#more of that weird school au with zero context or explanation

[humans-are-tasty]

[min-minn]

Symphony - Chapter Two

A03

Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, tenor prodigy and top student at the Salchow Institute of Music, is looking for an accompanist.

And word around campus is that Yakov Feltsman, Head of Music and conductor of the prestigious Institute Band, is looking for new members.

Yuuri Katsuki is just looking to survive his next Piano recital

OR

The Yuri on CONCERT Music School AU that we all deserve

Pairings: Viktor Nikiforov/ Yuuri Katsuki

Rating: Teen And Up

Content Warning: Anxiety

A/N:

It’s 1:30am and I have absolutely zero regrets.

FIRST CAN I JUST SAY, please go and watch this beautiful little scene from La Bohéme if you can. It’ll make the context of this chapter that much clearer. Tru me. It’s so worth it.

I SHOULD SLEEP BUT I'M TOO EXCITED. YUURI YOU'RE A DUMBASS.

I meant for this chapter to have far more included, but the scene itself suddenly grew into something much larger, so I cut the chapter off a little. The next one will probably be up sometime tomorrow, depending~

La Bohéme is just so beautiful I'm: love. The part where Viktor speaks to Yuuri through the mirror ( Vuole?) is the part where Ridolfo asks "May I?" to Mimi, wanting to share more of himself with her. I never thought the song would layer this beautifully with Viktor and Yuuri's story it's just so *dramatic sigh* BEAUTIFUL.

As always, hit me with all your comments, questions, criticisms, ideas. Anything and everything, it feeds me.

I found a nice version with English subtitles because the lyrics are just *wheeze* achingly beautiful. Though the music would sound slightly different with just piano, the singing would be more or less the same~

Much operatic and overly dramatic love as always,

- Min

Translations/ explanations:

"Che Gelida Manina" - what a cold hand/ what a frozen little hand. This is the name of the aria, but is also the first line that kicks the scene off where Ridolfo finds Mimi's hand in the dark. (IT'S COLD BECAUSE SHE'S SICK PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A TRAGEDY I'M STILL NOT OVER IT)

"Vuole?" - May I? A lyric from the aria.

"прекрасный" - Beautiful (same as the last chapter, though Yuuri's too Flustered™ to figure that much out~)

"Chi son" - Who am I? A lyric from the aria.

It took a while for Yuuri to register that the rushing sound in his ears was his own heartbeat.

“She didn’t tell you? That’s odd,” Yuuri heard Viktor’s voice coming at him from across the room, but it was like sound through water. He could hardly hear him, let alone mentally register what on earth was going on.

Eventually, he managed to calm himself enough to form syllables.

“Ah, yeah. Seems so,” Yuuri’s voice cracked at the end and he quickly ducked his head to avoid seeing the other man’s reaction.

“My apologies,” Viktor said softly. The tone seemed … strange, somehow. Yuuri furrowed his brow.

Why was Viktor sorry?

“No, it’s fine. She likes to tease me,” Yuuri said, voice small. He ran his fingers through his hair absently, feeling his brain kick into autopilot as the imminent anxiety attack threatened to take over all of his faculties.

And it should have been Yuuri apologising. Right at that moment, he felt like he should be apologising to the whole world for just existing.

It didn’t make any sense. The whole scenario, from start to finish, felt like a monumental nightmare. Viktor was here, Viktor had heard him play, Viktor wanted to practice with him…

Something gnawed at the edges of Yuuri’s mind and he spoke before he could think.

“Why are you here, anyway?” and the words were gone from his mouth before he could stop them. Of course. Of course he’d put his foot in it. And Viktor’s slight flinch was all he needed to confirm he’d really, really put his foot in it.

“I’m sorry! I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Yuuri reached his hand out, almost like he was trying to grab the words and stuff them back in his stupid mouth.

Viktor blinked, a strange expression flashing across his features. But then he broke into a dazzling smile. Yuuri suddenly found it hard to stand.

“You mean, why am I at this studio?” Viktor caught on quickly. Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.

“Well, let’s just say I was tipped off to a great accompanist,” Viktor said, winking and giving Yuuri a lopsided smirk. “But really … hmmm. I just wanted something different, I guess.”

Yuuri blinked, trying to force his brain to keep pace.

A great accompanist?

Yuuri was distantly aware of the fact that Viktor was still speaking, and he found himself moving to sit on the piano stool slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from Viktor’s lips as they moved.

“The SIM studios are great, don’t get me wrong. But they’re a bit too clinical for me. Am I making sense? Sorry, I’m probably not making any sense,” and as Viktor’s voice tapered off, Yuuri gaped as he watched the strangest gesture he’d ever seen play out before his very eyes.

Viktor was … shuffling his feet?

Was he nervous?

“Anyway, I hope it’s not too much trouble,” Viktor said suddenly, taking a tentative step towards where Yuuri was now seated at the grand. Yuuri swallowed thickly.

“No, of course not,” he all but breathed, hoping Viktor couldn’t hear just how much he didn’t mind.

Viktor smiled with relief, visibly calming as his shoulders relaxed. “That’s good,” his voice sounded breathy. Low. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

Yuuri was glad he’d sat down.

Around the monumental planetary shift that appeared to be taking place all around him, Yuuri managed to kick his brain into gear, adjusting his glasses, working on keeping his heart firmly in his chest.

“Wh—What can I help you with?” he asked softly as he adjusted his music, desperate to do something with his hands to make sure he came across as somewhat in control of his own body.

“Well,” Viktor started, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away sheepishly. “I was going to ask if I could dance, but…” he chewed absently on his lower lip, “I really just wanted to see if you’d help me with my aria.”

Yuuri blinked.

“Your … aria?”

“Yeah. Apparently, I’m performing for NYCO this season,” Viktor rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “I’ve been practicing at home but, well, my piano skills are almost non-existent,” Viktor laughed then, high and melodic. Yuuri swallowed.

Viktor wanted Yuuri … to help him practice his aria?

“Che Gelida Manina?” Yuuri asked automatically, voice wooden. Viktor paused, glancing back at him with a slightly surprised expression. Oh, because, of course. Of course Yuuri shouldn’t know that Viktor was going to be playing Rodolfo. Shouldn’t know about La Bohéme, or the tenor aria, or, or…

“Wow,” Viktor said in a hushed voice, taking another step across the floor.

“You know about La Bohéme?” Viktor asked, his face moulding into an expression that looked … like awe?

“Uh… yes?” Yuuri squeaked, trying to look anywhere but Viktor’s eyes.

“That’s amazing!” the other man cried, suddenly reaching past the piano and clasping Yuuri’s hands in his own. Yuuri spluttered, hoping the other man couldn’t feel just how ridiculously clammy his own hands were all of a sudden.

“Most people at SIM aren’t interested in Opera,” Viktor said with a strange glint in his eyes. “The only other Classical Majors I’ve met are just doing it for the rep,” Viktor was seemingly oblivious to Yuuri’s ridiculously red face and strange choking noises he seemed to be making at the back of his throat.

Because Viktor still hadn’t let go of his hands.

“It’s such a beautiful aria!” he continued wistfully, voice lifting adorably high like a child’s. “There’s something so enchanting about serenading someone like that. Baring your soul and hoping you can get to know them…” Viktor sighed, finally releasing Yuuri’s hands and reaching to tuck his hair back behind his ear which had fallen across his eyes in his excitement. After a moment, he seemed to calm, suddenly realising where he was and glancing back at Yuuri with a side-eye that suggested he was a little embarrassed.

“S—Sorry, I probably sound like a total nerd,” he laughed nervously.

Yuuri instantly shook his head, stammering desperately; “N—No! I… I like it too. That. I like that … about it … too…” and oh God, the floor looked so inviting. He just wanted to curl up in the fetal position and sink under the floorboards. What was he saying?

But when Yuuri dared to look up, he saw that Viktor was smiling at him. And it was a kind smile.

“I’m so happy you agree,” Viktor replied, moving quickly across the floor to where his coat was bundled on the chair. He was rummaging through the pockets, little noises escaping him as he searched. Yuuri bit his lower lip, trying not to think about how adorable it was.

“Here, I even have the sheet music,” Viktor eventually said proudly, producing a rather scrunched set of papers, messily folded over themselves. Yuuri blanched – he’d seen students mistreat sheet music before, and he was no exception - remembering his own slightly crumpled pieces that were still tucked into his beaten-up old satchel. But this was a different kind of hubris. It was like a half-forgotten receipt you’d find at the back of your wallet.

Suddenly Yuuri was laughing.

Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of the entire situation, or perhaps - and far more likely - it was his absolutely frayed nerves after such a roller coaster of a day. But he just couldn’t seem to stop himself from laughing, starting with a snort and a giggle, hands clasped over his mouth to try and stem the tide. But sure enough, it turned into a full-blown laugh within seconds.

And Viktor’s shocked expression seemed to add fuel to the fire.

Yuuri wiped the corners of his eyes, taking off his glasses for a moment to try and stop the tears. It was just too much.

He managed to calm down enough to look back up at Viktor, glasses still in his hands.

“прекрасный,” Viktor said softly.

Yuuri furrowed his brow, replacing his glasses and coughing to try and settle his nerves. That was probably rude. Probably weird. He shouldn’t have laughed like that.

“I’m … sorry, I don’t speak Russian,” he said apologetically, still grinning at the thought of Viktor Nikiforov stuffing sheet music in his pockets like a high school kid.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Viktor said with a strange little cough, shuffling his feet and offering Yuuri another brilliant grin. “I slip into it sometimes. Not wise, seeing as I should be learning Italian!”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile in response – something about Viktor’s easy manner made it all too easy to respond in kind.

“I shouldn’t have laughed. It’s just … the poor sheet music,” and Yuuri snorted again, ducking his head in embarrassment and trying to stop another bout of giggles.

“Ah, well,” Viktor laughed nervously. “I’ve never been very good at taking care of things,” Viktor was rubbing the back of his neck, brow creased apologetically. He handed Yuuri the crumpled pieces of paper. “I hope they’re still legible?”

Yuuri smothered another giggle. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” He swallowed. He couldn’t exactly explain to Viktor that he already knew the piece off by heart. The last few months after the NYCO’s cast announcement, Yuuri had suddenly grown quite fond of La Bohéme.

And Yuuri soon realised, as he moved to sit at the stool once again and arrange the music in front of him, that being able to laugh in front of Viktor seemed to have taken the edge off of his anxiety. He suddenly found it was quite easy to speak with him. It helped that the man simply oozed charisma, like some kind of incense lamp, overflowing with the stuff. But there was something else that Yuuri couldn’t quite put his finger on. It reminded him of how he felt when he’d walked into Minako’s studio earlier. Like home.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Viktor asked in a small voice, peering over Yuuri’s shoulders at the music. “To accompany me, I mean?”

Yuuri smiled at him, nodding his response. There was still a distant sense of dread at the back of his mind. Like everything was going to come crashing down around him soon because this was just too good to be true.

But that sense of being at home – being at ease – wouldn’t leave either.

“I’m glad,” Viktor said happily, suddenly touching Yuuri’s shoulder. The gesture was friendly enough – just a simple touch to show his gratitude. But the sensation sent sparks through Yuuri’s veins all the same, his heart leaping against his ribcage which was ridiculous because it was just a simple touch on the shoulder and—

“Shall we begin?” Viktor asked gently, cocking his head to the side and letting his hair drift down across his eye in a gesture that seemed to be his signature. Yuuri swallowed.

“Sure thing,” he breathed. A bit at a loss, Yuuri adjusted his glasses and turned to focus intently on the music in front of him. He noted the time signature, key, and tempo mechanically, making quick mental adjustments to the piece he knew so well already.

“Just as it's written?” he asked, not daring to peek over the piano as Viktor moved to the other side.

“Yeh, if that’s okay?” Viktor asked. He was facing the wall of mirrors, looking back at Yuuri through them with a slightly concerned expression.

“Of course,” Yuuri said softly, moving to rest his fingers over the familiar keys. He would be the one to start the piece, with Viktor joining a few bars in. Yuuri knew how important it was to take cues correctly when accompanying, following the singer’s lead as best he could. Still, he mentally prepared himself, fully expectant of some kind of fallout when he eventually messed it all up.

He glanced over at Viktor expectantly, watching him through the mirror. But the other man had his eyes closed, lips moving infinitesimally, almost like a prayer, though Yuuri figured he was counting from the way his hand tapped against his leg in a soft rhythm. Yuuri tried to follow the tempo in his mind, absently tapping his own foot lightly over the foot pedals.

Viktor opened his eyes, expression determined, and gave Yuuri a small nod.

And Yuuri’s fingers danced across the keys.

The song was pure muscle memory for Yuuri at this point, his fingers gliding and twisting across the keys as easy as breathing. There was a nervousness at first, but that strange, disarming sense of being at home still resonated somewhere in his chest. Despite himself, Yuuri could feel his eyes closing, mind drifting into the music like it was coming from somewhere far deeper than just his fingers.

And then Viktor’s cue came, and he started singing.

Yuuri had also accompanied classical singers before. It was slightly trickier than most other genres, on account of having to work in sync with the singer so intimately. Yuuri found he usually struggled to fit well with whoever he was accompanying, often awkwardly catching up or forcing himself to slow as the singer took the lead. And that was fine, since the music would often follow the singer, in most cases. However, the accompanist had to know when to lead as well. It was like a dance – intricately woven through a mutual understanding of what kind of music they wanted to create together.

With Viktor it was different.

Yuuri had only heard famous singers perform this particular aria – Pavarotti was what came to mind first, though Yuuri had also sifted through a few other performers. Their renditions were famous for a reason, though he knew, from the first, that it wouldn’t take long for Viktor’s name to be added to the ranks.

Because his voice was like an entirely new instrument. His pitch was perfect, inflection and pronunciation flawless, vocal control beyond anything Yuuri had ever heard before. As he fell into the next passage, Yuuri wondered distantly at how much strength Viktor would have had to have built up to be able to sing in such a way. His voice carried so strongly Yuuri could feel it vibrating through the piano under his fingers, sending strange sensations up and along his arms.

Viktor was dragging the words ever so slightly, eyes closed as he tried to convey the emotion behind the lyrics. Yuuri wasn’t too sure what the direct translation was, though he’d looked it up often enough in the past to understand the general feeling of it.

The aria’s story followed Rodolfo, a playwright who falls in love with his neighbour Mimi, and their meeting in a dark attic. It was hailed as one of the more romantic Operatic moments, Mimi searching for her keys in the dark, Rodolfo fumbling along beside her and reaching for her hand, serenading her on the spot. Not to mention the fact it all takes place on Christmas Eve.

Yuuri fell in with Viktor’s tempo easily, vaguely remembering that this was the part where Rodolfo began to tell Mimi about himself. Began to open up.

And as he glanced up towards the mirror, he could see Viktor opening – or more, blossoming - in response to the lyrics. His face had melted into an expression of pure vulnerability, arms lifting and outstretching towards the invisible woman he was serenading. Yuuri swelled his playing to match Viktor’s passion, embellishments coming easy and flowing off the tips of his fingers like water, mixing with Viktor’s voice in a way that was almost hypnotic.

And Viktor slowed his pace, opening his eyes lazily – almost coyly – as he asked a question to the mirror:

“Vuole?”

Yuuri blinked.

Viktor’s eyes were pure sapphire under the soft studio lights, glistening and overwhelming as they pierced him through the mirror.

It took Yuuri a while to realise he had stopped playing entirely.

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice rang clear through the studio as he addressed him, still melodic, but jarringly different to the soft notes of the aria he had been singing just before.

And Viktor was still staring at him, though his face slowly creased into an expression of genuine concern, the act completely forgotten.

Yuuri gasped for air, realising his fingers were completely frozen over the keys. Why had he stopped? What was happening?

Had he just imagined…?

“S—Sorry! Let’s try it again,” he rushed to reposition, flicking his eyes over the music in front of him. “From the first Chi son, yes?” Yuuri felt his tongue stumble over the strange words, absently chewing on his lower lip to try and bull through the embarrassment.

“Please,” Viktor said softly, glancing down at his feet.

Yuuri forced his hands to move, certain that Viktor could hear just how rapidly his heart was thudding in his ribcage. He awkwardly picked up a few bars where Viktor was due to begin, pressing out the melody mechanically. Soon Viktor was humming along with the notes, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes before he picked back up at the start of the passage.

They eventually fell back into a steady rhythm, Yuuri finding he was able to focus entirely on the sounds and swell of Viktor’s voice far easier when he wasn’t looking at him. The sound was still beautiful – heartachingly so, at points. It didn’t take long for Yuuri’s initial embarrassment at his mistake to fade as he let himself be enveloped by the music once again. Embellishments began flourishing in between Viktor’s words, lifting and swelling as the song grew to a crescendo.

Yuuri’s eyes were closed as they finished, his last gentle chords echoing through the studio.

As reality filtered through Yuuri’s mind, he felt Viktor’s eyes on him once again. With a jolt, he snapped his own eyes open, glancing around and finding Viktor staring at him directly this time, turned away from the mirror and peering over the lid of the grand. He looked…

Yuuri furrowed his brow.

Viktor didn’t say anything, just stood there, staring in a way that started to make Yuuri wildly self-conscious.

“S—Sorry,” he whispered again, desperate to fill the silence. “I’ve never … been very good at Puccini.”

Viktor seemed confused at his words, still staring intently. He opened his mouth, seemingly unable to respond as his lips opened and closed.

“V—Viktor?” Yuuri moved to stand.

“No! I mean…” Viktor passed a hand over his face and Yuuri felt his stomach drop uncomfortably. It was terrible. It must have been. He’d lost himself again – he was hardly aware of what he’d even played. Unprofessional. A complete lack of discipline, just like Madame Baranovskaya had said—

“It was beautiful,” Viktor said in a soft voice, hand still covering his eyes as he spoke. He had one hand on his hip, and all Yuuri could think was that he must be lying, standing there like some kind of impatient teacher disappointed in his student.

“Hardly,” Yuuri whispered, clearing his throat to try and work away the painful lump that had started forming there.

He’d fucked it up.

He’d fucked it all up.

“It’s … getting late,” Yuuri said eventually, shuffling the crumpled papers into a neater pile and placing them gently on top of Viktor’s coat. He was suddenly desperate to get out of that studio, desperate to get home and sit in the shower for hours. Maybe listen to some depressing jazz. Maybe ball his eyes out.

“Yes,” Viktor agreed in a clipped voice, carding his hand through his hair and glancing off towards the windows behind Yuuri, not meeting his eye.  

Yuuri moved to gather his things, gripping his satchel like it was some kind of lifeline before he began to leave. He could hear Viktor rustling through his own things behind him, heels tapping on the floorboards as he moved to join him at the door.

Yuuri would have to lock up, he thought absently as he noted the time on the clock above the door. Minako’s receptionist had surely gone home by now. And Yuuri might have to wait for the next bus. Luckily, he’d remembered his gloves despite the panic of the morning, so he wouldn’t completely freeze to death while he waited.

They made their way to the front door, Yuuri remembering to flick the lights off as they went with Viktor a few steps behind him. Every second that passed felt like an eternity as Yuuri’s thoughts spiralled into a dark whirlpool of nervousness. He’d made an absolute fool out of himself, that much was undeniably certain. Had probably managed to tarnish Minako’s reputation as well. She’d clearly been the one to recommend Yuuri as an accompanist. He wondered how he was going to make it up to her…

Once they reached the main door, Yuuri paused and held it open for Viktor, wincing slightly as the bitterly cold night air swirled in from outside. He shrugged his scarf closer, half hiding his face in its folds as he stared at the floor. He watched on as Viktor’s shoes drifted past slowly. Once Viktor was outside, Yuuri busied himself with the door, flicking out his set of keys and locking the studio, checking the handle. Twice.

He’d expected Viktor to already be moving away at that point, so he was a little surprised to turn and find himself face to face with him. The other man seemed to still be staring at him intensely, and Yuuri instinctively reached up to his face to make sure he didn’t have anything stuck there.

“Thank you, Yuuri,” Viktor said suddenly, breath puffing out in clouds. “I really appreciate you … taking the time.” The words sounded almost awkward, and Yuuri squinted to try and figure out exactly what kind of expression Viktor was making. Was he annoyed? Frustrated at Yuuri’s lacklustre performance? Angry?

“Anytime,” Yuuri mumbled into his scarf, ducking his head and tucking the keys back into his satchel.

“Really?” Viktor asked, suddenly stepping closer, voice rising in excitement. Yuuri blinked, struggling to respond;

“What do you me—”

“—You’d do it again?” Viktor interrupted, almost breathless as he stepped even closer. Yuuri was momentarily distracted by the little puffs of hot air that escaped Viktor’s lips and circled in the breeze just above his own face.

“I—If you want,” Yuuri managed to say, voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor worried at his bottom lip, glancing down to the pavement between them. His eyebrows drew together, like he was trying to calculate something very important on the spot.

“I do,” he said suddenly, meeting Yuuri’s gaze. His face was serious, and it seemed like he was trying to get a message across as he stared, eyes slightly worried…

“O—Okay,” was all Yuuri could squeak out, that same rushing sound thudding in his ears as his heart picked up again. Because Viktor was close. Really close. Close enough that Yuuri could see the soft flush at the tip of Viktor’s nose…

“I—I’ll find you on campus, then?” Viktor asked.

“Sure…” Yuuri breathed, though it took a moment for his brain to catch up. “O—Or, I could just give you my number?”

Viktor’s brow shot up and Yuuri felt his stomach sink again. Was that too forward? Was it normal for them to exchange numbers? Was there a guidebook for how to ask a tenor to let you accompany them?

“Yes! Of course! Here’s my phone,” Viktor stuffed his hands into his pockets, rummaging for a moment and muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Was he speaking Russian again?

He suddenly produced a rather large – and almost obnoxiously expensive – smartphone with a flashy cover. It even had a ring at the end for charms, a little chibi poodle dangling off it, catching the streetlight and flashing. Viktor all but crammed the phone into Yuuri’s hands.

“Add your number and I’ll text you,” he said quickly.

Yuuri took a moment to woodenly punch his number in. The phone was huge – his thumbs hardly reaching across the screen as he tried to type out his full name in. He handed it back to Viktor gently.

“Thank you Yuuri,” Viktor said, offering him a warm smile as he held his phone in both hands. Yuuri tucked his face deeper into his scarf, desperate to hide as much of the blush that was creeping across his cheeks as he could.

“Let me know when best suits you…” Yuuri heard himself say, though his voice sounded very distant, like someone else was speaking. Why was Viktor acting like this? Was he trying to make Yuuri feel better? He’d clearly botched the whole thing – surely Viktor wouldn’t want to repeat it?

“I will. Are you okay to get home on your own?” Viktor asked, concern creasing his brow. Yuuri nodded, glancing down the street.

“There’s a bus soon that’ll take me right to our apartment,” he said, leaning out to see if he could see it coming already. There was a bus at a far set of traffic lights that looked like it might be the one he was after.

He heard Viktor make a strange sound, though the traffic was loud enough that Yuuri couldn’t quite be sure he hadn’t just imagined it. He glanced back, lifting his hand awkwardly in a wave.

“See you,” he said, turning quickly on his heels. He heard Viktor’s “Goodbye,” though he didn’t turn back to see if he’d waved or not. He couldn’t. It was impossible.

He was sure that if he ever looked at Viktor’s face again, his heart would stop completely.