocker anymore but… I have no idea what I’m doing.” Viktor scratched his head lightly. He still ambled off to the pantry to gather up a few ingredients, and after a moment’s deliberation, began nabbing ingredients for a salad. The judges tittered, saying something along the lines of, “what the eff is he doing” and “Celestino, I can’t watch .” Viktor happily ignored them.

“When I was younger, my mom would always make pasta salad during the summer. It’s not hot for too long in Russia, but I still liked to go outside on picnics with her in the summer. She’s my inspiration, but…” Viktor’s eyes grew soft and warm and mushy as he stared lovingly into the camera.   “I think I found my new inspiration.”

The camera shot between scenes of Viktor gazing with yearning at his other black haired contestant, occasionally waving exuberantly and pausing in his work to flash Yuuri a grin whenever Yuuri happened to meet his eye. The shorter male automatically turned back to his work with a crimson face, but after a while, one could note the tiny, fond smile playing on Yuuri’s lips. Viktor smiled to himself, sighing as he unconsciously scooped out at least half of the mayonnaise out into the steel bowl with his other chopped up vegetables--raw, washed bell peppers included.

“That foolish boy.” Yakov shook his head in disappointment and revulsion. Celestino smiled at Yakov’s fond tone, but his face was a little too sea colored. Minako’s eye twitched as Viktor oogled over at Yuuri for too long while mixing his boiling pasta slowly. He didn’t seem to notice when the hot water boiled over and began spewing out hot water.

“Oh god, what is he doing?” Minako covered her eyes with her hands but parted her fingers to peek through them.

Viktor--who finally found out about the hot water once it splashed onto his cold, dead hand--yelped in pain while recoiling his hand back after being burned. Phichit laughed at the trainwreck as Viktor attempted to wrench the angry boiling pot off the stove. However, he jolted back once his ice hand came in contact with the hot handle, causing the pot to be chucked across the room due to his superhuman strength.

The judges collectively winced at the noise. Phichit whistled, smiling to hold in his laughter. Next to Viktor, Yuuri lurched up at the sudden bang and worriedly bit his lip at Viktor, the said male clutching at his hand with a sheepish grin on his face. Yuri, however, was less sympathetic and shot Viktor a fierce glare. He yelled something offensive in Russian, prompting Viktor to laugh robotically and Yakov to facepalm. Because the curse was not in English, it was not cut or bleeped out.

“I’m surprised he didn’t feel the heat sooner. Aren’t vampires kind of susceptible to any sort of heat?” Phichit wondered aloud. Yakov growled under his breath, which kind of answered that question.

“He can’t feel the heat when he’s already under the heat of love.” Celestino joked (but also not really joked). Minako pat him on the back, grinning all the while. Phichit just openly guffawed while Yakov stared at the nearest camera dead in the eye, anguish and pain clear in his beady eye.

“Ooh, I wonder what Chef Yuuri is doing?” Minako pointed out after observing how Yuuri kept glancing back at Viktor in concern. Viktor, who really belonged on this special edition episode of people who just can’t or shouldn’t cook, smacked a bandage on his hand instead of running it under cold water. Yuuri shook his head before heading over to one of the cameramen and murmuring something to them. After a short while, the person shrugged and nodded.

Yuuri visibly lit up, giving the poor unsuspecting cameraman a thousand watt grin prettier than any world wonder. Phichit smirked as the flustered cameraman directed Yuuri to the back and flushed even more when Yuuri pat their shoulder on the way back. When he returned, a medium sized circular container in his palm, Yuuri beelined over to Viktor.

“U-Um, I noticed you were hurt.” Yuuri blinked up at Viktor, and that was the moment Phichit knew Yuuri ruined Viktor’s chances of falling in love with anyone else.

“Yuuri!” Viktor sang, lips tugged up in a bright, true smile that nearly blinded everyone else near him. Yuuri only blushed as he fidgeted in his spot and softly asked for Viktor’s hand. Yes, in that wording. Viktor brightened up even more, if that was even possible.

“Are you sure he’s a vampire and not some sort of fire fairy or something?” Phichit whispered to Yakov. Yakov only slammed his palm against his balding head and muttered something incoherent.

Meanwhile, with Yuuri, the witch applied a bit of glossy cream anti-burn salve that he made with his human apprentices just that week. It smelled strongly of buttercream and vanilla (and could be easily mistaken for some sweet butter) and Yuuri’s stomach swarmed with butterflies as he delicately spread a thin layer of the salve on Viktor’s smooth, cool skin. His heart nearly burst out of his heart as his fingers lingered on Viktor’s hand. He chanced a peek up at Viktor and found the vampire completely smitten, eyes heavy with affection, and pretty pink lips parted as he sighed softly enough for only the two to hear.

Fuck. Yuuri’s mind helpfully supplied. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Other than a million exclamation point marks echoing in his head, Yuuri’s mind was also garbled with unintelligible screeching. He thought he caught a, “fuck, I don’t believe in love at first sight but I think I’m a little more than attracted to VIktor .” Then again, he also caught a, “maybe I can convince Phichit to go for pizza after this instead,” so the thought probably wasn’t important. Probably.

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Viktor’s eyes crinkled with his broad grin, sparkling like the sun over a horizon as he brought Yuuri’s hand to his lips. Ridiculously soft lips planted a sweet tattoo on Yuuri’s heating up skin; a teeny smile unfurled from Yuuri’s lips like a blossoming pink rose, and the two pining lovebirds gazed at each other dazedly.

“No problem.” Yuuri breathed out, entranced. He sighed when Viktor hesitantly gave his hand back to Yuuri. Viktor’s eye crinkling smile, the one that could cure any ailment better than all of Yuuri’s magical abilities combined, made another luminescent appearance before Viktor roamed back over to the pantry. In a light, airy, pink stupor, Yuuri returned back to cooking his meal. The tiny smile never waned.

Yuri gnashed his teeth together in a futile attempt to wrangle in his temper. It was only the second round and the two idiots were already all over each other. And as much as Yuri preferred this winning streak (and the assurance that at least he would make it past the entree round after personally experiencing the horror of Viktor’s “cooking”, if you could even call it that), the young blond still found contempt in no competition. Viktor was obviously out after this, and although the witch was decent at cooking, Yuri feared, err--despised that the lesser Yuuri would be too obsessed with his vampire fuckboy to actually focus on the competition.

Yes, it was nice to be handed an effortless win. Yes, Yuri couldn’t wait to snatch up the ten thousand dollar prize and shove it in the witch’s face as the better Yuri. But he wanted a challenge. Something for him to gloat and reflect on when he was rich and famous while the rest of the old geezers fucked off in a dumpster somewhere far away from Yuri.

Yuri sneered as he returned to creating a tomato sauce for his dish. “Grandpa, I don’t know how much f-- bleep --ing longer I can continue cooking with these as-- bleep . I literally would much rather shove glass shards into my eyes and drink shots of bleach. H-- bleep , I’ll go through that painful as fu-- bleep resurrection again if that means I can leave these fu-- bleep behind and never see them again.”

The blond began breaking the Chinese century egg apart with his bare hands. He crumbled the black pieces into his sauce, pointedly ignoring the cries of indignation and gasps of shock from the judges and the host. Yuri stirred the combination together with a wooden spoon (not metal, which Viktor yelped about in the first round when the hot metal spoon burned him--just not as bad as this time) before frying up the beef jerky and bell peppers in a separate pan.

“There’s pasta, meat, vegetables, and some weird a-- bleep fu-- bleep egg that Viktor was throwing up earlier. God, he is so fu-- bleep --ing stupid.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “At least these ingredients are perfect for some sort of pasta.” Yuri scraped in poorly chopped garlic, basil, and tomatoes into the pan. Hot oil splattered on him from the height he threw the ingredients down from, but he ignored it because he wasn’t a lovesick pansy like Viktor.

“I don’t really remember my parents, but my grandpa’s always been there for me. He likes eating spaghetti now and again, so I used to try to make it for him when I was a dumb kid.” Yuri shrugged, but his eyes were soft and round. “I never learned how to make it properly since I was banned from the kitchen after the first attempt. Got badly burned. But at least I got these wicked scars.” Yuri raised his arm up to display a long, jagged brown line crawling up towards the inside of his arm. Another two scars were revealed, each close to the inside of his arms.

“I’m going to make the best damn dish for this round and secure my place as the winner next round.” Yuri furrowed his brows in concentration as he poured the sauce and dry items together into one huge saucepan. He wiped away sweat from his brow using one of the many proffered towels before scrambling to bring out the plates.

“Five minutes, chefs!” Phichit announced.

“So, I’m watching both Yuris beginning to plate and I’m internally freaking out.” The camera confirmed Viktor’s mini freak out as he frowned down at his third attempt of boiling pasta. After the first time, Viktor was given extra squid ink pasta for being burned, and the second time Viktor didn’t put in enough water so it all evaporated before he could throw in the uncooked pasta. Finally, with only five minutes left and a barely boiling pot of water in front of him, Viktor could vouch in the anxiety bubbling at the surface.

“I already have the rest of the pasta salad done; I just need the pasta! But I only have five minutes and even I know that’s probably not enough time for it to get soft in time. So, I’m freaking out and I’m thinking something like, ‘why can’t I just harness the sun’s powers and use it to boil this pasta?’ Then, I’m like… Bingo.” Viktor was found pacing around the boiling water at three minutes left. He had preheated the oven in the start of the second round since he mistook it as the timer. Now, with a 350 degree oven still warm, Viktor decided he had to go big or go home.

“So, I use a paper towel to grab onto the pot and basically throw the uncooked pasta into the oven. I have no idea how to set the time, so I just figure I’ll wait until the last minute to bring it out and plate it.” Viktor nodded decisively to the camera. “It’s genius, I know.”

“Did he just--” Minako spluttered, throwing a hand over her mouth to hold in spitting laughter. Phichit was less courteous and he banged the table with his hand several times while guffawing uncontrollably. Yakov wrinkled his nose in disdain at how unprofessional the two were acting, but deep inside he agreed with them.

“It’s actually kind of smart, don’t you think?” Celestino mused, rubbing his chin and sipping at his cool water. “It should be faster to cook the noodles in a much hotter oven than on a regular stove. The biggest task for Chef Nikiforov now is to plate in under a minute. Do you think he’ll be able to?”

“Well, I for one think that Viktor can do it!” Minako positively chimed in. Yakov shook his head (for the fiftieth time).

“You underestimate Nikiforov’s brainless antics.” Yakov murmured sagely.

Phichit, after controlling his laughter, smiled, “One minute, chefs!” Viktor immediately threw open the oven door, the poor thing groaning in protest at its rough treatment. In his haste to remove the scorching pot out of the oven, the silver haired vampire used the exact same paper towel to extract the pasta out. Unfortunately, that’s precisely when things went straight to hell.

“Oh, fu-- bleep !” Viktor screeched out in an inhumane voice. Yuuri’s head snapped over instantly to assess the situation, but what he didn’t expect was for Viktor to be burned again while holding onto a goddamn paper towel. To make things worse, the paper towel was on fire .

“HOLY SH-- BLEEP !” Phichit hollered, yelling for a paramedic and a fire extinguisher or water spirit or something to extinguish the fire. Unfortunately, he was yelling all of these instructions to confused crew members in Thai. Minako scrambled up with Yakov instantly, both barking out orders for someone to put out the damn fire. Celestino sipped on his water. Viktor was still screaming.

Yuri--absolutely, positively 100% done with all the drama once and for all--calmly strolled past the screaming people running around in a panic to fetch one of the fire extinguishers hanging off the side of the wall. It was a wonder no one else instantly grabbed the extinguisher off the wall, but then again, no one has really be set on fire on the show either. The blond grunted, sharply elbowing past the overdramatic chickens flocking around the kitchen set and trying to fill cups with water to douse out the flame on Viktor’s melting hand.

Once the fire extinguisher did its job, Yuri calmly sprayed the inside of the oven as well. He sighed, exhausted and out of his wits from everything in the past five hours. He brushed past the thankful judges and host and batted at the Viktor’s hands trying to wrap him up in a grateful hug. No thanks, Yuri sourly thought as he cautiously eyed the peeling skin from Viktor’s dead hand and swallowed down bile from the gross image.

“Viktor!” Yuuri called out with a watery voice that had almost everyone’s knees buckle at the emotion in his tone. Yuuri--faint looking, skittish, emotional, kind Yuuri--slapped Viktor upside the head. He barely registered Minako gasping faintly. Instead, Yuuri pulled a dazed Viktor into a bone crushing hug with big globs of water spilling from his furrowed eyes. He was an ugly crier, Yuri thought viciously, but he turned away from the sappy scene to go find his phone. He really needed to text his best friend about the absolute shitshow that was happening at the moment, rules be damned.

Yuuri gingerly wrapped his warm palms around Viktor’s face, fingers trembling as he cried freely. Yeah, Viktor wasn’t dead, and yeah, anyone else might call Yuuri a cry baby; however, the witch was too relieved to care. He freaked out at Viktor’s awful cries, inner core shaken as he remembered the absolute pain and terror on the vampire’s face. And because Viktor was a vampire, the heat’s intensity burned ten times more than on any other creature.

“Don’t you--” he sniffed weakly, snot dribbling out of his nose, “e-ever do that again!” Yuuri sobbed harshly with quaking shoulders. Viktor’s normally pale skin was paler than usual, but a slight sprinkling of pink painted his nose and cheeks a light pink. The vampire felt guilt weight on his shoulders, but at the same time, he had never felt so loved before.

“I won’t.” Viktor chuckled nervously as he used his unscathed hand to wipe away one of Yuuri’s fat tears. Yuuri shook still, like a leaf on a windy fall day, and Viktor wished he could do nothing more but cradle Yuuri in his arms, to pull him in until they were close enough to fuse into one being. Yuuri’s lips were a permanent straight line, yet they quivered now and again--and Viktor felt an inexplicable urge to press his heart and soul into a searing kiss--

“Ahem.” Minako cleared her throat. The sudden noise from the audience viewing the heartfelt scene snapped the two apart. Yuuri jerked himself away from Viktor with a squeak from his throat; on the other hand, Viktor blinked up at the surrounding people with only a pink nose as a sign of his embarrassment.

“As adorable as that was, we need to tend to your injuries.” Minako’s eyes flickered over to the disorder in Viktor’s side of the kitchen. The sharp brown orbs darted down to the pot on the floor with a mess of black pasta noodles draped across the pristine white floor. She sighed, but a small curve of her lips played loosely on her lips.

“Well, congrats Viktor. This is the first time any contestant on our show was chopped because they set themselves and their food on fire and was unable to give the judges anything to taste test. Well,” she tapped her bottom lip, “you did have the rest of the ingredients in that steel bowl, but unfortunately… Looks like there’s some residue from the fire extinguisher inside there, which we obviously can’t eat.”

“Uh, so I’ve been chopped?” Viktor cocked his head to one side. If Viktor wasn’t so hurt, Yuuri would have kissed him silly. He flushed; judging by Phichit’s knowing smirk and Minako’s arched eyebrow at him, his emotions were painlessly accessible.

“Yes, Viktor.” Yakov looked like he aged another millenia. “You’ve been chopped.” And believe it or not, the dramatic music Chopped usually put in when the dish was unveiled to be chopped actually played in the final cut (along with all this trainwreck of an episode).

“So, how do I feel about being chopped? Well, I’m not that disappointed.” Viktor confessed as he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. The pure white bandage wrapped around his hand was glaringly obvious in the darkly colored room.

He adopted a completely infatuated visage with literal hearts in his eyes. “I’ll admit, I don’t like to concede defeat, but I’m fine with having my butt kicked if it’s by Yuuri.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Wow, I can’t believe I missed all of that.” Christophe remarked as he sipped on yet another glass of alcohol--white wine this time. “Sounds wild.” He chuckled at the weak glare from both Viktor and the male clinging to him.

“Yeah, so now the contestants have another half an hour to rest before they have to compete.” Viktor hissed at the end of the sentence. He shot a wounded look to Yuuri, who had been tending to his injuries since the nearest paramedic so happened to be in the bathroom while all of the chaos erupted. Yuuri softly apologized, kissing at the back of Viktor’s hand two times before placing Viktor’s palm onto his cheek. He leaned in, sighing as Viktor cupped his face with wonder in his blue orbs.

“Wow, I would have never guessed that I would be the third wheel on this show until now.” Christophe idly mentioned. He sighed, grinning benevolently when he was ignored by the two lovebirds who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He shrugged, deciding to find company that would appreciate his presence more than the soft boys in front of him. He quickly left once the making out morphed into literal oral sex--Viktor was like his brother at this point, eew--and spotted a certain host.

Yuri was off probably terrorizing some poor staff member, so Christophe couldn’t just annoy the younger man. Instead, he stalked up to the Thai male with a sunshine smile and draped an arm across his shoulders. Phichit didn’t startle; he fixed Christophe with a smoldering smile, eyes flashing golden like when they were snogging in the bathroom.

“So, handsome… Come here often?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So, are you gee-- judges going to critique our dishes or not?” Yuri sniffed like a snotty rich brat. Yuuri shuffled his feet together awkwardly. Technically, he understood that his anxiety was riling him up on purpose, but half of him still suspected that all the judges knew exactly what he was doing before the third round started. Yuuri scratched at the his neck, hoping Phichit’s makeup wouldn’t be wiped off.

“No, we’re not going to.” Yakov answered Yuri’s question patiently. He probably knew Yuri would kick up a fuss.

“What?! What do you fu-- bleep-- ing mean you’re not going to?!”

“We’re already short on time with this set, Chef Plisetsky. The dessert round will begin shortly.” Yakov neatly and firmly explained. Yuuri squirmed uncomfortably when the skin on Yuri’s face shifted into the beginnings of a wooden tree. Gnarled branches wrapped around his shoulders like claws of demons were desperately clinging onto his body. When Yuri pointed to Yakov, an obvious challenge in his eyes, poison ivy sprouted from his wooden arms and twirled around his fingertip.

“No! I need to know who’s dish is better: mine or the pig’s!” Yuri snarled as spiky vines coiled back and struck backwards to smash a dish onto the ground. It clattered noisily enough as Yuri crossed his arms like a miffed child throwing a tantrum.

Yuuri flinched. The tension in the air was palpable, thicker than fog and heavier than gravity. The aura of the room was a cross between an ominous gray and a mischievous purple. Yuuri edged back, already knowing that something dreadful was about to show its face.

Yakov slowly rose up, his chair pushed back from his movement and causing an awful screeching noise from the chair’s legs smashing against the floor. The older male’s beady eyes were slits, serpentlike, until the turquoise of his irises bled out into the rest of the eye. He was no doubt from a descendant of dragons, but unlike the ones Yuuri had encountered ever before.

Sweltering smoke puffed out of his nose as Yakov opened his mouth slowly, revealing a set of sharp canines. He was slowly, painstakingly metamorphosing into a dragon, much to Yuuri’s protesting horror. He unconsciously tugged at his amethyst pendant a bit harder, a few incantations prepared just in case Yakov allowed his inner beast to manipulate him.

However, his transformation abruptly stopped, and other than brilliant dark emerald scales sprouting from his skin, his dragon eyes, and razor sharp teeth, the rest of Yakov remained about the same. Yuuri breathed out shakily, legs nearly buckling out from under him as Yakov’s much more gravelly voice addressed the defiant teen.

“Do not be childish, Yuratchka. If you do not wish to be cast off the show this instant, you will back down now.” Yakov commanded attention with his rough, yet levelheaded voice. Obviously, the older man was infuriated, but Yakov was also much, much older than everyone else in the room. He had countless years to learn to control himself and to stop his beast from completely taking over. Yuuri scolded himself on the inside; he felt slight awe at how mature and talented the judge was.

Yuri’s nostrils flared, and Yuuri was afraid the other male would try to fight back. Fortunately, Yuri took a reluctant step back, the vines and wooden skin disappearing without a trace. One could almost believe the boy was a regular human if they did not witness his wooden skin. Yuuri sighed in relief as both males reverted back to their human appearances.

Yakov motioned for Phichit to begin speaking after a few moments of silence. The kinnon snapped out of his awed reverie and smiled. The scene would probably be cut out anyway.

“Alright, chefs, there’s only two of you left. Congrats to the both of you for making it to the final round! This round is dessert. Hopefully you’ll be able to cook up something good for our judges! Remember: baking is a little trickier than cooking.” He winked at the two remaining contestants, though neither responded back. Phichit pouted, but pushed on regardless: “Please open your baskets. Inside are: avocadoes, brown rock sugar, and honey.”

“Avocadoes?” Yuuri murmured to himself in confusion. Next to him, Yuri didn’t seem to be faring any better either judging by his wrinkled forehead and nose.

“You have thirty minutes on the clock. Your time starts… Now!” Phichit’s words rang around the kitchen and not for the first time, Yuuri realized his anxiety was about to burst out of the seams. He had no idea how to cook, much less bake , and he was lucky enough that the judges didn’t decide to taste test that “ramen” he created because he misconstrued a few ingredients in the soup base. Long story short, it managed to be super sweet with a sour aftertaste.

“I honestly have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t think I’ve known what I’ve been doing this whole time. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far.” His voice was half giddy, half shocked. “Oh go, I can’t believe I’ve made it this far.” He repeated with a shakier voice. His eyebrows scrunched together as he drilled holes through the floor with dead eyes.

“This is not going to end well.” Yuuri summarized in the confessional pretty well.

“Uh, what is Chef Katsuki doing?” Celestino pointed out, eyebrows furrowing together into one furry line. Phichit swiveled his head over to Yuuri, who was blankly staring at his hands as yet another egg dropped down from outside his plate (??) and landed onto his shoes. With a monotone line as his lips, Yuuri crept down to clean his mess with the speed of a sloth.

“Is he okay?” Minako asked in concern, sharing an identical look with Phichit. The raven haired man gnawed on his thumb nail. He knew Yuuri was most likely dissociating out of the stress of the events ahead of him and that the anxiety consuming the witch was taking its toll on him.

“He’s nervous.” Yakov calmly noted. No shit, Phichit snapped in his mind. He cast another anxious look to Yuuri, debating on whether or not to help his friend. On one hand, he could probably trick the audience into assuming he was asking the contestants what each of them were making. On the other hand, however, because of his ties with Yuuri, the judges (primarily Celestino and Yakov) would think he was cheating. Did helping an anxious man overcome his short lapse count as cheating though?

“I’m not good at making dessert, and it’s worse than cooking, but I’ve come this far and I’m not about to fu-- bleep --ing back down like the rest of those pu-- bleep . I’m not a lovesick fool like Viktor or a careless creep like Christophe. I know what the fu-- bleep I’m doing, and that’s fu-- bleep --ing winning.” Yuri concluded with brimming confidence. He clipped back his long bangs on his right side to reveal clear sea foam eyes. The leshii regarded the camera with a serious, grim expression.

“Grandpa, I’m doing this for you.” Yuri dashed over to the pantry to collect whatever he felt like would be perfect for a dessert. He deduced that chocolate would work perfectly for his dish, and it helped that one of his favorite desserts involved a marvelous, moist chocolate cake in the bakery down the street of his grandfather’s hospital. The blond scooped up other ingredients he would need for the dessert he was going to recreate.

“I decided I’m going to make an avocado chocolate cake. I used to eat the best chocolate cake with my grandpa since there was this nice bakery down the street. I don’t know how to make any sort of dessert, but I’m not too worried. Judging by how the witch is doing right now, I’m going to be able to win this easy.” The camera switched back to Yuri staring at the saucepan and the chocolates in his hand before shrugging. There wasn’t really a microwave in the studio, so he figured he could just melt the chocolate in the saucepan. That’s how it worked right?

“Oh, no .” Minako gasped, covering her eyes up again and leaning towards Celestino. The long haired man grimaced slightly, but calmly drank from his seemingly never ending glass of water. To Minako’s right, Yakov muttered another Russian expletive under his breath and rubbed his sore temples.

“I… foresaw this happening, but I really was hoping he would have done something else.” Celestino observed. Phichit perked up, finally paying attention to what the rest of the judges were discussing. He smiled, saccharine sweet, before studying his anxious little baby son and trying to find a perfect time for him to intercept and see how his friend was going to hold up.

He glanced over, pretending to inspect both of the competitors with equal disinterest on his part. Phichit winced along with the other judges as Yuuri banged his head on the table after picking up a steel prep bowl that pierced their ears with a deafening clack. When he stood up to his full height, the male began whisking nothing. The bowl was still on the ground and Yuuri blankly stared down at the “bowl” in his hand.

The Thai man sighed, urging himself to calm down when he heard a few ignorant remarks from the judges (minus Minako) at how Yuuri “shouldn’t be nervous so easily in a competition”, etc. When the judges weren’t looking, Phichit lightly stuck his tongue out at them before wandering over to Yuuri; everyone could go fuck themselves if they were speaking shit about his best friend. On his way, he beckoned the camera crew to follow him while he talked with the “chefs”.

“Hello, Chef Plisetsky.” Phichit meandered over to Yuri first as to not arouse suspicion. The blond glared at him warily anyway. “So, what kind of dessert were you planning to make for the judges today?”

Yuri sniffed in discontent. He glared at the camera crew surrounding the area and flipped them off. They understood the message and backed off from his personal space a little. Finally, when the air cleared around Yuri and he began mixing water and chocolate together over the stove (Phichit resisted the urge to tell him that wasn’t a good idea), Yuri spoke.

“I’m making a chocolate avocado cake with a rock sugar and honey filling and whipped cream on top.” Yuri described. Phichit begrudgingly admitted that the younger Yuri’s idea was pretty creative and it actually sounded delicious enough to be on a health friendly food blog.

“Wonderful! Good luck, Chef Plisetsky.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Yuri turned over his shoulder to shoot Yuuri a glare. “Oi! Don’t use up all the fu-- bleep-- ing eggs, you dumb fu-- ble e p! Dumb asshole…” He muttered the last part out. Phichit twitched, but otherwise showed no other outside fury. The Thai man trailed over to Yuuri next. On his way, he muttered something to the cameraman that included bribing (ie. deleting blackmail on them) so that the person would pretend to be shooting the scene while Phichit talked to Yuuri.

He snuck a glance back. The judges were engaged in their own talk since the cameras were on Phichit right now. Phichit grinned to Minako when she met his eyes; she gave him a supportive, discreet thumbs up which he returned with a tiny wink. By the time he arrived to Yuuri’s station, the whole floor was drenched in leftover eggs, flour, and some odd brown powdery substance (cinnamon, maybe?).

“Oh, Yuuri.” Phichit mumbled softly. He softly poked Yuuri’s head so that his friend wouldn’t freak out. When he turned with a disoriented eye, Phichit quickly wrapped the witch up in a short, but meaningful hug. Fortunately, the cameraman’s burlier body covered up the two as they embraced.

“Can you hear me, Yuuri?” Phichit quietly questioned. Yuuri barely nodded, but it was enough. Phichit allowed Yuuri to muffle his face into his shoulder for a short while as he whispered reassurances into his friend’s ear.

“Come on, Yuuri. You’ve made it so far. I’m so, so proud of you. And I know that your family is proud of you as well. Whatever happens, know that you’ve come so far. You’re on here, you were with Viktor--and you stole him away, by the way--and Christophe, who are total hunks, and you got second place.” Phichit pulled away, gazing imploringly into his best friend’s eyes. “Think about your accomplishments once in awhile, Yuuri.”

The mist faded away a little from Yuuri’s eyes, but he was still lost, still barely treading through the fuzzy water his mind submerged him into. Phichit sighed, knowing he didn’t have much time remaining until the judges gave him dubious looks. The Thai male opened his mouth, fully ready to lose his job when he tugged his friend away to the bathrooms when a haughty voice reached them both.

“Oi, what the fuck did I say about using all the damn eggs?” Yuri growled. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but Phichit didn’t doubt that the blond would bear his fists for a brawl if either host or other competitor said one wrong thing. Yuuri blinked hazily at Yuri, but he frowned a little which was an improvement.

“I didn’t…” He paused, eyes wandering off to stare into the distance. He didn’t reply fully, which only seemed to rile up the younger Yuri. The blond’s glower worsened as the beginnings of his wooden transformation appeared on his cheeks--as it usually did. Phichit stepped in front of Yuuri, ready to take the first swing if Yuri even thought about harming his best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Yuri demanded, vines already whipping out from his form and threatening to strike at whatever weakness available. Phichit narrowed his eyes back, his own skin morphing into a golden sheen like the statues he embodied for centuries to watch over humanity.

“Leave him out of this, young one. It’s not my place to say, but Yuuri has several mental illnesses. He’s experiencing dissociation right now and won’t be able to protect himself if you decide to maim him. Stand down .” Phichit hissed. His back sizzled with tension, his instincts screaming for his wings to unfurl, to protect his friend from the dangerous creature in front of him.

He doesn’t know how long they stand in front of each other like in some sort of standoff. Phichit only focuses on the danger presented directly in front of him and the defensive stance he’s adapted into. His feet tingle and itch, but he wills the urge to transform away. He was an elder compared to baby Yuri, so Phichit knew how to control his transformations better. Well that, and he kind of needed this job.

“Okay, fine.” Yuri spat. “I just came here for the eggs since the loser over there has been using up all of them.”

“Don’t call him a loser.” Phichit’s frown deepened. Yuri scoffed, eyebrows furrowing even more.

“I’ll call him whatever the fuck I want, Chulanont. Stand down.” He spat Phichit’s words right back at the older male. Phichit’s jaw clenched and his nose flared, but he fervently reminded himself of the time and place he was at and the horrible public backlash that would occur if Yuri was attacked by the host. He stepped aside, mindful of Yuuri, who was slowly regaining light back into his eyes.

The kinnon sighed. Once younger Yuri retrieved the rest of the eggs and stomped back to his own little station, Phichit whipped around to assess his friend’s mental situation. He clicked his tongue at himself, gingerly prying open the lavender vial and practically sticking it up

Yuuri’s nose. Yuuri breathed in, out.

“You feeling better?” Phichit resisted the urge to brush Yuuri’s unruly bangs out of his eyes. Instead, he stepped back with a faux smile, pretending to be casually asking about Yuuri’s dish and whether or not the contestant was fine after bumping his head against the countertop. Yuuri breathed out for eight seconds.

“I think so.” His fingers combed through his hair, causing his bangs to be brushed back on top of his head before they flopped back down onto his forehead. He sighed, but managed a weak smile.

“Sorry.”

Phichit clicked his tongue once more. “Don’t ever apologize for your feelings, Yuuri. You are always valid. You are always worth more than your mental illness ever says, okay?” The Thai male glanced behind him, finding Yakov’s narrowed eyes on his back and Minako’s warning stare.

“I have to go back, but are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah…” Yuuri blinked rapidly. “Yeah, I think I will be.” Yuuri smiled softly, a semblance of his regular old self that nearly reduced Phichit into relieved tears. Phichit grinned warmly, knowing that even with only about twenty minutes left, Yuuri would be okay. He was going to be alright.

“I don’t care what anyone says. If you need me, just throw me a look, okay? I’ll be here in a jiffy.”

“Alright, Phichit.” Yuuri laughed, although it was a little wobbly. He breathed in, out. “Thanks. I’m going to win this. For Hasetsu.” Phichit’s eyes softened.

“Of course, bud. For Hasetsu.” With one last shared smile between the two friends, Phichit turned back to face the music from the judges. He walked with pride anyway; nothing could dampen his mood when his best friend was going to kick ass and prove to himself and everyone around him that he was more than a subdued, “normal” witch on the street. He was Yuuri Katsuki, potion specialist and Phichit’s fucking amazing best friend.

Phichit breathed in softly, waved off the cameraman on his back, and returned to his position next to the judges. Whatever happened, he knew that the people who mattered to Yuuri would be proud of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I know I was out of it for the first ten minutes or so, but I think I’m finally better.” The camera panned over to Yuuri scrambling over to the pantry and fridge with newfound vigor and a few hard lines across his forehead. He instantly laid out the avocados and limes on the same cutting board and begin cutting the food items as efficiently and quickly as possible.

“It’s not really that bad,” a hollow laugh bounced around the room, “I guess I get nervous sometimes like everyone else. I didn’t really snap out of it until Phichit and Yuri were uh, arguing a little. Their auras plus the tension really got to me, I guess. Ha, I’m not, like, good with strong auras, especially when there’s, um, arguing involved.” He scratched his cheek before clapsing his hands in front of him.

“But, I’m back and I’m not ready to go down with a fight. My family is depending on me. Uh… V-Viktor is too.” A high blush settled on his cheeks. “I’m going to win chopped today. And if I don’t, then I’ll walk away knowing that I did my best.” He beamed at the camera; it switched back over to Yuuri squeezing lime juice into the blender as well as sloppily cut avocado chunks, brown sugar, and lots and lots of cream. As an afterthought, Yuuri poured in some milk before setting the machine on high.

“For dessert, I’m going to try to make avocado and lime ice cream with a nice drizzle of honey and rock sugar sauce. I don’t think it’s too creative, but I honestly have no idea what to make.” Yuuri grit his teeth. He grabbed a pot and filled about an eighth (slightly less) of water in it. The rock sugar was placed within the water as Yuuri fixed the burner on the highest setting. He ran over with his soupy avocado-lime liquid and poured it into the ice cream machine.

“I have no idea if I’ll have enough time since I’ve never made, uh, any sort of ice cream before. But, I think I’ll be fine. I have a plan B if something bad happens too.” Yuuri pondered over his options as he mixed in a little honey to the boiled down rock sugar mix. Maybe he could create his own sugar rock candy? He kind of understood the physics behind it, and he figured the candy should harden quickly if he placed it in the freezer.

Nodding his head, Yuuri set off to find suitable plating and a few other ingredients so that his presentation would at least be better than Yuri’s. Speaking of the vexed teenager, Yuuri nearly bumped into him on his way out of the fridge area. Fortunately, Yuuri stepped to the left while Yuri moved to his left. They stood, facing each other off as Yuuri clung to his items tighter. Yuri gave him a dull once over.

“Good to see your ass back in the competition, pig.” Yuri remarked, which basically translated to “I’m happy you feel better now”. Yuuri’s known the other Yuri for about sixteen hours now, so he likes to think that he knows Yuri a little better. Despite his rough, prickly exterior, the kid genuinely cared about others and didn’t have a bad heart. His aura was a constant bright orange, like a mixture between a mellow yellow and a sunset red. Besides, Yuri was just a kid with a seemingly difficult life. Yuuri respected that.

He chuckled, “Thank you, Yuri.” Before the blond could retort and possibly throw a plate at him, Yuuri fled from the pantry area with four large cocktail glasses, two tennis ball sized limes, and a bag of white sugar for the presentation.

“I know someone who works at a bar. On my birthday every year, she gives me free drinks as a birthday treat.” He laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m grateful for the free drinks, but I’m even happier now that I can use some of that knowledge for this challenge.”

“Ooh, what do you think Chef Katsuki is doing?” Minako wondered, though her eyes spoke otherwise. She smiled behind a practiced hand before swallowing it down with a gulp of water. Phichit caught on faster than she did, but he didn’t say anything. Celestino hummed, watching with observant eyes as Yuuri dipped the rim of the cocktail in freshly squeezed lime juice; the chef then brought the damp cocktail rim to a medium sized square plate, where the sugar was.

“Oh!” Celestino gasped in delight. “He’s making a sugar rim! Like the ones for cocktails! How clever.” The judge praised, jokingly bringing his water cup in a mock toast to the raven haired witch. Yakov hummed in slight interest.

“Indeed.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Five minutes, chefs!” Phichit called out. Yuri cursed inwardly as he checked on the cakes once more. Unfortunately, the glossy brown top was still a little watery. The blond growled, deciding to throw all caution out the window as he increased the temperature of the oven to 500 degrees fahrenheit.

Glancing over to the side, he watched as Yuuri calmly strolled over to the ice cream machine to check on his dessert. The raven haired man returned to his station, but his face was suspiciously blank as he set the cocktail glasses onto square plates.

“There’s five minutes and I know I have to start plating now.” Yuri sprinted over to the pantry to obtain suitable plate wear. He was smart enough to place each individual chocolate cake in those weird circular white containers, so at least that was solved. With only three minutes left, Yuri grabbed a stack of slightly bigger square plates and raced out of the area.

On his way back to his station, he noticed Yuuri grabbing a plate from the fridge--whatever it was had a light caramel golden tint to it--and setting it down on his work table. The witch checked on the ice cream again; he walked back to his station and began setting up the rest of his presentation.

Yuri wrenched his attention away from the witch and started to spread out the plates in front of him. He double checked the cakes again, and then the timer.

“One minute left, chefs!” Phichit yelled, confirming the time. Yuri’s whole body tingled with nerves as he brought the metal bowl full of the honey, rock sugar whipped cream with him (he just mixed up chunks of the rock sugar and drizzled honey into the cream) over to the plates.

“Thirty seconds!” Phichit announced. Yuri inwardly cursed, throwing open the oven door and carefully, yet rapidly bringing each tiny cake in its separate containers out of the oven and onto the plate. The plates clattered each time he threw another cake onto it, but he didn’t care. Once the cakes were securely on top of the plates, he quickly spooned out what seemed like equal amounts onto the top of it.

“Five, four, three, two, one… Everybody, hands off!” Yuri flung back from his plates, hand still clasped around the rim of the bowl. He eyed his dessert carefully, a feeling of dread washing up his neck before collapsing down his back like a crashing tidal wave. Oh shit.

“I’m thinking to myself, ‘oh fu-- bleep ’ because turns out, the cake is too hot. And now the whole fu- bleep --ing whipped cream sh-- bleep I made is melting.” Yuri shook his head in regret. “Fu- bleep !”

“Alright, chefs. Please present your dishes to the judges. Chef Plisetsky.” Yuri stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back as he wrung them together. He surveyed the judges’ looks, noting how Minako and Celestino frowned slightly at his ruined dessert and how Yakov’s throat grumbled with a barely noticeable complaint. Well, here goes.

“For dessert I made a chocolate avocado cake with a rock sugar and honey whipped cream on top.” Yuri described. He gnawed on his lower lip as the judges cut out a small piece of the cake with a little melted cream on top and began chewing on it slowly. Minako was the one who piped up first.

“I like the flavors. The cake is a little undercooked, but I actually really like how it’s gooey. Kind of like molten lava cake.” Celestino agreed, scraping Yuri’s melted regret onto his fork and tasting the whipped cream by itself.

“The whipped cream is pretty good. It’s sweet, but not too sweet, which really pairs with the cake.” Yuri nodded, feeling relieved that the taste was at least decent. “However, the whipped cream with the cake makes it difficult to taste the honey and rock sugar. Once you eat it together, it only tastes like chocolate cake with whipped cream.”

“I agree with Celestino. The concept is creative, but the actual result is poorly executed. The cake is very undercooked for me,” here, Yakov brought up his fork to show the liquid consistency of the cake, “and the cream is melted.” Yuri deflated.

“If Yuuri doesn’t fu-- bleep up, the possibility of me being chopped is really high.” Yuri groaned. His frown deepened on the camera and he placed a delicate hand on his forehead while looking away. A hint of tears swelled up in his eyes, and Yuri shifted his hand so it would cover them.

The camera panned back over to Yakov. “However, the taste of the cake is excellent and the whipped cream by itself is good. Not bad for a beginner.” Yuri perked up a little after that as he nervously drew spirals into the back of his wrist.

“Thank you, chef.”

“Next up, Chef Katsuki.” Yuri stepped back, feeling oddly relieved that his presentation was done and that Yuuri would be under the harsh scrutinization next. However, instead of the stuttering buffoon he’s shown to be, the raven haired with stepped forward with the grace of a dancer, arms neatly folded in front of him as a monotone, polite mask covered the entirety of his face.

“Today, I’ve made for you an avocado and lemon ice cream topped with a drizzle of rock candy and honey sauce and matching honey rock candies.” Yuri faltered, staring at the beautiful display of dessert and wondering if Yuuri really was an amateur cook or not. Other than the pretty cocktail glass on top of the plate, a single soup spoon with the sauce lay neatly next to the glass while shards of the rock candy stuck out of the light green ice cream like ice.

“Oh, the presentation is absolutely lovely.” Minako complimented first while drizzling the spoon of sauce over the ice cream. “The ice cream tastes nice and fresh, and I love how you created rock candy with the sugar and honey.”

Celestino nodded around a mouthful of ice cream; he swallowed before speaking: “I agree with Minako on the presentation. However, the ice cream is a little soupy.” Yuuri just nodded, his face unwavering as he stared at each judge whenever they spoke.

“I would have liked the ice cream to be smoother, less liquidy. The sauce combined with the candy is a little too sweet too, but doesn’t combine well with the ice cream.” Yakov picked out the flaws smoothly. “Otherwise, the presentation is beautiful and the ice cream’s flavor is very nice.”

“Actually, on that note, Yakov,” Celestino began as he scooped up a little bit of the ice cream with a little bit of the sauce and candy, “I disagree with you. The sweetness of the candy brings out the sourness of the ice cream, and it is very well done.” Yakov grunted, but otherwise did not attempt to fight back.

“Thank you, chef.” Yuuri nodded at all of them as he stepped back in line with Yuri.

“Thank you, chefs. The judges will now decide.” He stuck out his hand to gesture towards the back of the set where they would wait until called back out. Yuri stomped out first, hands stuffed deep into his pockets with a pensive witch trailing shortly behind him. When they reached the room, Yuri spun around, intent to demand answers from Yuuri and his dessert and his odd behavior.

Instead, he found a disgusting display of public affection assaulting his eyes as the pig lightly traced the dumbass’s chest with his pointer finger and their mouths were glued to each other. They released their hold on each other after a few agitating minutes, which Yuri had to painfully endure (which he did by stuffing his face in the crook of his elbow and counting numbers in Russian to calm his fury).

“Oh, Yuuri! I watched the whole thing with Chris!” Viktor cried out, nuzzling against Yuuri’s head to comfort him. “I’m sorry you felt so awful, my love!” Yuri wrinkled his nose in disgust at the two, especially when Yuuri reciprocated the longing touches with sweet kisses peppered all over Viktor’s dumb, grinning face.

“I’m better now, Viktor.” Yuuri said, nothing short of fond in his tone. He allowed the dumbass to prop him up on his lap as they sat adjacent to Yuri.

“God, who let you fu-- bleep in here? And you!” Yuri pointed a jagged finger to Viktor, who only smiled obliviously back while cozying up to the witch like an attention seeking cat. “You already lost! Get the fu-- bleep out of here!”

“But, Yuri!” Viktor drawled out the last syllable in his whine. Yuri hissed at him threateningly.

“That’s going to get a little confusing.” The once missing incubus (who no one missed, by the way) appeared at the doorway of the room; he was sinfully draped on the door’s arch, winking at the camera crew as he sauntered in with swaying hips.

“Ah, you’re right!” Viktor perked up like a dog; if it hadn’t been for his allergic reaction earlier in the show, Yuri would have assumed Viktor was a damn werewolf with how uncanny his resemblance to a puppy was. Yuri growled, hoping that they wouldn’t pit him with a stupid nickname.

He spoke too soon. “Ooh! How about Yurio?” Viktor said, dumb grin spreading his face apart. “What do you think, Yuuri?” Viktor badgered the other man with kisses and whines. Yuuri remained emotionless, aside from the quiet fondness settling in his warm eyes like pools of chocolate. Viktor did seem to notice, but he was unfazed by the absurdity of it all. Even Christophe lounged comfortably next to the couple as he flirted with one of the cameramen who would probably be fired soon once the video evidence leaked out.

“Okay, no one is going to fu-- bleep --ing say it, so I will.” Yuri pointed to Yuuri. “Why are you so fu-- bleep-- ing quiet all the sudden? Usually you’d be stuttering at that dumbass’s attention and all shy and sh-- bleep with everything. So you’re going to tell me--”

Yuri neared closer to Yuuri, who only held amusement in his eyes. “--what the fu-- bleep happened?” Viktor broke their staring contest first with a chuckle.

“Oh, Yurio, can’t you at least feel it?” Yuri flipped Viktor off (which was also censored) before diving back against the chair’s frame. He crossed his arms haughtily and propped a foot up onto the small round table they sat around.

“Feel what?” Yuri grumbled grumpily. It wasn’t his fault he was literally eighteen years old (only counting when he was resurrected from the dead) and new to all of this supernatural nonsense. Hell, Yuri didn’t even know he could manipulate any sort of plant to his will until two months ago, on accident.

Viktor chortled, stroking Yuuri’s back with a free hand while nuzzling the other man’s neck with his nose. Yuri openly gagged. “I forget how young you are sometimes.” He shook his head with an almost somber, nostalgic upturn of his lips before finally answering. Good. Yuri would have smacked him with poison ivy leaves.

“Yuuri’s under a spell.”

“You crazy fu-- bleep cast him under a spell?!” Yuri screeched. He at least knew a little about other supernatural creatures, especially the potentially dangerous ones. Vampires and incubi/succubi could hypnotize their prey, so it’s not like Yuri was unjustified for immediately acting like that. Christophe shook his head whilst grinning while Viktor frowned briefly.

“I would never harm my Yuuri like that.” Viktor sniffed, irritated. On top of him, Yuuri snorted and leaned his head back onto Viktor’s.

“Yeah, you’ve seen him, Yurio. He’s only good at hurting himself.” Christophe and Yuri snickered at the utter betrayal Viktor experienced and the aghast expression on his face. Yuuri rolled his eyes as Viktor switched all his attention to whining at his lover (Crush? Friends with benefits?). However, by the satisfied curl of a smile on his mouth, Yuuri enjoyed the attention on him entirely too much. Unfortunately, that left Christophe to explain the rest.

“Yuuri placed himself under a spell, kitten.” Christophe leaned his cheek into his palm, fingers cradling his jaw. “He must be a powerful witch if he can use effective non-verbal magic, and on himself in such a short time.” The smolder in Christophe’s eyes reappeared as he leaned closer to Viktor.

“Maybe we could go for a threesome--”

“SHUT UP!” Yuri shrieked in horror. He was too young to be hearing about old geezers’ sex lives. Especially when it involved sex on two legs, the incompetent, and the pig. It could have been a fucking hit television drama.

“Anyway, the spell should wear off soon. It’s starting to smell weaker.” At Yuri’s blank expression, Christophe elaborated with a wicked smile, “His succulent fluids from his tight little--”

“OKAY, THAT’S FU-- BLEEP-- ING ENOUGH!” Yuri tore himself away from the group, nearly throwing the table at everyone else ( good ) as his feet clambered off of it. He glowered at the guffawing incubus, who clutched his belly and wiped a tear away.

“I was just kidding, Yurio!” Christophe said through his ugly laughter. “I meant that Yuuri’s scent is stronger. When witches perform a spell on someone, their scent is often screwed up or dulled, unless the magic user is very powerful. So, creatures like incubi and vampires, who have a strong sense of smell, can often tell when a witch’s magic is involved. Ah, and before you ask, Yuuri apparently already had the director’s permission to use magic as long as it wasn’t on anyone else or on the food.”

“Oh.” Yuri scrunched up his nose again. “You’re a real as-- bleep, you know that?”

“I know, mon cheri, I know.” Christophe grinned insanely, “That’s my favorite food.” He winked at the camera while Yuri threw himself out of the high chair and promptly walked out of the room with one hand in his pocket while the other flipped them off the whole time.

“Fu-- bleep you guys, I’m getting a muffin, you sick fu-- bleep !” He didn’t show up for another fifteen minutes, so the show had to be postponed (again) just to find him. Rip.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Chefs, you have made it past the appetizer, entree, and dessert round. The judges have decided on who will be chopped based off of the past three meals.” Phichit professionally informed them, his hand hovering around the handle of the silver tray lid. Both Yuris bit their lips as Phichit slowly revealed the dish on the chopping block. All eyes were on the two chefs.

“And the dish on the chopping block is…” Past the loud dramatic music, Phichit finally lifted off the lid entirely. Yuuri gasped, eyes wide,  while Yuri’s mouth dropped open and his eyebrows flew to his hairline. Oh, fuck.

“Chef Plisetsky. You have been chopped.” Phichit announced, a hint of sympathy in his voice. Yuri stood, feeling numb beyond belief as the floor was ripped under him. He staggered a little, but Yuuri caught him by his wrist and gently yanked him back up again. The older male’s eyes swarmed with endless emotion, a sea of colors and names once forgotten as Yuri placed a trembling hand over his mouth.

He willed himself not to cry as the judges began to explain their reasoning. Each of them at least looked sympathetic as they spoke. Celestino began, “I’m sorry, Chef Plisetsky. You show amazing creativity in each and every dish, but in both presentation and taste, you fall a little flat.”

“The appetizer was a little too bland, and the dessert was tasty, but not cooked properly. Your creativity shone through, like Celestino said, and you definitely would have won if it was a little better.” Minako reassured him, but Yuri wasn’t listening. He only jerked his head up and down as he wondered how he would tell his grandfather about how he lost and wasn’t able to find enough money for the surgery. His grandfather was only human, and Yuri feared that he wouldn’t have enough time to pick up a job and pay off the hospital bill. It was stinging, painful defeat.

“Yes, your creativity was definitely the strongest between the other three, but you need work on the other two categories.” Yakov offered no apology or sympathy in his voice, but Yuri didn’t want it anyway. Was it because they didn’t try the entree? Was it because I messed up on the dessert? What would have happened if they sampled the entree too? Yuri wondered and wondered and wondered. His face was paler than the dead, and he quickly righted himself so that the winner wasn’t continuously touching him.

With a stone hard face, he heard himself thank the judges, “Thank you for your time.” He said, still barely able to comprehend the events and his screaming thoughts. As much as he desired to pin the blame on someone else, he knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere. He should have tried a little harder, maybe have been a little less ambitious and creative so that he could focus on the other two categories as well.

Either way, Yuri Plisetsky walked down the long, stretching hall to the exit. He felt like a prisoner on death row, sick with grief and regret.

“I’m sorry that the judges couldn’t see how creative I was compared to the other dumb fu-- bleep . Too bad, bi-- bleep . I’m gonna find something else somewhere else that will appreciate how amazing I am.” Yuri grinned toothily. A hint of water dribbled from his eye.

“Yeah, it hurts like hell to lose like this when I made it so far, but it was a fair fight. Katsuki didn’t do half bad.” Yuri blinked, a stray tear rolling down his cheek. “I only wish I could have been better in the judges’ eyes so I could afford my grandpa’s surgery. Guess not.” He chuckled humorlessly. The camera returned back to Yuri still walking down the long ass hallway as depressing music played. His mouth was a tight, straight line while his fists crumpled his t-shirt.

“WAIT!” Someone yelled out. Yuri paused in his next step, wondering if he just imagined the call of his name or not. “Yuri, wait!” Yuuri yelped, running like a madman down the hallway with a red face and heaving breaths. Yuuri stopped in front of the paused leshii and caught his breath, wide eyes staring up at Yuri. With a deep breath, Yuuri tugged Yuri into a warm hug.

“I should have said this earlier, but--!” Yuuri pulled back, a large, soft grin on his face. Yuri’s stomach fluttered a little, but he would never admit it. The raven haired male jumped back from the blond once he realized how close they were to each other with a tiny “eep” and another apology.

“Just get on with it, pig.” Yuri wiped away a tear. “I’m kind of in the middle of storming out angrily.” Yuuri’s grin only widened as he tugged Yuri towards the other end, back to the kitchen set that would haunt Yuri’s dreams forever.

“You won’t want to storm out of here once I tell you the good news.”

“Good news?” Yuri parroted. He was yanked back to the judges’ table in alarming speed without another word from Yuuri, only a secretive smile. The judges themselves were a little surprised at the turn of events, but they welcomed Yuri back with amused smiles.

“What is going on, Yuuri?” Minako giggled. “You suddenly ran off like hellhounds were following after you.” Celestino chuckled as well, eyes all knowing.

“Surprised most of us here!” He cheerfully recalled. Yakov only raised a thick eyebrow at Yuuri’s antics, a wordless “explain” falling from his stern eyes. Yuuri sucked in air. He met Phichit’s eyes (that were both encouraging and confused) before exhaling all of his words and air at the same time.

“What?” Yakov’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?” He gruffly inquired. Yuuri slowly pronounced his words, hoping that they would understand.

“I want to give the prize money to Yuri, here.” His arm tucked Yuri into his side, a determined gleam of his eye causing them to sparkle. In the strange lighting, his eyes almost appeared like a rustic wine red to Yuri, but he bit his tongue in fear of shattering this lucid dream.

“..what…?” Yuri asked, suddenly feeling breathless. At his soft voice, Yuuri met his eyes with his own kind ones.

“I’m giving you the money, Yuri. I know how hard it is to not be able to afford something important.” Yuuri’s eyes were too soft, too caring for Yuri to understand. The lighting was off--the mood was off--whatever explanation sounded plausible to Yuri because no, Yuuri did not just offer ten grand to his competitor at the drop of a hat. Regardless, Yuri gaped.

“B-But what about your family’s business? Are you just going to throw away all of that?!” Yuri challenged. Yuuri laughed, eyes twinkling like stars.

“I think someone’s surgery is a little more important than a business, wouldn’t you agree?” Yuuri retorted, swinging his head back over to confidently stare at the judges with his own challenge.

Minako guffawed first, her arm wrapping around Celestino’s excitedly as she regarded Yuuri with nothing short of fond pride. “I wholeheartedly agree, Yuuri!” She chimed in. The grin on her face stretched her cheeks wide as she took in Yuri’s changing face with racing emotions flitting across like a broken traffic light. Yuuri radiated determination she’d never seen before, and the same old kindness that ran in his family.

“I agree as well.” Celestino grinned, watching as Yuri’s face brightened like a new lightbulb. “What about you, Yakov? You wouldn’t break this poor kid’s heart, would you?” He teased, sending a grinning Yuri a wink. Yakov sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he refused--not like he was going to. While the fools around him fixed him with their best puppy eyes, Yakov stood up, hat in his hand.

“I would be a heartless fool to disagree, Celestino.” He nodded to the beaming boys. “Congratulations, Chef Katsuki for winning. Congratulations to you as well, Chef Plisetsky, for having such an amiable competitor. Good day.” He strolled out of the scene like he always did, his hat placed back onto his balding head. Unbeknownst to everyone else, a miniscule smile, tiny as a speck of sand, flashed on his lips for a brief second before he disappeared back into the hectic scenes in the back.

Meanwhile, Phichit wiped away a tear, truly happy for the both of them. He jolted when a hand wrapped around his shoulder, but simply smiled up at the man tucking him into his side. He dried his tears, giggling when Viktor burst out of from who knows where to tackle both Yuris into a tight hug. Yuri half-heartedly told him to “fuck off and go die in a ditch somewhere” while Yuuri’s bubbly laugh filled the air like jingling bells during the holiday season. Viktor swung Yuuri around like the real (vampire) prince he was, finally dipping the witch into a splendid, beautiful kiss that had the both of them grinning idiotically at each other.

“Look at how cute they are.” Phichit hummed, leaning back into Christophe’s arms.

“Not as cute as you.” Christophe, the natural flirt, teased back. Phichit laughed, snuggling further into the taller male’s hold.

“Damn straight,” he replied cheekily, causing Christophe to chuckle with him.

“Yuuri! You’re such an amazing person! And the kindest, most beautiful person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting!” Viktor gushed, drawing Yuuri’s warmth and compassion back into his arms. He swore to himself that he would never let go. Yuuri giggled, high off of the joy exuding from Yuri and the celebration the two judges and other contestants partook in. It had been a long day for everyone involved, so once the cameras shut off, everyone decided to gather around the snack bar.

Despite yelling threats at Viktor, young Yuri stuck to Yuuri like chewing gum. Viktor teased Yuri about it, but Yuri only responded with more angry screaming and never once separated from Yuuri’s side. It was cute, but Viktor couldn’t help but still be a tad jealous. Yes, technically Yuuri wasn’t his mate, and yes, the two had only met a few hours ago.

But, Viktor wanted to learn more about the intriguing witch. He, at the very least, trusted the other man and was all too willing to fall in love with him. Yuuri was an amazing, beautiful, kind hearted, compassionate, trustworthy, empathetic man that attracted not only Viktor, but other people as well.

“Please let me have your number.” Viktor shamelessly begged once Phichit began dragging Yuuri away. Unfortunately, Yuuri had a flight early the next morning, and Viktor himself had a flight in a few hours (he had to go back to Makkachin after all). Yuuri smiled good naturedly, but he gently cradled the phone in his palm while diligently plugging in his number. He handed the phone back to Viktor, a light blush on his cheeks.

“Oi, Katsuki.” Yuri weaseled in between Viktor and Yuuri. Yuuri smiled, eliciting a tiny blush from the younger male as he practically thrust the phone into Yuuri’s face. “Might as well give me your number, or whatever.”

“Oh! Of course!” Yuuri quickly typed in his number--Phichit was tugging on his arm and whining about his hunger--before handing the phone back over to Yuri. “I hope we stay in contact! It was nice getting to know you both! I hope we can be friends!” Yuuri bowed politely before Phichit all but whisked him away. To his right, Christophe chuckled, slinging an arm around Viktor’s shoulder as they both watched their potential love interests run off.

“Hopefully we can be more than friends!” Viktor hollered after him. Yuri scowled at him before storming off to wherever angsty teens go to hang out (Hot Topic?). Christophe whistled, a smug grin on his face.

“Looks like you have competition.”

“Eew, Chris, he’s like five.” Viktor wrinkled his nose. “Besides, I’m sure Yuuri has better taste than that.” Viktor puffed out his chest, a broad grin on his face as he remembered how Yuuri gazed at him and only kissed him .

“I’m teasing, Viktor.” Christophe began leading his friend outside of the building. On the way out, he blew a few kisses to the lingering staff, earning him tinkles of laughter and swoons from all people alike. Viktor rolled his eyes, already used to his friend’s antics (nevermind the fact that he did the exact same thing just that morning--he was a changed man!).

“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Christophe continued, lugging Viktor’s weight towards the nearest bar. “Viktor? Are you even listening--” He turned his head over to his best friend, a concerned look on his face. It quickly melted off as he realized that Viktor was shaking uncontrollably like a chihuahua and gazing at the phone like it was his one true love.

“Chris…” Viktor sagged down. At that point, Christophe released him onto the ground with no mercy. “Chris, you don’t understand…” Viktor mumbled from the pitiful goo he was on the floor. The incubus rolled his eyes.

“And what do I not understand, Chef Nikiforov?” He humored the vampire.

“He’s so cute, what the fuck?” Viktor whispered, dropping his phone into Christophe’s hands. He promptly shrivelled up into a ball on the ground, his alarmingly scarlet face buried into his hands.

“Viktor… Viktor, this is just his contact name.”

“Yeah, but look at it.” Viktor whined. Christophe obliged, sighing the whole time.

“Oh, wow. There’s a heart next to it.” True to his word, a single red heart next to Yuuri’s full name mocked Christophe on Viktor’s screen.

“He’s so cute.”

“I’m leaving.” Christophe sighed, shaking his head. He really needed a lot of booze to deal with this.