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They do not share another dance during the event. Yuuri cannot risk more gossip than is surely already stirring among the other guests, with him being the only omega Mr. Nikiforov dances with all evening. Surely the alpha must realise what he is doing, rejecting omega prospect after omega prospect presented to him like treats on a platter, watching as Yuuri dances. It is not as if Yuuri wants to dance with Mr. Bin, or Mr. Popovich or the far too overeager Mr. Minami. He has to, to warn of anyone thinking that Mr. Nikiforov has started courting Yuuri after sweeping him across the dancefloor. Mr. Nikiforov turned out to be a lovely dancer, as well as a good conversationalist. Yuuri had not wanted to let go as the dance ended, but he had to. He could already feel the others’ gazes burn into him, judging what he was doing in the arms of the most eligible alpha currently on the marriage mart. Yuuri knows Mr. Nikiforov is well above him in terms of social status, and that Yuuri, as son of a gentleman and part of the gentry, had been lucky to be invited to attend gatherings such as this. Courted by the heir to the marquisdom? Preposterous.
Still, it is hard to not let his eyes linger on the handsome alpha, who continues to watch him all through the night. Is it simply because he had seen Yuuri’s undergarments? Has Yuuri stirred up something possessive in the alpha, something that has nothing at all to do with Yuuri as a person? It is easy to let his mind run away with thoughts such as these, even if Mr. Nikiforov had been utmost respectful, hands properly placed as they moved across the dancefloor. His eyes had never strayed from Yuuri’s eyes, the blue gaze captivating. Who had given someone so handsome, with prospects so high, the right to have eyes bluer than the sea?
Something is stirring in Yuuri, something he is sure he has never felt before. His eyes keep gravitating towards the alpha, wondering if he’s still watching Yuuri.
He is.
The strange thing about it is that Yuuri does not feel uncomfortable under the attention, something he otherwise would. Other alphas have followed him with their eyes before, widowed ones who are looking for another mate to take care of the child the first one left behind. They have propositioned Yuuri, but Yuuri has kept them at bay. He has had no interest in them, not like this. He looks over at Mr. Nikiforov again.
Mr. Nikiforov’s cheeks are stained pink, the room warm. He smiles when Yuuri catches him, and then his eyes drift to the next mother presenting her omega child to the alpha. Yuuri bites his lip. Would it cause much harm, if they were to dance one more set?
“Are you ready to go?” Mari asks, startling Yuuri out of his musings. He looks away from Mr. Nikiforov, glad his sister has saved him from publicly humiliating himself due to his own lack of character.
“I am,” he says, taking the arm she offers. “Did you have a good time?”
“I did,” Mari admits with a soft smile, and Yuuri beams. “I am to call on her tomorrow.”
“Mari, that is wonderful,” Yuuri cheers and she beams back, wider than Yuuri has ever seen before.
“I am excited about it, yes,” she admits. “Now let us find our hosts to bid our goodbyes. How was your evening?”
Yuuri thinks of his breathlessness, of Phichit unlacing the corset, of Mr. Nikiforov’s wide eyes as he opened the door. He thinks of the alpha’s hand on his waist, the other in his gloved hand, sure step as he guided them across the dancefloor. He thinks of the scent of roses and evergreen, for pheromones that reflected interest. His heart races.
“It was a pleasant dance, nothing special,” Yuuri says, tucking the memories away in his heart. This was a night unlike all others. He knows he will not relive it.
They make their way towards the door, and on their way they manage to catch both Christophe and his parents, bidding them all farewell after thanking them for hosing them. Yuuri does not dare look back. He is afraid he will have to leave Mari’s side to move back inside if he does, asking Mr. Nikiforov for another dance despite his better judgement.
The second time Yuuri meets Mr. Nikiforov, it leads to devastating consequences.
He has been invited for tea at the Chulanont residence by his friend, and since Phichit’s mated sister would accompany them, Yuuri could go without a chaperone. Mari is fully courting Sara Crispino now, a process that is wonderful, but takes time, especially when the unmated omega has an overprotective alpha sibling. Yuuri is so glad for their sake, and that Mari and the woman she has been longing for are finally moving towards being together. It does leave Yuuri to spend more time home alone, since his parents are still traveling. It was therefore a pleasant surprise to receive the invitation from Phichit, knowing he would not have to ask Mari to come with him. He enjoys staying in, reading and walking the gardens, but he has been starting to feel cooped up.
“Yuuri,” Phichit cheers as he steps into the sitting room, having been led there by the house butler. There are already a few people in attendance, Phichit and his sister being two of them. There is also Mr. Ji, Mr. de la Iglesia, who Yuuri has known since childhood, but also Mr. Giacometti and Mr. Nikiforov. Yuuri’s heart treacherously skips a beat. He has not been able to stop thinking about the alpha since that night at the Giacometti dance. He has written many pages in his journal about the encounter, making sure he remembers every detail of it. Ever since then he has had a swelling feeling his chest every time he has thought of the alpha, heart beating rapidly.
“Good day,” Yuuri greets, the alphas getting up to bow in greeting. He looks around the room, seeing the only available spot being on the couch next to Mr. Nikiforov.
“Mr. Katsuki,” Mr. Nikiforov greets, and Yuuri curtsies, hoping he cannot hear his racing heart as he steps closer, sitting down next to him. Yuuri’s nose is suddenly filled with Mr. Nikiforov’s scent, and he cannot help but breathe it in deeply. It’s a lovely scent, truly. Yuuri would like to move closer and press his nose to where it is strongest, but that would be highly improper. “How are you? I must thank you for the dance at Giacometti's ball. I had a lovely time.”
“I am well, thank you,” Yuuri answers, smiling at Phichit who pours him a cup of tea. “I too had a good time. You are quite the dancer.” Mr. Nikiforov beams, his sharp features softening as his heart shaped smile spreads. His eyes glitter, and Yuuri’s heart races even faster in his chest.
“I am glad to hear you say so. I felt I hardly kept up with you,” Mr. Nikiforov says, and Yuuri knows he must just be humoring him. It still colours his cheeks, blood rushing up from the compliment. “Have you been trained in dance?”
“My Aunt Minako thinks dancing reflects on one's character,” Yuuri admits, grabbing the ear of the cup to bring it to his lips. The tea warms him, and Yuuri does not suppress the content hum from the bitter taste on his tongue. “She made sure to school me properly.”
“I shall have to thank her if I ever meet her then,” Mr. Nikiforov says, leaning closer. Yuuri’s sure he’s never had an alpha as close as this, without being on the dancefloor. His silver eyelashes fan out over his cheeks as he blinks, the blue of his eyes mesmerising. The curve of his lips is so close, and Yuuri has never considered anyone's lips before, but surely Mr. Nikiforov’s must be exceptionally tempting. Why else would Yuuri long to lean forward to press his own against them? “Do you attend many dances then?”
“If I am invited and have a chaperone,” Yuuri answers. “I do enjoy it, more so with a good partner. I fear I will have trouble being in attendance in the months to come however.”
“Oh?” Mr. Nikiforov asks, raising an eyebrow. “How so?”
“My sister has officially started courting Miss Crispino, and while I am happy for her, it leaves me without a chaperone,” Yuuri discloses, taking another sip of his tea.
“And your parents?” Mr. Nikiforov asks.
“They are away visiting relatives for a few months more, so I fear the season will truly be over when they return.” Yuuri has never cared much for the season, but it is when most of the dances occur. He seems to mourn the loss of not being able to go now. Perhaps because of how it means he cannot dance with Mr. Nikiforov once more.
“That is dreadful news,” Mr. Nikiforov says, and Yuuri furrows his brows in confusion. “A shame a dancing partner as lovely as yourself would be cooped up at home when he could be out dancing.” Yuuri feels his cheeks stain red, and he curses his expressiveness, the blushing he has never been able to control. How can Mr. Nikiforov express things like this so easily? Yuuri pulls in a long breath to try to calm his racing heart. Mr. Nikiforov’s brows furrow, his eyes darting down to Yuuri’s waist before finding his eyes again.
“Are you alright?” he asks, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “I hope that torture garment is not causing you discomfort again?”
“Oh lord,” Yuuri gasps, scandalized. His entire body floods with embarrassment. “Mr. Nikiforov,” he grits out between clenched teeth. Mr. Nikiforov smiles, a pink tint coloring his own cheeks.
“I am sorry,” he says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I was simply worried.”
Yuuri eyes him suspiciously. He is wearing a corset, of course he is. It was tied by one of the maids this time, and she has no interest in making Yuuri faint, so he can breathe alright. He is breathless today for an entirely different reason. “You are scandalous,” Yuuri points out. “I should never have encouraged it by giving you that dance.”
“Mr. Katsuki!” Mr. Nikiforov gasps, placing a hand over his heart. It looks silly, coming from an adult man. His eyes are wide, as if Yuuri has told him something deeply disturbing. “You wound me so. I shall fall into deep despair if you take that lovely memory away from me.”
“You are ridiculous,” Yuuri says, but he feels a smile curl on his lips nonetheless. Almost all the alphas he knows are far too stiff, nothing like the expressive Mr. Nikiforov, which is a lovely change of pace. “I will not take it back then. I do not wish to cause you such troubles.”
“You are sweet,” Mr. Nikiforov says. “Does that mean I can still get another dance, once we are in a setting that permits it?”
“Perhaps,” Yuuri says slowly. “If I find myself in such a setting while you are in attendance.”
“We must see to it happening,” Mr. Nikiforov states firmly. “Otherwise I shall be forced to dance with you right here.”
Yuuri giggles, he cannot stop the sound from bubbling out of his chest, like bubbles of champagne. Mr. Nikiforov beams, and as he does something settles in Yuuri’s chest. It washes over him, warm and jittery and dangerous.
Oh no, Yuuri thinks. This must be how it feels to fall in love.