"Steel yourself, Nikiforov." Mila made a grand entrance, pushing in a nondescript stretcher. Viktor looked up from his computer. "Why?" Mila was the main mortician, but Viktor had been a doctor at one of Russia's largest hospital for years. There was little he hadn't seen before.
"You haven't heard? Or seen all the journalists crawling outside?" Mila paused. There were two body bags on the stretcher. A bit small looking, but hardly alarming.
"I don't go outside. Much." Viktor went back to his paperwork.
"Oh. Well… We lost one of our own. On the roof." Mila bowed her head. Viktor looked back up.
"Who?"
Mila winced. "Remember the new guy?"
"We just got a class of residents, Mila." Viktor frowned. "Was it the stupid looking one?"
Mila laughed. "No. Unless his name was Yuuri Katsuki."
All the color drained from Viktor's face.
He knew Yuuri. Well, Dr. Katsuki. He had bought him a cup of coffee a few times from the latte stand. They'd exchanged numbers… but neither of them had been brave enough to cross the line and meet outside of work.
"Where is he?" Viktor stood up, crossing the room.
"Well, the bigger pieces are in here. We could visually match them… this bag...we're not so sure."
"Holy fuck Mila." Viktor pressed a hand to his mouth.
"He's already been declared. We have a cause of death from poor poor Natasha. Word is he signed off to donate his body for research when he was in college."
Viktor fought the twist in his stomach. He'd lost patients. He'd lost family members. But he'd never had to work with someone he knew before.
"Put him in cooler three. Don't stay too late tonight, alright? Work ended half an hour ago."
Viktor nodded numbly, waving at Mila as she ducked out of the room.
Viktor snapped some examination gloves on, unzipping the larger body bag and pulling back the seal. His heart jumped a little at the soft smooth black hair his hand brushed.
It was better and worse than he had guessed. The head was intact, except for a clean and shallow slice across the middle of his face. The neck was mostly there… but the rest wasn't. Some shrapnel had damaged the left side of his face, and judging by the mass left in the bag… this was the least of the damage.
"I hope it was quick," Viktor sighed. He and Mila both talked to the dead. It made it less lonely. But something about this stung more than the usual patient.
Without thinking about it, it was soon an hour later. Viktor had his kit out, and he had stitched Yuuri's face back to perfection. Next, he was on to his torso. His heart had found its way downstairs, but his lower extremities were unsalvageable. Viktor went to Cooler 2- where his previous experiments were kept.
Yuuri deserved to be whole.
He sewed him back together, bit by bit. He ignored the pain in his joints and the stiffness in his fingers as he reconnected blood vessels and tendons. He didn't feel hunger, only drive. It was past midnight, probably closer to 3 am.
Viktor stood back, finally letting out a breath.
He was a doctor. Not a mortician. It wasn't the most beautiful recovery… but it was better than being shoved in a body bag.
Viktor caught the first glance of the clock.
What did I just do?
Waste 12 hours of work.
He was torn between frustration and satisfaction. Yuuri Katsuki deserved it. Any family that visited would be comforted.
But what was the point for him?
Half of his samples were gone, grafted onto Yuuri.
Viktor tore his gloves off, rubbing his tired eyes.
He might as well.
He took the vial of his latest trial, holding it up to the lights. Injection into a major vein would be easier on a body (versus a limb). It was ridiculous to think the preservation of an organ or limb would work at such a scale.
But at this point, logic wasn't on the radar.
Viktor prepped a syringe, even though an air embolism wouldn't affect such a broken, dead body. He slid the needle into Yuuri's skin, pushing the entire contents of the vial into Yuuri's neck.
Nothing happened, as expected.
Viktor went to gather his belongings- his coat, and keys. Mila would be coming in for the new work day in a few hours, and he didn't feel like explaining himself so soon. He needed time to reflect… to find a reason why.
Viktor turned, nearly forgetting to return Yuuri to storage- before he froze.
Oh god.
Oh god.
He was sitting up.
He was sitting up, and Viktor definitely had not observed any rhyme or reason for that to happen. Past trials had shown some cells living for longer.. But this.
Viktor felt icy terror run through his veins as the body on the table moved. It kicked the white sheet away. It's head turned as Viktor backed up, inadvertently knocking over a tray of folders onto the ground.
He smiled.
When Viktor had stress nightmares during his thesis, he had imagined jerky, blood-thirsty bodies coming to drag him to hell.
He did not imagine Dr. Katsuki smiling at him, his face marred and drooping on the left side.
He did not imagine his heart warming ever so slightly.
People rarely died at 5 am on a thursday morning. They usually chose the worst possible time- friday nights, an hour before their loved one arrived.
Today, it was a blessing no one had died.
They made it to Viktor's car without meeting a single soul.
Yuuri sat in the front seat, dressed in vending-machine scrubs and wrapped in Viktor's coat. The layers brought Yuuri from inexplicable to sketchy… and they could work with that.
He didn't move very quickly. He even blinked slowly. He kept the happy, blank look on his face as Viktor drove home.
It was unnerving to look over and see him staring back.
"Yuuri?"
A soft noise passed Yuuri's lips. It wasn't quite a moan, but didn't reach words either. A hum?
This situation didn't have any words to describe it. Viktor could claim he was asleep. But that didn't explain the pain he felt when he tripped helping Yuuri up the stairs. Or the panic he felt beating against his chest as he saw Yuuri slowly sink into his couch.
This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.
Viktor unwittingly fell asleep in his street clothes, lying above the sheets. Makkachin was curled up next to him, and for a minute, Viktor felt at peace.
Then it all came flooding back.
He pulled out his phone-2% battery left, and 10 missed calls. He had slept through his next shift. Yuuri hovered at the doorway, still in Viktor's coat.
Viktor was still dealing with the absurd reality when Yuuri placed the mug in his hands. It was warm- Yuuri was not, but for the fingers that held the mug. It smelled deliciously of coffee, and Viktor focused on that instead of the antiseptic scent that seeped from Yuuri.
The left side of his face had already began to die. The eye no longer moved, the eyelid heavy and dark with bruises. His other eye was bright-alive- even as his fingers moved stiffly and turned purple at the ends.
"Thank you." Viktor murmured, suddenly ravenous and dry mouthed. He forgot that he ha programmed his coffee pot to brew every morning. Yuuri was… alive enough to discover where the mugs were stored. Alive enough to pour a cup.
Yet another coffee date.
"Do you remember dying?" Viktor regretted the words said over the lip of his coffee mug the second he said them.
Yuuri still smiled, his gaze falling to the floor. The smile turned bittersweet.
If Viktor didn't blink as often, his vision would blur… and he could almost pretend that he had invited Yuuri over. That he had been a man and taken a hand in his destiny instead of weakly pining from afar.
Makkachin shrunk back from every movement forward Yuuri took. She watched warily as Viktor tipped the mug of coffee to Yuuri's lips, and he drank. She didn't growl, but she didn't welcome him either.
Days passed, and an explanation evaded forming within Viktor's reach. Mila didn't press for answers, and Viktor didn't try to give them. He worked quietly on what research he had left, while the majority waited for him in his apartment.
On the fourth night, Viktor's mattress rolled with Yuuri's weight. His cold feet slid up Viktor's bare legs. Closing his eyes… Viktor felt the most alive had had in years.
He woke up each morning to a cup of coffee and Yuuri. Crudely chopped fruit joined the coffee one morning. Viktor quickly forgot his appetite upon finding Yuuri's missing pinky next to an orange on the cutting board.
"Do you feel anything?" Viktor took Yuuri's hand in his. Yuuri replied with his usual soft hum, his head shaking side to side. He didn't bleed or feel pain.. He felt something.
Viktor did, when he came home to find Yuuri puttering around. He'd come home to hear music playing. A book sitting on a kitchen table that hadn't been there that morning.
Makkachin's hired walker said nothing- meaning Yuuri knew enough to hide when the lockbox buttons beeped and the lock in the door clicked open.
One day, Mila draped herself across Viktor's desk.
"Hey, winner winner chicken dinner man."
Viktor looked up, unamused. "I need my keyboard to work."
"Ravi and I are going out for drinks after work. I hear there is a shot of vodka with your name on it!" Mila smiled brightly.
"I can't."
"Your calendar's empty. You just turned in some paperwork. Why not?" Mila whined. Work was hard enough- it was important to let loose too.
"I have something to take care of at home." Viktor said the words without thinking.
"Huh." Mila shrugged and rolled off his desk. "Whatever floats your boat, I guess."
The beginning of the end started with a bone saw.
"They said the janitor couldn't break the lock. Since you've got the remains, you have the family contact. Therefore I nominate you to do it." Mila said firmly. There was no need to argue who would take the dirty job… but Mila had to qualms about it. The fact was, Viktor had become more and more withdrawn over the past week. He went home immediately after his work hours ended. He rarely talked about his hobbies, and refused every offer for drinks.
He didn't even go to Yuuri's memorial service.
So he had to reach closure somewhere. Breaking open his employee locker counted as unconventional… but that was all there was left. Yuuri's family lived back in Japan, and while he had been well-liked enough for staff to hold a service… the state took care of the rest. Yuuri's apartment was cleaned out, an all that was left of him was his padlock in the break room.
It cut just as easily as a femur. Viktor didn't know what to expect when he opened it up. A soft flannel shirt and jeans. A blue jacket. His wallet, and cell phone- battery more dead than its owner.
Viktor took the items home. It was only right, wasn't it? He could seal it in a plastic bag and mail it off, but its owner was so close by. It was just that know one could know about his secret Viktor held close to him.
They luckily shared the same taste in electronics, and Viktor plugged in the phone as soon as he arrived home.
He wished-again- that he had been brave enough to talk to Yuuri before he died.
His phone case was covered in poodles. A common love- one that still wouldn't share a room with him.
"I have a change of clothes, Yuuri." Viktor called out, before he shuffled out of the bedroom. The apartment was just as clean as he had left it that morning.
Yuuri moved closer to him, his eye lifting as he docile and warmly met Viktor's eyes.
They met eyes, and
They kissed.
It felt natural, until the thought behind it caught up. Yuuri didn't move, but the sweet smile returned.
"Here." Viktor held out the bundle of Yuuri's locker contents, but Yuuri didn't grab any of it.
"Hmm?" Viktor felt himself mimicking Yuuri's hums more and more often. He set the bundle on the counter behind him, taking Yuuri's hands in his.
His fingernails were black, the purple spreading from his fingertips up into his palm. They were stiff. A soft sigh escaped Yuuri's lips as Viktor tried to bend them.
"You're dying."
Yuuri's laugh stung.
"It sounded better than you're rotting, Yuuri."
The purple discoloration had reached his face as well, and he could see the row of stitches across the bridge of his nose was starting to darken.
"Oh, Yuuri." Viktor cupped his face in his hands. It was still soft, still kind even behind the gore.
Yuuri recognized the buzz of his phone from across the room as it came back to life.
"Let's have dinner first?" Viktor squeezed Yuuri's hands, bringing his gaze back to him.
They sat at the table together. Yuuri drank, but he never seemed to chew, so Viktor sated himself with a bottle of wine between them.
Yuuri's gaze drifted back to the phone after the dishes were put away. Viktor kept his promise, pulling it off the charger. He held it out to Yuuri, before taking it back from his open palms.
His fingers no longer moved. The screen was useless-even if it was gracefully unlocked.
"You weren't very secure were you?" Viktor swiped his thumb on the screen, the picture of a toy poodle opening to the home screen of Yuuri's iphone.
"To bed?" Viktor felt his heart jump a little as the phone connected and refreshed- ten, twenty calls. Fifty messages. Most in Japanese, some in English.
I miss you.
This is dumb, but I wanted to say goodbye.
I love you, bestie.
Facebook had even more messages- tags and notifications of posts most likely about Yuuri.
Viktor had forgotten he was dead to the world.
He didn't want to play them. He couldn't bear to watch. But Yuuri hummed, such a sad, empty sound. He leaned into him on the bed, nuzzling into his side.
He had to.
The same name that had called him bestie had uploaded a series of none less than ten videos. Montages of selfies and videos of 'Phichit' and Yuuri. Picture perfect snapshots on the streets of Bangkok and a famous looking Japanese castle.
The last video was the hardest.
The ground was snowy- tall buildings reminiscent of a college rather than St. Petersburg or Japan. Yuuri's cheeks and nose were flushed pink with cold, and his breath floated up in clouds.
"Hey youtube! Coming at you live from Red Square, with great news!" Phichit sang, floating in and out of the shot as they traversed the wintry terrain. "My best friend and your favorite co star, Yuuri Hot Booty Katsuki got into Med school!" The Yuuri in the video laughed nervously, turning even redder.
"What do you have to say to the world, Yuuri?" Phichit skipped, pressing his cheek to Yuuri's and looping his arm around him. He barely kept the camera steady.
"um, hi?" Yuuri looked so young and alive. His eyes darted from place to place, avoiding the camera, but sparkling nonetheless.
The Yuuri beside him didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"Why did you apply to medical school?" Phichit goaded, elbowing Yuuri in the side. He looked away, but had the same sweet smile.
"Because… I think the reason I'm alive… is to help others."
"There you have it, Youtube! My boy Yuuri is moving up in the world!"
"It's just Michigan-"
"Shhh! Signing off for tonight, it's time to celebrate!"
The videos stopped, replaced by snapchat screenshots of Yuuri asleep face-first in a pile of textbooks. Yuuri with a 5-shot espresso.
Yuuri in scrubs and the face of someone who hadn't slept in 72 hours.
Yuuri in a graduation cap and gown, surrounded by family.
An older sister. A mother with softer cheeks and a smile just like her son. A father who looked warmer than any Viktor had known.
Yuuri palmed his hand to the next tag before Viktor realized that he was frozen, overwhelmed with emotion he couldn't place.
Yuuri was gone, and only Phichit was left.
Phichit's face, tear-stained and tired. Heavy looking, his voice shaking.
"... I thought living a 12 hour plane ride away was tough, but living in a world without you is even harder."
Phichits words lasted long after they played.
Viktor moved to set the phone on the nightstand- to make it last for another day- but Yuuri grasped his arm with what strength he had left.
He opened Yuuri's voicemail.
He hesitated, unsure which to open first, before he read the contact name.
Mama.
He played the last message first.
Yuuri. It's been 6 days since the doctors called about you. I still can't believe it. I'm sorry for calling you so much, but I feel like you might pick up still. I wish you had recorded a message so I could hear you again.
The translator told us that you donated your body to the hospital you work at. It could be another year until we can have a funeral for you. But Vicchan knows. We have a picture of you on the altar, and he visits you every morning.
He loves you, Yuuri.
I love you. You'll always be my baby boy, Yuu-chan.
Viktor didn't understand a word of the tear-laden Japanese in the recording.
But he didn't have to.
"Mama." Yuuri cried, tone deaf and heart-wrenching. His tongue, his body didn't do what it wanted to. It didn't really belong to him- he didn't belong to it.
To everyone else in the world, Yuuri was dead.
To Viktor, he was alive.
Half-alive.
He sobbed, but it didn't sound human.
Viktor slept, but Yuuri didn't.
The next morning, the sutures keeping Yuuri's left arm on failed.
Viktor smuggled it to work in his briefcase, disposing of it in a hazmat container the second Mila wasn't looking.
The day after that, Viktor couldn't forget the image of Yuuri, pink and healthy and sloshing around into the snow.
The Yuuri across the dinner table didn't compare.
He wilted, the second set of sutures failing. Another donor arm lost. When Viktor returned home, he was in the same place where he had been when Viktor left.
Yuuri wouldn't last long enough to see his family.
Viktor told himself that, each time he recalled the photos and messages.
He held a cup to Yuuri's lip, as he sipped slowly, but the coffee spilled onto his flannel shirt.
"Yuuri…"
Yuuri no longer hummed. His eyes lifted, his eyelashes dark and thick, head still bowed.
"This is going on much too long." Viktor's hands shook as he set down the mug. Yuuri blinked slowly at him.
"I'm sorry. I won't be far behind you."
Yuuri didn't move, but this time as he watched as the needle was lifted and pressed into his skin.
Every message had been read. Every voicemail opened.
It was never easy to say goodbye.
At least this time, Yuuri's eyes closed peacefully. This time, he saw it coming.
Nevertheless, a thousand this times and at least did not soothe Viktor, and the monster he felt hum beneath his skin. The being who had kept Yuuri alive, watched him wilt and wither away.
No one would know what had brought Yuuri back.
The secret would die with him.