Melody of the Sea

Viktor x Yuuri

Chapter 2: Ignorance is Lower Than Bliss

Viktor woke up to a sunbeam shining directly on his face, effectively blinding him. He whined and turned over to bury his head under his pillow. Why was it so bright, damn it. He must have forgotten to close the curtains in his sleepy stupor last night—

Wait, last night.

There was something important about last night that was currently eluding him. He vaguely recalled dozing off on the couch with Makkachin beside him, but wasn't there something else that happened? Something about the sea…

When he remembered that he wanted to journey out to the sea to get his inspiration back, he immediately flung the pillow off his face, wincing as it narrowly missed smacking into his bedside lamp. Excitement rose up within him at the thought. He was going to get his muse back! He hopped out of bed with new energy, earning himself a sleepy woof from the poodle dozing at the foot of the bed.

Viktor felt a pang in his heart at the thought of leaving his beloved poodle behind. He didn't know how long he would be gone, and he was sure that Makkachin would be desperately lonely without him. Maybe Yuri would be willing to drop by and check on him from time to time, although that would also require Viktor to tell him where he was going for such a long time that he'd need to leave Makkachin.

That definitely wouldn't go over well with the explosive junior writer.

The author contemplated the issue through his whole daily morning routine, and still hadn't come to a decision by the time he finished his breakfast. Maybe he shouldn't go after all? He had no idea what awaited him out on the sea, he simply thought he might get inspired again if he lived in a different environment for a while. That was about as vague a plan as they come.

The pet sitters were the best choice by far. He didn't think they imposed a limit on the maximum length of time that a pet could be in their care, and well, who could resist saying no to Viktor Nikiforov's beloved poodle?

He leaned over in his chair and stroked the top of Makkachin's head. "I'm going on a journey, Makkachin," he told his dog seriously. The brown poodle gazed back with solemn eyes. "I'm going on a journey. It's very important to me, you know? You'll be a good boy for the pet sitters, hm?"

Makkachin licked his fingers in response, and proceeded to pad to the couch to lay down.

Viktor took that as a 'yes'.

He stood up to put his dishes in the sink, then was struck by sudden realization and a feeling like a haymaker to the gut. If he was going out to sea for an indefinite amount of time, he needed to pack. He needed to clean. He hadn't considered these issues the past few days, too caught up in the euphoria of finding his muse again, but now they hit him with all the force of an exploding missile. He looked around him in a panic.

Viktor thought about his hamper full of dirty laundry, the mountain of crumpled papers strewn across the floor of his study, the teetering pile of dishes already taking up space in his kitchen sink, the dog-eared reference books stacked beside his desk, and the dust and fur coating his furniture. He thought about his unwashed bedsheets, wrinkled and furry, the pillowcase he probably drooled on in his sleep, the magazines carelessly thrown over his expensive glass coffee table. He thought about the half-full trash and recycle bins waiting to be thrown out for garbage collection day, and his untidy bathroom with his beauty products lined up on the shower rack in all their sticky, oily, butyraceous glory.

He needed a housekeeper.

An hour and a dozen phone calls later, he hired a respectable freelance cleaning lady to take care of his penthouse—and Makkachin by extension, thank god!—while he was away on his 'business trip'. The woman was greatly honored. Apparently her two teenaged daughters were fans of his books; in fact, her eldest aspired to be a novelist just like him. Their favorite was The Lilac Fairy, which was Viktor's debut work, the first piece that Yakov had edited for him, and the one that had launched him straight into the spotlight when he earned several accolades and topped the best-selling chart for debut works for two months in a row.

He had been seventeen, young and brilliant and basking in the praise thrown at him for his remarkable feat. Fast forward a decade and here he was, twenty-seven, rich, loaded with the most prestigious awards and medals in the writing community, and desperate to rekindle the embers of his dying muse.

Viktor autographed two extra copies of his debut novel he had stashed away in his study and gave them to her as thanks for agreeing to keep his home in working order on such short notice. She was over the moon with gratefulness.

"Thank you so much," she said, bowing deeply. "I can't even begin to tell you how thrilled my daughters will be."

"No, thank you for responding to my offer so quickly," Viktor replied with a bright smile. It didn't feel quite as fake and tiresome as his attempts a few days ago, which put him into an even better mood. He was going to get his inspiration back, he could almost feel it down to his bones. Feeling rather sanguine about his prospects for the future, he decided he would reward the cleaning lady handsomely if he came back to a tidy home and a happy, healthy pet.

He looked out the window at Hasetsu shining warm and golden under the sunlight, the last glistening remnants of the previous night's storm clinging stubbornly to the rooftop eaves, the faded white paint of the mullioned windows gleaming, clear blue skies bared for the world to see. The turbulence of yesterday's waves was nowhere in sight, the ocean calm and gently rolling into the bay once again. If he squinted, he could just make out the distant shape of a small sailboat bobbing along in the waters further out, followed by a fisherman's dinghy. Everything was quiet and serene after yesterday's raging tempest.

For the author, there could not be a clearer sign of hope and encouragement.

For good measure, he decided to pen a letter to Yakov. At least that way the editor was less likely to call the police to hunt him down.

Viktor had not planned for how difficult it could be to bargain his way onto a ship with no ticket and no warning. Fortunately for him, the modern world ran on a ridiculously high level of materialism.

Thus, he simply resorted to the time-honored method of throwing money at the first taker and shamelessly faked innocence via whistling. No Hasetsu native would really bother to question him anyway, given his celebrity status.

Once he had settled himself on the ship, Viktor took a moment to gaze around himself and really look and feel and utterly immerse himself in the scenery. He was usually prolific in words when it came to writing, but this time, his newest novel in the works needed something more than sappy purple prose to fill up the pages. He needed something inspiring, something moving, something emotional and heartbreaking and lovely all at once.

The cheery little town was quite a ways behind them now, a long stretch of land in the distance, blotting out the horizon with its charming, asymmetrical design and the rise and fall of the concrete buildings.

Viktor vaguely remembered this sight, from when he had emigrated to Hasetsu as a young boy. It brought a sense of nostalgia to him, which he was quick to use to pen down a few quick sentences in his new notebook. His characters may not be cooperating with him at the moment, but that didn't mean he couldn't write other things.

The winds salty sea breeze brings up memories of my hometown. I remember waking to the cry of gulls every morning outside my sill, the cries hollering of the downstairs neighbors whom were in the middle of a nasty divorce, and the hustle and bustle of the merchants street vendors peddling wares outside in the streets. I live in the city now. It is not the same; the air is thick and foul here, there are only the cold, impersonal storefronts of general supermarkets, and instead of seagulls I wake up to blaring car alarms and squawking noisy crows bunched up together on the telephone poles outside my window.

Nowhere near his best work or his most eloquent sentences, but it was a start.

For the next hour, Viktor wrote about the sun and the sea, about the other passengers on the ship, their clothing, their habits, their looks and personalities, their hair. He wrote about the way the ship gently swayed in the waves, cutting a sharp line through the water and leaving a trail of white bubbles in its wake. He wrote until his hand cramped and perspiration from the afternoon heat made his pen slip from his fingers and roll away across the wooden deck.

Viktor took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the salty air. He let out a quiet laugh as he tilted his face towards the sun.

Writing had never made him feel so free. If he had known that writing outside, absorbed in the surroundings, rather than sitting alone in a cramped office filled with dusty tomes, old takeout containers, and mountains of crumpled papers would have produced better results, he would've started doing it a long time ago.

He hoped Yakov got his letter. He knew that up and disappearing without a word was bound to make the aging editor feel like tearing out his remaining hair in frustration (and though Yakov would never admit it, he did worry about Viktor in his own gruff, tough-love way). He had given the editor a copy of his house key a long time ago, and that was likely the first place Yakov would look if Viktor failed to answer his calls or show up to the publications office. He had left the letter on his coffee table, with instructions to the cleaning lady to make sure that Yakov received it.

Viktor stretched, feeling his spine pop from sitting in the same position for too long. He retrieved his pen before it could roll between the gaps in the railing and into the deep, dark waters below. He was not feeling up for an impromptu swim when he hadn't even bothered to bring swim trunks.

He noticed that his dominant hand was shaking a bit. He supposed he could take a quick nap and resume writing when he woke up.

But as he laid on the bed in the cabin he had been provided, he found that he couldn't fall asleep. Makkachin was a noticeable absence at his side, and the slight rocking of the ship bobbing on the waves was an unfamiliar and almost alien sensation. He didn't get seasick, but he couldn't sleep either. Heaving a sigh, Viktor sat up and gazed out the porthole just above the tiny writing desk in the room.

At first he only saw the water slapping against the sides of the ship. The sun sparkled brilliantly against the deep blue waters. Viktor blinked—he thought he saw—there, again!

A beautiful gray dolphin launched out of the water, shining water droplets flying through the air as it ascended. When it reached the apex of its jump, it angled downwards with the graceful tilt of its snout. Viktor watched it, entranced. He'd never seen a live dolphin so close before.

The next second, something came out of the water and snatched the dolphin out of the air, dragging its flailing body below the churning surface. Viktor blinked and it was gone. The dolphin did not reappear.

He fought back a shiver as a chill tingled down his spine. In his excitement, he had almost forgotten about the dangers that lurked beneath the waves. He hoped whatever had gotten to that dolphin didn't have any interest in eating humans. He'd like to make it back to land very much alive and intact, thank you.

Several minutes passed without incident. Nothing monstrous appeared out of the sea, nothing attacked the ship. Viktor wondered if he had just hallucinated the whole thing.

I need a drink, he thought, rising from the bed.

He made his way to the ship's dining room, but the doors were firmly shut and he was gently turned away by one of the staff members, who explained that they could not allow anyone into the room because they were preparing for dinner. Viktor pouted at the refusal, but wandered off anyway. He might as well just hit up the bar downstairs while he waited.

Very few patrons were at the bar at this hour. Viktor wasn't looking to get drunk, but he did want something refreshing and mellow that wouldn't hinder his thought process too much. He ordered some kind of fruity cocktail off the menu that sounded good.

While the bartender prepared his order, Viktor observed the area. Unlike most inland bars, this one was tastefully classy, tables and chairs arranged just-so, the dark cherry oak bar counter gleaming with a clean, varnished finish under the golden lights. There was a closed door to the side labeled as the designated smoking area, so as to avoid disturbing other passengers with the cloying stench of cigarette smoke. Light music played from discrete overhead speakers.

The bartender slid his finished drink over the counter. Viktor was delighted to find that it came with a tiny, decorative pink umbrella. He automatically reached for his phone to take a picture, only to remember that he had deliberately turned it off to avoid calls and texts from his acquaintances back in Hasetsu. Did this ship even have Wi-Fi connection?

"Do you have Wi-Fi here?" he asked, turning his phone on. He figured he should brace himself for a barrage of missed calls, angry voicemails, and long-winded text messages punctuated by yelling via capital letters and exclamation points (courtesy of both Yakov and Yuri).

The bartender silently pointed to the right, where a piece of paper printed with the name of the Wi-Fi and its associated password was taped to the wall. Viktor thanked the man, who replied with a brusque "sure" and turned to serve an approaching patron.

As soon as he connected to the ship's Wi-Fi, his phone flooded with messages. It was almost impressive considering he'd only been gone a few hours.

Missed Calls: 4/4/17

Editor Yakov (12) 3:51 P.M.

Yuri Plisetsky (5) 3:47 P.M.

Christophe Giacometti (2) 1:23 P.M.

Takegawa Hisako (1) 1:10 P.M.

Mila Babicheva (1) 2:25 P.M.

New Text Messages:

Editor Yakov (9): VITYA! What the hell is with this random, whimsical…

Yuri Plisetsky (9): Are you fucking kidding me, old man?!

Christophe Giacometti (4): Hey Viktor, what's going on? Your editor ke…

Takegawa Hisako (2): Hello, Mr. Nikiforov. I gave the letter to Mr. Felt…

Mila Babicheva (1): Yuri won't shut up about how you've disappeared…

Ah, he'd gotten a message from his newly-hired cleaning lady. Good, it looked like she made sure Yakov saw the letter. His reaction was… explosive, to say the least.

Yuri screamed and cussed at him a lot, nothing new there.

Yakov had contacted Chris? He hadn't realized that the old editor knew Christophe's number, after all, the erotic novel writer he'd met at a conference a few times didn't live in Hasetsu.

Even Mila had tried to get in touch with him. He had no intention of replying to any of them—everything that needed to be said had been said in his letter to Yakov.

Viktor took his cocktail and walked to an empty table. He opened up his phone's camera and snapped a picture of his drink, making sure the miniature flower designs inked on his umbrella were clearly shown in the image. He wouldn't upload it to Instagram yet, that was something to do when he made it back to solid land.

He took a selfie of himself holding the drink seductively to his lips, giving a flirtatious wink to the camera, and ignored the rude comment whispered by a burly man sitting by himself in the corner. He was Viktor Nikiforov, five-time #1 Best-Selling Author, not some run-of-the-mill playboy taking pictures solely for attention (okay, yes, he was doing this attention, but really, it was mostly for his fans).

Viktor took out his notebook and his pen, flipping it open to the page he was last working on. His hand was still sore, but he thought that maybe he could write little blurbs with Charlotte and Lupin now. The disconnected paragraphs wouldn't be cohesive as a whole, but he could potentially use them as part of his draft later.

As he worked, he periodically sipped at his cocktail. He didn't want to ruin his appetite before dinner.

The gardens of the noble Bellanova estate encapsulated encompassed the edges of the grand mansion in with a spectacular range of colors. On a single midsummer's morning, Charlotte walked down the winding path, alone.

"With this sword in hand, I shall will smite all evil who dare to come near you." The newly-christened knight grasped the jewel-encrusted hilt offered to him and tapped the pommel against his shining breastplate, just over his heart. "I am a your weapon, I am your shield and sword, I give you my body and soul so you may use me as you see fit."

Lupin cupped her fair, freckled cheek with one rough, weathered hand. He was made to sin and sunder, to steal and plunder. Should he be struck down for his impertinence at this very moment, he would not regret anything a single thing.

He tapped the end of pen absently against his chin. Come to think of it, he never gave Lupin a family name. Charlotte Bellanova had a certain royal ring to it that fit her image as a member of a prestigious noble family, but what name sounded good with Lupin, who was an adventurous, poor, seafaring man?

Something to do with freedom, perhaps. Viktor thought it appropriate, whatnot with Lupin the seafarer falling in love with a girl shackled by her nobility.

Lupin Friedomme. Nah, that looked and sounded dumb.

Lupin Liberio. That was a start, but Viktor didn't think it rolled as smoothly off his tongue as it could.

Lupin Seacrest.

Lupin Oceania.

Lupin Liberteria.

Damn it, he could really use a name catalog right now. Maybe he could make up names now and find out what they meant later? But if he found one he liked and it didn't match the character at all, he'd be in a real pickle.

Decisions, decisions...

He absently pulled out his phone to glance at the time, and did a double-take when the numbers register in his head. It was nearly six already, which meant that he'd been sitting in this bar for over two hours. His cocktail had been emptied a long time ago. Dinner service had begun about a half hour ago, which meant—food!

Viktor flew out of his seat so quickly that he nearly knocked the empty cocktail glass to the floor. His notebook and pens disappeared into his bag with record speed. He walked over to the dirty dish cart off to the side and set down his glass—he was a gentleman, after all—gave the bartender a nod, and walked out the door. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty hungry. It was best not to let alcohol sit in an empty stomach.

Thankfully this ship served its meals buffet-style, which meant he didn't have to sit down and wait for his order to be made. The buffet was split into three sections: appetizers, entreés, and desserts. Every item was meticulously labeled; there were even gluten-free, dairy-free, and vegan-friendly options.

Viktor opted for a bowl of hearty minestrone and steamed fish with a side of herb-roasted potatoes. He chose an empty window seat where he could sit and enjoy the sunset. The sky was full of purples and pinks, reds and oranges and yellows mixed together around the sinking sun. He relaxed in his seat, losing himself to his thoughts. This was it; this was the kind of setting he wanted to envision for Charlotte and Lupin, although their differences in social status would not allow it.

He absently noted that there was a figure in the distance leaping out of the water with a graceful arch of its back. The sunlight reflected off the water, making its scales shine brilliantly, colors bouncing off its body like a living rainbow. Then his mind caught up to his eyes and he almost choked on his food because that is not a dolphin or a shark what the hell is that.

He blinked and the sea was calm, undisturbed. He rubbed at his eyes and still, nothing surfaced. No bodies launched out of the water, nothing glimmered and gleamed. "You're going crazy, Nikiforov," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. Maybe the alcohol from the cocktail had been stronger than he thought.

…Stammi vicino, non te ne andare
Ho paura di perderti

Le tue mani, le tue gambe,
le mie mani, le mie gambe,
e i battiti del cuore
si fondono tra loro…

When Viktor went to bed that night, he thought he could hear a voice crooning to him from far away.

He woke up in the morning, uncertain why he was crying, and for the life of him he couldn't remember what he had dreamed about.

The second day went much like the first, with Viktor observing his fellow passengers and writing until his hand cramped, breathing in the salty air of freedom. But unlike the first day, there was a strange air of unease and tension floating around the ship. Through the facade of pleasure and fun, Viktor caught glimpses of nervousness and unrest.

Apparently two of the passengers had gone missing the previous night. Available staff had been sent on a search throughout the ship and within a 500-meter radius of the ship, but nothing had turned up. Interviews with other passengers only revealed that multiple people had heard a relaxing melody last night and had assumed that it had been the late-night orchestra playing.

Viktor had been one of those people, only he hadn't thought it was from an orchestra. He had definitely heard a voice singing to him… from the sea.

His mind had a flashback to the previous day, when he had seen that dolphin dragged under the waves, and when he had thought he had seen a figure leap out of the water at sunset. He hadn't hallucinated that. There was something dangerous lurking around the ship, deep under water, and for whatever reason, it had probably set its sights on the humans.

Or those two could have just jumped ship and drowned, some dark part of him whispered. It was a valid point, but the fear didn't go away. An unknown terror was a hundred times scarier than one that you were aware of.

A lot of people claimed that they didn't hear any strange music last night, though. Did that mean those who heard it were specifically targeted? Was he next? Viktor's pulse sped up, and he suddenly felt very cold. Maybe this stupid, spontaneous venture wasn't such a good idea after all. He came out to have fun and get his muse back, not to perish in the gaping maw of a terrifying sea predator. Oh god, if he never came back, what would Yakov do? What would he say?

He had to stop himself from hyperventilating at the possibilities.

Calm down, Nikiforov, he scolded himself, taking a deep breath and clutching his notebook tightly. Look at the facts, not what-ifs.

Fact: two passengers went missing last night.

Fact: all their belongings were left on the ship.

Fact: some people heard strange music as they went to bed last night.

Speculation: the two passengers were lured off the ship and eaten by a sea creature.

Speculation: they jumped ship and drowned.

Speculation: they fell overboard and did not receive help, so they drowned.

Speculation: the singing is a lure targeting humans.

Viktor felt a little better after laying it out for himself. There was no proof that they'd been eaten by some sea creature of the deep, even though the dulcet voice and its accompanying musicality he had heard last night had come to him as though from a great distance, not from the theater room where the orchestra would play.

Of course, that did bring up the question of what happened to the two passengers. He cast a discreet glance around from the deck chair he was currently lounging on. There, and there—he spotted two very well-hidden security cameras. They were small enough to remain unobtrusive and out of sight unless one purposefully searched for them.

Since there were security cameras around, there ought to be recording tapes too. Security must be checking the tapes now, or at least they should've checked them by now.

There was nothing he could do at the moment. He made a mental note to be on guard if he heard the melody again that night. If he lived through the night and others didn't, he could at least try to figure out what was going on. If he survived this whole ordeal, this could be the plot baseline for his next novel after Stay Close to Me.

He took up his notebook and pen once more, determined to keep writing until his wayward muse finally decided to return. The sun was warm and the breeze was airy and moist and cool. There was chattering and murmuring all around him, filling the surroundings with welcomed noise. At the very least, these things would serve to distract him from the issue for a while. He didn't want to think too hard on 'what-if's.

When he went to bed that night without hearing any music or songs from the sea, he was almost relieved.

Viktor woke slowly, mind in a fog of drowsiness. Someone was singing nearby. The voice was clear and unmistakably male. Who was it? Who was singing by himself this late at night? He wanted to know. He climbed out of bed, pulling on his coat, and walked out the door in a daze. Something niggled at him from the back of his mind, something that screamed wrongness about the situation, but that part of him was quickly overwhelmed.

He vaguely registered that there were a few other people swaying down the hallway in the same manner, but this fact seemed largely unimportant compared to finding the source of that lovely sonorous voice. He walked on.

The air outside was surprisingly mild. It wasn't neither too warm nor too cold, a slight sea breeze accompanied by a hint of humidity. The deck of the ship was dimly lit by hanging lanterns that glowed orange in the night. The voice was stronger now. Viktor made his way to the gleaming white railing and looked down.

A pair of lovely honey-brown eyes met his, the owner smiling at him with a bewitching, seductive, come-hither look that instantly made Viktor's remaining inhibitions fly out the proverbial window. That face was gorgeous. The faint moonlight shining down on them from between the wispy clouds illuminated the paleness of its skin, the delicate structure of its cheek and jaw bones, its lovely ebony hair, slicked back and leaden with moisture, the mesmerizing way the water eddied calmly around it as it raised its slender arms up, calling and beckoning. Though no words were spoken beyond that enchanting song, the message was clear:

Join me.

Viktor complied without a second thought.

Plunging into the chilly seawater was a huge shock to his senses. Viktor blinked, unable to remember how and why he had gone from being asleep in bed to jumping into the ocean. He surfaced with a wet gasp. He only had time to witness, with a burgeoning feeling of desperate panic, the sight of the cruise ship sailing away, oblivious to his plight, before something grabbed his leg and yanked him under.

He flailed as his head disappeared beneath the surface, cold water flowing around him and leeching all the warmth from him. He closed his eyes instinctively and kicked futilely against whatever was clinging to his leg, but water resistance made his movements sluggish and slow. It was like there was an iron manacle clamped around his leg. His clothes were weighted down by water, which didn't help his frantic attempts to reach the surface.

Then he opened his eyes and caught sight of the creature that had tempted him into the sea.

Under the moonlight, the thing had appeared beautiful and otherworldly. Here, in its cruel domain, it took on a far more terrifying appearance. Honey-brown eyes gleamed like twin chips of insidious amber, set in a face that was morphing so that the jaw was slightly elongated. When it opened its mouth, far wider than any human could manage, Viktor could see every serrated fang with ease. Teeth like that were meant to strip flesh and crunch through bones like wet sandpaper. The creature also had a long, scaly lower body covered in blue-silver scales that reflected light even through the dim water. The spectacle was utterly petrifying; alien; inhuman.

A second creature swam by them at that moment, inky black hair waving in the water. It clutched another human in its grasp, the body bloating in an unattractive manner. The thing clicked at the one grabbing his leg, then quickly swam away (presumably to enjoy its dinner).

Viktor wanted to vomit.

He fought tooth and nail to get the creature to release him, to no avail. It watched him with those dispassionate luminous eyes, no human emotions present in its expression. He was just its next victim. Oh god, he didn't want to die. He didn't want to die! Oh god, please, someone help me I can't breathe, Ican'tbreatheIcan'tbreathehelpmeIdon'twanttodie!

The edges of his vision turned fuzzy as his lungs screamed for fresh oxygen. His struggles slowly grew weaker. The sea had turned against him—was this his punishment for thinking that he could reinvigorate his muse out on the open water, without considering the danger it posed? No one would know what happened to him. In years to come, he would only become an object of speculation, an unsolved mystery, a cold case with a file left to collect dust, a best-selling author who vanished without a trace.

If he wasn't currently drowning, he might have cried.

Yakov… I'm…

He reached out one last time for the faint glimmer of moonlight he could see shining through the murky ocean water, his hand grasping at nothing.

…sorry…

And then the darkness came.

Here is the second chapter, I hope you enjoyed it even though it was mostly Viktor writing on a boat. All underlined words in Viktor's writing blurbs are meant to mimic "crossed-out" words, but there's no strikethrough option here like on AO3 ):

MangaFreak15