It was a cabin on a lake they had decided on in the end. No apartment in the downtown district of a city, not secluded too far from where people would see, but just the right amount of welcoming neighborhood and small town flair to suit each of them. Besides, a fifteen minute drive away from the nearest rink was incredibly hard to beat, and Makkachin seemed to enjoy the open running space.
As far as either of them were concerned, it was perfect... that is, up until they had toured the museum on the waterfront three lazy days into their arrival.
The newspaper clippings were old and the black and white pictures ominously grim. The atmosphere of the exhibit dark and foreboding, evil, dark icicles dripping down from the font they hung from. The stories told through old footage and salvaged relics a memorial and a warning for those gullible tourist couples who dared approach the water.
Local legend had it that something awful lived in the lake. A demon, a sprite so foul, a monster which lured men to their deaths by taking their loved ones instead.
He did not give in to such superstition.
Yuri, however, never set foot on that ice because of it.
Victor remembers the first winter morning, when he'd looked out the window to find the lake hard and white against the darkening tree line beyond. He'd hopped out of bed and pulled on his skates, gold glistening new on his finger and reflecting back at him in the blades. Makkachin lept at the door, ready to pounce head-first into the freshly fallen snow. Sidelong glances, worried hums, hand sifting through jet black hair did not dissuade him. Nor did the younger man's shaky voice, soft and half sleepy when he'd tried to ask him not to.
"Relax. I bet you'll see kids skating out there by noon. Besides, I'm a professional."
He'd sped out of the house, heart pumping blood through his body like he was meant to live for it. It wasn't until he had reached the place where earth met ice, when his ungloved hand met chilled leather. He turned to find dark and downcast eyes brimming and glistening winterlight.
"I don't think it's a good idea."
Fear being the mind killer, he never tried to show it, at least not in front of Yuri. The pills he kept on the kitchen counter helped, but even then, there were times when that was never quite enough. So Victor did what he'd quickly learned to do when it wasn't, hoping that his smile and a soft kiss to the other man's lips would be enough to assuage what thoughts plagued him.
"Trust me. It'll be all right."
He stepped off.
His body put to action what his dreams and fancies had put into his head the night before. He began swinging as forces unseen pushed against him and made his every movement that much more elegant and unreal. Even the more uneven patches in the ice didn't quite deter the grooves he left in his wake. It was unrestrained and beautiful to him, how he could stride out as far as he fancied, no rink walls to chain his movements. But when he realized how far out he'd gone, he came running back in, landing a quick quad before stretching his arms out to the man he loved, watching as enraptured as he suspects he had been when he'd first seen him skate. He ended back where he started, in his husband's arms and smiling, his heart thrumming life and love and his limbs lighter than the cold air.
In the three months that had passed since then, Victor had been out on the ice every morning. Yuri would watch with Makkachin on the shore, the poodle leaning into every embrace- almost knowing that it was what he needed.
The ice didn't give. Nor did it melt enough for it to show any signs of such. And Victor kept skating.
It was enough that Yuri was finally able to ignore the plaques on the waterfront. For the first time since he started taking them, the pills felt like more than enough. And it didn't surprise Victor in the slightest that on that day, Yuri was the one putting on the skates instead.
His gaze was quickly drawn away from the cup of coffee he held, steaming luminescent as the younger man walked down and slid off his skate guards. He smiled, and was about to take another sip of the drink when he felt hot breath ghost over his cheek and turn cold. The light pressure of Yuri's lips held there a moment, before whispering a soft "eyes on me" in his ear and setting out, making him put a finger to his cupid's bow as it grew wider than before.
His eyes didn't leave him. Not once. Since the minute they met, he'd been drawn like a child to some display of magic, enraptured by the stories his body would tell as he glided along the surface. This story was no different, as he spun and stretched his arms out to him and danced to music that did not play.
He didn't notice when he'd gone out too far. It registered a second too late when the ice grew too thin, arms stretched skyward and grasping at invisible purchases to stop his descent. And just as quickly as Victor realized what was happening, the water crashed lightly around the ice on its surface, and Yuri was gone.
There were probably other things he should have done instead of running out onto the ice and jumping in after him, but Victor didn't give it a thought. Shedding his jacket and knocking over his cup of coffee as he sprinted towards where he'd last seen him was the only rational thought that came to mind. He didn't care whether or not he should fall, or if the ice should give way underneath him as well. With each layer that he shed, the warmer his blood pumped in his veins, threatening his heart to stop beating for fear of losing him instead.
The hole gaped black and cold against the pale ice he stood on, much thinner than it was towards the shore. Yuri was nowhere to be seen. He tugged his shoes off just as Makkachin had arrived beside him, raising the alarm with every deep snap, echoing back at them from the opposite shore.
He closed his eyes, and held his breath. He didn't hesitate. He took a single step, and sunk below the surface.
Every hair stood on end. His skin stung with the cold, and it would have felt no different if his flesh had been pierced with shards of ice. His eyes matched the dark glow of the lake when he'd opened them, and the chill quickly absorbed his marrow. He spun around rapidly in the water as he searched until finding Yuri, his eyes drifting closed as his coat dragged him further down.
Victor pushed the water past him, following him into the shadowy depth that grasped him so fiercely. The shards began to drag along his skin and his very blood stung from the exposure as he swam for him. He did not stop, even when his eyes began to ice over and he could barely keep them open. The water at last stiffened his movements, and his mind screamed.
He would not lose him, he thought. Not today, and certainly not like this.
Just before the darkness consumed them both, Victor reached out, and managed to tug at Yuri's lapel, who in turn grabbed onto his shoulder, and held him tight with frozen fingers.
The ascent was easier than anything else. The shadow in the deep began to ebb away into the light and he could hear Makkachin's faint barking, his figure bouncing near the hole where he had left him. The air stung him as the water had the rest of his body when he gasped for air, Makkachin's whines ringing loud in his ears as they broke the surface. Victor pushed Yuri onto the undamaged patch of ice, Makkachin helping him drag his body further before pulling himself up as well. Yuri let out a gurgling, soft cough, and still running on pure adrenaline, Victor sat him up and tugged him close, rubbing his back to rid his lungs of the cold water.
Victor didn't often speak in his native tongue, but when he did, he never sounded more fearful than he did now. He'd only taught Yuri two simple words, words that mattered more than any others he'd ever utter, and he spoke them now as though they were the only thing that would keep them warm.
"Lyubov moya," he said, over and over, even as he carried him into the house and stripped him out of the soaking clothes, discarding the skates to the floor, sitting in the bath tub with him as the warm water burned back to life their frozen limbs.
And their day had ended just as it had started. Yuri in his arms and clinging to him, Makkachin next to them, their hearts thudding against each other, beating the cold and despair away.