A cool breeze of his own creation blows through Viktor's silver hair as he turns the bend, and the harsh hiss of metal cutting through ice reaches his ears. At one point in time, he found the sound to be familiar and soothing—a beautiful noise. Now it is nothing more than one of the many agonizing cries that resonate within him, day in and day out. And each time he closes his eyes, the wails sharpen in their intensity. It takes every ounce of the Russian's strength to not cover his ears. Nothing can silence the pain.
A sniff escapes him. Glancing down at his feet, Nikiforov wipes his nose with the sleeve of his black shirt. He stares and watches his legs while he glides one foot in front of the other, hurling himself forward. He sniffs again, and again, and again in an effort to reel back in what he's already shed so many times before. After another swipe of his shirt, Viktor lifts his head. He stares forward, his red-rimmed and dull, pale-blue eyes registering not the turn ahead of him, but the smear of blood that plagues his every waking moment.
He skates down the length of the rink before rounding the bend. Without warning, the images begin to ravage him; one right after the other. Painful goosebumps breakout on his skin beneath his clothing. His fists clench at his sides.
It was the first time they met.
Or rather, the second despite Yuuri's lost memory of their initial champagne-clouded introduction.
"V-Viktor!" squeaked Katsuki, nearly jumping sky high.
Shamelessly nude, Viktor stood from the onsen and held out his hand. The corners of his lips twitched into a dazzling smile. Amusement sparkled in his light, blue eyes as he watched the scarlet suffuse Yuuri's cheeks.
"...I am your coach," he informed the young man.
Little did he know at the time that he would become much more.
Viktor quickly twists his body, then begins to propel himself backward. As he listens to the blades of his skates slice through the ice, he finds himself lost in thought.
The screeching of tires echo throughout the empty arena. And the trail of blood spreading across the pavement blossoms in his vision. For a brief moment, Nikiforov sees the coppery liquid flood the ice, and he skates right through it.
A ragged breath bursts past the Russian's thin lips, but he manages to choke down the sob. His heart clenches and his stomach twists with nausea.
It was the first time they kissed.
"Viktor!" called Yuuri, his words breathless. He approached him with wide, unbelieving eyes and a wide smile lit up his face.
Nikiforov sped toward the startled young man. Once Katsuki reached the edge of the rink, he lunged at him; they tumbled backward onto the ice in a tangle of limbs.
And as soon as their mouths met, lightning bolted down Viktor's spine. A soft gasp escaped through Yuuri's parted lips, which he quickly swallowed before he began caressing his tongue against the other's.
The warmth emanating from Yuuri's cheeks complimented the relief and excitement that washed over his body, leaving him trembling from head to toe.
At that moment, Viktor knew he would never look back.
Viktor lifts his arms and spins, then readies himself for a single jump. He kicks his legs and when he lands, he stumbles and nearly hits the unforgiving ice. He straightens himself up before easing his way to the middle of the rink.
The sickening crunch of metal against metal twisting and moulding together trails in his wake like a shadow.
A shiver wracks his shaking limbs and his teeth chatter. Cold tears gather between his silver eyelashes. He heaves a quiet sob, then lifts his hand to wipe away the smeared blood he knows isn't there.
Viktor picks up speed, forcing one foot in front of the other. He whizzes around the the outline of the rink, his hair blowing in waves.
It was the first time they made love.
Thanks to Viktor's romantic insistence claiming victory over Yuuri's bashful protests, small candles were spread throughout the room. The warm light cast a soft glow on the two lovers lying on the futon, refracting against the gold bands on their right ring fingers.
Panting, Viktor grazed his teeth along Katsuki's shoulder, kissing and licking away the sweat as he made his way up his neck toward his ear. His mouth caressed the flushed skin beneath it until he reached his lover's lips and captured them in a passionate kiss.
When they parted, he gazed into the brown eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Brushing back the damp, dark hair from Yuuri's forehead, Viktor leaned down and kissed them away.
With a sigh, he laid his head on Katsuki's chest. A slow smile appeared when he felt a hand run through his own matted tresses. He let out a contented breath.
Moments later, he was on the brink of sleep. Before it could claim him, Viktor heard the confession—the one he had been waiting for:
"I love you, Viktor."
Nikiforov attempts another jump, and this time he sticks the landing.
The glass beneath it shatters under the force of his body; it fragments into thousands of pieces, slashing across his face and arms. Losing his footing, Viktor stumbles and collapses onto the hard ice.
And only then do the tears finally begin to fall.
He drops his head into his newly scarred hands and allows the sobs that had been pent-up for so long wrack through his body. The sounds of his wails are interrupted by the occasional hitched breath and hiccup.
It was one of their final goodbyes.
They were in the car, driving home from another practice where Yuuri had given Viktor a run for his money.
"Viktor!" exclaimed Katsuki with a bright smile, his brown eyes alive with excitement. "I can't believe I finally did it. After all this time…"
He felt a bit guilty as his attention waned; he was supposed to be listening to his young lover squeal and watch him bounce around in his seat. However, he was too transfixed on the beauty sitting next to him—too entranced by the once shy, blushing creature who managed to capture his heart.
It was his fault.
Groaning, Nikiforov lifted his head and cracked an eye open. He touched his temple, then pulled away to find blood on his hand. He inhaled a deep breath, but immediately coughed out the exhaust that filled his lungs.
Viktor reached off to the right. "Y-Yuuri…" he stuttered between heaves. "Are you—"
The seat was empty. Panic shot down his spine and fear tore through every muscle and nerve. With fumbling hands, Viktor managed to unbuckle his seatbelt. He opened the door, but rather than stand, he tripped onto the pavement.
A few heartbeats later, he pushed himself onto his feet, then limped toward the other side of the car. And when he rounded the front of the vehicle, he froze at the site of Yuuri lying on the ground, covered in glass and blood pooling around his prone form.
"Yuuri," coughed Viktor, rushing over to the young man, his left leg dragging behind him. As soon as he was standing above Katsuki, he dropped to his knees then carefully slid his arm beneath the other's neck and lifted him up, cradling his body against his chest.
The boy's dazed eyes flicked over to Viktor's, staring at him behind cracked lenses. "Hi, Viktor," he whispered. He began to cough; blood spilled from his lips. Yuuri offered him a shaky smile through the tears flowing down his dirt and blood-crusted cheeks.
The last thing Viktor saw was the light dissipate from Yuuri's eyes.
The last thing he heard before the wails of sirens arrived at the scene were the words he had promised the boy so long ago:
"...I will always be with you…"
The sound of a door slamming and feet stomping down the cement steps rips Viktor from the memories replaying in his mind. He listens as carefully placed footsteps brush against the ice until they stop inches from his crumbled position.
"Vitya," calls Yuri, his tone surprisingly kind.
Viktor looks up, and stares at the boy through the tears that are steadily dripping down his pale cheeks. He opens his mouth to say something, but only a strangled squeak sounds in his constricting throat.
"Come on, Vitya. It's time to go." Plisetsky bends down, then hooks an arm around the other's before cautiously lifting him.
After losing his footing multiple times, Nikiforov manages to stand and allows Yuri to guide him toward the side of the rink.
"It's my fault," Viktor says. "My fau—" Before he can finish his confession, he trips over the divide separating the ice and floor, and falls, cracking his knees against the ice. A painful groan replaces the sobs assaulting his body.
Yuri crouches down and places a gentle hand on the older man's shoulder. "No, it's not." He grabs Viktor's chin, forcing him to look his way. "We have to go say goodbye."
Fresh tears appear within his wide, panicked eyes, and Viktor rigorously shakes his head. "N-no."
Without another word, Yuri picks Nikiforov up from the cold floor and slings the man's arm around his shoulder while his own arm hooks around his waist.
Between the weak protests, the cries, and the ill-placed blame, he manages to lead Viktor out of the arena. They both make their way to the place where Viktor will say one last farewell to the one he loves.