Beepbeep. Beepbeep. Beepbeep.
Yuuri stirs awake, a tired groan leaving his lips. Automatically, a hand reaches out to quiet the alarm clock beside him on their bedside table. The bed shifts; Viktor snuggles closer to Yuuri, the arm draped around the younger's side tightening its grip into an affectionate embrace.
"Good morning," Yuuri says, voice laced with sleep. Viktor merely hums in response, rubbing soothing circles onto Yuuri's bare waist with his thumb. Makkachin is sound asleep by their feet. It's nice.
They stay like this in this comfortable quiet for several minutes before Viktor eventually speaks up, stifling a yawn. He ends up yawning anyway. "What time is it, solnyshko moyo?"
"Four AM," Yuuri says, heaving a deep sigh. "I guess I should probably get started on that run now."
Four AM jogs in the winter cold of Hasetsu. Truth be told, it wasn't his favourite way to start the day (honestly, he'd much rather indulge in a cozy lie-in with Viktor and Makkachin), but it was better than jogging this time of year in St. Petersburg. This, he says from experience.
As long as he'd lived in Russia with Viktor to train, he could never quite get used to the weather there. It was icy, unforgiving, harsh— a stark contrast to the relatively light snowfalls Hasetsu got in the winter.
"Da, you probably should," Viktor hums, leaning in to nibble at Yuuri's earlobe. He reaches over to give the younger skater's barely-there chub a playful squeeze.
Yuuri squirms and smacks his hands away. "V-Viktor, stop it—!"
"You'll need to burn off the katsudon from last night if you want to be in top form for the Grand Prix Final!"
Yuuri rolls his eyes, despite the fact Viktor probably couldn't see him— or maybe, perhaps, especially so. "I know, I know," he says, closing his eyes and bidding the warmth of their bed a silent and sorrowful goodbye before eventually sitting up and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed.
Viktor moves fast and grabs his wrist. "Yuuri."
Yuuri blinks and turns to look at his fiancé. "Yeah?"
The Russian smiles at him sleepily. "I love you."
It makes leaving the bed even harder.
The Japanese skater cups Viktor's cheek, chocolate brown eyes of his warm with tenderness and affection. "I love you too."
Heaving another sigh, Yuuri finally gets up and stretches before heading to the bedroom's en suite to wash up.
The fluorescent light burns his eyes the moment he flicks the switch on. He waits a few minutes for his eyes to acclimatise to the brightness before going about his morning routine, brushing his teeth and washing his face, using the toilet.
He pads out of the bathroom not five minutes later and he can feel the cold already seeping into the soles of his bare feet. Yuuri makes haste and shrugs a coat on over his hoodie, changes into a pair of jogging pants, and a pair of thick white socks.
"I'll see you at the rink," Viktor says, pulling Yuuri in for a chaste kiss.
"Yeah, I'll see you there."
Yuuri exits the room, careful not to make any unnecessary noise.
Even though his parents were relatively early risers, it was still far too early for anyone else to be awake, especially in this weather! Sitting on the steps by the front door, Yuuri slips his feet into his running shoes and internally braces himself for the impending cold as he leaves the resort.
As expected, it's cold, but not bitingly so— not yet. He takes his time walking out of Yu-Topia, listening to the sound of his shoes crunching the freshly fallen snow underfoot. At the gate, he slips his earphones on and plays his free skate song for this skating season. Once he hears the familiar notes starting to play, he breaks into a slow jog.
His name is Yuuri Katsuki. He's twenty-five years old and he's one of the dime-a-dozen figure skaters certified by the JSF. He won his first gold GPF medal last year and he's engaged to the silver medallist who made a comeback that same year. He's none other than Viktor Nikiforov— the Russian living legend of ice skating, who loves taking selfies with his poodle using the dog filter on Snapchat, and sometimes giggles in his sleep.
Yuuri's pacing his jog into a run, making sure to maintain his breathing so he won't tire out as quickly. He ignores the fact that the cold has numbed his fingers and toes, and the runny nose he'll have to deal with after. He works through his new routine in his head, one that he choreographed entirely by himself, and he loses himself to the music.
His name is Yuuri Katsuki and he is blessed and so, so lucky to be surrounded by the people he loves.
But.
He doesn't realise this. He's so engrossed in his own thoughts and his routine, that he doesn't hear the sound of tires screeching over pavement slick with wet ice.
He doesn't hear it.
He doesn't notice it until it's too late.
His eyes widen when he turns his head and sees bright, yellow headlights flooding his vision, and nothing but darkness beyond that. He flinches, frozen to his spot.
It's too late.
The truck slams into Yuuri's body, sending the skater several meters away, crumpled and bloody. Crimson seeps out, covering the snow and the pavement.
He convulses. Pain overwhelms him for a second, then nothing.
Everything goes black.
His name is Yuuri Katsuki, and he is.
Was.