Lost Boys
A Yuri! on Ice story.
Sequel to What the Etchings Make
Summary: Nothing is the same. Viktor died in a plane crash, and there was nothing Yuri could do but give up skating altogether. One by one, friends of Viktor came to a similar conclusion when a startling secret is revealed that can change the course of the Grand Prix Final forever. Will there be anyone left on the rink to skate?
Warning: angst, language, and mentions of death.
Where are all the lost boys?
A man ties his skates together by their shoelaces and tosses them in a locker. Like a plane, it falls against the red; like a sea, encapsulated when the door closes on it. In the distance, the ice clicks and clacks with people who could find a rhythm after everything. A paper bag shifts restlessly under the power of an air conditioner. Red streaks make his skin seem more dead than alive.
His eyes focus on his hands. They are butchered, the cuts making the simple motion of flexing physically painful. But he has a sedative for that pain, as he easily picks out shards of glass from his hand. This form of agony is new, never tasted by his tongue. There is no way to describe it, the word isn't written out across the palms of his hands.
"Chris…" A heavy voice speaks behind him, but he doesn't turn. Instead, he too starts to drown, in something less like water and something more like memories.
A flower. A fairy lifts one up with pale fingers. His hands feel pressured, and when he looks down, there it is. A smiling face. Endless hair that braids could never contain. "I'll compete against you one day." Pictures flash, and he feels blinded.
Blind, is that the word?
No.
"Christophe." The object in his hands is not a flower but bandages. A bitter contrast, of life and breath and growth to one of injury and death and worse. "You need to take care of yourself…"
Chris doesn't move. He is paralyzed, his eyes fixed high above them like he could see the very plane that took Viktor Nikiforov with it to the water. With a sigh, his companion starts wrapping his hands for him.
The Swiss skater searches for answers. Why is the first to come, followed by how, and did he suffer? His hands flinch for him when a wound is rubbed wrong. Yes. For some reason, he feels as though he did.
The fluorescent lights burn indentions in his vision; even when he looks away, they pollute the world insistently with black shapes, almost as if each is a notification to remind him his greatest inspiration and competitor is dead without ever returning to the ice.
Intoxicating. That is the word to describe his utter agony now.
Janitors work on scrubbing the ice. Red wine turns to pink petals upon the surface. The etchings would accept the new paint, preserving starkly what the words made.
Why did you leave?
To the world of ice-skating, they feel like they lost the greatest. But to Yuri Katsuki, he feels as though he paid a price. It is a toll he never imagined giving.
After his final performance on the ice, he goes to the bathroom and weeps. He cries the more he scrolls through his phone, through the tangle of social media posts that always have Viktor's face at the forefront. "Beloved Skater Missing in Crash." "Viktor Nikiforov, Dead in the Sea of Japan."
Missing. Dead. They all argue over which is true, but the Russian government has already hastily decreed the accident to be a mass casualty event.
That is enough closure for Yuri to believe that he is gone forever.
A figure stands outside the bathroom. Exchanged whispers. A long pause, so long that something as surprising as tears could fill his eyes.
Yakov doesn't know how to carry himself, how to hold himself in such a way that he could carry two broken skaters too. Yurio has disappeared, and knowing for certain he is mourning alone, the coach has set out to find the very last thing remaining of his beloved skater: Yuri.
Viktor's face flashes before him. A pirouette, a twist done so perfectly his coattails make a halo of magenta around him. Furrowed brows and conflicting blue eyes draw him in, a hand that coaxes forward the audience. He has to yank his hat down as the memories become too great. There are two words to describe his pain: loss and anger. More than anything, he feels like a parent to the boy he coached so long; no parent wants to bury their son before themselves. In fact, he was prepared to be pissed off in whatever mythical death land he is sent to because Viktor would more than likely make a party out of his funeral. That breeds the anger, the anger that out of every possibility, this is the one some divine being settled on.
That divine thing trapped the fairy in the bottle, and without so much of a thought, weighed that bottle down and watched it sink.
He still couldn't help but wonder, though, that perhaps the same magic could have set the fairy free?
Yakov is still wondering that when Yuri manages to skitter to the door. He didn't have words to face the coach before him; but as his eyes slowly raise, and he sees the streaks of water on his cheeks, the Japanese skater lets out a pitiful yelp and buries his face in his jacket.
To Yuri, Yakov is all that remains of Viktor.
And to Yakov, Yuri is the sole thing left.
But to Yurio, there is nothing. An empty place, a blank slot on a roster that should have his teammate's name on it. It is permanent, and nothing could once again summon that idiot from the hull of the plane because not even the universe knows where it went.
He doesn't come out of the locker room for a long time. No one disturbs him either. It is as if it isn't a human curled up in a ball, his hood pulled so tightly over his head that it hurt; but a tiger, snarling under discontent, ready to pounce anything that disturbs and maddens it.
That is Yurio's word for this pain. Madness. It perforates his very core, stuffs him in his own individual bottle and shakes vigorously. There is only one way he could deal with such a feeling, a feeling that lingers in the numbness of his fingers. Invite it inside.
Welcome in the madness.
As the worst day of all their lives dwindles on, there also comes one of the greatest questions: how would they get Yuri home from Russia?
Yakov insistently persists to accompany the skater on a plane. But once the suggestion is made, Yuri seizes up and wails so loudly, it takes Yakov an hour just to calm him down again. There is not much of the skater left to reason with. In regards to love, Yuri is in a boat all on his own, but with no good water to push him forward, no gentle air to press his voyage on. He is trapped with death on all sides, and all he could do is collapse to his knees and cry.
Yakov never took himself as a gentle man; but he has a feeling that if he doesn't handle this glass ornament with absolute caution, every fiber Viktor skated into his being would be gone forever. He pats his back. He tilts his chin up and forces him to drink water every time he declines with an "I'm fine".
The Rostelecom Cup goes off without a hitch afterward, at least for Jean-Jacques. His fans continue to cheer well after he is done, and after one particularly loud "It's JJ style!" the young Russian skater had absolutely enough. Stomping out of the locker room, it isn't hard at 5'4" to locate the even smaller brained Canadian skater surrounded by swooning girls.
"Oi!" He shouts, shoving his hands in his pockets. The other skater gives him a hearty grin. The results are clear. Someone secured gold while the rest of them were mourning.
Welcome to the Madness of Yuri Plisetsky, Jean-Jacques.
"What's up, Russian Fairy~" JJ hums, giving the fans a dedicated smile before approaching the Russian.
Russian Fairy? Yuri hates the name, but he isn't the fairy trapped with Captain Hook cackling offstage. The Beautiful Lilac Fairy of Russia, that is Viktor. And if that damn Pork Cutlet Bowl is his Peter Pan, well, there is little Yurio could do but kick Captain Hook in his smug face.
"You know what, go to hell. I have more empathy than you, and that's saying something!" His rage flares, the shockwave sending everyone but JJ a few steps back, "You do realize Viktor just died right?! And you're over there celebrating when people like Pork Cutlet Bowl can't compete, let alone smile about the damn thing!"
Jean-Jacques frowns. "I know. And I feel bad. But this is still a competition and I'm going to treat it like one."
Yuri hears enough. Fuck the Grand Prix Final. Fuck it all. Viktor isn't there to see him win his senior debut anyway. He smashes his foot so hard on top of the Canadian's that even his yelp isn't enough to satisfy him. "Then you have no fucking respect for him, or for ice skating," He grinds the toe of his combat boot hard, "I hope you go to the Final and fall straight on your ass each time you raise a foot off the ice!"
Jean-Jacques assumes when he pulls back that that is the end of his rant; but just as quickly as he pulls away does the tiger pounce again, ramming his leg into the back of JJ's knees to take him to the ground.
"You better watch yourself in Russia," Yurio breathes sadistically, stomping what pride JJ has back down his throat, "you never know what might kill you."
He hastily turns and trots away, kicking the nearest door open to make his exit, stage left. The tiger is the new crocodile that doesn't tick at his approach, doesn't have an indication that he is coming with sadistic vengeance. He swallows Captain Hook whole without so much as a sight of a hair from Peter Pan to be seen.
If Peter is gone, where are all the lost boys?
The first is doing something he would not regret, not at the moment, time or place.
"Christophe Giacometti: Dropping from Grand Prix Final."
The headline circulates all over the media hours after the decision. "Disrespectful to compete after the death of such a legend," Chris would tell the outlets. It is a simplified (a PG appropriate) version of what he really wants to say, but that they would never know.
The second lost boy only takes two seconds, one article, and three hours of convincing Celestino to place a similar call into Barcelona out of respect for Viktor's death. The rest of the time, he tries desperately to get in contact with Yuri, all to no avail.
Eight.
Eight is a number that should have been. There isn't enough to spots to fill a roster with eight, but eight is a good number. 1627 doesn't like it the same.
Seven.
It would have been seven, had Peter Pan not flown away, had Yuri not stopped mid-performance and managed the saving throw into the finals.
Six.
It would have been six too, but the only thing that kept the 25-year-old Swiss skater still on the ice is the thought of bringing back Viktor to their world. His chance went up in smoke, and now his final lay in ashes. Retirement would come early.
Five.
A Grand Prix is to have six skaters, as per custom; but two have dropped like rocks, and Phichit isn't upset. Now isn't the time to be thinking about gold. Now is the time to get a plane ticket, but the question that begs an answer was to where would the destination be, to Russia or to Japan?
Four
Four skaters remain. And one, the American who barely skirted in thanks to a gold in Skate America, consults his friend from across the globe. The phone number should be imprinted in their brains now. "de la Iglesia of the United States drops next".
Three.
Even with three, there could be a competition. Captain Hook, a tiger, and a dark horse. All fans are certain those three would not drop, not after everything. Yurio is almost half-disgusted to see his name still rostered, but it is only because the Canadian never reported the attack. After all, the show must go on.
More phone calls. A face Yuri Plisetsky doesn't remember, but a name scorched into his soul. A brief exchange with the minutes ticking away. An agreement. "If you drop, I'll drop too."
Three.
Two.
They went out at the same time, and the statement is clear: with Viktor gone, there wouldn't be a Grand Prix final this year. Without their fairy, the lost boys would not fly.
It seems like Captain Hook didn't get the message.
The others watch the media for what feels like hours, but not one word came from the Canadian and last remaining skater of the Grand Prix Final. Chris breaks his phone in frustration within the first hour. Phichit turns off his phone and boards a plane on the second. Leo and Guang share tears on the fourth. Otabek quietly watches as Yurio half-convinced himself he should have kicked him in his head instead, when finally by the fifth and final hour, the notification scrolls over their screens.
"Leroy of Canada last to drop. No Grand Prix Final?"
Maybe Captain Hook is just a lost boy after all.
One.
Now all there is left to do is to find Peter Pan, before he flies away forever to Neverland.
They finally shuttle Yuri home on a train, a boat, and a bus. It is difficult work, and almost sleepless nights of arrangements for Yakov, but he finally arrives on his doorstep in familiar Hasetsu after the horror that is the Rostelecom Cup.
However, there is someone else to greet him, and Yuri couldn't help but break down at his doorstep when Makkachin comes running out, tail wagging happily. Makkachin would never understand that his master is gone.
Yuri coaxes him close, burying his face in his soft fur. What would they do now? He wants to scream. His pain is finally taking shape, learning a definite feature. Yearning. Yearning for Viktor to stay close to him but knowing that is impossible.
The week that followed is nothing but brutal yearning. His mother cooks pork cutlet bowls whenever he shows even a small symptom of wanting food. Most of the time, however, he exiles himself to his room, with Makkachin plastered close to his side wherever he goes. Now, he sleeps in Yuri's arm; but every time he wakes up to the sight, tears and bitter words always follow it. "You don't deserve this. This belongs to Viktor."
He has become a lost boy himself, and without his fairy, where is the real magic in being Peter Pan anyway?
Friends come and go like tides. Sometimes the house floods, and sometimes it shrivels up. Makkachin doesn't take to guests well. Click, door's locked. Yuri doesn't like it either.
Eventually, he gives up his phone. He sits it in a drawer and doesn't look at it. And for a while, he forgot it is even there too.
One particular morning, he gets up. Black shirt. Black pants. His shoes scuff the floor. Black not so black anymore when a poodle rubs against it. The Japanese skater is outside for the first time in a week, and it doesn't make him feel any better. The sun scorches his eyes beneath the lids, the air he swallows is mercury. He set his sights on the end of the road and starts walking.
He couldn't decide why he is walking. Out of necessity perhaps? No, that isn't it. He could easily identify it as his pain. He is looking for a way to pull Viktor back to him, to pull him close and never let him go. Maybe if he walks far enough, he will find him. Maybe if he goes far, when he comes back Viktor will be waiting on him once again.
He couldn't help but follow the beats like another skate, counting under his breath as he taps his fingers to his side. Makkachin keeps time with his trot.
One.
The first thing that came is words. "I hope you never retire." Retirement isn't the right word. Giving up is more like it. His companion whines softly when he picks up his pace.
Two.
Next is his face, his smile, the way his cold hands seem so warm when they are cupping Yuri's face. If he thought hard enough, there is a ghost of that touch still lingering, coaxing from him the last of his tears.
Three.
Some birds chirp nearby, a mother busily hopping around her nest as her chicks shiver in their eggs. Would they hatch?
Four.
Viktor loves animals. Yuri knows that well. His love doesn't just extend to dogs but to most animals that could have a tender and cute side. He is a tamer of a pig and tiger after all. Pig. Yuri didn't realize how much that title fit now.
Five.
When Makkachin barks and starts bounding after him, he realizes he is in a full sprint, his chest heaving and his glasses clouding; but even then, he doesn't stop. He goes faster.
Six.
The water's gentle lap nearly drowns out the first crack, as a baby bird begins to emerge from its confinement.
Seven.
Yuri wonders if reincarnation exists, if somewhere after Viktor perished he is born again. Even his sweat seems to dampen the thought. Even if that were true, there would be no way of ever finding him again. He remains perpetually out of reach, and even if he were to start flying, he would never catch the Lilac Fairy.
Eight.
And all of a sudden, Yuri halts, his feet skidding on the ground for a few moments.
Makkachin is gone.
"Makkachin?" His voice comes out in a breathless whine. Desperate, that is the word. "Makkachin where did you go..!"
Seven.
Horrible thoughts come rushing in. What if he hurt himself, and Yuri didn't know? What if someone took him?
Six.
He starts sprinting back the way he came. The mother bird watches him curiously.
Five.
He staggers when he hits an unexpected hole, nearly tottering to the ground. If one thing remains of Yuri, it is balance, and he is able to recover relatively quickly.
Four.
More cries. "Makkachin! Makkachin this isn't funny!"
Three.
A bark. Distant and off the path. Yuri plunges into the grass without so much of a thought, pushing his way through.
Two.
He couldn't lose Makkachin, not after Viktor, he just couldn't—
One.
He is wheezing so hard when he finds Makkachin once again that he has to slide to his knees and clutch the grass. There is no harm done to the dog, as he casually sits on a brown jacket. Yuri gives himself a few minutes before he tries to broach the subject with him.
"Makkachin… why?"
He has only talked to Makkachin these past few days. It takes him a moment to remember it is a dog, and that he couldn't respond; but he is so intelligent, and like he understood the words spoken by Yuri, he stands up and nudges the jacket, giving it a bark.
"You shouldn't touch things that aren't yours Makkachin…"
It doesn't seem like anyone wanted it, the more he looks at it. There are holes and stains all over it, and the fabric is unraveling at the seams.
"Starting today I'm your new coach!"
Yuri fell from his haunches to his ass. Viktor.
It is Viktor's coat.
He snatches it up in his hands clumsily, pressing his face to the fabric. Viktor, how was it possible? Tears come like venom to his eyes, poisoning his sight. There is no probable way his jacket ended up this far.
Zero.
"…Yuri…"
The Japanese skater stiffens quicker than he did at his last Grand Prix Final. What is that voice?
Slowly, he starts to turn.
"Yuri!"
Pale fingers, a pale face. Ice carved like gems to fit to his eyes, to make a crown of his features. Silver hair, not the same, but always the same, tousled and messy and in his eyes. A hand raises in a half-wave, a fairy hand with a fairy smile that is pure and magical.
Viktor.
"I'm home.. Yuri.."
The mother bird chirps happily when her young finally break from their shell and escape.
With a cry, Yuri collapses to his side, his eyes blank, and his tears still actively streaming. Peter Pan spirals in the darkness for a while, before he finds himself in Neverland, realizing it all is just an illusion his mind had conjured up. When he locates a little pixie dust, his brain systematically goes crazy.
The fairy had never came home after all.
Yuri doesn't want to wake up, not at first. He doesn't want to experience another bitter illusion like that; but the more he hears his mother buzzing worriedly around him, he knows he couldn't fake sleep any longer. Slowly, he opens his eyes to his room, the pictures of Viktor still missing, Makkachin still at his side. He gags quietly. So it was a dream. He had never left his room to begin with.
"Yuri, how are you feeling?" His mother asks, patting his forehead with a damp cloth.
"I'm okay…" he felt like throwing up, but there is no way to purge himself of these emotions. He knows all too well it doesn't work that way.
"That's not true and we know it..." Minako is standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. "When I heard what happened, I came over here as soon as I could. I'm just glad it's all over…"
"All... over…?" For some reason, the words seem horribly real, synonymous with Viktor and his death. His head starts to hurt all over again when he thinks about it.
"Mom… do you mind if I use the hot spring for a while..?" He asks politely. "Alone, preferably…"
"You won't be alone sweetheart, but you can," She replies, brushing the hair out of his face when he sits up.
That is enough for Yuri. He quickly makes his way to the hot spring, his constant companion nipping at his heels. When he glances through the window, the bath seems unoccupied, so hastily he strips down to a towel and nearly dives into the bath. The buzzing warmth helps a little, but the hangover from his dream still makes him somber. He sinks up to his chin in the water and sits there, trying not to think of Viktor but always thinking of him.
"Only look at me."
He closes his eyes to stop the tears from coming, but there is nothing left to cry anymore. It physically hurts when they try to spawn behind his eyes.
"This is In Regards to Love: Eros. What do you think Yuri?"
He loves watching Viktor skate it more than him.
"Davai!"
He needs every bit of it.
"You have a lot of stamina."
Not anymore. The world is going on without him. He couldn't keep up. No more.
"Yuri."
His eyes snap open. It isn't in his head anymore. Slowly he straightens his posture, but he wouldn't have it. Not again.
"Leave me alone..!" He shouts, hoping his head gets the message. "I know alright…! Viktor is dead! Stop making him seem like he's here! I hate you…" His voice draws into a whisper. "I hate me…"
Silence. He successfully scares off whatever sick illusion his mind tried to play. With a pitiful sigh, he sinks back down.
One.
The water seems to shift, crash against his chin and recede again.
Two.
He debates which is warmer, the water or Viktor.
Three.
Perhaps it is Viktor, but he couldn't quite remember. Oh, how he wants to remember.
Four.
But then again, maybe he doesn't.
Five.
For some reason, he couldn't help but think of Viktor's winning Grand Prix performance, Stay Close to Me. The way he weaves across the ice. The air seems to glow around him and only him.
Six.
It is moments like those Yuri debates again, "Was he a fairy… or an angel?"
Seven.
Maybe that is it. Maybe someone needed their angel back, and that's why Viktor is gone; but didn't they realize Peter Pan needs his fairy too?
Eight.
Yuri nearly jumps out of the water when arms encircle his waist. "Wah!" The water splashes around him, and his eyes instantly seek to the culprit. A sweet smile. A fairy free from the bottle. It is a face so much like Viktor's, with his arms wrapped around the Japanese skater.
But Yuri is angry. With himself.
"What did I say..! Stop it!" His hand makes connection with his cheek before his head could. Viktor's head moves in the direction of momentum, but he doesn't release his grasp, his cheek turning a stinging pink.
A petal pink. He has struck something real.
Where are all the lost boys?
Yuri sucks in a gasp, sputtering out something like "sorry!" Viktor raises a hand to his cheek, a soft chuckle cresting his lips.
"I know I deserved that. I made you worry didn't I…?" He asks softly, taking the skater up by his chin. "I'm sorry Yuri… I didn't expect that I would be here either."
"But…y-you..."
Dead. Gone. All. Viktor. Mid-flight engine failure.
"I have no explanation, Yuri… I just know when the plane was going down I prayed… I prayed like I really believed… and when I woke up I was on a shoreline..."
God trapped the fairy in the bottle; and by magic, the bottle opened and let him escape.
But Peter Pan wouldn't let himself believe. Not yet.
"But are you really Viktor… really, really Viktor." Yuri has to know. Has to know if it is possible, possible to be able to fly again.
Possible to go back to the ice.
Viktor smiles slowly. "Your Eros is pork cutlet bowls. We always eat them after good competitions… You want to keep me all to yourself and so does Yurio… Chris wants to bring me back to competition and—"
That is enough. Yuri throws his arms around his neck tightly, his body making the motion of sobbing but tears never actually coming.
"Viktor!" He wails. His coach, his lover, holds him close, and it is like the music is still playing, his story is not over and Yuri could be on the ice.
Viktor is definitely warmer of the two. And he's more than an angel or fairy. He is Yuri's world.
Seven.
They kiss. It is the first of many, many feverish ones, to the point that the Japanese skater doesn't care if it is all a dream as long as he never wakes up from it.
Six.
Explanations. Russia had made the hasty decision to declare it a lost cause. Doubt circles him like a Salchow. Was it on purpose? Viktor was in the middle of the plane, and on impact the plane spit him out harmlessly from a tear that formed in the belly, letting the tide wash him up. He walked until he found someone who could point him in the right direction to Hasetsu, and miraculously he had managed to walk all the way before succumbing to hunger.
Yuri doesn't care. He is holding him, that is all that matters.
Five.
The tiger is the first to find out. After dealing with the fiasco of a lost Phichit in a Russian airport, he had boarded his own plane to visit the place Viktor spent the last months of his life. It is stupid, and he berates himself for it, but he needs a place to stay, and he actually knows where Yuri lived. When he knocks on the door, the strange fan of his opened the door with the most annoying grin plastered on her face.
"I'm glad you're here to visit them, Yuri!"
Needless to say, he is confused until he finds the pile that consists of Yuri and Viktor, Yuri becoming the new Makkachin and never leaving his side. Yurio kicks them both immediately after. "Why didn't you tell me! I hate you!" That is, before he collapses on top of his teammate, beating at his shoulder with his fist, all the while crying.
Yuri makes sure to get his phone afterward, and with both Yuris clinging to Viktor's arm, they put in calls to all over the world.
Four.
Christophe has to be accompanied on his flight to Japan. They are afraid the Swiss would be reckless, especially after the phone call. "Please come, it's an emergency." Is Yuri planning on doing something stupid? His foot bounces ceaselessly the whole flight to the island nation.
Phichit finally finds his way to the Japanese airport with a happy sigh, bumping into familiar faces at the terminal.
"Oh, hey!" He calls, "What are you guys doing here?"
"Coming to see Yuri…" Leo explains, helping Guang carry his bags, "We're worried."
"That's great because that's where I'm going to. I can help show you the way."
Three
Yakov doesn't know what to think after Yurio calls him. He doesn't want to admit that he has been worried sick, running around St. Petersburg when his youngest skater disappeared without a word. Japan is such a confusing place he decides as he pulls his hat down, shuffling forward like he knows what he is doing.
Two.
The first lost boys arrive to see their beloved fairy. Phichit begins crying where he stands, overwhelmingly happy at the sight of a smile from Yuri at his lover's side. Leo and Guang couldn't believe it, have to reach forward and pet Viktor's clothes and nearly get bitten by Yurio before they believe and launch into a huge explanation on how the date of the Grand Prix Final is to be replaced with a ceremony in his honor.
Viktor couldn't help but laugh, "I want to crash my own funeral." Yuri gives him a shove, and he laughs more.
To all their surprise, the next lost boy to show up is Captain Hook. Yurio never remembers calling him and blatantly says so, when Minako slips into the room and explains that she is the one who thought he should know. For the most part, JJ goes ignored, but this time he is perfectly fine with not being the center of attention. No one would get see him cry. That is just JJ's style.
Lost boy number five is Otabek. The young Russian tiger insisted the dark horse come after their phone conversation, and for the first time, Yurio actually lets go of Viktor for more than a few minutes.
The sixth lost boy is Yakov. He comes in through the door without knocking, about to call for Yuri when Viktor's face makes his name die in his throat. He stands there blankly for a few moments, even as Viktor extends his arms to him.
A fairy. A fairy still flying, a fairy free from his bottle.
"Vitya!"
Viktor almost couldn't keep his balance when he is barreled into with a hug.
One.
The last lost boy comes late at night. Yurio opens the door for him, actually taking the Swiss's things before jerking a thumb to Yuri's room. Chris nearly bolts to the door, grabbing onto it, pausing at the sight of his bandaged hand before retching it open. Everyone has crowded into the room around Viktor, listening to him recount his harrowing tale as he strokes Yuri's hair in his lap.
The bird leads her younglings around the nest, showing them the feeling of moving their wings with pride.
This new feeling that swells in his chest is just as intoxicating to Christophe, but this one isn't toxic. At his appearance, everyone quiets down, and Yuri sits up so Viktor could get to his feet. Just the very act, the simple act of him standing up, is enough for the tears to start rolling. Chris tries to hide his eyes behind his hand, his shoulders quivering.
Viktor is the one to pull him into a hug, and when he does, Chris finally feels free from everything, like the little bit of pixie dust brought the life back to him.
"I still want to compete against you," He breathes.
"Then don't retire."
He hopes his skates are still in his locker then.
With all of that, only one question is left: Where are all the lost boys?
They are home where they belong. With their fairy, tiger, Peter Pan, and Captain Hook.
Back at Chris's home rink, the janitors finally remove the blood from the ice. What did the etchings make?
Welcome home, Viktor.
What a perfect story.
Another version of this story has Viktor as Peter Pan and Yurio as the fairy (or Tinkerbell, basically), but I settled on this version because I thought it was more interesting to imagine Yuri losing his magic as Peter Pan without Tinkerbell, as opposed to just being a lost boy or Wendy.
I hope you enjoyed this, and thanks for reading!
And for those of you who are curious, Viktor did crash his own funeral.
-Soul Spirit-