The Outline of Our Lives

Part 1

"Fresh air!" exclaims Yuuri in his tourist-guidebook Korean ("You just said 'ozone,' but in a creepy way," Seung Gil informs him in English), then Yuuri and Phichit are spilling out the back door together, laughing and grabbing at each other and bumping hips as they stagger down the alley. Yuuri's got four drinks and a whole lot of dance in him: "Hurry," he urges as Phichit sucks in deep, giggly breaths, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Music crashes out behind them, and Yuuri makes a fist and extends random fingers, struggling for the sign of the horns. "This is my jam!"

"Every song tonight has been your jam," Phichit points out. "Put your middle finger down."

"DJ Yuuri!" says Yuuri. He seizes Phichit around the waist and twirls him; lets Phichit take the lead when he stumbles into a row of trash cans. "Yuuri van Buren. Yuuri Brings the Bass."

"Spin that shit," says Phichit, helping him to his feet.

"Op-oppa Yuuri style!"

That gets them laughing all over again, and they lean into each other, holding hands for balance. Phichit surges forward and kisses Yuuri hard, closed-mouthed and friendly. Yuuri kisses back. The two of them get affectionate when they're drunk, much to the delight of Victor—who is god knows where right now. Probably doing Jell-o shots off of Christophe's abs. Yuuri licks the taste of gin and margaritas out of Phichit's mouth and then pulls back, grinning. He's just parting his lips to say something when he hears it behind him:

"I love watching girls kiss."

Yuuri and Phichit turn. There're three guys standing there, two locals and a blond, like the beginning of a bad joke. They're all smoking. The guy in the blue baseball cap offers the pack to Phichit, who waves him off, chin high. He's grossed out by the girl comment. Yuuri would be too if he weren't so dizzy from turning too fast. He sticks out his tongue, hunches over a bit. Phichit rubs his back.

"You babes sit in sugar?" asks the blond. "Because you got some sweet little asses." He flicks his cigarette aside and slings a heavy elbow around Yuuri's shoulders, making his knees buckle a little.

Phichit gingerly picks up the sleeve of the man's coat and uses it to lift his arm off of Yuuri, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "We're going back inside," he says, huffing.

"No, stay here. Let's chat," says Blue Hat man.

Phichit starts around him, but he places a hand on the door, pinning it shut. There's a metallic click as the lock latches.

It's only then that Yuuri starts getting little tingles of fear. All three men are huge, and they're too damn close, boxing them into the small stairwell that leads back into the club. Phichit stares up at them through his eyelashes, not lifting his head. He's wearing his favorite silver leggings and a loose, oversized top that Blue tweaks a bit at the bottom, teasing. Phichit grabs his fingers, shoves them back. He resets one foot slightly in front of Yuuri, pushing him behind him. "Leave us alone," Phichit says, voice bobbing almost imperceptibly, but Yuuri hears it, and he knows that the men do, too.

It happens so fast.

Blue grabs Phichit by the wrists and drags him into an unwilling kiss. Phichit twists away, protesting, and that's when the blond's hand flashes out and across his face, heaving his whole arm into the blow. Phichit falls hard off the stairs. Yuuri hears the breath whoosh out of him. He starts forward to help him up, but the third, silent man seizes him around the waist and hauls him off his feet. Yuuri yells, thrashing.

"Put me down! Put me down! Victor—"

"Toss him here," the blond urges, and suddenly Yuuri's being thrown back and forth between the laughing men, unable to get his footing. They don't let him fall, but they don't let him stand, either: they're shoving him around like a ragdoll, grabbing at his shorts, his hair, hauling his coat off his shoulders until it's tugging at his arms, restrictive as a straightjacket. Yuuri cries out. He can't help it. He only stops when he sees Blue place one tender foot in the center of Phichit's chest, pinning him in place as he reaches for the zipper on his own jeans.