Chapter Text
He breathes in, slow and calm, a deep lungful that almost aches, and sighs out the body warmed winter air.
While the view of the mountains from its base is breathtaking with its craggy peaks and sharp silhouette cutting across the skyline, he doesn’t think it’s as beautiful as the view from atop where he can see the rolling landscape draped in snow and glittering with ice and frost. He closes his eyes for a moment, listens to the whipping winds howl in his ears, before he opens them and looks down at the steep slope beneath his feet.
He grins...and jumps.
The wind is screaming now, screaming their laughter and joy because they finally have someone who will play with them, and Viktor lets them carry him through the snowbanks and naked trees and frozen waters. They whisper things to him as he dances on branches and touches the forest with his presence, secrets only they know; half-formed and sometimes centuries old, born before rivers and after the sea rose so high, but this particular secret is newborn and one they are eager to share.
Someone else has been playing with them, they tell him, and he’s a little surprised. They speak of this person with glee, excitedly chatter and chirp of this small, solitary boy who always visits them and brings them gifts, small tokens like flowers and toys and food. They cannot eat, cannot drink, but they can take these little trinkets elsewhere and cherish them and cherish him, their first visitor in decades, this vulnerable child with wide, curious eyes and an open mind. They’re excited and happy and Viktor regrets not coming back for so long - if not for the magnificent, wild nature, then for the playful spirits that linger in the old bark of trees and lapping waves of the surrounding oceans.
His myth was born far away among other legends of thunder and illusions, at least as far back as he can remember, but his story has carried over vast waters and dry lands and here, where nature is perpetually untouched by the outside world, he can feel himself relax, regain some of the strength he seems to be losing slowly but surely.
He shakes it from his mind as he lets the currents have their way with him, sad and relieved that time really has no meaning to him.
Then they stop.
It all stops. The wind, the trees, the snow, they all just seem to slow and hold their breath, and when Viktor looks out to the frozen lake to see the figure of a boy dancing on the ice, he understands.
He watches, enraptured, for a long while.
Not dancing, Viktor realizes after a moment, a little glow of something curling in his chest. Ice skating.
Truth be told, the boy isn’t that good. He stumbles and slips, hits the ice with his hands and knees more than his feet, but he’s stubborn and laughing, face split in a grin and pink-cheeked from the wintery air. He holds that precious expression close to him because that’s all Viktor could ever want of the people who love his creation so much. His feet itch to go out there, show the boy a few things, maybe show off a little too because it’s been so, so long since he’s skated with anyone, but he refrains because it’s not his place.
The boy is young and he will grow, and despite the missteps and fumbles, Viktor can see a very real spark of promise in the straight lines of the boy's form, the steadiness of his breath, can see the passion that will carry him through ups and downs.
It brings out a sweet ache in Viktor's chest, a yearning he hasn’t really experienced in too long, reminds him that while he is not quite alive, he’s not as dead as he believed himself to be either. In between, always. He hasn’t faded from human memory quite yet, never will as long as the oceans are great and the sky pours rain, cloaked under so many names he’ll never keep track of, but he has a suspicion this boy has something to do with his small resurgence of awareness, why he feels such a tug for a place he hasn’t set foot in for generations.
“Is this the one who’s been playing with you?” Viktor asks, and the gentle breeze that curls through his hair confirms it.
They leave his side for a moment to catch the boy in the air, twirl him gently so he can finish his jump, and the delighted shout that follows is as beautiful to Viktors ears as a wave crashing against the shore.
He didn’t think anyone lived out this far anymore, a veritable wasteland to the less durable, but he supposes a lot can change in a hundred years.
Snow from a tree branch above tumbles down, coats his shoulders, like admonishing push.
Viktor huffs a laugh. “You want me to play with him too?”
The bark doesn’t speak and the branches don’t do more than wave, but he hears it all the same.
Who is he to deny them?
The boy doesn’t notice his approach, too busy spinning and giggling, until he stops on wobbly legs and sees him at the edge of the lake.
The boy blinks at him behind black-framed glasses, hesitant and cautious, and he doesn’t say a word.
Viktor smiles warmly and fights down the urge to pinch the kid's cheeks. Too cute, he thinks fondly. “Hello there. My name is Viktor, what’s yours?”
The boy scrutinizes him for a moment longer, taking in his foreign appearance. He’s not wearing a winter coat for one thing, just a simple white button down and black slacks with a black jacket thrown on top and red scarf around his neck, and he doubts the boy has seen many people with his silver hair and striking blue eyes before. From what Viktor remembers, nearly everyone in this area has warm brown eyes and dark hair, features Viktor is sure would clash horribly with his pale complexion.
Finally, the boy nods his head, an edge of meekness in his demeanor. “Uh, hello,” he greets quietly, and Viktor just wants to smoosh his chubby little face and bundle him up at the same time. “I’m not...not ‘spose to talk to strangers…”
Ah, right. Viktor nods sagely, “Yes, that is very good advice. But what if you know my friends?”
He holds a hand out and the boy watches with rapt attention as the wind starts to gather snow in a small whirlwind, dancing on his palm for a moment before it disperses and leaves a snowman behind. This is another secret the spirits had whispered to him, the fact that this little boy likes to build snowmen in place of real friends, and oh doesn’t that make something in Viktor tug?
The boys eyes sparkle behind his thick framed glasses, amazed. “Oh…” he breathes, sliding closer without realizing it.
Viktor lets the little snowman wave with a grin, all cute cheer, before it crumbles into snow once again, carried off to join the snowbanks. “See? Not strangers anymore.”
The boy blinks in surprise and lingering wonder, cheeks pink from the cold, and tentatively smiles. “Um, my name is Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri.”
“Yuuri. What a nice name,” Viktor replies kindly, and it’s not a lie. “My friends tell me you like to skate.”
The boy stares at him in surprise and the wind flicks a few clumps of snow at him, scolding him for his forwardness.
But it doesn’t seem to matter as Yuuri comes alive now, eyes glittering excitedly and somehow managing not to slip and fall from his bouncing. The shy little boy from before disappears in the blink of an eye, replaced by this excitable bundle of childish fervor. “Thank you! I like your name too! And I like ice skating and kats’don and my parents and-” he brightens considerably, “I’m going to be the best ice skater ever!”
Viktor blinks, a bit stunned at the quick turnaround and the bold declaration. Ah, the capriciousness of youth.
He tilts his head thoughtfully. He’s heard those words before, that specific claim spoken and prayed and whispered to him plenty of times from hundreds of others in every corner of the world, but something rings true when Yuuri says it, full of joy and excitement instead of grim determination. This child will grow up to a force of nature. Viktor smiles, feels a warm glow in his chest that hadn’t been there just moments ago. How curious.
He chuckles instead, stepping onto the smooth ice and hardening it even further just in case, and allows his body to move on its own. He can feel the very bottom of the pond now, the fish swimming far beneath and the creatures hidden along the edges, sleeping away the winter season.
All the while, Yuuri watches him with wide eyes, spinning in a circle as Viktor glides around him as easily as breathing.
Viktor hums and enjoys the familiar feeling of ice beneath his feet and having an attentive audience, shooting Yuuri a wink. “You’ll have to practice a lot to become the best.”
Yuuri stares at him before he grins again, bright, eyes shining in borderline adoration despite the still-there edge of carefulness, and it’s probably the first time someone has offered the boy something`other than a dismissive laugh in response to his dream. The thought makes Viktor sad and something in him rises like a tidal wave, but he calms it and wills the clouds above to stop stirring restlessly before Yuuri can notice.
“I will! I practice lots!” Yuuri asserts confidently. Then he wilts like the flowers he tries to bring the wind. “Mama and Papa had to move me and my sister away ‘cause of work and I don’t get to see my friend Yuuko-chan anymore...I don’t really know anybody here so I skate a lot by myself.”
Viktor smiles a little sadly. The winds always were good at finding kin.
The words are on his lips before he’s consciously aware of it as he crouches down to Yuuri’s height. “If you promise to try and meet other kids and make friends, I promise to come back and teach you how to skate.”
Yuuri stares at him in awe and some confusion, as if he’s not completely sure he heard Viktor correctly. The caution creeps to the forefront once more and so does the melancholy Viktor had glimpsed for a moment. “But how do I know this isn’t a dream?” Little Yuuri’s gloved hands twist into the material of his sleeves uncertainly, mumbling, “How do I know you’ll really come back?”
The questions are unexpectedly heartbreaking. Then he gets an idea. “Here,” Viktor says, taking off his scarf and wrapping it around Yuuri’s neck, “this will remind you this isn’t a dream. It’s my favorite scarf, so I’ll definitely come back for it, and I’ll teach you ice skating. That sound okay?”
Yuuri is quiet for a long moment, dark eyes wide as Viktor finishes tucking the scarf into his jacket, and Viktor is almost afraid he’s shocked the poor thing into permanent silence. Then Yuuri livens up, that fire and passion that drew Viktor before growing into a warm bonfire right in front of him, babbling with hope and excitement and life. “Really? Really really?” He’s bouncing in his skates again, looking like an excitable little ball of puff in that thick winter coat, mittens on his hands and scarf wrapped around his neck.
How precious.
Viktor nods, pleasantly surprised when his own lips curl into a soft, amused smile in response. The wind ruffles around them, stirs the snow so that it tickles Yuuri’s face and makes him laugh, and Viktor nearly coos at the sight because the shadows edging Yuuri’s expression have finally disappeared, leaving a happy, unburdened child surrounded by the glowing whiteness and purity of freshly fallen snow.
Viktor sticks his pinky out like he’s seen other children do and has to catch his breath when little Yuuri latches onto him like a lifeline.