#viktuuri

the full piece written for @yoimagiczine, you can also find it on ao3.

On the birth and lives of soulmates.
Yuuri and Victor meet for the first time as children in times none of us can think back to; day and night, light and darkness, you’d think the meeting nothing special. Wrong.
aka Yuuri and Victor invent the concept of soulmates and fill the night sky with their every touch.

(Once upon a time.)

Cold days like this one chill Yuuri to the bone; tea and blankets don’t provide enough warmth, chased away by the longing whistle of the wind and the clatter of tree branches shooing it away. The thin walls of his family’s tiny wooden house forget how to be a shelter on days like this. But despite this, despite the chill in his limbs and the mist of his breath, Yuuri looks forward to these days; only on days like these does the boyappear.

The unnamed boy; a boy with a lantern and a thick scarf around his neck, and a snowy avalanche of hair. The lost boy, or the searching boy, Yuuri has no idea who he is.

The wind promises another blizzard today, and Yuuri hopes that this time he’ll get to invite the boy inside. On cold days like this one, nobody will say no to a cup of hot tea.

The clock strikes 6pm, Yuuri presses his forehead against the cold window, squints his eyes and wishes he could urge the darkness outside to dissipate and clear out till he can see better—when the boy appears.

As always, he’s surrounded by a beam of cold, white light, as though he’s the moon itself, bathed in such celestial presence that he can’t be a mortal. Even mortals suffer from sadness, though, and the boy’s light seems dimmer tonight, his movements slower and not as excited as Yuuri knows them to be. His lantern flickers in the night among the snowflakes falling around him but he pays them not a single glance. From where Yuuri sits, they look like pellets or darts, so unforgiving in their shooting at the boy.

Normally, the boy dances whenever he appears; he doesn’t walk but rather flows just an inch or so above the ground, jumps into the air and turns and turns and turns and turns—but not today. Something’s off about him today.

Today, he shuffles his feet through the snow with each step. The lantern he usually holds in front of him at an arm’s length is nearly dragged behind now. His feet—Yuuri notices with a soft, disappointed ‘oh’—are firmly planted on the ground.

Suddenly, the boy freezes and turns—and looks straight at Yuuri.

(If it weren’t for the snowflakes still falling to the ground, Yuuri would swear that time has frozen still.)

The boy’s lantern quivers suddenly, and, just like that, the connection between him and Yuuri is broken. The cold light dims even more, then shines brightly, only to flicker one last time. The boy looks at it with surprise, shakes it once, twice, three times—before the light of it dies completely.

“No!” Yuuri calls. The next thing he knows, he has his coat on and winter boots on his feet and he’s out of the house, running through the snow.

The night is dark, much darker than ever before, and cold, so very cold… Much too cold and dangerous for another child to trudge through. That’s the only thing on Yuuri’s mind as he holds the hood of his jacket tight around his head and blindly tries to reach the spot he’s seen the boy in before the world outside went black. He opens his mouth and takes a breath to call him, only to remember that he doesn’t know his name. He knows nothing about the boy. What he does know, though, is that nobody should be out here alone.

“Go back in!” shouts out a panicked voice. But Yuuri doesn’t listen; he steers towards the voice and runs, fighting against the snow. It seems like an eternity has passed until he’s close enough to feel the boy’s presence. The darkness is too thick to see him. “Go back, I’ve got this!”

“What happened?” Yuuri asks, squinting hard in the direction the voice comes from. Blue flashes for a split second before it disappears again. “What’s wrong with your lantern?”

The boy is silent for a long moment. Hesitant. Confused. There’s a muffled noise of something—probably the lantern—being hit repeatedly, then weak blue light blinks through the darkness, only to disappear completely again. This time, for good.

“It… I didn’t know it—it could die,” Yuuri hears the voice say, frightened now, yet weaker, higher-pitched than earlier. “Oh no—no no no—”

The wind howls around them, gaining in volume and strength.

“I can help!” Yuuri shouts through the noise. He digs his feet into the snow, bracing himself against the wind. “Give me your lantern, I can lend you some of my light!”

“Your—your light?”

Yuuri lets go of his hood and clasps his hands together – they’re so close, yet he can’t even see them. The wind tugs at his clothes and his hair, drenches him in wet, cold snow, but he clenches his eyes and focuses with his whole being on the warmth running through his veins.

He hears the boy’s gasp right before his numb hands start warming up. When he opens his eyes, the darkness between them has started to dissipate.

“You’re one of the light deities,” whispers the boy, and Yuuri hears him despite the wind still wreaking havoc around them. His eyes—the blue Yuuri’s seen earlier—are wide in the way they stare at him, awe-struck, the tiny flame in Yuuri’s cupped hands reflecting in his irises. His silver hair dances on the wind with the grace of the softest snowflakes.

He’s even more of a sight from up close.

“Will you let me lend you my light?” Yuuri asks again, face much warmer than before. Now that he can see the boy—now that he’s seen by him, it feels—

The flame in Yuuri’s hands grows stronger when the boy smiles.

“Please,” he says and offers his lantern.

The light shifts into it naturally as though it belongs there.

In a blink of an eye, the world around them comes back into focus. The sky is dark still, but the storm has calmed down; some of the clouds disappear and the wind is a gentle spirit once again, leading splatters of big, fluffy snowflakes in a slow, well-coordinated dance. They sparkle when lit by the moon just so.

“I never thought I’d meet a light deity,” the boy says. Now that his lantern shines again, warm and strong this time, he looks just as happy and excited as the other nights Yuuri’s seen him. “Thank you so much for sharing your light with me! I don’t know what’s wrong with my glow… Yours works so much better!” He gifts Yuuri with a smile that could rival the brightness of the midday sun and pushes out his hand. “I’m Victor.”

Yuuri can’t help the way his face heats up when he takes Victor’s hand. He takes a small breath and looks up at him—and seeing Victor’s smile again paints one over his lips, too. “Yuuri,” he says quietly.

Their smiles grow softer for just a moment—and before either of them can say anything more, a soft glow distracts them. It shines warmly through the cracks of their fingers, tickles their skin as it shifts between their palms. The moment they let go of each other’s hands, they see it: a ball of bright, silver light, jumping off their palms, moving erratically. No longer trapped, it shoots towards the sky, not growing smaller despite the distance it leaves behind. They watch in awe as it flies higher and higher—until, with a secretive wink in their direction, it stops right next to the moon and moves no more.

“Wow,” Victor whispers, staring at the only two bright points in the sky. “That’s never happened before.”

Yuuri simply nods, speechless. Their light twinkles in the sky no matter how much time passes, never growing dimmer. He makes a mental note for himself to ask his mother when he goes home what this kind of light means.

Then he remembers.

Home.

He looks at Victor, then at the world around them. It’s not that cold anymore. Not that dark. Not that dangerous. Surely, he wouldn’t want to—

“Victor,” Yuuri says before he manages to talk himself out of it. His fists clench at his sides, shoulders hunched till they touch his ears, his heartbeat growing faster when he feels Victor look at him again.

“Yes?”

“Will you drink tea with me?” The words sound so silly once they’re out, but since he can’t take them back, he only squints at the snow between their feet and braces himself for a polite rejection.

It never comes.

Instead, Victor laughs—a sound made of moonlight and tiny bells and joy—and says:

“I’d love to.”

A light deity and the prince of darkness walk into a tiny, wooden house together, unaware of the way they can—and will—enrich countless universes.

(Deep down, in their hearts, they already know.)

(Ever after.)

It’s dusk already – the Saint Petersburg sky grows darker and darker every time Victor closes and opens his eyes again. The first, brightest star twinkles on the horizon, winks at him in such a familiar way, as though it knows something Victor doesn’t and it’s just waiting to share with him its secrets.

Or maybe it’s just Victor’s feverish brain playing tricks on him as it has been doing that nearly the whole day, making the room feel hot and cold at the same time or alerting his stomach of being hungry, only to make food the most off-putting thing when he finally sees it.

It’s such a pain being sick. He swears he can feel hours of his life physically stolen from him, all while seeing time pass outside the window of his and Yuuri’s bedroom.

There’s a rustle behind him, a soft sound of a door being opened with an elbow and a socked foot. Victor groans when something jumps on the bed—Makkachin, he finds out soon enough—and opens his tired eyes again. In the wardrobe mirror facing the door, he sees Yuuri’s reflection, the image of a worried man, a dark silhouette on a painfully bright background of the living-room lights. In his arms, he’s holding a tray with a bowl, a mug, and a glass, two of them steaming.

“Makka, no—” Yuuri scolds in a soft tone the same moment their dog pushes her snout against Victor’s head. It’s a little too much, her fur rubbing against his sensitive face, but he’d never push her comfort away – she’s been there for him her whole life, after all, for the longest time being his happiness, his joy, his one and only. His motivation and lucky charm.

He whispers, “It’s okay,” and lifts the heavy duvet enough for Makkachin to squeeze in next to him. She never misses her chance, and certainly doesn’t this time, either.

The tray clanks as Yuuri puts it on the bedside table. “I brought you some chicken soup and ginger tea,” he says in that quiet voice he uses whenever he deems Victor in need of silence. He’s not wrong, but he’s not right, either. He turns on the bedside lamp on the dimmest setting, closes the door so no unnecessary brightness bothers them, and comes back to sit down at Victor’s side on the edge of the bed. “How’s your fever?”

Victor turns towards his voice. “I don’t know.”

Yuuri leans in and presses his lips against Victor’s forehead. Victor closes his eyes and breathes in the smell clinging to Yuuri’s clothes. Chicken broth. He must have cooked it and not gone out to buy it as Victor suspected at first. Something in that simple thought clenches around his heart and moistens his eyes.

It’s not the first time he’s been sick since Yuuri’s moved in; he should already know that Yuuri’s stubborn, that he loves him, and having been brought up by loving Japanese parents Yuuri has more than just one health trick up his sleeve.

When Yuuri leans away, his eyebrows are pinched together in worry and even though Victor’s whole body hurts, he still reaches to that beautiful face and smooths the wrinkle with his fingertips.

“I’ll get through this in no time, you know,” Victor says.

Yuuri breathes out and takes Victor’s hand in his own, presses another kiss to it, then puts it on his cheek and noses against it. “I know. And I’ll be here for you through every second of it.”

And here’s the thing – when Victor’s this sick, he’s largely dependent on other people. When his muscles are weak and give him pain instead of strength, he can’t even go to the bathroom by himself when he wakes up in the middle of the night. And Yuuri—normally treasuring his sleep like nothing else—wakes up at the quietest noise, like a guard, ready to nurture at any second. He’s only ever a light sleeper when Victor isn’t feeling well. Supportive is what Yuuri is. In big and small ways, like holding Victor’s hand so dearly even when it goes lax in his hold, the strain of supporting it too much.

“Do you want to try to eat some soup?” Yuuri asks.

Eating is difficult, too, but Victor knows all too well that food is energy, and energy is exactly what his body needs right now. He nods, then, and lets Yuuri’s touch envelop him again when he helps him sit up. The duvet pools in his lap and he shivers when the seemingly cold air in the room irritates his sweat-drenched skin.

Yuuri makes a soft sound and tries to arrange the duvet back over him, without much success – it keeps uncovering Victor’s body in one way or another, or falls back down again.

“It’s okay,” Victor says at the same time as Yuuri frowns in slight frustration and mumbles, more to himself than to Victor:

“You know what.” But doesn’t say anything more, acting instead. He stands up and unzips his hoodie, does quick work of taking it off and pulling it around Victor’s shoulders.

Victor’s body gives another shiver, one of a different kind now. He closes his eyes and succumbs into the warmth of Yuuri’s body still clinging to the thick fabric, embracing him now in a way his own skin doesn’t find overwhelming.

“There,” Yuuri murmurs as he zips the hoodie up. For good measure, he pulls the hood over Victor’s head, too. It draws a soft smile from both of them.

“But my arms…”

“Are you uncomfortable?” Yuuri asks right away. When Victor hums a soft 'no’, he nods to himself and takes hold of the mug with tea. “You won’t need your arms. I’ll help you, don’t worry about anything.”

The tea isn’t as hot as Victor’s expected it to be, yet he still feels the heat of it flow through his chest with every single sip; not irritating – just enough.

With eyes closed, Victor surrenders completely. He opens his mouth when asked to, drinks spoonfuls of the chicken broth, and swallows the medication Yuuri gives him. When he opens his eyes again, the first thing he sees is his own reflection in the glass of water held in front of him.

“Just a little,” Yuuri encourages with a smile when their eyes meet, “to help the pills go down. Come on.”

He drinks the whole glass.

A million years seem to pass before he lies down again, but this time he doesn’t mind that at all. He still has the hoodie on, this time with his arms in the sleeves, Yuuri’s scent pleasantly close, as though woven in between the threads of the material.

“Do you want some peace and quiet?” Yuuri whispers when he’s done arranging the duvet around him.

'Do you want me to go?’ is what he means.

Victor shakes his head at that and finds Yuuri’s hand with his own.

'Stay.’

Yuuri hums, just a single soft sound in the back of his throat. 'Okay.’ Instead of crawling under the sheets next to him, though, he stays where he is. Maybe not to disturb him, or maybe because Makkachin’s taken his side of the bed. Or maybe—

Victor gasps and closes his eyes and melts the second Yuuri’s cool palm presses gently against his forehead. In moments when every sensation is either too much or not enough, Yuuri’s touch feels like magic.

Maybe that’s what the star would have whispered to him about if he were able to hear it, Victor thinks, every part of his being curling around the soothing presence of Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri. 'You’re in good hands. You’ll be alright.’

Maybe he does lose hours of life whenever he’s sick. Maybe he’s cheated and robbed of time. Nothing, though, could steal Yuuri’s love from him. Not in this lifetime and not in any other.

It’s written in the stars.

eriesmist:

I cannot believe that victor was like “yuri is nervous before the grand prix final. I’ll just let him do whatever” and literally ended up getting engaged to him

guileheroine:

that “when i open up, he meets me where i am” bit in yuri on ice remains the most romantic line, most soothing concept, most beautifully simple expression of love so TENDER in its clarity 

I’m always late to fandoms but damn it, I had to.