Victor has known him for as long as he can remember.
He has soft dark hair, gentle pink lips, blue-rimmed glasses, and the deepest, darkest eyes he has ever seen. Victor has memorized his face, his physique from every angle, every lighting, every setting in the world. He knows exactly how he looks at sunset, sitting on a low hill and staring at the sky as it darkens. He knows the sparkle in his eyes when he sees a dog, the anxious bite of his teeth into his lips when faced with a stranger.
Victor knows every single expression to ever cross his face. He spends hours capturing every detail, down to the red highlights in his eyes, and the rough hands of someone accustomed to holding a rein, or a paint brush, or a sword. Victor daydreams about that gentle boy finding Victor, all alone in his tower, high above the world, and spiriting him away. He'd be so gentle, Victor thinks, as he lifted him from the only window and carried him down a rope and onto his horse. They would ride away and never look back, travel the world together- the world Victor has never seen.
When his mother asks him why he paints him, he shrugs and tells her that he's his muse. She narrows her eyes, but Victor knows she can't do anything. His nightly dreams and visions of this boy are the only thing she can't touch. So she watches in perturbed silence as he paints and sketches and traces his image onto canvas and paper, keeps her mouth shut when she catches him sleeping with his picture under his pillow. It's the only time she will keep quiet, and Victor revels in it.
The truth is, despite his mother being the only company in his god-forsaken tower, he'd somehow rather be alone than alone with her. She may be kind (in a way), but she is also the only thing keeping him there. Every time she leaves she takes the key with her, and no amount of begging convinces her to let him out. And when she is home, her cold and pale presence hovers over his shoulder, watching him draw, watching him cook and clean, frowning at the boy he paints over and over. When he was younger, he would revel in her attention, show her the drawings he made of his boy. She would rip them up and toss them. It was only after he threatened to cut his hair that she stopped.
Victor`s hair was the only thing that made her happy. Touching it, brushing it, braiding it. Sometimes Victor found it comforting. Mostly Victor found it terrifying. She used to tell him that people outside would hurt him, would cut his hair and tear his limbs. She would tell him that she had hidden him away for his own protection. He used to believe that. Now he doesn't. She knows, but doesn't say anything. Their lives revolve around silence and unspoken truths.
And so he spends his days, dreaming of his boy, painting his image over and over, cleaning and cooking for his silent, unimpressed mother, and wishing for his life to truly begin. When he looks out at the sky from the only window in the tower, he wonders what his boy's name is. He wonders if he'll ever know.
Yuuri Katsuki doesn't know who he is. The man that haunts his dreams and stalks his days. Blue eyes reflected in the sky and water, silver hair in the peeling skin of birch trees, a blinding smile like the sun. Every detail memorized and projected on everything Yuuri knows.
Yuuri doesn't have time to daydream. He has a family to help feed and a horse to tend to and letters to deliver. As a letter-carrier, his pay is high. Traversing every forest and desert and mountain and sea to deliver the words and thoughts of others is not an easy job. You have to be smart, and strong. You have to be willing to leave. For Yuuri, it's hell. He misses his mother and father, his sister, his dog, his town. But his family needs the money. So he leaves for months, years on end, sends all his money home, and ignores the reflection of the man in everything he sees.
Only at night, when dreams overtake him as he lies in his small cart, wedged between crates and crates of letters does he allow the reflections to take over. They flood his vision, and his mind, and he wonders for the millionth time whether in all his travels he'll ever meet him. If he'll ever run his hands through the long silvery hair and dance together, slow and dreamlike in the moonlight. In his darkest moments he doubts the man exists at all. Not for someone like Yuuri. He's not the sort of person Yuuri would ever deserve. But in his dreams he is close and beautiful, and Yuuri basks in every detail.
It's been five years since he's been home. Ironically, as a letter-carrier, he doesn't receive a single letter from home. He has sailed over seas and trekked over two mountains. He has crossed a mini desert. He has fended off bandits and bribed guards and run from them. He has delivered letters to politicians and kings and queens and bakers and beggars and lawyers. His horse has been with him through it all.
Sometimes he thinks about giving it a name, but thinks of Vicchan and winces. Naming his horse would acknowledge how much he cares for it. And if it ever died, he'd lose the only company he's ever had. So he refrains, and pats it's back when they reach another forest. He is running low on supplies but the next town isn't too far, and it's midday. He takes out the map he'd bought at the last town, and scans it for shortcuts.
If he takes a left at a weathered old tree a few paces ahead, he'll get to the next town faster than if he took the main path. It's a bit of a risk, as it's not marked on the map, but Yuuri will take that risk if it will get him in a warm bed faster. So he turns his horse to the left at the tree, ignoring the glint of the man's eyes in the sky.
Soon enough, the trees grow thicker. The sun is barely visible, and the darkness almost oppressive. If it weren't for the consistent chirping and chattering of forest animals he would feel terrified. As it is, the constant background noise soothes him. As they travel through the forest, carefully avoiding the roots and low branches of ancient trees, the sky darkens quickly. Yuuri curses the early sunset and keeps on going, lighting a torch carefully to see his way ahead. He has to be careful not to swing too close to the leaves above, or he could start a forest fire.
They continue on for a bit until Yuuri gives up on seeing anything in this light. He gets off the cart, patting his poor, tired steed gently for a couple seconds before climbing a tall tree. When he gets as high as he can, he looks around for a light, anywhere, that could signify a dwelling nearby. Scanning the horizon, he finds nothing but moonlight gilded trees for miles around. The light makes them look like the waves of an ancient sea, twisting and churning in the dark, the silver light like tresses of long hair…
He shakes that thought away and turns around, looking for the yellow glow of a candle in someone, anyone's windowsill. If he just squints… He can make out a dim light in the distance, hovering in the air like a tiny beacon. A… tower? How had he missed that? Judging by the darkness surrounding it, it was a rather tall one too, and clearly inhabited.
Nodding to himself in the unnatural darkness, he pushes his glasses up and slowly scales back down, feeling for the cart and horse before climbing back on and turning them to the tower. As they carefully make their way along, he pushes down the small thrill of fear that emerges as he thinks about spending the night in a strange tower, in this unnatural summer darkness. It'll be fine. If anything, I'm sure I can pay them back for the night. And so, he rides onwards, toward the faint, hovering light.
The night had fallen far too quickly for Victor's taste, as it always did. Sometimes he wonders if the seemingly perpetually early sunset here was a result of boredom. Maybe his mind was trying to speed his life up. More likely though, it was a product of his mother's, designed to cloak the tower from people who might notice it. Being so far out in the forest made that nearly impossible, as no person in their right mind would journey out so far from any town. But he supposed it was possible. Oh, how he wished someone would notice it and rescue him from this cage.
He can't help but feel eager at the thought of seeing him in his dreams tonight. He wonders if today he might hear him speak. It had happened once, where he'd heard a faint whisper of something, but he had woken up before he could listen carefully. It had almost sounded like… his name? But different. Maybe the boy dreamt of him as well.
As he folds the covers back from his bed, something hits his window with a quiet "thunk". Startled, he looks outside the window. Far down below, someone is waving their arms at him. It's hard to see outside in the unnatural darkness, but he can just make out a horse and a cart. A dim torch is in one of the man's hands.
At first, all Victor feels is a thrill of fear. His mother is gone, and he has nothing to protect himself with. If this man truly meant him harm, he would be a sitting duck. But the fear fades fast. Outside is another person! Someone had found him, just like he'd wished. Maybe he would finally see the world in person!
"I need a place to stay for the night!", a faint voice calls from outside.
Opening his window, he leans outside, and immediately freezes. He recognizes the man. Dark eyes glinting in the light of his candle, dark hair tousled and sweaty, familiar blue glasses glinting and mouth open as the man gapes back. For a moment they stare at each other, time suspended in a moment of surprise. Then Victor moves.
He shoves the candlestick to the corner of the, thankfully, wide sill, and lowers his hair to the man. Having never cut it, it is long enough in it's braid to reach the ground and even coil a few times.
"I don't have a key!' Victor shouts. The man stares in confusion for a few seconds, and then nods, turning to guide his horse and cart right next to the tower. After un-securing his horse from the cart, he leads him over to a tree and ties him gently to a branch so he can rest.
Victor watches him take out water and food for the horse, giving it a quick brush-down and covering it with a blanket. All of this he brings out from the cart. As Victor watches, he can't help but marvel at the care he has for his horse, and the organised way he takes care of it. His rough hands brushing him down, patting him… He wonders dazedly if the boy would ever want to brush his hair.
When the boy finishes putting his horse to sleep, he walks back over to where Victor's hair is pooled on the ground, and tugs on it gently. Victor winces slightly at the pull on his head, but quickly hides it, worried that the boy will sleep outside for fear of hurting Victor. He can withstand some pain, if it means he gets to meet his life-long love.
The boy looks up, "A-Are you sure I can climb this? Won't it hurt you?"
Victor smiles down at him, "I don't mind. I'd rather have company."
The boy nods, and hangs onto the braided hair tightly, before hoisting his feet up onto the moss-covered wall of the tower so he is hanging sideways. Victor jerks forward with the motion, but braces himself on the windowsill. Below him, the boy has his eyebrows scrunched up in what Victor recognizes as his determined face. He slowly walks up the wall, every couple of seconds pulling himself up with Victor's braid.
The pain shooting up his scalp is intense, seeming to pull on every fiber of hair he has, but he smiles through it. Through the haze of pain he gets the feeling that if he were to voice that pain the boy would not hesitate in jumping off to his death to spare him it.
Finally, the boy is within reach. From up close, Victor can make out exactly how the candle-light reflects off his sweaty face, how it highlights his dark hair and makes his eyes glow. The boy reaches a hand up to him, and Victor takes it. It is rough, just as he'd known it was. But it is warm too, and that warmth reminds him that this is real. That the boy from his dreams is here. Stepping carefully into his tower, and holding his hand.
...Victor's not sure if he's dreaming or not. All he knows is that the boy is here, within an arm's distance, for the first time in his life. That the boy is looking around, cheeks slowly reddening as he takes in the stacks and stacks of paintings of him that crowd Victor's bedroom.
"I….", He stops, seems to take a deep breath to compose himself before turning to Victor, "What's your name?"
"My name is Victor. And… yours?"
"Yuuri. And I know this is crazy… But I've been dreaming of you too."
I hope ebenroot is ok with me taking inspiration from their amazing fic! Seriously, go read it, it's called "to the water's edge".
This may be continued in the future, and probably edited too. We'll see.
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