This is my first attempt on writing something for the YOI fandom. The story is a part of a YOI fanfic event on FB and the prompt used for it is "Vacation".

A Tale Carved on Ice

He met him in the heart of winter, when the powdered snow was still weaved with magic and the ancient forest was succumbing to glair-white brilliance. The echo of his name was bouncing off every mossy Siberian pine, carried by the winds like a feather.

"Vitya!... Vitya!..."

He had stared down at the young boy; small twigs tangled in that tousled fountain of silver hair, perky nose blushed by the numbing cold and two icy pools of azure, as if all the myriad shades of blue swirled together to form a whirlpool in his eyes. That day, the look on his own face couldn't have been more astonished. Because the boy could see him.

"What's your name?"

"Viktor."

"Ah, I see...Then, what's mine?"

"Hmmm...Yuuri!"

He had smiled at the soft sound of his newly given name, a name spoken with such joyful innocence. He could get used to it, he thought.

"They are looking for you, Viktor. Do you want to go back to them?"

He had gently wafted along the stream gurgling through the woodland, the young child always on his tail clutching the firewood he had spent hours gathering. Eventually, he had watched him scampering elated to his grandfather's arms, sprigs scattering around on his dash. He had even loitered enough to seethe at the men's cringeworthy words.

"Vitya!"

"Dedulya!"

"You and your grandson should be careful, Nikolai. There are pagans in these places, they worship the demons. I've heard the herds are being attacked at night."

The years rained down like snowflakes , beautiful yet insignificant, as the boy never met him again. But unlike young Viktor, he was always there; watching the child's ventures from afar, eavesdropping his melodious laughter in the distance. Viktor was growing into a dazzling youth, whose airy beauty could kindle the nymphs' jealousy. Compared to the rest teenagers, he wasn't as agile and his physical strength paled. Yet, he would never back down from a wild boar hunt, endless, sterling strands of hair flowing in the chilling breeze whenever he would leap over the thorny thickets. And everytime night cast its onyx shroud, and the thin plumes of smoke curling from the chimneys were the only sign of life in the sleeping village, those two aquamarine jewels he bore for eyes would turn into sparkling beacons. Oh Gods, the light they used to shed! That blinding light emanating from their depths, the one no human, not even Viktor himself could perceive, the light that reached him, and only him alone, just to tantalize his otherworldly senses. How could he unveil himself to this child ever again, he wondered. How could he, an arrogant earthen spirit, fend off such radiance?

Until one cloudless afternoon within the prelude of spring, it was Viktor who found him. New doctrines and ethics had spread in those frozen lands like the plague, launching a merciless purge and chasing away the inheritance of the Old World. It was such a vile witch-hunt that brought the seraphic teenager right into his own nest. Viktor had stood there flustered, panting after climbing all the way up into the sunless caverns that overlooked the icebound valley, the symbol of the new Faith hanging over his heaving chest. The pendant made him shiver.

"You won't need that here."

"I...I feel like I know you..."

"Of course you know me, Viktor. Say my name."

"Yu...Yuuri?...Yuuri!"

Oh, how he had missed that mellow sound!

"Are you afraid of me? You don't have to be."

"No, I am not. It's just that...you're so different from me...Your hair is like the ravens' feathers. Your eyes like the wood in our bonfires..."

"Because I am a spirit of the rocks, a guardian of the caverns. Is that a bad thing?"

Viktor's laughing eyes had graced him with the craved answer, enchanting and delicate like two newly bloomed bluebells. He had left at dusk, as the bleaching Russian sunlight dissipated over the bald mountaintops. That same night, the shadows had whispered to him.

"Yuuri...do you like that name?...yuuri..."

"Yes, he chose it for me. But I like his own even more...Viktor...the name of the conqueror..."

"Oh you vain child of the Earth, do you envy that boy's beauty so much? Do you wish to steal him as your own?"

"I only wish he believed in me... I wish they all believed in me again."

"The Old World is fading, Yuuri. Magic is slowly evaporating, if humans can now see you. Beware of that boy, for your pride may lead you astray."

But one week later, Viktor appeared again at his craggy threshold. This time he guided the youth deeper into the caverns. The eroded walls above arched to giant stalactites, and as the cave wormed its way into the mountain, the air was getting all the more dank and the rhythmic sound of dripping water reverberated in the stillness. And yet, the once impenetrable blackness had dissolved. It left Viktor in amazement, pondering how this silver light could sneak into such unwelcoming depths. How could he ever confide to the innocent boy the truth? How could he ever tell him that the source of this mysterious luminescence had never been the sun, but his moonlit eyes?

Eventually, the jagged trail led them to a bigger hollow inside the cave and soon they were greeted by a stunning sight. An argent-molded lake, shining like diamond flame and perfectly flat like a disc of metal, was laying quietly under a narrow opening which beheld the infinite sky vault. Hundreds of spheric lights were sprinkled on its steel surface. From where they stood, they resembled the stars. But as Viktor edged closer, his lips shaped up into a circle of awe. For they were countless glow worms, showering with their fluorescent shades the rocky ground, unfolding a celestial drape from the darkened ceiling.

Seeing this wonderment colouring Viktor's clear face, he urged him to take a dive into that bliss expanding in front of them. But the teenager lowered his hesitant gaze.

"I...I've never swum before..."

He smiled and took a step into the lake.

"Then don't swim."

And just like that, those glossy waters had turned into glacial ice. His inviting hand lingered before Viktor. And when the silver haired boy grabbed it, all his enthusiasm, all the warmth, all those humane emotions, poured into his immortal body and flooded his timeworn soul. They had danced for hours on the icy surface. Gliding like the sleighs on the pearly slopes, drifting like the snowflakes in the wintry air. Floating higher...and higher...

After that day, they became inseparable. They would meet with the first timid beam of dawn and carelessly cruise through the woodland together, until their eyes hailed the night. They would shelter their newfound feelings into the lake's embrace and soak themselves into its lustrous waters, until a new day was born.

"How do you do that?"

Viktor's gem-like eyes followed Yuuri's graceful fingers as they playfully stirred the sleek surface. The waters bubbled and churned, and soon the lagoon was pleasantly heated like a hot spring.

"It's a secret...do you enjoy it?"

"Mhmm...I love this warm feeling, I could stay here all day. I wish there were more places like this."

"There are. All around the world. In the East, they are called onsen. In the West..."

"Onsen...how do you know that? Have you travelled a lot?"

"I've never left these lands. But my mind is in tune with the rest spirits of the earth. If I concentrate, I can hear them. Right here."

His fingertip gently tapped Viktor's wet temple.

"Can you also hear what the humans are thinking?"

"Sometimes, if their inner voices let me."

"Alright then...what about me? What am I thinking?"

For a moment, the cave around them became stagnant. And then, his chestnut eyebrows rose so high, that they vanished under his dark bangs. His pale cheeks dimpled. Slowly, he leaned in, capturing the rosy velvet of Viktor's lips, sliding his tongue inside and tasting the surprise of the alluring adolescent.

"Does this answer your question, Viktor?"

Time didn't stroll by slowly. And as the weeks turned to months, and the months turned to years, their passion matured into love. The love mutated into worship. But the eras were drastically changing. The New World was swallowing the old traditions. The air was thick with the suffocating smell of burnt flesh. And what had once begun as the persecution of pagans, it had now deteriorated to a harrowing carnage.

"Please stop..."

He felt Viktor's hand halting his own, as he was fondly pumping his throbbing member.

"Do you really want me to? When you are like this?"

He attempted to resume the pace of his strokes, but the silver haired man slid away from his arms.

"We can't do this. Not anymore."

He saw him clenching that cursed pendant around his neck. The one he wanted shattered more than anything.

"Viktor..."

"You don't get it, Yuuri. They say that such a union between two men is impure. They say-"

"I'm not a man, Viktor. I am not even a human."

"Still! It's a sacrilege. If they find out..."

With a swift motion, he pulled Viktor's trembling hand and tightly secured it on the left side of his chest.

"Look at me! Do you find this impure?"

Viktor's heart sank. His shoulders hunched forward and he apologetically shook his head.

"There's more than that. Boys and girls are seized as infidels. As if they are the Devil's seeds. I don't know what to make out of this anymore."

"You don't need them! Forget their vicious rules and repugnant teachings. Just believe in me, Viktor! That's all you need to do. Believe in me. I'll be your guide, I'll be-"

"You don't understand! I always believed in you, Yuuri... Always, from the first moment I saw your smile raining down on my childish face. It's my own courage I must find. It's myself I need to believe in..."

That evening, he had let Viktor leave with his gleaming cerulean eyes brimming with salty tears. Desperation was a mortal emotion he hadn't yet learned how to cope with. But he was determined to lead the young lad away from all this decay surrounding them. Time was on their side, he thought. Only the next morning arrived, and Viktor didn't return.

The instant the air shifted, he breathed it in. It was a scent unlike all others. The way all animals rushed back into their burrows. The moment the day turned empty and bleaker.

Like a wild horse without reins, he galloped on the slippery frost, sprinting through a forest chilled and desolate. And then, in the entrance of a small clearing, he found him. His silver waterfall of hair scaterred around his feet, his writhing body suspended on the stake. Carefully he brought him down, averting his gaze from the septic bruises and smearing that name, "heathen", written in his blood. And as he lovingly sheathed Viktor's head in his doting arms, that miracle that had manifested in his cave all those years ago, opened his eyes for one last time, gruelingly staring back at him. A twinkle happily flickered in his irises, as if life tip-toed its final choreography on his moondust. And then, the light dimmed.

Viktor was only twenty-three.

Decades flashed by like a garland of memories. Or, perhaps, they had been centuries. Time was of the essence no more. The New Faith was eventually replaced by an even more bloodcurdling word. The humans called it "technology". Hundreds of acres were deforested and whatever legend was left to remind of the Old World, could only be found in illustrated books full of fairy tales.

As for him, condemned into obscurity, he had long now sought solace in his one true home, deep into the misty folds of the ancient caverns. Down below he lay, forsaken and forgotten, his leaking essence infusing with the ores. But, unlike the rest earthern spirits that had sailed for destinations uncharted, he was patiently enduring the immortality bestowed on him. Stoically yearning for the right day to emerge in the horizon. And when that day finally rose, the shadows spoke to him once again.

"In four mortal years from now, a boy shall be born in the land of the rising sun."

"And still...I would not know how to find him..."

"You forgot the old writings, child? Don't you know that the souls return as the last loving thing they ever saw?"

Rusty brown eyes suddenly widened. Withdrawing a silver braid kept all this time in his bosom, he let his fingertips caress its silken texture. A single tear befogged his vision, and he had to blink it away.

"There's a trip I need to make. A long overdue vacation."

In the abysmal darkness, the shadows chuckled sinisterly.

"What the humans call "vacation" is not meant to be permanent. It is a break. An intermission. If you join them, you shall never be able to return, child."

"Who knows..." he stood up, peering into that droplet of light gleaming far above him, at the cave's mouth "...perhaps I will return this time with him."

The clock already ticks two past midnight, when Viktor Nikiforov stumbles towards the exquisite buffet, groping for yet another glass of vodka. So far this Grand Prix gala has been proven overwhelming, even for a living legend of the ice like his cocky self. The culprit of this euphoric and highly contagious insanity is still swirling around the pole half naked, wearing his tie like an outrageous bandana while the thirsty audience is wildly cheering him on. Viktor feels a tad sorry for this Yuuri boy, the discovery he'll make when he's finally sober might not be the most pleasant one. However, if he wants to be frank with himself, Viktor can't help but admit that the Japanese skater's craze has wholeheartedly drawn him in. That carelessness, that passion in all its pure innocence, how long it has been since he experienced anything similar? Heck , at one point, he even joined him in his frenzied dance. He, the one who is always surrounded by countless admirers blindly believing in him, who has the Press worshipping the carpet he is marching on, who is daily followed by a parade of trainers and mentors. He, who is utterly sick and tired of any and all of them. And yet, tonight, this boy manages to spark up that zestful flame nesting in his chest. Just who on earth is he?

Viktor gulps down his drink in three generous sips, before jumping back into the core of this madness. It is right then and there, that the unleashed brunet unexpectedly lunges at him while everyone is watching aghast. Rubbing his flushed face on Viktor's shirt, his starry brown eyes beg him with unprecedented adoration, as he mouths words he will probably have forgotten with the first crack of dawn.

"Please, be my coach."

And amidst the chaos, Viktor's heart skips a beat. Because, for a mere second, as their gazes intertwine under the party lights, a surreal thought crosses his mind; he has seen this boy's face in the past, somewhere, somehow every inch of him looks oddly familiar.

Many months later, Viktor will unexpectedly chance upon a flawless rendition of his last figure skating program by twenty-three years old Katsuki Yuuri. After watching the video, the idea of travelling to Japan will brew in his mind. He'll label it a long overdue vacation and will try to ignore the feeling he has said those words before.

Eventually, he will return to Saint Petersburg. And this time, he won't be alone.

A tale carved on ice,
a life of frozen dew,
it melts into disguise
and forms a story new...

The End

dedulya: grandpa in Russian
The lyrical verse at the end is mine
Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated