Viktor never had any excitement in his job. He was a professional figure skater, sure, but at this point his skating never surprised anyone anymore. He had done it for so long, finding some way to catch the audience off guard each and every time, that nobody bought it anymore. Not even when he performed his free skate with five quads, two of which being the flip and axel. The audience was no longer impressed with his skating, they all took it for granted. His heart sank at the halfhearted cheers he would receive each time he landed a perfect jump. His emotions were conveyed perfectly, so much so that the audience could actually feel his sadness in his step sequence, in each twirl and spin and leap through the air. But they thought it as only part of the act and cheered those same cheers.

He had not lost his touch in the slightest; rather, he had lost something he could not live without, that being the surprise of the audience.

He felt...dead inside.

That was why he was so glad when a certain creature came into his life.

...

Another stroll down the beach to calm the senses of the twenty-seven-year-old. Another bright, partly cloudy day. Another day for Viktor Nikiforov to be miserable about his life. Another day to dread before his next uneventful competition.

But figure skating wasn't the only thing he did. He was also quite well-known in the family business.

When he wasn't training for events around the world, he was at home, helping his mother and father run their hot spring. He heard of one in Japan that could rival his own, one called Yu-topia Katsuki, but without a fresh, young face there his was the best there was. Fans of his worldwide would come and bask in the warmth of the onsen. Or, if they wanted a place to cool off, they also offered many natural ponds and other large and small pools to wade in. They basically had it all. They also offered meals to any hungry customers, their most famous being their pirozhki. Something about the way they were made always enticed even the most stubborn eaters.

Viktor stopped momentarily to stare longingly at the vast ocean ahead of him, the sun glittering brilliantly off its surface to create ripples of light on the water. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to live underwater, swimming about freely with almost no limitations.

Yes, he often thought of being a merman. But he was forbidden to think such thoughts. For he had been taught long ago that merpeople were no good. There was no doubt they existed; in fact, they were often hunted down for their valuable scales and such. He regretted killing one himself years ago, when he was first taught how to hunt a merperson. He was considered a great hunter, for he had caught a rare one with glistening silver scales, one of the most uncommon and most valuable of their kind. He still wore a necklace made from the scales he did not sell, although he regretted every moment of that day and every time he wore his trophy around his neck.

Blue was also a rare color to come across, perhaps the absolute rarest of them all, even more so than gold. In fact, they might even be extinct, for even he had never found one in his life and was quite content with never finding one. If they were discovered, he already knew they would be killed and stripped for the money.

Viktor plopped down harshly into the sand, kicking some up along the way, and sighed. He could do hardly anything else. Merpeople were such beautiful creatures, so how could they be dangerous? He distinctly remembered one day in class when he was ten years younger, the only day he had gotten in trouble for his wandering mind.

...

"Alright, class. Today we're talking about merfolk. I don't really want to, but it's a required unit, so you'd better pay attention and not pick your noses!"

"Yes, Mr. Plisetsky..."

"If there's one thing you must remember about merpeople, it's that they are nothing but trouble. About the only thing they're good for is their scales, which are in high demand. If you ever find a merperson, kill it immediately. It doesn't matter if it's a male, female, or even a child. They are just an invasive species that must be dealt with immediately."

(His teacher was always in a bad mood.)

"What, Nikiforov?"

"How can something so pretty be so bad?"

"Because we hate them, and they hate us. If we were to go into their territory, they would kill us on the spot, so we do what they do."

"But...doesn't that make us just like them?"

"Nikiforov, if I weren't your teacher I'd beat you right on the spot for some smartass comment like that!"

"But it's true!" (He was standing up at this point and glaring at Mr. Plisetsky.) "If we do what they do, how does that make us any better than them? As far as I can tell, they are just trying to defend themselves from predators. What gives anyone the right to judge an animal based on their instinct?"

"To the office, now!"

...

"Nikiforov, do you realize what this is?"

"Um..."

"This is a silver-scaled mermaid. One of the rarest of its kind! You're alright, Viktor!"

(That was the first time he had ever called him Viktor.)

"But-"

"You can sell this for a hefty price! Why don't you make yourself a trophy out of its scales or something? That way you can always remember your first accomplishment!"

(Those words had actually hurt him; he thought he had made many achievements in his life, including his first gold medal in skating.)

...

The waves crashed gently at his feet and startled him from his musings. Looking up, he realized belatedly that it was nearing nighttime. He gathered himself up onto his feet and, with one last look at the water, padded away.

The warm air of his home and work greeted him kindly, followed on its heels by his mother who gave him a bone-crushing hug and his father, who just waved his hand and went back to what he was doing. Viktor returned the embrace briefly before the contact made him slightly uncomfortable and he had to back away. She smiled fondly at him.

"You're back late, Vitya. Did something happen?"

"Um, no. I was at the beach." He scratched the back of his hand unknowingly, but nobody seemed to pay attention. Instead, he was given a task he was more than happy to do.

"You look tired. Why don't you lie down for the night? I'll make sure to wake you up first thing tomorrow morning, though. We have a lot of work to do!"

He grinned halfheartedly and nodded before retiring to his room for the night, not even bothering to change into his pajamas.

After dreams filled with naught but scenes from that day he killed the silver mermaid haunting his mind, he was less than happy to get up in the morning when he was awoken to his mother's calls of his name. He habitually dressed himself up in something decent and practically fell down the stairs. She was the first to see just how sickly her son looked, before he was even able to register how bad he felt. She looked sympathetically at him and rested a slightly-wrinkled hand on his forehead upon seeing his pale skin and the dark rings under his eyes.

"Are you feeling alright, Viktor? You look terrible today..."

He shrugged and answered merely out of habit. "I'm fine. Probably just a cold or something. What's that work you wanted me to do?" He tried to shuffle past her, but he only made it a few strides before stumbling and grasping the wall for support, startled at just how winded he was. He heard her scoff behind him.

"No, you're not going anywhere but back to bed. You're sick, and I can't have you making everyone else sick too."

Viktor wished he had more stamina than he had so he could argue, but unfortunately he feared that opening his mouth would result in something other than words coming out, so he relented without so much as a simple "No."

The trip back to his room felt like much more than fourteen stairs and a short hallway, and he was visibly sweating by the time he made it to his bed. He was a grown man, so why was being sick so hard on him? He should be past this.

His room was soon filled with the tantalizing scent of pirozhki as his mother walked in quietly with a tray filled with a light breakfast consisting of the aforementioned food as well as a small bowl of grapes and a glass of orange juice. He sat up and took the tray, embarrassed at the affectionate serving as if he were a child again. This was why he hated it when he was sick. He would be taken care of even though he could very well take care of himself.

"My poor Vitya, you must feel terrible. I hope this will do," she whispered with a gentle kiss on his forehead. He averted his eyes to the food on his lap, not wanting to say a word to her. He didn't hate her for doing this for him, he just hated feeling so useless and incompetent and having others doing anything for him that he could do. She knew this, as he had said so before on multiple occasions, and took her leave without another syllable. Viktor tried the grapes first, hoping it wouldn't cause any negative reaction, and hummed with satisfaction when he found that his stomach churned only in hunger and wolfed down the pirozhki in record time. There was also some medicine left for him, which he of course took, and he downed everything in about five minutes before he became too cold and retreated to the blankets, the empty dishes set carefully on the nightstand beside his bed. He had never felt so ravenous before when he was ill; usually he would refuse to eat. This was definitely an off day for him.

His mom was actually quite surprised when she came back in later and found that there was not one crumb left on his plate. She wasn't surprised, however, to find that he was sound asleep and didn't even stir when she collected his dishes and stepped out. She knew that even while asleep he could feel the gazes of people watching him, so she did not linger. He said it had something to do with competition, and how after years of people always watching you and waiting for you to mess up you sort of grow acutely aware of when someone is watching, even outside the arena. She knew it made him uncomfortable when someone watched him while sleeping, and she had only found that out the hard way when his eyes had snapped open as well as his mouth while she had been unknowingly staring at him. He had gone off on her before he had even had time to realize who it was that was looking.

...

Viktor was glad when his fever broke in the night and he could get back to training. He had actually started to worry that he would not be ready for the Worlds because he had to take a sick day. He had something prepared for the audience that he would introduce at the event that no one else had ever done before: a quint axel. Five and a half rotations in one jump. Nobody had ever done a quint in competition before, and he would be the first. He made sure it would be a surprise by only practicing in private rinks, where nobody would be watching him. He spent countless hours perfecting his quint axel without anyone even having a clue of what was going to happen. He would go to the Worlds. He would skate his heart out. He would land his jump. He would win the audience over all over again. And then he would be satisfied to retire.

But there was always that nagging doubt. Viktor was known to surprise his fans, known to go to the extreme just to impress everyone. It never seemed like he was trying, but he was. It rarely showed when he was out on the ice, but the effort was there. It would probably show when he did his quint, for his body just was not as nimble as it used to be. It was breaking his heart just thinking about how he would announce his retirement after he won his last gold medal. After he won his last World Championship. A solitary tear would escape each time his mind wandered to it before he caught himself. One week from now, and that was it. One more week until he would be too old to skate in competition. Christmas Day had passed, and he was now twenty-eight.

And, one week later, it happened.

He went to the Worlds. He skated his heart out. He landed his jump. He won the audience all over again. And he was satisfied to retire.

"Viktor Nikiforov's total score is 346.52. He has retained his title as World Champion and broke his own record once again by a large margin!"

The gold medal was placed around his neck, tears falling unending down his cheeks and onto the black fabric of his costume. For his final competition, he decided to wear the costume that started it all, the famous black see-through outfit from his junior days. Of course, it had to be remade to fit him since the other one was much too small. But he was proud to wear it one last time. He had even used some elements from his first free program, with some changes of course. He could barely kiss his medal before the emotions overtook him. Everyone else was shocked by his sudden outburst as he had won gold many times before, and the camera focused on him for the longest time before the microphone was passed to him and he said those fateful words, ones that made everyone fall silent in shock.

"I've decided to retire."

And then his sobfest made sense to everyone, and some of them even followed suit.

"Six time consecutive World Champion is a title that I will always cherish. The past thirteen years I spent in competition have been the best years of my life. I have enjoyed surprising everyone one last time, and although I would love to skate with you cheering me on forever, I'm afraid I can't take it anymore. I'm too old to compete now, and..." New tears were forming and spilling from his lashes. "Thank you. Thank you for giving me the best life I could have asked for. All I ask in return for this is that there are others to take my place, to win gold in my stead, and to cherish their lives like I almost have not. Surprising you has always been my goal, and when I saw that you were no longer impressed, it tore me apart. So I wanted to do something for you for my last competition. Thank you for rooting for me all this time...Th-Thank you so much..."

Viktor trailed off, dropping the microphone and covering his face as a new wave of sadness took hold. Seeing a grown man cry would normally put someone off, but everyone else seemed to feel the same as they also started weeping for him. Even the camera crew and the judges and reporters were in shock and almost made them teary-eyed themselves as they saw the world's greatest retiring and breaking down on live television, broadcasted across the world for millions to see. And worst of all, their favorite Russian figure skater was retiring and seemed to regret it.

As if he could read their minds, that same man spoke up, trying to compose himself and bringing the microphone back up. "I have no regrets about this. My mind had been made up for a while now, so I am prepared for a life without competition. Thanks to the mysterious creature I had met only a week before, I have never been more sure of anything. All I want you to do now is to enjoy figure skating without me. I can watch from the sidelines; heck, I might just become a coach. But I can't surprise you anymore after this day, and so...I'm leaving. Again, thank you so much everyone who has been there for me. My friends, family, fans, and even that merman I met. Thank you for giving me these thirteen years to enjoy."

And with that, he passed the microphone back to the reporter, who stood there speechless for the longest few moments. After all that, it was hard to carry on as if nothing had happened. Viktor stood as tall as he naturally could for the newscast and cameras and video, proudly showing off his last gold medal.

...

One week earlier

The loneliness was eating away at him slowly and agonizingly. His decision to retire was without regret, and yet there was nothing else to fill the void that would be left. He couldn't stand the thought of just working at the onsen his whole life and doing nothing more than that. The mere notion of it made him sick to his stomach. It wasn't as if he hated his job at the hot springs, it was just not enough to call it his livelihood, not after thirteen years of competition and the press. Without all that, everything would seem dull, and he would surely follow suit.

He was twenty-seven years old, yet he sat in the sand of the beach, all alone, knees tucked to his chest and face partially hidden behind, aimlessly drawing in the grains with a stick as if he were ten again. He found himself tracing that mermaid he had killed, whose scales he yet still wore. Only now he felt no remorse. In fact, he felt nothing. Just a numbing sensation similar to if his leg were falling asleep, except all over.

Nobody else was on the beach this day, probably because it was rather cloudy and chancing rain. He thanked God for this solitude and stared out at the ocean, thoughts of living underwater returning to his mind as they so often did. He would probably never tell anyone this, but the other day he had actually seen a merman. He was so beautiful, but he had only gotten a glimpse of his jet-black hair before he disappeared. Now he was returning constantly to that same spot, hoping to find him again, to no avail. Maybe he was gone for good, but at least he had gotten a look, right?

A chill invaded his thoughts and forced him back into the real world. He silently gathered himself onto his feet and proceeded to turn around and head back. But something halted his steps and turned him around to face the water again. His brows furrowed, he chanced a darting glance around him, hoping to find the source of the change in atmosphere. As if to guide him, the clouds parted slightly and a small spotlight of sun was cast down upon a shimmering body lying on the shore. His feet carried him faster than his mind could think, instinct kicking in before reason, dragging him to his destination, and what he saw startled him.

Lying still, practically lifeless in the sand, was a human.

Not quite a human actually. More like a merman. And this one had deep black hair that fell over his eyes which were shut gently as if in surrender. His ears matched the color of his shining cerulean tail which ended in large, yet still rather timid fins. Smaller fins also protruded from his elbows and either side of his tail towards his hips, elbows sporting a few blue scales. His hands were webbed with a thin, rubbery skin, and the skin that wasn't covered in scales was pale, like Viktor's own. And whatever wasn't blue or pale was deep crimson as blood dripped from open wounds in several places on his small body.

Such an easy kill... was his first thought before halting that tangent. Killing was never in his nature, and he certainly was not about to change that.

The merman's chocolate brown eyes fluttered halfway open briefly allowing the creature to catch an eyeful of Viktor. He, of course, made no attempt to escape, but gave him a surrendering gaze and mumbled something near incoherently, making Viktor's heart stop for a long moment.

"Please don't kill me..."

His instincts kicked in after that and he rushed back home which was blessedly close to fetch a first aid kit and whatever else he could find that he could use. Then he sprinted back and thanked every possible god out there that the poor thing was still alive and unseen by others. Kneeling down beside him, Viktor worked his hands as fast as they could go, cleaning up some of the blood and sterilizing the wounds and preparing a simple needle and thread to stitch him shut. He heard the other whimper at the sting, but did not stop, instead repeatedly apologizing and soothing him while he pierced the skin over and over.

The only thing that kept his hands moving was knowing that this would save a life. And that was enough motivation for him. Still, he was grateful when he reached the last cut and stitched it closed. The merman also appeared relieved, although that was probably because he knew he would not die at the hands of that human. He promptly fell asleep, before Viktor could even ask his name, and left the rest up to his savior.

...

The burning sensation ceased in about three seconds when he noticed, in the back of his consciousness, the cool feeling of water against his skin. That alone could have been the best medicine he could ever ask for.

Well, that and food.

The distinct scent of Russian cuisine being prepared stirred him awake, just in time to see the gray-haired man from before stepping out to him with a plate of pirozhkis in his slightly-tanned hands. Something told him that man was going to polish that platter all by himself, because he appeared thoroughly shocked at the sight of him awake. He instinctually backed away, his face partially underwater, when that person deviated from his predicted path to approach him. A soft, lyrical chuckle filled the air.

"Don't be afraid of me, I'm not going to hurt you. All I want from you is the knowledge that you'll be alright. And your name, of course."

"Yuri," he responded merely out of habit. Afraid he didn't understand, he elaborated. "My name is...Yuri."

The man smiled, "Viktor. I am a professional figure skater and I help run this onsen. How about something to eat? You must be starving."

"H-Hai..."

Viktor raised a curious eyebrow, but handed him a hot pirozhki nonetheless. Yuri took a hesitant bite out of it and hummed his satisfaction at the flavor before wolfing down the rest of it in record time. His tail swished in the water showing his compliment to the chef, making Viktor grin at the cute display. He tried to make small talk, but Yuri was still nervous around him and seldom spoke. He really only answered when he asked if he wanted more food, which of course he answered positive, still ravenous and enjoying Viktor's cooking. He downed another two easily before declaring he was finished.

Viktor's curiosity was insatiable. His mind wandered back to Yuri's response, his very Japanese response. They were all the way over in Russia, so there was no possible way he could have drifted so far and still be alive. So, pirozhki on hand, he asked the question that nagged him.

"Are you Japanese by chance?"

Yuri stared curiously at him, unsure how to respond. But he automatically nodded.

"Yeah, well, no, not really. A Japanese family who owned an onsen took me in after they saved me from hunters. I think the nicest one was Hiroko Katsuki, who gave me their last name as a welcome into the family. I was kind of like a brother to them, I guess, and they really took care of me like so."

"Then...why did you leave?" Viktor ventured. Yuri's face fell and his eyes dulled.

"Japan is home to many hunters because scales are in such huge demand. And judging by that necklace, I guess they're here, too." He gestured to the silver scales around his neck. Viktor flinched, having forgotten about it and worrying he may have hurt him.

But Yuri only continued. "Anyway, the hunters soon found out the Katsukis had a merperson and tried to kill me. The family said I couldn't stay there and sent me off on my own. I managed to get away, and somehow I made it all the way here. But then more hunters got me, and they were able to hurt me pretty bad. After that I don't really remember, but I'm guessing you found me on the beach or something."

"That's about the gist of it. I'm sorry about the necklace, you probably wouldn't like me if I told you how I got it."

Yuri flashed a meager smile. "No, I'm interested. Tell me."

...

"Oh... I didn't know there was a class for that."

Viktor scoffed, but not at him. "Yeah, they forced us to catch and kill a merperson for a grade, so I had no choice. I hope it doesn't bother you."

"Not at all. I can tell you're a nice person, Viktor." Yuri blushed a little and his his face. "When I saw the necklace, I was kind of thrown off at it because you seemed so kind and went out of your way to save me. I knew you weren' t a hunter, but it was just so confusing and I could not make sense of anything, so that's why I was so quiet. I'm sorry."

"If you don't like it, I can stop wearing it if you like."

Yuri shook his head at the offer. "No. It...looks good on you..." He trailed off in embarrassment. "B-But, enough of that. I actually have something to ask you."

"Of course."

"What is figure skating? You mentioned it before, but I'm a bit lost."

"Oh, that?" Viktor thought of a way to explain it. He had never had to explain the sport to anyone. "It's something humans do for fun. You see, we put on these special shoes with blades on them and... Um, it would be easier to just show you. We have a place inside I use to practice, so how about I skate for you?"

"O-Oh, okay..." came his stuttering reply.

Viktor smiled and proceeded to lift him into his arms to transfer him to the aforementioned room, which Yuri noted was considerably colder than the pool. He shivered upon being set down and Viktor moved to cover him in something warm.

"That's a blanket. It will help keep the chills off. We keep this place cold so the ice won't melt. I'll be right back."

The man with the platinum hair walked away from the bleachers into a back room, leaving Yuri practically trembling with the anticipation of what was coming next. He simply stared at the sheet of ice below him and wondered why they would want it to not melt.

His questions were answered when Viktor returned a few minutes later, dressed in a black, skintight, somewhat-seethrough outfit, the strange knife shoes he talked about attached to his feet, and he moved to the center of the ice. He looked up and waved his attention down to him.

"Watch, Yuri, and I will show you figure skating."

Yuri was enthralled by the innate beauty and grace that was contained in this figure skating, as though his body were creating the music that echoed through the rink from the loudspeakers as he twirled in the center of the ice. With one hand extended, he moved into his first jump, which would later be described as his signature move, the quadruple flip. Then came a dizzying step sequence that left him spinning with confusion at trying to keep up with his every movement. He found himself tensing in anticipation whenever Viktor prepped for another jump or combination and he switched to skating backwards; how the heck was he able to see where he was going?

The music approached its climax, as did the routine as Viktor prepared himself for his final and most difficult jump, the quint axel. He executed the leap without a hitch, landing backwards with a flourish and transitioning into the final move, being the combination spin that faded into a standing position, feet together, one hand over his heart and the other held out, palm up, fingers pointed towards the only member of the audience. Yuri was shocked to see that the hand pointed to him, of all people. Well, not that there was anyone else there with them.

Viktor returned to where Yuri awaited him, still captivated by his own rushing thoughts.

"I had a hard time choosing a final pose, actually. I ended up changing it every competition while trying to see which one felt right. After meeting you, though, I thought of this, and I knew this was the right choice. I just wish it never had to end."

"Then don't let it," he said a bit too naively. "Keep doing this forever, surprise the audience."

Viktor smiled weakly at Yuri, who had no idea the circumstances of his life. "I wish I could, but I'm too old. This week is my last competition until I retire. But I'm glad I can skate one last time for you, for the one I love."

Tears threatened to drip from Yuri's lashes at the news. "Then...you'll never skate...ever?" The last word was so pitiful sounding, so small that Viktor wished at that moment he could just banish those thoughts from his mind and skate forever. He only hoped he could help him feel better with compromise.

"Not at all, lapochka! I will skate for you and only you as long as I can. Just not in competition, that's all! Please don't cry..."

Yuri sniffed and wiped away what would have been a sobfest. "...Really?"

"Of course. One week from now, come watch me win my last gold. Then it's all for you only. Deal?"

Yuri embraced him tightly and hardly resisted the new wave of tears. "D-Deal..."

...

Yuri stayed with Viktor whenever he could from there on, watching him practice his routine for hours on end, never once bored even when he worked on something so mundane as a spin or an Ina Bauer. The beauty he had seen never died, even as he retired and the weight of competition was gone, leaving him to skate slower and easier. Every movement held its own meaning. Every birthday Viktor would have a new routine to present him as a surprise.

He watched him in his last competition as well, right there at rinkside to cheer him on. (It took quite an ordeal for that to happen.) He listened to him give his speech and cried right there in the Kiss and Cry, in his arms as he saw a new world record made.

His heart swelled all the same when that hand had reached out to him at the end of his skate.

And he could have sworn their thoughts intertwined in that moment.

I love you, Yuri. And I will skate for you beyond eternity itself.

I love you, Viktor. I will always be there with you.

Never forget...