That man was his savior, an angel sent just for him, it seemed. Of course, he hadn't realized this at first. When the Japanese man had approached him, bloody handgun pointed in his direction, Viktor panicked. He honestly believed he was going to die that day.

"N-no, no! I'm okay!" the Russian screeched and switched frantically between his little knowledge of Japanese, English, and his native tongue in a desperate attempt to reach the man. "Don't shoot me, please!"

The man lifted a finger to his lips and stared past Viktor with a chillingly empty gaze. "Ssh, stay still and keep your voice down." His voice was gentle and it appeared like he was trying to be comforting, but the gun he had pointed at Viktor made the effort counterintuitive.

Before he could say another word in protest, the man pulled the trigger twice. Viktor released a high-pitched shriek and covered his face with his hands, unwilling to witness his death's arrival. However, the bullet never made contact, much to Viktor's amazement. Had the shooter missed? But how was that possible when he was so close? Peeking through his fingers, he turned slowly to look upon just what the man had shot at and stared in disbelief at the fresh corpse of an infected.

"Are you bitten?" his savior questioned quietly and lowered his weapon, gaze softening as he studied Viktor.

The inquiry fell on deaf ears. Viktor dropped his hands from his face and eyed the mysterious man with a wide, awe-stricken gaze. "Oh, you saved me!"

With a heavy sigh, the man knelt and examined his exposed skin for any bites. "You can thank me later." His dark eyes narrowed and brows knitted together in deep concentration. Even covered in dirt and blood, Viktor thought he was rather dashing—this was likely attributed to the fact that this man had saved his life, but he figured it was a valid enough reason for infatuation. When his dazzling savior seemed sure that he wasn't bitten, he rose to his feet and extended a hand to Viktor. The scene, Viktor thought, was absolutely angelic. In a morbid, apocalyptic sense.

"Oh, I can thank you now! So, thank you," he chirped and gratefully took the man's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Viktor swayed a little as he adjusted to being on his feet and was thankful when the shorter man moved to support him.

"Are you going to be alright? Can you walk?"

Viktor offered him a bright, reassuring smile and nodded, the action making him a tad dizzy. Just how long had he been passed out before this stranger had shown up? "I'll be okay. I can walk fine."

"Yuuri, we'd better get moving," the man's companion spoke up. "Some of the uninfected corpses are starting to stink, and it'll attract the infected here."

Yuuri…

So that was his savior's name. It was quite lovely.

Yuuri turned his attention to his friend, nose wrinkling up as though he were just now registering the rotten stench, and nodded to acknowledge the darker man's concerns. Quickly, he pulled one of his many handguns from a holster and placed it in Viktor's hand before parting from him. Viktor examined the weapon with a frown and made sure to keep it pointed at the ground. He'd hate to accidentally hurt someone because of his inexperience with guns.

"Come on," Yuuri instructed, a serious glint settling in his gaze as his feet carried him away from the group. "Let's keep moving."

Without a moment's delay, his friend was walking in step next to him. Viktor, for a brief time, stared after the pair, though his attention was primarily fixated on Yuuri. He was astonishing, really. For someone who appeared so young, Yuuri carried himself with an intensity and maturity beyond his years. He honestly expected someone around his age to take this whole outbreak a lot worse.

What a badass, Viktor thought with a cheerful grin and followed the two, feeling safer than he had since this apocalypse had begun.

—

Viktor hadn't known Yuuri well when he came to that conclusion. He'd wrongly assumed that Yuuri's parental tendencies and serious demeanor were just part of who he was. He hadn't had a clue what really made Yuuri… well, Yuuri.

He knew better now.

Viktor was fully aware of the precious family photo that Yuuri kept on his person at all times, which he also cried over some nights when he thought no one was listening. He knew that sometimes all that could put their anxious leader to sleep was his tears, for those episodes of crying left him so emotionally drained that Yuuri had no other choice but to succumb to a restless slumber. Many nights, Viktor would lay awake and listen to the pitiful whimpers that Yuuri emitted in sleep when nightmares corrupted his dreams, understanding too well that this was the only time Yuuri felt free to indulge in the pain he repressed in front of them. Occasionally, he would turn over and tenderly cradle their sleeping leader in his arms to bring at least a shred of comfort to the hurting man. At times, it worked. Others, not so much. Viktor was still learning when his hugs would bring serenity to Yuuri, and when they would only heighten his crippling anxiety.

Where he once felt strong admiration for Yuuri's dedication to keeping them safe, Viktor now felt an overwhelming sadness and pity, for he knew now such a protective urge stemmed from his fear to lose again. When he watched Yuuri slay the infected, he recognized now that the blankness in his eyes was not a lack of feeling, but dissociation—Yuuri's own attempt at staving off guilt and coping with his savagery toward the walking dead. Yuuri, Viktor realized, was not strong and serious by his own doing, rather he had been forced into the role by the circumstances that'd befallen him in the beginning of this madness.

Viktor didn't know how Yuuri had been before the outbreak. All he knew were stories, memories shared by Phichit of his friendship with their leader, and the occasional glimpses Yuuri allowed when they were alone. Otherwise, Viktor could only imagine their leader's bright laughter and the shy, but radiant smile Phichit had described to him once. Yuuri had loved to dance, he knew, but thus far never had the privilege to witness it. When he tried to prompt Yuuri to dance with him, he was always met with a mournful gaze and a quiet, resigned refusal. It seemed to Viktor that Yuuri had given up on himself, but he loved their leader regardless and would work his hardest to make sure Yuuri could dance again once this all was over.