Viktor fell to his knees before the headstone, unable to remain on his feet in his shock. It had been so long since he had felt warmth and now, as he leant against cold grey, shadowed by a blinding white, all he could feel was the ice prickling into his clothes, his skin, his heart. Yuuri was gone. Slipped through his fingers. Again.
"I was too late," Viktor whispered out into the frozen air, numb to the words even as they left an open wound somewhere in his soul. "I found you too late."
His gloved hand shook as it reached out, trembling fingers sliding along every character of his beloved's name. As his first tear fell, drifting quietly down a pale cheek, Viktor clenched his teeth before he ripped off the black leather barrier keeping him from feeling what was left of Yuuri, his husband, his one and only. It didn't matter that they had never met within the present timeline. Yuuri would always be his love. Always.
Now bare, his fingers met stone once more, but it did little to assuage his aching heart. He pushed himself passed the flowers and lantern left in front of the headstone, uncaring as the goodbyes of others spilled into the snow. He had to get closer. He had to feel what was left. With his forehead pressed against Yuuri's name, Viktor allowed himself to fall apart. An ugly sob tore from his throat, a feeling of emptiness both hauntingly familiar and startlingly new blossoming in his chest.
This time, he didn't even get a chance to see Yuuri. To hold him, feel him, love him. They'd been perfect strangers in this lifetime. Katsuki Yuuri lived the bulk of his life in Japan as Viktor Nikiforov lived his in Russia, separated by land, sea, and anonymity.
It had to have been better than being separated by death.
Viktor had woken up in this life too late. After leaving his last attempt at saving Yuuri behind, he'd woken up in a new world, still himself as far as the mirror and all of the people in his life were concerned.
He didn't allow any time to pass. He didn't stop to think about who he was now or what his current life held for him. His one thought had been of Yuuri and nothing stopped him from seeking the younger man out. Not a word from his parents or friends could halt his steps. He was a man on a mission.
The only thing that managed to tie him down, like poisonous vines that gripped him with unforgiving thorns rooted in reality, was the information that Yuuri had already died. Yuuri had died in Detroit as he'd been studying abroad, going for an ecology degree or something of the sort. It had been a freak accident, or so the online paper had said, but Viktor knew it was just death's cruel idea of a joke. Yuuri's body had been shipped back to his family in Hasetsu where he was cremated and buried in a cemetery amongst his ancestors.
Viktor hadn't believed a word of it. He hopped on a plane that had been practically ready for takeoff, sure that everything he'd read had been wrong. Yuuri was fine. He was alive. The only way Yuuri died was in his arms.
How could Yuuri die if Viktor had not been there to hold him? To see it? To witness it? To burn the memory deep into his soul where his sanity had shattered?
The truth cut into him like a jagged piece of glass. His headstone was real. The look on the Katsukis' faces had been real. Viktor had never wanted to scream so badly in his life. Not since his first Yuuri had been taken from him, all too soon and far from willing.
Falling against the stone, Viktor laid there, the snow falling to melt along his flushed face and lost expression. His gaze trailed across the objects strewn across the ground, left in the wake of his haste to feel Yuuri again. His mind fell back to the Katsukis and he gasped out at another wave of pain that overcame him. They hadn't known him. He'd shown up at Yu-topia, beyond relieved to at least see Yuuri's family, his family, but all he'd gotten were blank stares filled with sorrow, their voices withdrawn as they'd told a 'friend from Detroit that had been out of the country during his accident' where he could find their son's gravesite. It was easy to remember just how much of a stranger he was then, even though the inn felt more familiar to him than any other place within this world.
The air was quiet around him, empty, and yet in the whistle of the light winds there was a ballad that spoke of loneliness and loss. He'd experienced that song often enough, most times when he was in the same position, limply splayed against his lover's resting place.
"Well, Yuuri," he spoke, words rough and tight with longing, "I suppose it's nice to meet you." He laughed, a heavy, self-loathing chuckle that made him cringe. He hated this, the fact that this was a Yuuri he had never known. He grieved for the man, for what could have been. "My name is Viktor Nikiforov and I'm your-" His words stopped there, tangled and bunched in his throat. He couldn't say husband, lover, partner, friend, or acquaintance. Even the word stranger held too much familiarity.
He laughed again and this time it was lighter, like birds taking flight from his chest. "You probably think I'm a weirdo, huh? Some random guy falling apart on your grave. Yeah, I'd think I was a weirdo if I were you, too." He turned to face those etched characters, wiping the snow from the crevices as if he were brushing away stray tears. "I know we don't know each other, but I would have loved you, Yuuri. With every breath I took, I would have loved you… as I have loved every other you that I have known."
His lips met the stone and for a moment he could almost feel a warmth there, something sweet and strong and undeniably Yuuri, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. His eyes misted as he pulled away, stepping down to sit more firmly on the ground with his back to the Yuuri of this world. It was time to leave. He couldn't remain any longer. His mission had been over from the beginning. They weren't meant to be together in this world, and now it was time to go on to the next, to grasp at another chance, no matter how heart-breaking the outcome.
He'd die a million times just to get one more moment.
The blade in his palm shook over his wrist, like it didn't want to take his life. Or maybe it was his hand that was shaking and he was the one wavering with his decision. It didn't get any easier. At least, not yet. He imagined that one day, after he'd seen Yuuri die enough times, killing himself would be without pain or hesitation.
"Goodbye, Yuuri. I wish I could have known you. You were a beautiful person, just as you always are."
He held no real guilt in leaving this world behind. He didn't know these people. This life was not his own, and he couldn't make it his own, not without Yuuri. Makkachin didn't even exist in this world, which was a relief. His dog was the only thing he ever worried about leaving behind.
He stared up at the sky and waited through the pain. His life would be tugged from his body, but he wouldn't die. He never did. Instead, he would listen to that ballad, full of sorrow and woe, and watch as a multitude of colors danced in his vision, ready to take him to the next world. His last breath was an easy one of release as he slipped forward. His last thought was one of hope.
Yuuri, don't be too far out of my reach this time…