[paris] we own the sky [viktor]

Viktor mimicked his friend’s gesture, and turned around on his stool, so he could properly look at the Russian. Arkasha started talking about Paris in a way he’d also thought of the city before. And not just Paris, but Viktor had the same opinion of London, Rome, Madrid, and any Western city in general. He disliked stereotyping, nonetheless all of them just that one feature in common. “They’re just too old, the cities.” The Bulgarian nodded in disapproval, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, yet still let a slight sarcastic smile escape his features.

“They can’t even be compared to Sofia or Moscow, really. Here, it’s just that smell… always.” The smell of old, the smell that probably had been around since the Middle Ages. Truth be told, it was something Viktor really disliked about Western Europe. However, nobody but Arkasha knew of that.

The fact that his friend, who was obviously living in Paris, had still mentioned the smell, meant that even for locals it was noticeable. Honestly, he had no idea why nobody did anything regarding this matter. Should this have happened in Bulgaria, their own Minister of Magic would’ve taken care of the matter with the utmost importance and emergency. Viktor let out a sparkling laugh at his friend’s next remark. “Past the rubbish.” He said between two laughs, gently tapping twice Arkasha’s elbow with his fingers. “As funny as always.”

He nodded in approval at his friend’s following comment, a soft smile appealing on his face. The fact that the former Klyk Vampira enjoyed Paris, and seemed like a Parisian himself – basically was one actually, since his French also seemed to be as good as, if not even better, than a local’s – brought Viktor both joy and sadness. He was happy that his friend had finally found a place where not only he outshined everyone around him, but also that Arkasha seemed to rejuvenated, so excited, so content. The only bitter aspect of this situation was that it was Paris; so far away from Bulgaria.

Viktor drank his own shot of vodka, and later on took the bottle, to pour himself more. While others preferred having wine in Paris, vodka was still his choice. In the end, it was the best drink known to wizard.

The quidditch player let out another laugh, and pat Arkasha’s stomach twice, as the other stuck it out, exaggerating the slight weight gain. “Na’ah.” Viktor let out, winking at his friend. “As handsome as always, if not even more.” Actually, the former Drakonya Krov thought his friend looked better this way; the few kilograms gave him a healthier aura, and the beginnings of a beard added even more to that poetic, artistic aura Arkasha seemed to have. If anything, he looked at his best, and Viktor loved that. He loved Arkasha. An overwhelming feeling of attachment resurfaced, and Viktor did his best to restrain himself; in the end, the Russian wasn’t his Arkasha anymore.
 
Trying to drift off the thought once more, Viktor downed his second glass of vodka, and started pouring himself more. “Oh?” He arched an eyebrow, gaze turning back from the bar’s counter to his friend. “That’s great! I’m happy to hear that.” He was glad the Malenkovs were back into the family; in the end, family was everything. Viktor had desired to ask what happened, how and why things have changed, nonetheless, right now, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. If Arkasha and his family have gotten closer to his mother’s side of the family thanks to his marriage, Viktor wasn’t prepared to digest right now. He needed more time, much more time to cope with this.

He was thankful for the change of subject.

“Yes.” Viktor shrugged, trying to remember what else happened in his life since the last time he’d seen Arkasha. Nonetheless, it was hard thinking of anything else than quidditch, as it was his life. Viktor had very little time for anything else, and truth be told, he didn’t even mind it that much. After his break-up with Wilda, he didn’t even need anything else. “Wilda and I broke up.” He recalled that this occurred only after Arkasha’d left him.

“Our schedules were always so busy that we rarely got to meet.” It was a pity, really. Viktor had really liked the other quidditch player and not only that, but he’d been very serious about their relationship. Wilda had been too. But their ambitions of success in quidditch had been not only a common trait, but also a fault. Neither would compromise and, it was for the best. In the end, their careers had meant more, and Viktor couldn’t even comment on the matter – he’d always liked Wilda’s passion, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“And now, with the World Cup approaching, I need to take a lot of photoshoots and all, for the sponsors.” Viktor sighed, aware that Arkasha knew that such things had always been something he disliked, for they took time, precious time he could’ve used practicing. “I’ll be going to Neroli, and later on to London too. There I advertise for some dragon leather gloves, really good.” Viktor nodded once, grabbing his glass from the counter. “I will send you some. Also, the latest poster.” He downed his third shot, pointing at his friend as he swallowed. “Can’t have your Paris home deprived of all my posters.” He joked, but was half-serious (or even more, really). As Arkasha’s best friend, he had to make his presence known somehow in the other wizard’s house, right?

“The one that will be released once Bulgaria makes the final – “ Viktor added, arching an eyebrow as a playful smile appeared on his face. “ – so good.” Arkasha was surely aware that the seeker never praised his own posters, quite on the contrary, so when Viktor said that this poster was good, it was really amazing. Anything for Bulgaria, even learning how to pose properly for posters. 

Arkasha returned his mate’s wink as he pat his stomach and called him handsome. “More, most likely,” he agreed with a jokingly solemn nod. “Definitely more handsome.” He certainly had more time these days to work out, anyway, and he hadn’t heard any complaints from his wife on the matter. He got a rush of emotion thinking that it would be impossible for Florence and Viktor to get along, considering that had one thing in common -- Arkasha -- and that they would have to agree that they both needed him equally. He could be shared.

He nodded again as Viktor congratulated his family on being included in the extended family celebrations. “It’s a start, anyway.” He shrugged and drank half his glassful. “I’m sure someone will say the wrong thing to the wrong person and feelings will be hurt, all in due time.” It was inevitable, really. The Malenkovs had gone this long not being included in things that it really wasn’t a big stretch to think that their inclusion would be short-lived. But that was neither here nor there and frankly unimportant when there was quidditch to be discussed.

“Oh.” His smile was dashed and Arkasha took a quick swallow from his drink. “That’s not good.” Part of the reason he had felt the need to leave Bulgaria was because Viktor and Wilda were happy together, and as childish as it seemed now, he hadn’t wanted to be around that kind of thing while dealing with the loss of his own relationship, however necessary it had been.

He felt another rush of emotion, though this time it was an overwhelming sadness. He should have been there for him, not only because when Arkasha had been in charge of his schedule, there was always an opportunity to see Wilda if Viktor wanted, but because as the best friend, it was his duty as the best friend. He would have been able to ply him with alcohol when he needed it and extra quidditch when he needed that. Clearing his throat, he was happy that Viktor moved on to continue talking about the World Cup.

“Well as much as you hate photoshoots, I’m glad you’re doing them.” He wouldn’t have been in Paris without one. “And that you can fetch your own coffee now.” He raised his glass on that last sentiment in a toast before finishing it and pouring himself another refill. “I went to London a couple months ago,” he added with a shake of his head. “Not my favorite,” he concluded, as if it wasn’t obvious. He left out the tidbits of stunning half a dozen muggles and breaking his wife out of a muggle jail on one particularly memorable night; that wasn’t important now either.

He flashed Viktor a toothy grin at the mention of his posters. “Who’s to say I haven’t used your face as wallpaper?” But even when he had been managing Viktor’s career, his actual living space had been free of the other man’s visage. He loved him, of course, but he didn’t need any of his guests focusing more on the Seeker than on him. He was willing to bet that Florence was also hiding some Viktor posters from him too -- who couldn’t -- in an attempt to not make him jealous. She was so thoughtful like that.

Not missing the use of the word ‘when’, Arkasha lifted another silent toast to Bulgaria’s inevitable World Cup win, though he certainly didn’t doubt that the poster being described was anything less than ‘good’ so he toasted to that as well. “I hope you’ve gotten better at posing these days,” he said with a smirk, recalling one poster that had sold so poorly it was like they had been trying to sell water to a rain cloud.

“I hate to disappoint the whole of Russia, but there isn’t any way you won’t be winning.”

“It’s alright.” Viktor commented immediately, to ensure Arkasha that his break-up with Wilda hadn’t been an especially sad and emotionally intense event. Yes, they had been together for a long time, and had formed a very good connection, perhaps the best one he’s had since being with Hermione. Nonetheless, Viktor had been aware that it had been impossible for them to work it out in the end. They lived on opposite sides of the continent, both were part of very good Quidditch teams which involved not only a lot of practice, but dedication towards their teams and sponsors as well. Overall, it had been a severe lack of time spent together which had just ended things between them in a natural manner. He’d loved Wilda, and Wilda’d loved him, but if neither would compromise, then it had been only the normal course. He’d been sad about it, yes, but it had all occurred long ago. It was all in the past.

Viktor let out a soft laugh as he placed back his glass on the counter, after downing another shot of vodka. He’d taken the bottle once more, to pour himself another shot. “Well,” He started, obviously amused by the manner in which Arkasha had worded his remark. “I can’t say I’m fond of them now, but I’ve realised how necessary they are. Publicity does wonders for a team’s morale, and Bulgaria definitely needs all the help it can get.” The team had done especially well that year, and their team-work had exceeded any kind of predictions or expectations. Nonetheless, they were all aware that they had to be especially careful, as success always came with a price. So far, it had been hard work on their end, but as a team they also needed to show respect towards their supporters – if publicity offered people delight, photo-shoots and endorsement of certain products, then Viktor could not deny their necessity any longer. He did not like them still, but he could appreciate their true worth.

He nodded in disapproval at Arkasha teasing him regarding being able to get his own coffee, and wondered for a moment if he’d abused his friend during the time he’d been his manager. Viktor felt the overwhelming sentiment of guilt coming back upon him, and decided that he needed to apologise. Downing another shot of vodka, he wondered how he could do that properly. Nonetheless, the flow of their discussion had distracted him momentarily, Viktor letting out a rather loud laugh at Arkasha’s remark regarding London. “Doesn’t really surprise me that you think that way.” He shrugged. “It’s nice, but not my favourite either.” Other European capitals were much prettier, that much was true. Paris, for example. And Paris now had his best friend, so it was one of the best cities in the world, regardless of its unpleasant scents.

“I bet you have no poster of me.” Viktor remarked teasingly, acting slightly offended at the thought. Nonetheless, part of him did hope that Arkasha had at least a picture of them two around his house. However, he had to remind himself once more that the man in front of him wasn’t his best friend anymore; he was a witch’s husband, someone who probably lived in a house decorated suitable to his partner’s taste. Perhaps the wife didn’t even like having photos or posters around. He felt saddened by the thought, nonetheless, regardless of Arkasha’s wife’s preferences, Viktor would send his friend the latest poster. He wanted back in Arkasha’s life, and wouldn’t back away now that he’d reunited with his brother.

“I’ve been told I’m the best at posing these days.” Viktor replied, pouring himself more vodka. He then toasted for Bulgaria’s success, and smirked as he heard Arkasha’s words. “I don’t know, I think that should Bulgaria play against Russia, Veronika Nikolayevna would make it her mission to make me disappear for a few days.” The Bulgarian let out a laugh, grabbing the vodka bottle once more, and pouring more of the alcoholic beverage into both of their glasses. “And Egypt has done well this year. I have confidence we will make it to the final though.” He nodded once in approval, and then shifted in his seat, to face Arkasha properly.

“Look.” Viktor started, placing his free hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I need to say this.” He paused for a moment, gathering up all the courage he could find within him. “I’m sorry if I made things hard for you in Bulgaria. You obviously had chosen the wrong career path then, and I hope that it’s not some dark period in your life that you want to forget forever. I enjoyed working with you a lot, and you were the best manager I could have asked for. I apologise if you felt that you had to leave Bulgaria and Russia because of me.” Viktor’s grasp on his friend’s shoulder tightened a bit, revealing his state of nervousness. He could only hope Arkasha would forgive him for being such an awful friend in the past.

“Not my favorite,” he agreed with a laugh, taking a turn with the bottle to pour himself another refill. Paris was still growing on him, sure, and of course he would always have a soft spot for Moscow, but London could not come close to comparing. It just didn’t have the sort of homey-charm that other cities managed to have, or something like that. After half a bottle of vodka, it really didn’t matter why he didn’t like London, only that Viktor agreed with him.

Arkasha grinned and shrugged. There were posters of Viktor somewhere -- on top of the wardrobe, maybe? -- but now he was going to hold out for one of the fancy new World Cup winning posters. “Can you blame me for wanting to decorate with posters of myself instead?” He raised an eyebrow knowingly, patting his stomach again in the same affectionate manner that Viktor had just moments before. “I’ll have to put away some of the more… delicate pieces of artwork before you come over.” He tugged at his collar, clearly implying that his flat was decorated with nothing but nude portraits of himself.

He coughed on his drink at the mention of Veronika Nikolayevna. Just days ago they had seen each other for the first time in a long time but more unfortunately: they had found themselves enjoying each others’ presence. They had quickly abandoned everything then, and he thought that it was in the past once again. He certainly hadn’t anticipated her being brought up again by Viktor. Arkasha was close to telling him about their little run-in, but stopped himself short as he realized everything had happened at a family event, and that might require more explanation than he was really willing to give.

In his mild panic Arkasha had missed the rest of Viktor’s humble and modest speech about quidditch, and he looked mildly alarmed as Viktor grabbed ahold of his shoulder. Had he really missed something that important? Had Arkasha missed a telling invitation to compliment his mate on his quidditch skills again? Instinctively, Arkasha placed his hand on Viktor’s shoulder as well, blinking through the slight haze of vodka that was starting to creep into his field of vision.

He hadn’t been expecting what followed next: Viktor was apologizing to him. Arkasha had been the one to abandon their friendship, Viktor’s career, but he found himself nodding along instead of trying to correct him. had he guilted him into this? He didn’t think he had, but he also couldn’t recall their entire conversation from that afternoon. Viktor was wrong about everything, of course, but he couldn’t correct him. Not now, not this long after everything had transpired. He had missed his chance to come clean two years ago.

Instead, he nodded again, accepting Viktor’s apology like it had actually been warranted. He squeezed Viktor’s shoulder, keeping eye contact for another few seconds before finally offering: “You’ve been having too many of those girly drinks, Vitya.” But he leaned in and placed a kiss on the other man’s cheek, clapping him hard on the back as he straightened up. It felt good, right, to be back with his brother after so long.

There was a pen lying on the bar a couple seats down and he snatched it up, fishing his book from his pocket with his other hand. “It’s the least I can do.” He flipped the book to the title page and signed his name with a flourish that could put even Viktor’s official autograph to shame. It was in Russian cursive and completely illegible, but that was half the charm. He closed the book and slid it along the bar to rest in front of his friend, smiling one more time as he added, “You know you were the only redeeming quality that Bulgaria had to offer.”