Chapter Text
They meet in the heat of battle.
The mage comes to his aide when he’s surrounded by fire and deafened by the screeching of evil spirits near the eastern waterfalls. There’s a whirl of blue ice suddenly, stepping between him and his enemy and just a flash of teeth in a quick smile. Their movements match the other’s effortlessly, a predetermined partnership weaving itself as they dodge attacks and try their best offensive, sweat dripping from both their brows.
It’s been twelve years since the fight against the nymphs began; three since it became serious enough that the roads aren’t safe. People say it takes a dozen men to take down one of their basic spirits.
They do it between the two of them in under ten minutes.
“What’s your name?” the mage asks, lips curling into a smirk. There’s no trace of the spirit left, just the residual faint smell of rotting apples in the air, the most surefire way to know if nymph magic is involved.
He looks up from where he’s leaning against one of the rocks that make up the waterfalls. It’s almost impossible to hear him over the wind and the rushing water, but somehow the mage’s voice reaches him without trouble, clear and strong. He has an accent. The knight wipes his sword against the rock on instinct, sliding it smoothly; it doesn’t have any blood - spirits don’t bleed -, but old habits die hard.
He meets the mage’s eyes, and smiles, slightly shy. He hasn’t seen a mage that powerful in the last decade, and certainly not one that beautiful and kind enough to help him when he was in need. “I’m Yuuri.”
“Yuuri,” the mage repeats, his voice curling over the syllables like he’s licking honey, savouring every drop. He has an accent, his consonants resonate in a way he’s never heard before. The mage smiles back at him, relaxing his smirk, and holds out his gloved hand, “Hey, Yuuri, I like you. I’m Victor.”
…
“Oh my god,” Yuri groans, burying his face in his hands and pretending to barf. “What the hell is that bastard doing? ”
“Who are you talking about?” Victor smiles, moving to ruffle his hair and pouting when the teenager hisses at him, recoiling and raising his arms to protect himself. He’s in that age. “Did you make a skater cry again?”
“Stop bringing that up, I was twelve the last time it happened,” Yuri groans, as if it wasn’t simply three years ago, but a distant era in the past. Victor will never get over how teenagers measure time. “And I’m talking about Yuuri Katsuki, otherwise known as a walking fucking disaster.” He grabs Victor’s shoulder, shaking him a little, and points him in the direction of the ballroom, where people are gathering to chat, forming small groups that are divided into which complexity of English one can speak, and if they’ve known the other skaters for some time. Following Yuri’s finger, he looks in its direction.
Victor’s eyes go wide, jaw dropping open. His breath hitches.
Yuuri Katsuki (he’s heard of the name before, a champion in Japan - great step sequences, last place this final) is dancing .
He’s dancing, completely free, in front of all the exhausted athletes and expensive patrons. His hair is messier than it was during his programs, a bit longer now, which Victor thinks is a great improvement, and it’s far easier to notice that his trousers fit him almost ridiculously well when he’s moving around without the edge of nervousness competition brings. Every aspect of him seems liberating; his shirt buttons are undone, his eyes shut, and his hands are clapping to the music, following the rhythm perfectly.
Honestly, Victor thinks, he looks like he’s having the time of his life.
Before his eyes, Yuuri lets out a short, delighted laugh as the music picks up, sinking to his knees and jumping back up in a sudden movement, receiving a loud whoop from where Mila is talking to her friend. Yuuri notices and waves at her, winking and falling to the floor again with expert control.
Victor can’t help but think, He’s beautiful .
On cue, he takes his phone out, giggling like a schoolboy, “I’m taking a video of this.”
“To share online?” Yuri raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you were that cold, Nikiforov. The guy’s drunk off his ass.”
“Um,” Victor doesn’t say, No, I wanted to take a video so I can watch it during my lonely, lonely nights and cry about how pretty this man is . “Yeah, I won’t share it. Just - for other stuff.”
Like crying . And debating whether or not to send him a Facebook friend request at 2 am.
The young skater huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “And anyway, it’s pretty fucking sad.” He turns his nose up, “That dancing’s terrible.”
Victor smirks, “It is?” Frankly, he thinks it’s absolutely mesmerizing and yes, zoom in, Victor, good man. He yelps, excited, when Yuuri starts jumping around, humming and smiling. “So you think you could do better?”
Yuri frowns at him, scoffing, offended, “I know I could do better.”
“Hm,” Victor flutters his eyelashes. “Can you prove it?”
The skater’s eyes narrow.
It takes him ten more seconds of innocently sipping his glass while struggling not to drop his phone (that’s still recording), and then Yuri is marching up to Yuuri Katsuki and break dancing it out.
Victor’s laughing like he hasn’t in months ; snapping pictures, clapping along when either of them manages a pretty risky move, and politely awwwing for Yuri when he loses, rubbing his shoulders in reassurance. Well, what did he expect, going up against such an obvious master of the craft? God, Victor needs to fan himself after watching Yuuri Katsuki slide on the floor without a care in the world. The only thing missing is a stripper pole.
It’s maybe because he’s thinking about Yuri, wondering if he’ll develop an eternal grudge against Katsuki, or because he looks away from the man for a few seconds to steady himself ( don’t embarrass yourself against a king, Victor, this is your only chance to look good! ), that he doesn’t notice Yuuri standing in front of him until he turns around to find him waiting there.
Their noses are almost touching.
Yuuri smells like champagne, and sweat, and he’s panting, blinking rapidly. He has the hugest smile on his face Victor’s ever seen, something so purely joyful that it tugs at his heartstrings. Clumsily but firmly, he bows a little, wobbling as he goes down, and holds out his hand, beaming, “Dance with me, Victor?”
He’s got a slight accent, and his speech is slurred from being drunk as fuck, obviously. This is silly, and there’s people here who pay for Victor’s livelihood who probably don’t want to see him dance it out with the person who got last place, no matter how much Victor doesn’t care about that. Plus, he doesn’t know the guy at all, really, he could be a jerk who just dances really nicely.
And yet, Victor, feeling like his heart might burst from his chest, doesn’t hesitate before taking his hand, breathing out, “I’d love to.”, and letting himself be led.
…
Victor and Yuuri get to know each other slowly.
It’s not easy to travel, even if it’s in a small group and the both can pretty confidently take on several enemies at once. The roads are solitary, slivers of grass growing between the stones in the path, marking the fact that they haven’t been stepped on for months. Weak nymphs and their basic spirits are everywhere, showing up at the most inconvenient of times; transforming the mere act of bathing in the river or managing to stop and eat a chore that makes Yuuri’s skin prickle with alarm, his heartbeat quickening. It’s quite understandable that he doesn’t chit chat much.
But being with Victor the mage and not speaking to him seems something akin to a crime, for him.
“You know,” the mage murmurs, hands curling around his hood. The inside of it is covered with pale furs, glowing next to his creamy skin. “You haven’t told me your story, you know?”
“You haven’t asked,” Yuuri mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat. He’s been hunting for nymphs for as long as he can remember, training until daybreak to strengthen his muscles, sharpening his reflexes without rest - and he gets tongue tied whenever Victor smiles at him. Sometimes he gets unbearably embarrassed about his crush. “It’s not that interesting, anyway.”
“Let me be the judge of that?” Victor asks, voice soft. Around him, small snow crystals glow into existence before melting and falling to the ground. It continues to amazing, this way in which Victor displays his magic openly and unashamedly, despite what some think about mages.
Trying to be courageous, Yuuri gives in, “I lived in Hasetsu all my life. I was there when the attack happened.”
The mage frowns, his blue eyes colouring with concern, “That’s not… Japan?” At his slight, sombre nod, his expression tightens, alarmed. “But it was destroyed by the nymphs.”
“Aye,” Yuuri sighs, fingers grasping his sword’s hilt. “I remember. Lost my horse, my money, and my home. Thankfully, my family survived.”
I considered Vicchan to be family , he doesn’t say, keeping his voice level. He’s learnt to be tough, after fighting with Mari to defend their home, temporal as every place they stayed in was. Now that they’re no longer together, now that Mari defends their parents with her archery and Yuuri has chosen to travel alone, he has to fend for himself. She can’t coddle him anymore.
“I’m glad,” Victor says firmly, taking him out of his thoughts. He moves until they’re almost beside one another, stopping and standing in front of him, mouth slightly parted.
Yuuri blinks; Victor doesn’t walk like normal people - that would defeat the purpose, what with him being a mage - he glides on the floor, making no sound, white light flickering around his feet. They’re closer than they’ve ever been right now, if he doesn’t count their battles, now that they’re motionless in the middle of the deserted road. Victor takes his hand - Victor’s powerful, delicate, warm hands take his, so incredibly gently, and he brings them upwards, brushing Yuuri’s skin with pale lips. “I’m glad that you didn’t lose them, Yuuri.”
Yuuri doesn’t know how long they stay there, frozen in that moment, how long he thinks about the things he wants to say to Victor, the things he wants to say - not now, but in time, as he grows to know him better. How long he thinks about the fact that he truly wants to know him better, that he’s letting his soul be touched by someone for the first time in years.
He doesn’t know how long they stay there, a knight and a mage - the unlikeliest of companions - but he does know he never looks away.
…
“Oooh,” Victor crows, resting his arms on Yuuri’s shoulders from behind the living room couch at the onsen, smirking at him. “You ever have a lover, Yuuri?”
The man blushes bright red, turning his face away as if to hide his obvious embarrassment. He fidgets with his hands, nervous, and murmurs, “Um, not really.”
“Never?” Victor can’t really believe it. Does he expect him to believe that? The man who boldly asked for a dance at the banquet? The man who shines on the ice like an angel? The man who skated his program without faltering? “A man like you?”
That makes Yuuri snort, just a little, “Yeah, Victor, a man like me. I’m not that much of a catch, you know.”
“Nonsense,” Victor dismisses it immediately, patting his head in reassurance and beaming when he sees Yuuri smile at that, just slightly. “You’re a national figure skating champion! You’re young! You’ve got a university degree! You’re extremely nice! And well,” Victor coughs, swallowing.“You’re beautiful.”
“I’m not -” Yuuri chokes over his own words, flushing even more deeply and waving his arms in front of him. “I’m not beautiful .”
Victor narrows his eyes, poking at his side, “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Yuuri.”
It’s a lie. Everything suits Yuuri. He’s annoyingly wonderful like that.
“Well,” Victor jumps over the couch and sits beside him, fluttering his eyelashes seductively. “I think you’re gorgeous.”
“T-thanks,” Yuuri says, ears red. He runs his fingers through his hair, still flustered, before murmuring, in the softest, most tentative tone he’s ever heard him use, “I think you’re pretty, too.”
Victor’s dead. He’s deceased. Victor needs - he has to go , and bury his face in his pillow. Yuuri’s voice there? Fucking adorable . He can’t help but think, giddy, he called me pretty! Yuuri Katsuki thinks I’m pretty! Me! Yuuri!
Out of the corner of his eye, while he’s freaking out, he sees Yuuri relax slightly, and subtly nudge his thigh closer to Victor’s. It’s a bit unsure, a bit uncertain. So Victor nudges back.
…
“Let me handle this,” Victor tells him, smirking.
They need information from a nymph expert in the area who’s rumoured to frequent this tavern. Also a large fan of pretty boys and not a huge fan of people asking for information, according to their source (lovely village lad called Eimer). Apparently, he knows where this region’s main spirit, the Dragon, is located.
Yuuri’s grip on his sword tightens. If they can get rid of the spirit, the nymph will be weakened enough to be vulnerable to their attack. Nymphs have to distribute a large amount of their power to their main spirit so as to keep their basic spirits in line and control the region, which means it depletes their energy levels if they go down suddenly.
Victor requests surprises him, though. He blinks, “You want to get the information by yourself?”
“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor throws his long hair back, letting out a soft sigh and curling his fingers around the cords of his cape, teasing the motion of unlacing. “Trust me, I can make him talk.”
His eyebrows shoot upwards, a smile curving his lips, “Oh?”
The mage shoots him a dirty look, “I’m a very desirable man, Yuuri Katsuki.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he replies, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just wondering if it wouldn’t be suspicious for a mage to be sniffing around a nymph expert. You’re not exactly welcome around here.”
Victor sniffs, turning his nose up, “Stupid belief that nymphs are mages gone mad. As if that has any basis in reality.”
“I know,” Yuuri says, lightly touching his forearm in support. They’ve had a few close runs with angry people calling Victor a nymph and throwing stones at them. It’s almost impossible to hurt them, of course, not with Victor’s shields and Yuuri’s skills in play, but it must hurt to hear someone condemn him like that. Mages are raised in the academy, so they often don’t meet other people until adulthood. He saw Victor’s face, the first time a child insulted him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to never see that again.
“I can do it, too, you know.”
Victor’s eyes soften, “You’re such a sweetheart.”
“Maybe I’m just possessive,” Yuuri suggests, feeling brave, and relishes the startled blush on the mage’s cheeks. He coughs lightly, pleased, “I’ll be out of there in ten minutes.”
“... Optimistic,” Victor chokes out, still rattled. It isn’t often that Yuuri initiates the flirting, he knows that. But well. It wouldn’t have been nice to watch Victor drape himself over a potentially dangerous informant. Sometimes he really is a bit possessive.
“Just watch,” Yuuri winks.
They both go in, although Victor puts his hood up. His features are too fine to be any common villager, telling the tale of a life spent at the academy instead of in the fields, his hands uncalloused, and his snow crystals are too noticeable. He can pass for some time, but Yuuri will have to be quick.
No worries. He’s been quick before.
He leaves his sword with Victor, warning him to be watchful, before he changes in a small closet space he finds empty, taking off unnecessary furs and struggling not to feel observed. There are eyes everywhere. Once he’s got his clothes on, he messes up his hair a bit, erases some of the bags under his eyes with powder Mari and him used to buy at the Hasetsu market, and nods, satisfied.
Yuuri walks out of the small closet swishing his hips and letting just enough of his chest show, and ten different men and women turn to stare at him. Victor, from where he’s skulking near a table in the back, drops his glass noisily on the floor, eyes wide.
Aren’t you supposed to be subtle? Yuuri muses, slightly excited. He doesn’t really unsettle Victor much, and it’s nice to see him lose his composure a little.
He seduces the guy into telling him all the possible info, dropping spare touches on his arm and fluttering his eyelashes. He makes sure to trail his fingers all over the man’s face, and leaves before the guy realizes he’s just spilled important data to a travelling man working at a nearby ‘entertainment venue’ (code for pleasure house).
“...I did not expect that,” Victor gulps when they’re out of the tavern, glancing back at him, already wearing his regular clothes, in amazement. “That was...extremely educational.”
“Oh, really?” Yuuri blinks innocently, very purposefully pulling on his sword’s hilt before letting it drop all the way into its sheathe, watching Victor’s eyes track the movement. “I think I held back too much.” His heart is beating its way out of his chest, but he powers through. “If you want to learn though,” he licks his lips unconsciously. “I could always teach you.”
Victor lets out the tiniest whimper he’s ever heard, chest quivering up and down, and quickly walks ahead.
…
“I know!” Yuuri shoots up from the dinner table, breathless, with his cheeks flushed red. “I finally know what my eros is!”
He turns to look at Victor triumphantly, curling his fingers into his fist, “Pork cutlet bowl!”
For a moment, Victor wants to tear his hair out, to shake him and tell him, “ No .”, because he’s seen Yuuri’s eros, seen him seduce him more expertly than anyone he’s ever met in his life, reeling him in and digging his hook all the way in. He wants to kiss him until he can’t think, his head is dizzy, and he finally lets go.
But Yuuri isn’t ready, that’s plain to see. Yuuri shuts the door at night, and hesitates when Victor is close, blushes at proximity incredibly easily. Yuuri is still figuring out what he wants, apparently, and the fact that he might have made the first move while drunk can’t change that. He’s going to have to be patient; it’s worth it, for a guy like Yuuri.
So Victor beams at him, grabs his arm, and declares, “Then you will be the pork cutlet bowl that enthralls men!”
The way Yuuri smiles at him, relieved and reassured in his choice, lets him know he did the right thing.
…
The Dragon spirit is at the top of the mountain - at least, that was what Yuuri’s informant claimed - in an area without many trees but near a stream, so the nymph can feed off its energy. There’s a minimum of two days travelling uphill in desolate terrain until they reach its hideout, and it’ll be tough, with no moment to rest. It’s extremely dangerous to fall asleep while so close to a main spirit; anything can attack, masking themselves with the spirit wards; basic spirits sneak into dreams if they’re strengthened by the main spirit’s power, and the mind must be alert at all times to stop nymph possession.
Yuuri knows this. He’s lived amongst nymphs for the better part of his childhood; Japan was a disaster that fell quickly enough, but nymphs followed their journey all the way out of the island, attaching their main spirits to vessels and landing in fertile grounds.
Nymphs are terrible, parasitic creatures who barely have any distinguishable emotions and lack an organized society. Contrary to what the stories said about them before they took over, nymphs aren’t beautiful maidens with kind words, but shorter, sickly-looking tiny women with sunken cheeks and bottomless black eyes. Yuuri won’t ever get the image of a nymph spreading her wings as she flew away with a child out of his mind, not for as long as he lives - her yellowed teeth shining, her claws wrapping around the baby, the way she glowed as her feet touched the earth.
They are distinctively non-human, and they aren’t mages, either. No one could mistake a nymph for them. They don’t have feelings, they don’t lure unsuspecting travellers to their doom. It’s almost ridiculous, how easy it is to hate them for sucking the life out of their home, out of their people, out of their hope.
But their blood is just as red as Yuuri’s is. And the screams of terrified agony - high-pitched, desperate, pleading - as he drives his sword through them while not allowing himself to falter, sound just like people’s.
“Do you want to do this?” Yuuri asks, swallowing hard. He’s been through too much to give up now; he’s already killed nymphs before. But Victor… Victor fights because he wants to practice his magic in peace, because he smiles at his ice crystals and draws snow mustaches on Yuuri’s face while he’s sleeping. Victor fights for the Academy, for his apprentice, a boy named Yuri, too.
Victor deserves better than risking his life alongside a mediocre knight; he deserves battalions, legions, armies .
Victor’s standing in the middle of the path, his bag with their provisions lying at his feet. His hair falls loosely all over his shoulders, covering up his hood. He looks at Yuuri, and says, very quietly, “I want to fight with you.”
“Are you certain?” Yuuri needs to know. He takes a step forward, biting his lower lip. “Victor, are you sure -?”
“I want to court you properly, you know,” Victor cuts him off, eyes fixed on the outline of the mountain in front of them. “I want you to get to know my apprentice. I want…” His hand curls into a fist, cold wind whipping his hair back. “I want to fall asleep next to you on the road without fear, Yuuri.” He finally looks up, determined. “I can’t be with you until I die if there’s creatures trying to kill us every second now, can I?” He smiles, amused. “And I still haven’t introduced you to the mage academy scholars, Yakov would never forgive me for marrying without his approval, anyway -”
Victor doesn’t continue then, but that’s because it’d be a little complicated, what with Yuuri’s lips monopolizing his mouth for the moment.
…
It’s cold, Barcelona.
Not as cold as St. Petersburg, of course; Spain’s got nothing on that. But cold enough that Victor sees Yuuri - sniffing every couple of minutes and sneezing - and frets, wrapping scarf after scarf around his neck, taking out gloves from every pocket he has, not even hesitating to warm up his face with breathless kisses.
“ Victor ,” Yuuri whines, pushing him away slightly. “We’re in the middle of the street!”
“But you’re freezing ,” Victor pouts, wrapping his arms around Yuuri stubbornly. It’s almost his birthday, goddamnit, isn’t he allowed to hold his lover close, at least? “You’re not used to these cold winters.”
Yuuri raises an eyebrow at him, a small, amused smile on his lips, “I’m from Japan, not Brazil, Victor. I’ve seen snow before.”
“Was it frightening?” Victor teases.
“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight, I hope you know that.”
“So cruel ,” Victor clutches at his chest desperately, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling. He knows Yuuri enjoys thinking his threats come off as serious most of the time, when really anyone can see from a mile away that he crumbles in the face of puppy dog eyes. Yuri has so far gotten soda six out of the six times Yuuri swore not to let him have some. His Grandpa hates them and won’t allow the kid to stay at their place.
“Hmph,” Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I can see when you’re being patronizing, Victor!”
“Right,” Victor replies cheerfully, dropping another kiss on his cheek.
“I-I’m telling you,” Yuuri chokes out between giggles. Ooh, ticklish. “This is so embarrassing…”
“No one knows you,” Victor whispers, his lips brushing Yuuri’s cheekbone as he moves to speak into his ear. “We can just have fun here.”
“Yeah,” Yuuri whispers back, and then says. “Except for the fact that there’s two teenagers taking pictures of you.”
Victor turns automatically. It’s true; two teens wearing ‘I HEART NIKIFOROV’ t-shirts with his face plastered on the front. The minute they notice him being aware of their presence, the short one screams and grabs the other one’s forearm in what seems like a death grip, before yelling, “ ¡No me lo puedo ni creer, tía! Aaaaaah, nos está mirando.”
Victor doesn’t know much Spanish, but he’s willing to bet there’s something about how cool he is, right there.
“They’re saying you’ve gotten old,” Yuuri tells him, as if the git knew Spanish.
“That is a lie ,” Victor gasps, quickly switching his attention to glare at Yuuri. “I am not old. And even if I were ,” Victor flicks his hair, “I would still look amazing.”
“You’ve spent the last few months drinking and binge-eating pork cutlet bowl while you had me on the steamed vegetable and pure protein diet,” Yuuri reminds him. That comes up a lot, in their arguments. Yuuri’s not the diet kind of guy, regardless of how loyal to his career he is. Victor currently has three chocolate boxes hidden in his part of the closet. “You deserve to be called all the insults in the world.”
“You still love me, though,” Victor says, his voice soft. He reaches out for Yuuri’s hand, and he immediately takes it, entwining their fingers without thinking. It’s become almost second nature these days, to reach out and find Yuuri waiting, to wait until Yuuri reaches out to him.
“Yeah, Vitya,” Yuuri goes on his tiptoes, gracing him with a single kiss on the tip of his nose and chuckling when he blushes bright red. “I still love you.”
…
Yuuri has never doubted the fact that Victor is strong. He’s always known that, and has worked tirelessly to match his level and grant him a chance against their enemies, to cover for him and compliment his style.
They’re strong, together.
The Dragon is stronger.
…
“Victor,” Yuuri starts. He looks troubled, his fingers curling into a fist on top of his thighs.
“Yes?” Victor smiles, trying to be reassuring. Tomorrow’s the final, and they’re engaged . It’s only natural that he gets nervous, especially if it’s Yuuri. He just hopes his anxiety isn’t too bad.
“Victor,” Yuuri begins once more, voice firm. “After the Grand Prix Final, let’s end this.”
…
It all starts to go wrong once Yuuri lets himself think they can actually do this.
They caught the Dragon while it was resting, thanks to Victor’s stealth, and managed to attack it in quick, efficient hits, staying light on their feet and saving energy for the entire battle. Even when the situation worsens, when the Dragon rises up to its full height, glorious and lethal, they maintain their composure, making sure that everything goes according to the plan.
The spirit feeds on the nymph to gain its power and although she’ll likely be aware that losing the guardian to her region is not a viable option, she’ll still take time to redirect her powers to one particular entity. Besides, she won’t be able to keep it up for long if someone else chooses to fight her. They must wear the Dragon out then, must outlast it. This nymph isn’t like the half-dead ones Yuuri’s seen in the wastelands or on the paths, the ones who can barely muster up three basic defense spirits. It’ll be dangerous.
They’re doing well, and then Yuuri gets hit by the spirit’s blast of pure white fire.
It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Yuuri has been stabbed, has been stepped on, thrown against walls, hit, slapped, has survived attempted drownings… he’s known violence all his life, has grown to expect it rather than recoil at the first sign of it, to accept it as part of his life.
But then the flames lick his skin, teasing and biting, and he starts screaming.
It bites at him, gnaws on his body, ripping apart the folds that keep him together. There’s nothing to run away from, nothing to shake off, no wound to put pressure on, no possible remedy - there’s just heat, unbearable, eating away without mercy, burning through cloth to sink its claws into him and make him choke.
He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe he can’t breathe .
- cold.
Yuuri’s body cools down immediately, a change in temperature so brusque he feels dizzy with it, panting and clawing at his throat. He’s shivering while his blood pulses from the fire, while red rivers leak out of his red-hot wounds. There’s snow on the ground where he’s lying, he can feel it cushioning his body, recognizes its texture from being around it so much because of -
“... -uuri, Yuuri, oh for the Mage’s soul, Yuuri, pl- please .”
“V-Victor,” he rasps out. “Victor,” he repeats.
“I’m here,” Victor chokes out. Yuuri can’t open his eyes, but his heart constricts at the pure agony in Victor’s voice, gut-wrenching. “Yuuri, come on, I have to get you something -”
Neither of them are healers. The most Yuuri can do is tie a tourniquet, from days at the camps he and his family stayed at, but his knowledge of medicine doesn’t extend to burns like this. He can’t - he’s not sure he’ll survive this.
“Dragon,” he whispers, coughing. He manages to see a little, from between his eyelashes. Victor still looks gorgeous, even when his vision is blurry. It makes him want to smile, a little, and touch his cheek. He looks really worried. Victor shouldn’t be that worried about him.“Dragon.” he insists.
“I don’t care about the stupid Dragon,” Victor bites out, as if they haven’t spent the last few days chasing after it, sacrificing hours and hours of sleep and time because of it. He’s crouching protectively on top of him, “Yuuri, stay with me, I’m begging you.”
“You’re pretty,” Yuuri blurts out, woozy. It all hurts so much. The words seem to come from far away. “Want to dance?”
“What -? Nevermind,” Victor dismisses it, fussing over him. His hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? It’s still cold, but Victor’s immune to that. And anyway, the place is heating up. Yuuri’s hot. Should he be hot? That doesn’t sound right. “My wards won’t hold for much longer, we need to get you somewhere safe , I’m going to call Otabek, he can help you -”
“Be my coach, Victor,” Yuuri slurs, barely conscious.
…
Victor doesn’t notice he’s started to cry until his tears are pooling together on his lap.
…
Yuuri comes to with the worst headache he’s had in his life, spitting out blood as he writhes on the floor.
The cold - the sweet, blessed cold - is gone, and now there’s fire again, except his skin isn’t the one suffering under it this time. It’s everywhere, poisoning the air, making him cough black smoke and struggle to breathe. The only thought on his mind is - where is Victor?
…
“I’m retiring, after this,” Yuuri says, with that half-smile of his Victor knows better than he knows his own hand, the half-smile that fights to show how completely happy he is with what he’s saying, while burying the regret underneath.
Victor imagines a world in which he skates and Yuuri doesn’t - a world in which Yuuri doesn’t spend his morning hours lazing in the rink, in which he doesn’t stay up until 3 am because that’s when the best offers for skating equipment come in, in which he doesn’t rehearse jumps in Victor’s living room, accidentally breaking his lamp for the fourth time. Figure skating has become so deeply integrated into what he associates as Yuuri in the time they’ve known each other that, although he can say without a doubt that he’d stay with Yuuri regardless of whatever he did with his career, he doesn’t know if Yuuri would be happy with that.
If Yuuri would want that.
“Your career isn’t dead, Yuuri,” he whispers, trying not to plead and yet desperately wishing to.
“It’s dying,” his fiancé murmurs, shrugging.
…
Victor’s losing.
Victor’s fighting on his own at the top of the mountain, defending himself and Yuuri as best as he can. He’s on his last resources of power; Yuuri can tell by the way there’s no snow around him like there always is, just faint droplets of water hanging in the air.
“Victor!” Yuuri yells, wincing at the sound of his voice. His lungs are filled with smoke. “Victor, I’m coming!”
For a moment, Victor turns, his blue eyes widening, his lips quivering with relief before they decide on an exhausted smile. His shoulders go down, losing some of their tension. He says, “ Yuuri -”
That’s the precise second when the Dragon’s claw comes down, almost as if in slow motion, and tears through his neck like it’s sandpaper.
…
“Oh my god,” Yuuri breathes, eyes following the shape moving on the TV screen. “Who is that?”
“That’s Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuko answers, not missing a beat. She sounds giddy, grabbing his hands to get his attention. Her ponytail swings from side to side as she gushes. “He’s like, the best skater in the world . Can you believe he’s only 14?”
“...Yeah, I can believe it.”
There’s something familiar about Victor Nikiforov, something that calls out to Yuuri immediately. He moves swiftly and surely, like the ice is his element, like his jumps are supported by rising and falling tides.
He’s watching him, curious and interested, when Victor Nikiforov gives a look at the camera after his spread eagle - an intimate, heated glance accompanied by a perfectly delivered wink, and Yuuri’s heart skips a beat.
He bites his lower lip, “Hey, Yuuko, can we learn that program?”
Maybe he could meet him at a competition one day.
Yeah, right
, Yuuri sighs much later as they’re actually practicing the program, which is absurdly complicated. He purses his lips. As if he’d meet the best skater in the world.
In another life
.