AN: I'm somewhere between 99% and 100% sure that I didn't put a disclaimer in the last chapter…. So….
Disclaimer: I don't own Yuri! on Ice. I just live through it vicariously.
This is a tad bit short, but it's pretty angsty and whatnot so I think it'll be all good. Please don't hate me. Also, a big thanks to everyone who reviewed and followed and all the things, I love you guys! Now, on with the show!
CH2- Aftershock and His Sister Anxiety
Victor woke slowly, his mind not really working correctly or processing information in any way, shape or form. He lay peacefully still in a quiet world, not wanting to get up for fear of disturbing the peace and silence that he had so little of in his colourful life. The sun streaming in gently from the window was golden and warm, making Victor want to sink deeper into his plush mattress and cozy thick blankets. He snuggled into his fluffy pillow, only to experience frigid cold as he moved to far over and his cheek slid across a cool, unused part of the pillow that his body heat had yet to warm. Groaning and grimacing at the slight annoyance, Victor opened his eyes for real this time, glancing at his clock. Bright red numbers proclaimed it to be 9:45. Not fully reading the numbers, Victor continued to dully squint at the glaringly bright numbers that meant something important, though he couldn't put his finger on just what importance the numbers meant. He continued to stare for a few more moments before slowly raised his head from the pillow, a look of comprehension and panic spreading across his face as realization spread as slowly as melting butter on a fluffy warm pancake.
He was late.
He was late.
Late to what you might ask?
Late only to the most important thing in his life at the moment.
Yuri. Er, Yuri's lessons, that is. Not that Yuri himself was the only thing that kept Victor going sometimes, the beacon of light shining his way through the shadows and storm clouds of life…
No, of course that wasn't it.
Of course.
As he shook his head to clear his muddled mind, Victor's heart started frantically beating with the realization that arose from the sudden oh-God-I'm-late feeling. He sprang out of bed and catapulted across the room, though it was more like a fumbling fall and staggering stumble than anything else. He began rummaging through the closet, throwing shirts and sweats and jeans to the ground in his attempts to find something to wear. Tugging on a pair of grey sweatpants and a wrinkled, fitted undershirt, Victor made a mad dash out of his room, forgetting (again) to grab a jacket to protect himself from the early morning's chill. He twisted and turned down the halls, doing his best to avoid people and corners and tables, though his hip had quite the introduction to several tables and his elbow kissed a few walls with more enthusiasm than expected.
When he finally came to the building's entrance, Victor fell to the ground in a dramatic slide, yanking his shoes on without giving enough attention to tie them, and was up and running through the door in seconds. Taking the steps two at a time, Victor practically flew down the stairs that lead from the hilltop that the hot springs home was set upon down to civilization below that lay slowly awakening. His feet slapped loudly on the concrete as he bolted down the side of the road so quickly, it felt as if his feet were no longer attached to or controlled by him. He had an unexplainable sensation that was urging him to get to the ice rink as quickly as possible. It was like a "life or death" feeling.
"Hey, slow down!" Victor was jolted from his own analysis of his feelings when a young woman in a neon track suit shouted, veering to the left as Victor darted past her. Victor didn't slow down when he voiced his apology, but instead he threw it over his shoulder, hoping the wind would send it to her. A horn blared as Victor attempted to cross the street while traffic sped by and his travelling attention switched back to the present.
"о боже!" Victor gasped, hand flying to his chest as if to calm his heart, though it had leapt to his throat at the sound of the cacophonous horn. He took a few gasping breaths, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for the walking light to turn green. "поспешность, поспешность," he chanted under his breath. When the blood-red light flicked to a blinding green, Victor was off like a rocket. He raced across the street in record time and pounded up the stairs to the ice rink, ignoring the burning in his legs, which pleaded with him slow his pace. He muttered curses against the Japanese customs of making thousand step staircases to every single blasted building, which made it impossible to get anywhere quickly. He was panting with a pink tinged face by the time he managed to get up the stairs. He paused just a second to calm himself and breath evenly, but was instantly on the move. He burst through the heavy double doors with a metallic clang that echoed through the empty rink.
"Sorry I'm late, Yu—" Victor stopped when he realized that there was no one in the rink. "Yu…ri?" he asked uncertainly, his breathy voice echoing through the cavernous building. There was no one on the ice and it didn't seem like anyone at all was in the building. He walked along the edge of the rink, relishing in the soothing cool air that was wafting off the ice and onto his burning face, stinging his exhausted senses. "Yuri, are you here?" he came up to the benches that the two usually occupy during their practices and, indeed, he found Yuri's equipment bag resting under it, his skates lying abandoned on top of the bench. Victor lightly touched the blades of the skates with one finger, his face contorted in confusion.
"Yuri…." Victor, struck with an idea, pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent his fingers zooming across the screen as he began calling his missing friend. The cheerful tone began jangling and Victor's head whipped up as he began fallowing the sound like a bloodhound after a rabbit.
"Yuri?" Victor called out with more confidence, cautiously hedging along the rounded ice rink.
"Yuri, I know you're here. I can hear your phone~!" he called out with a teasing song in his voice. He slunk across the rink wall until he came to a pair of doors, one proclaiming to be the women's restroom, the other the men's room. The tone stopped jingling as it cut to voicemail, but Victor knew where Yuri was. He pushed the bathroom door open.
"Yuri, I'm coming in!" he announced boldly, pocketing his phone as he stepped into the brightly lit room. He peered around the room, searching for any signs of life until he saw a closed stall. He sighed, crossing his arms.
"Yuri. I know you're in here." He proclaimed, expecting a shy and sheepish student to come out of the stall, blushing and begging for forgiveness. When nothing happened, Victor's brow furrowed and he approached the offending stall.
"Yuri, you aren't crying in there again, are you?" he asked through the door, only half-joking. There was no answer. He sighed, a little irritated, mostly worried. "Come on, I know you're in there…" He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the stall door, sighing.
"Yuri—" he opened his eyes and his voice choked to silence. He couldn't look away, his every muscle locking him in place.
There was blood. `
So much blood.
So much red.
So much.
It was oozing out from under the stall. He was standing in it.
He jumped back, leaving footprints of red smears across the white tiled floor. That was blood. Those smears were blood. Frantically, Victor tried to scrub the blood off his shoe by scraping it against the ground before reality finally shocked him back to the present.
"Yu—Yuri! Yuri!" he jolted back to the stall and pounded on it in a wild act of desperation, but the door swung right open. Lying on the now dark red tile, was Yuri.
A still, unmoving Yuri.
A red covered, pale looking Yuri.
"Yu…ri?" Victor asked confused, not fully comprehending. He cocked his head to the side, blinking owlishly at his friend. He fell hard to his knees as his legs gave up their efforts to slow him and finally took matters into their own… hands. A dull thud echoed throughout the quiet room. The stillness was suffocating. Victor continued to stare straight ahead at the body lying slumped across the cool tile. Blood seeped into Victor's sweatpants, staining the high-quality fabric which was soaking up the red life as if it wanted to preserve the now chilled liquid forever. Tears, hot as fire, began streaming down Victor's slack-jawed face as he stared down at the only light in his dark, lonely life. That light which had been snuffed out. He tentatively reached a shaking hand out to Yuri but stopped, hovering just above the other boy's arm. His hand lowered slowly and rested on the other's arm.
A cold, stiff arm.
A horrible, aching scream ripped through Victor's throat, scraping his vocal chords and sending knives of agony through the sill air. He gripped Yuri's arm, his other hand covering his mouth to keep his ragged sobs and heaving breaths as quiet as possible. His hand slid up to cover his eyes, the other gripping even tighter on Yuri's unmoving arm. He heard the clatter of metal clinking to the hard floor and raised his head, fair skin blushed and eyes swelling with glistening tears.
A knife.
A knife was on the floor.
A knife covered with blood.
Victor stared in shock.
"No… no, Yuri… you didn't…you wouldn't…" trembling fingers pushed up the black sleeves of the jacket that sculpted to Yuri's body. Scars— white, some purple. Scabs— dark red, almost black. Lines— bright, bright crimson and fresh.
Further examination was not needed to discover what happened.
Victor felt a hot fiery rage boiling in his chest, and his body trembled as his breath hitched uncontrollably. He lashed out, grabbing the knife from the floor, and flung it across the room, feeling a deep satisfaction as the knife somehow struck on of the tall, shining mirrors, shattering both objects. Fractures of glass and metal tinkled to the floor, red drips flying everywhere, dotting the once pristine floors and walls with crimson. The bathroom looked like a murder scene. He turned his attention back to Yuri, who was still lying, curled up in front of the toilet. What was he going to do now? How could this life just…vanish? How could Victor have not noticed? He could have saved Yuri! He could have—
Victor gave into the painful sobs that racked his already tremoring body. He reached over and put his arms around the boy, pulling him close to his chest. Yuri's head fell on his shoulder and Victor clung to him, sobbing into his raven dark hair.
"Yuri, Yuri, Yuri, Yuri, Yuri, Yuri, Yuri, Yuri …" he gasped, uttering the sweet name that meant home, and family, and warmth. That sweet name which was now cold, and still, and dark, contrasting deeply to the brilliant warmth and spectacular life it had once been.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He chanted, regretting every time he had ever left Yuri alone, even if it was for a moment, even if it was simply because they slept in different rooms.
"It's all my fault, all my fault, all mine, mine, mine, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Yuri, Yuri, Yuri, Yuri, please, please, please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please, plea—"
"Victor?" a hushed, breathy voice asked uncertainly. Victor flinched back, almost letting go of the body in his arms. Then he realized that the voice had actually come from… the body in his arms. The body whose head had turned to stare up at Victor with soulless black eyes, his once soothingly innocent face turned into a dark parody.
"Yuri… You… You're back… You're back!" Victor exclaimed, joy tingling and warming him throughout his body. But his joy was not long-lived.
"Why did you let me die? You let me die… you killed me. It's your fault. Your fault," Yuri's voice was steadily increasing in volume and a deep rushing sound started pounding in Victor's ears as he stared agape, not comprehending. Victor's smile had long ago melted off and been replaced with a look of horror. "… your fault… your fault… YOUR FAULT. YOUR FAULT. YOUR FAULT. YOUR—"
Victor jerked awake with a yell, his legs tangling in something heavy as he thudded to the floor, a mess of limbs and the heavy object that had tangled him. Wordless shouting erupted from the room next to him and Victor began fighting off the heavy thing, which turned out to be his blankets. He let out loud, wordless exclamations that were somewhere between growling angrily and whimpering with frustration. Suddenly, a question toned voice exclaim something unintelligible from the room next door and a loud squeak of ancient door hinges ripped through the air. Victor continued to spaz around his room as he was vaguely aware of steady pounding coming down the hall, stopping abruptly at his door where sharp rapping against the old wood.
"U-um, Victor?" Victor's eyes were glazed over and his ears were unhearing as he convulsed with the desire to free himself.
"Victor? Victor are you in there? Are you okay? I-I heard yelling, did you- did you trip? A-are you okay?!" Victor's head whipped up from his focus on his tangled blankets, suddenly snapping to. That voice. He knew that voice. That voice was Yuri. But was that the dead, haunting Yuri? Or was that an alive Yuri? Was Yuri alive? Was Victor alive?
"Yuri?" Victor called out, his voice cracking and shaking.
"Victor? Victor, it's m-me, Victor, it's Yuri! Please, o-open the door! Please!" Yuri ordered, though unable to be completely outright demanding without offering the polite word. His knocking became much more insistent. When he realized that this was the real Yuri, Victor snapped into action. He was now desperately fighting off the blankets that were squeezing him like a python choking out its prey, his pleas for help getting louder by the second.
"I can't—can't—argh!" Victor yelled, feeling trapped and vulnerable.
"V-Victor, are you okay? Victor, s-say something! Please!" Yuri demanded. Victor struggled to find the words to express his situation and merely kicked at his blankets, which were twisting more than they were coming undone.
"Victor, I… I'm coming in!" Yuri announced, voice suddenly hardened. And with that, before Victor could yell out that the door was locked, the door banged open and Yuri stampeded in, throwing all caution to the wind.
Victor stared up at Yuri, drinking in the image of his student so alive and full of emotion, gripping the doorknob with one hand, his other bracing against the doorway. Yuri's hair was severely disheveled, and his short athletic shorts and long-sleeved t-shirt were wrinkled and worn. But to Victor he was beauty, and life, and everything else.
At first Yuri's worried eyes searched Victor's bed in a quick scan, but when he found no Victor, his attention turned to the floor where he found the struggling, frustrated growling coach. "V-Victor, are you okay?" Yuri fell to his knees dramatically, tugging on the numerous blankets wrapped around Victor's legs. Victor, however had stopped moving, attention captured by the face of the one he thought he had lost.
"Yuri? Is it really you?" he asked, not thinking about what he was saying. Yuri paused and cocked his head to the side, a rather endearing show of confusion.
"What do you mean? Of course, it's me." He shook his head and turned back to the detangling of blankets but Victor put a hand on his arm, then shivered at the memory of doing the same thing in his dream. Upon feeling the tremble from Victor, Yuri glanced back to find Victor panicking, his forced breathing sounding wheezy and stressed. "Oh, Victor… was it a bad dream?" Yuri asked gently, cupping his coach's sweating face. That small, sensitive question was enough to send Victor and his distressed mind over the edge. He began choking on his breaths which mingled with sobs, salty tears pouring down his face and mixing, rolling down Yuri's hands like a waterfall. Yuri stared in wonder, unsure of what was happening, but he quickly shook himself and moved to comfort his coach. "W-what happened? Do… do you want to talk about it? I'll listen— if you want me to." Yuri whispered, petting Victor's normally silken hair that was now in tangles and ruffles like it hadn't been brushed in days.
"I don't—I can't—it was—" Victor broke off, a swelling anxiety getting the best of him.
"Hey, hey… take a deep breath. You don't have to tell me right this second if you can't. It's going to be okay, I've got you." Yuri felt surprisingly calm. On a normal day, he would have been stuttering and stumbling around, not knowing what to do. But those little things were shoved to the side as concern took over Yuri's mind instead. Victor suddenly grabbed Yuri's arms, pulling his sleeves up so his wrists were in view. Yuri flinched at the abrupt movement. Victor stared down at the thin white scars, the only things the blemished the otherwise smooth, cream colored skin. He ran his thumbs over Yuri's wrist gently, mostly to sooth himself than the other. "Victor, what—" Yuri started, a little discontentedly. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, it was just… different.
"You died." Victor stated bluntly, squeezing the delicate arms in his grasp.
"I… what?"
"In my dream," Victor clarified, void of emotion as he continued to stare at the slim arms he clutched in his hands. "You died. You died and it was my fault." Yuri blinked, clearly not having expected that.
"I... how— how did I... die? Some sort of freak accident? To be honest, that's- that's how I see myself going." Yuri chuckled self-deprecatingly.
"I wasn't there." Victor muttered, eyes boring holes into the floor.
"You weren't... I'm sorry, but… but I'm not following." Yuri admitted hesitantly. "You weren't where?"
"I woke up late. When I got the rink, I couldn't find you. You were in the bathroom and—"
Victor took a shuddering breath. "You were dead, Yuri! In the bathroom, on the floor, you were dead!" he spat out. "And it wasn't an accident, you killed—" Victor couldn't go any farther.
"I killed myself." Yuri finished softly. Victor shook his head wildly, tears flying.
"It was my fault. I wasn't with you. If I were with you I could've… could've…"
"Could've what, Victor?" Yuri demanded, voice uncharacteristically sharp and cold. "Could've stopped me? Could've… could've taken the knife from my hand? And then what? Watched me and followed me around for the rest of my life? You can't do that, Victor. Come on, we talked about this— remember? And— and you know there's going to come a time where… where you won't be able to be with me all the time. A-at some point, if I want it to happen, then it's going to happen. If I really wanted to…kill myself, you know I would find a way. I… I would find a way, Victor. Regardless of how close, or far away you are at the time. If I wanted to and you couldn't stop me… it… it wouldn't be your fault. Do you— do you understand what I'm trying to say?" Victor stared up at Yuri, gnawing his lip raw.
"But, if I was there… but I didn't… you…"
"I-it sucks. It r-really does, but it was a bad dream. It was fake, it won't happen, I can promise you, it will never happen." Upon hearing these words Victor threw himself on top of Yuri, the poor boy hitting the floor harder than a rock from the sky. Yuri instinctively closed his arms tightly around Victor as the distraught coach rested his forehead on Yuri's comfortable shoulder and pressed the boy close to his chest. Victor couldn't seem to hold his student close enough, tight enough, couldn't get enough of him in his arms.
"H-hey, I'm not going anywhere, y-you don't have to suffocate me!" Yuri laughed, his voice muffled by Victor's chest. Victor didn't move, or even acknowledge Yuri's comment.
"Victor?" Yuri asked hesitantly. Victor mumbled something in response, already feel sleep's iron weight. "Are you s-sleeping?" Grumbles from Victor. "Do you… do you want to go back to bed?" Victor's response was to burrow into Yuri's neck, inhaling the fresh sheets and rain smell before sighing contentedly. Yuri shook his head, a fond, exasperated smirk playing on his lips. He wrapped his arms securely around Victor and rose to his knees, the other's dead weight leaning against him. "God, for someone so in shape, you're really heavy!" he complained, shuffling awkwardly to the wall beside Victor's bed.
"… 's sssolid… muscle…" Victor retorted groggily. Yuri rolled his eyes and braced his back against the wall, his arms wrapped tightly around Victor's waist. Once the two were remotely vertical, Yuri began slinking slowly to the bed, where he deposited his precious—but heavy— cargo. He rolled Victor onto his back and grabbed the now untangled blankets and spread them gently across Victor to protect from the cool air of night. He turned to leave, but found himself yanked to a stop, a hand clenching his wrist. He glanced behind himself and found Victor blinking up at him sluggishly, his eyelids barely opening to reveal light blue, almost grey eyes.
"Stay?" he requested. Yuri blinked, surprise clearly written across his features. "Pleeeaassse…" Victor slurred, sleep threatening to completely drag him down with its soft, inviting fingers. Yuri grinned at the childish tone in his friend's sleepy voice.
"Of course. Of course, Vic, of course." Yuri assured him, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed, trying to disturb Victor as little as possible. His plans, however, were foiled when Victor reached across the edge of the bed that he had been slid to and gripped Yuri around the waist, effectively spoiling any hope of Yuri getting up any time soon. Victor dragged his student closer to him, pinning the boy to both himself and the bed with an iron grip.
"Um, Victor, d-don't you think this is a little—a-and you're already asleep." Yuri shook his head, a small exasperated smile played fondly on his face. "You're hopeless." He muttered, his smile never leaving his face as he rolled in Victor's grip so he faced his coach. He slid so his head fit perfectly under Victor's chiseled chin, and molded himself more snuggly to Victor's chest. An unconscious sigh of blissful content left Victor. Yuri grinned at the sound, relishing in how reassuring and familiar it was. His smile melted from his face as he bit his lip, remembering the horrifying nightmare that had been described to him.
"Hopefully, I can keep your nightmares away, right?" he whispered to Victor, who snuffled his hair in response. Yuri giggled. "I'll do my best."
AN:
Aw. Adorable, right? You're not at all slightly emotionally destroyed, right?
I've got a third chapter ready to post soon, but I have no idea where to go after that. Throw some thoughts and ideas at me, even if you think they're stupid (trust me, your ideas are not stupid, they're unique and beautiful!) and I'll try to come up with stuff on my own too, and I'll see if I can wrangle up a fourth chapter. Thanks for reading!
