Semicolons are my jam, yo. Know what else is my jam? Reading reviews and comments from y'all XD Since this is my first fic, it's really helped to ease my anxieties so thank you kindly!


It isn't easy to get through the breakfast dishes; I keep yawning every ten seconds, and I don't know if I should blame Phichit, Mari or this town's train schedule. Every night, a conductor rolls along the tracks that cross through town; they make damn sure to use their horn every time I start to slip into a dream, only adding to the rhythmic rumbling. If that wasn't enough, Phichit's texts were frequent and insistent, dying to know every little detail about Victor; what he sounds like, looks like, acts like. When he finally gave up the interrogation, I drifted off to sleep. Unfortunately, he spilled my tea to my sister; she called just a couple hours later to remind me that Victor could be some kind of monster, and I'm lucky to still be standing. Her interrogation, over a call and not via silent texts, kept me up for another couple of hours; Mari's voice can be very abrasive, and it took the drowsiness right out of me. Even though I did get a bit more sleep afterward, I still woke up irritated; I'm not stupid: I know Victor's a stranger, but I don't feel like I need to be afraid of him. His car simply got stuck outside my house, and he needed shelter in the middle of a storm; I don't see how he could have bad intentions and I don't think I need to be wary of him. Victor's in the living room with our dogs; he offered to help me with the dishes, but I'm just about through with them. Breakfast was somewhat quiet, and I answered all of his questions about how I learned to cook and why green tea is my favorite tea, and I learned that he likes black tea and wishes he could cook better. The rain hasn't stopped; I can hear it dripping off the eaves on the other side of the window above the sink. At home, my room is on the second floor: I'm not used to being able to hear rain this way. "Yuri?" Victor's accented voice is coated in laughter.

Finally finished with the dishes, I toss the dish towel on the counter and step through the doorway. Victor's on the floor, getting attacked with kisses by Vicchan and Makkachin, batting his limbs with their paws, tails wagging in the air. I can't help but laugh at the sight. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if you're almost ready to go out." Victor giggles; a grown man, giggling in my living room. I feel like I should be intimidated around him, but then he sits up, hugging Vicchan, and kisses the top of his head; it's rather disarming. How can Victor be so absurdly adorable? His online photo galleries evoke feelings of confidence and triumph, awe and strength; never had I imagined my favorite photographer would wear oversized jumpers and cuddle with poodles.

"Just about." I nod, remembering how to speak again. My cardigan sleeves no longer need to be rolled up; I pull them down and gesture at him. "Are you ready? Do you have an umbrella?"

He blinks upon standing. "For what?"

My first instinct is to laugh; he can't be serious! My second instinct is to stand in stunned silence; not a trace of insincerity can be found on his face: he is serious. "Uh, the rain? It's not stopping anytime soon."

"A little rain never hurt anyone." Victor smiles. "I'll follow you."

Victor hums to himself while I put on my windbreaker and rainboots and grab an umbrella. "If you like, you can play music on your phone, or something, while we're there." I shrug, shutting the door behind us. He agrees with a smile and a nod so he won't have to stop humming. The rain and wind are just as aggressive as last night, tugging at the umbrella in the wrong direction. Naturally, I mumble a curse and begin the walk down the path, determined to stay dry under the inverting umbrella. Is Victor trying to stay under it, too? When I turn, he's no longer following me; he's standing in the middle of the muddy walkway, arms outstretched, face to the sky. Victor's smile is reminiscent of the one he had when he said goodnight; a warmth adds color to his complexion, the corners of his mouth turn up, his eyes sparkle with joy. He seems too comfortable to disturb; his chest rises and falls, khaki coat darkening with moisture. That trench coat can't possibly be helping him stay warm. "Victor!" My voice only makes him laugh, lowering his arms to his sides. Doesn't he realize he'll get sick if he stands in this kind of weather like that? I drag my feet back over to him and reach out, gripping his sleeve. Victor's smile grows when our eyes lock; the tip of his nose is the same pink as the color dusting his lips and cheeks. Did he ask me something? I can't remember. His smile short-circuits my brain; not the flashy grin I first saw, but that sincere expression that emphasizes his cupid's bow. I wonder if he realizes he has different smiles at all.

"After you, Yuri."

Victor might stall again and I won't be blamed for him catching a cold, so I drag him behind me to the porch of the main house. I fumble with the key more than once, unable to steady it enough to unlock the door; Victor remains silent and I'm grateful. Once inside, we leave our shoes and jackets near the front door, the row of hooks still jutting out from the wall as I remember it. Yes, they're crooked; my dad had something to prove by installing them on his own, but ended up botching the project just enough for us to tease him about it later on. With a small smile, I shake my head and look over the place: the living room is to my right, the dining room straight ahead beyond the doorway, a hall to my left. The tawny paint has dulled to a grey on every wall, dust adorning the base near the hardwood floors. The wood once shined but now sits below scratches and scuffs, blanketed with dirt. My mom was very adamant about sweeping and polishing these floors; I was always very careful to hastily step on it with clean socks to maintain the pristine appearance. I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. My eyes wander over to the bookshelf, occupied by only a few remaining paperbacks. The shelves bow at the middle with phantom weight, warping the once straight lines. I walk over, running my finger along the spines of the forgotten books: photography basics, color theory, a couple novels. "How did we forget these?" I wonder out loud. Victor stands nearby, but not within reach.

"Maybe somebody wanted to read them and left them unpacked." He suggests.

"Yeah." I stack them on top of the shelf; they'll be easier to pack this way. An envelope, stained with age, slips out from between the books; I scurry to pick it up, shoving it under the stack. Conspicuous behavior, perhaps, but I have my reasons. "Maybe."

"Are they yours?"

It's hard to say if he guessed this randomly, or if he sensed it, but I nod. "Yes. I hadn't…" Why do I feel compelled to tell him more than what he asked? "I hadn't thought about these books since we left." I start for the dining room, connected to the kitchen. "Of course, that was twelve years ago, so it makes sense." The back door is bolted shut, partially covered by a few boards. Our dad would drag Mari and I through that back door when he tired of running around with us in the sun; our mom would greet us, saying she brewed some hot tea. When she saw our dejected faces, she'd laugh and admit that it was actually iced tea. A laugh escapes my lips before I can cover my mouth to suppress it. Victor smirks, raising an eyebrow.

He asks, "What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking about my family." I point to the unusable door. "After being in the sun all afternoon, my dad would bring my sister and me inside. Our mom would ask, 'Who wants some hot tea?'" I shake my head; it's rather silly, but makes me laugh regardless. "We didn't want to be rude, or ungrateful, but she noticed how bothered we were." Victor leans against the counter by the sink but I stay by the door. "I mean, it was hot out and she made hot tea? Anyway, she'd start to laugh and then tell us she was joking and pull out a pitcher of iced tea instead." Victor laughs with me; it's easier to laugh when you have someone to do it with.

"She'd really do that?" He asks, smile taking on that genuine form. I nod.

"She would. I can't believe we believed her so many times." I shake my head. "I've never been here when it isn't summer." In my experience, this town had hot days and warm nights; the constant rain hasn't gotten any easier to get used to. The window at the sink is smudged with what looks like grease; I step around Victor to wipe it off to little avail. He's standing so close to me, I can smell the shampoo we're sharing mixing with rain, and his natural scent. I shouldn't be so perceptive of such things, but it's hard not to notice when we're nearly standing shoulder to shoulder. Victor strains to look out the glass.

"It's hard to see out there." He mutters.

There isn't much to see, but I can make out the old bird feeders and bird baths. They're broken and drowning out there. "What's to see?" I sigh. "It's just rain."

"You don't like the rain?" Victor isn't smiling anymore.

I shrug, opening and closing cabinets around the room; they house emptiness and a few dead insects. "Not really. I'm not used to it, either." I gesture at the window. "It's not a sight to die for. Just a bunch of falling water."

He hums in thought. "That's an interesting take on it." Victor smiles again, moving to the dining room. "You're an interesting one, Yuri."

"Is that so?" I scoff. I think I need to see what's down the hallway. My parents' old bedroom is at the far end of the corridor to the left; on the right, there's a small storage room and a bathroom. Victor follows me to the hall, nodding in response.

"Absolutely." I don't respond for multiple reasons, one being that I'm busy. At a first glance, the bathroom looks empty. Opening the cabinets and drawers under the sink, though, proves otherwise: musty paper towels, hair pins, cotton balls and dehydrated sponges litter the hidden spaces. Pulling the items out doesn't take long; I stack them in a pile in the dried out sink. The place has running water, I'm sure, but it's not like I'm going to use the fixtures in here. In the corner, the tub remains useless; even in its prime, it never worked right. Both hot and cold knobs produced icy water and the pressure was more like a draining garden hose than a faucet. I once tried taking a relaxing bath in it, only to wind up more frustrated at the lack of warmth. I kick the tub without much force and leave the room altogether. "Yuri?" Victor chuckles.

"Yeah?" My memories carried me far from the other man; I nearly forgot he was here. A blush paints my cheeks, so I turn to walk down the hall. Victor doesn't need to see my embarrassment every time the feeling comes up.

"What was that about?" He smirks.

Luckily, there's nothing in the storage room but empty boxes and old, defunct suitcases. "I hate that bathtub." When I turn to face Victor, his sea-hued eyes sparkle but he remains silent. I take it as a cue to elaborate further. "It never worked! The damn thing wasn't connected to the water heater, and the pressure sucked." He laughs, but I'm being serious. I open the door to my parents' old room. "I'm not joking! You try relaxing in a slow-filling tub of ice water."

"You know in some places, people relax in ice saunas." Victor's laughter subsides.

The room is empty, save for the pile of broken glass from the far window; a tree branch remains stuck halfway through it, cast aside by the storm. "That can't be accurate." I shake my head. I hope the closet is empty, too; something about packing my parents' clothing seems so final, so somber. Victor's chuckle keeps my hand on the doorknob, but stops me from turning it. "Are you joking, Victor? I don't believe you."

"It's true." He smiles, but I just smirk. "Trust me."

I pull the closet door open, relieved to find it bare. A breath I'd been holding releases. Well, until Victor points upward at the shelf. "What?" I frown.

"What's that up there?"

"I don't see anything." I turn on my heel and walk the opposite direction.

I can't see him, but Victor makes a funny sound, like he's strained or putting too much effort into a task; I imagine he's trying to grab at whatever it is he saw. When I turn back around to see what the hell he's doing, a rustling bundle of cloth cascades to the floor. He stares at the pile of fabric at his feet, pulling it against his jumper; the faded material falls near his knees, the garment's shape forming in front of me. "A dress?" Victor's voice is quiet. This dress is one that I'd forgotten, either on purpose or without realizing it. I reach out, skimming the fabric with the very tips of my fingers. It belongs to my mom, handed down to her from an aunt. The lavender satin boasts multiple stains near the hem with dusty patches scattered along the sleeves. I brush at the beads at the waist, knocking a few of them to the floor; I didn't know the threads were ripped there. "Yuri?" Victor checks with me when I crouch to pick up the beads. They're too small to collect individually, so I sweep them into my palm. "Are you okay?"

His eyes shine with confusion; I suppose I have been ignoring his comments and questions, but the dress threw me off. The last time my mom wore it, I'd been photographing her on the porch. The sun was at its zenith, very few clouds in sight. She sipped her tea with the faintest of smiles while my dad and Mari played a card game on the lawn. I thought I was capturing something lovely and inspired; the images came out imbalanced, laced with a phoniness I couldn't bear to look at. Maybe I shouldn't have deleted the pictures. Maybe I should have tried to edit them into something presentable. "I'm fine." I nod once.

"I don't mean to pry, but…" Victor hands me the dress, folded into a mound of pale purple. "Whose dress is this?" He sits with his legs crossed. About a foot separates us when I sit, too.

"It's my mom's." I set the dress aside. "I don't want to bore you with another story."

Victor shakes his head, a grave look passing over his face. "Oh, no! Your stories are anything but boring." Why he's trying to flatter me is a mystery. He smiles softly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to hear it." Victor grabs at his knees; he looks like a child, waiting to be indulged with a fairytale. If he's really interested, I don't see the harm in telling him about what's on my mind.

"Well." My throat doesn't need to be cleared, but I do it anyway. Victor's smile is impossible not to return. "So, my mom's aunt had a fascination with the color purple…" The story I tell him is a true story, but it isn't the one the dress first produced. Victor seems to enjoy it enough, going so far as to ask for more tales from my life. He asked about my other family members, what my home is like, why my parents chose this town for a summer house. After the first story, Victor used his phone to play soft music to fill the space around my words; it's still playing as I finish telling him about why the guesthouse is light blue. "It may not look like it now, but the sky in the summer really is a light blue like that." I insist, leaning on the heel of my left hand, legs curled to my right. His smile is soft, like if I've been reminding him of his own past rather than mine. Victor's lying down on his side, head resting in one hand. If someone were to tell me the day before yesterday that I'd be casually chatting like this with a famous photographer, I never would've believed them. I'm finding it hard to fathom with the man in front of me, in fact.

"What's your favorite memory here?" Victor asks, rolling onto his stomach.

"My favorite?" He nods at my question. I hum in response. "Let me think." There are more terrible memories at front of my mind, but good ones? "Well, there was the time we put up the rope swing." I can't remember the last time I thought about that day. "I was eight, and Mari was fifteen, so she was bored of just treading water in the river."

"You mean the one that's flooded right now?"

"That's the one."

Victor smirks, holding back a laugh. "Sorry. Go on."

"She found this old rope in the garden and dragged it out to the water. Our dad helped her tie it up on a big tree branch and knot it at the end. It took, like, two seconds for her to climb up and swing into the water. It looked really fun, but I wasn't the bravest little kid." I'm not the bravest adult, either, but I don't mention this. "She teased me about how great it was and how much of a baby I was being, and said I should try it. I mean, I wanted to, but I just couldn't." I shrug.

Victor sits up, tucking his legs under him. "You didn't end up trying it?"

"Well, not at first." I laugh. "I mean, I was really scared! I thought I'd get caught in an invisible current." Of course, that's ridiculous but a child's brain can conjure up anything and accept it as a viable possibility. Victor's laugh comes from deep down; it encourages me to continue the story. "I finally climbed up and started swinging on the rope. You know, to get momentum? But I didn't know when to let go, and I just kept holding on." My knuckles had been white, my eyes wide with terror, and I just kept swinging back and forth from the bank to over the water. Mari yelled at me to let go, but I froze in place.

"You were that afraid?"

"Entirely." Nodding, I find myself smiling; it's a fond memory now, but I haven't mentioned the good part to Victor yet. "Mari kept yelling at me that it was okay, it would be fine, I was safe. At first, it was confusing; my sister was a teenager, and I'm just her scared kid brother, so what's she doing being so encouraging? But then she said she wouldn't let anything bad happen to me, and if I hated it, we would go do something else."

"That's so sweet!" Victor's sudden grin is infectious; it's impossible to not smile when he makes that face. All at once, I'm nervous and relaxed. Hard to tell which is making me blush.

I agree with him, sitting up and hugging my knees. "So I finally jumped in the water, and I remember feeling so…full of life, and like I could do anything." Oh no, I sound stupid, don't I? I shake my head with a slight pang of embarrassment. "Ugh, that sounds absurd, I know. I probably sound like a child, I'm sure." My laugh sounds forced and pained; it only darkens my blush. "It's just that it felt good to do something scary, especially since it ended up being so fun, and my sister was there for me and—"

"Yuri." Victor interrupts my rambling. "You don't sound like a child."

"I don't?"

"Of course not." He smiles again. "Your favorite memory here isn't a childish thing. I liked that story very much."

I'm not sure how to respond, so I stare at my joined fingers at my knees. Maybe I wasn't expecting such kind feedback, or maybe I simply don't believe him. "You must be easy to entertain, I guess." I shrug. Suddenly, Victor laughs; it's loud and quickly dies to a chuckle, but it's enough to pull my eyes to his. He shakes his head.

"That is definitely not the case, but it's nice of you to think I'm that insouciant."

"I don't mean indifferent, I mean agreeable."

"You're probably the first person to ever call me that." Victor taps his chin. He seems to be thinking deeply, so I return my eyes to my thumbs. My old bedroom is upstairs, where we have yet to set foot. I don't think I'm ready to see what may be hiding in my closet. Since I have plenty of time here, the top floor can wait to be explored another day. I mean, it's not like I mind procrastinating this chore and I'm sure Victor is dying to get back to his dog.

Speaking of dogs, I need to check on Vicchan. "We better go check on the dogs. I bet they're ready to run outside." I mention upon standing. Victor turns his music off and stands, too.

"Does yours like to splash in puddles?"

We head back to the front room to redress. "Not too much. He's very curious, though, so he's probably more interested in sniffing around the puddles rather than stepping in them." For a second, I wonder if I need to physically pull Victor behind me again so he can keep up, but he walks alongside me this time.

"You're lucky. If Makka isn't on a leash, she'll splash in all the puddles." Victor shakes his head.

"Why?" I can't help but notice he isn't under the umbrella with me, even though it hasn't stopped raining. One look at the sky makes me grateful to have found the umbrella in the first place; the clouds are precisely what come to mind when I think of the word grey. To think that some people are put at ease by such gloomy weather. To each their own, I guess.

Victor pouts with a short sigh. "Playful; she's always been that way. I don't think she realizes her age or size with the messes she gets herself into." His expression is quickly replaced with a tired smirk. "But I wouldn't change a thing about her."

"She seems like a sweet dog." I admit once we're back in the guesthouse. Our conversation lulls as we take the poodles out to the backyard, leashes tight. A few pale wooden fence posts rattle in place with the wind, almost like they're as cold as I am. Spring in the city isn't what I'd call cold, so I didn't think to bring a scarf or heavier coat. I should've done my research on the weather here. Vicchan will probably sleep under the covers with me until the weather improves. If he was the size of Makkachin, I could even use him as a blanket. Did Victor have enough blankets last night? Now that we're settling back inside, I decide to ask. "Victor?"

"Are we going back to the other house?" He asks, still in his shoes by the door.

"I don't plan on it. I have time to finish exploring later."

Victor nods and takes his shoes off, hanging up his sopping trench next to my windbreaker. He frowns at me, arms crossed. "Sorry, Yuri." Wait, he's apologizing? I'm beginning to think I said something wrong. "You were about to say something, and I interrupted. Go on."

"Oh." I assumed he hadn't heard, but I guess I was wrong. "Right. Um, were you warm enough last night? There isn't any heating and it's not as warm as I thought it'd be here."

"You already asked me how I slept." Victor chuckles, making himself comfortable on the sofa. The blankets and pillow he used are folded and stacked neatly at the arm nearest him. "Remember? We were having breakfast."

"Yeah, but…specifically, do you have enough blankets?"

"Yes, Yuri, I'm fine." He nods. "You've given me more than enough, and I appreciate it." Victor's smile isn't enough to make me change my mind; there has to be another blanket around here somewhere that I can give him. "Though I'd really like some tea. Would you like some?" He brushes against my arm on his way to the kitchen, leaving the spot warmer than it should be.

"Sure. I'll actually be right back." I gesture in the direction of my room. "I need to make a call."

"Do you mind if I make some lunch, then?"

"No, go right ahead." I showed him where everything in the kitchen is this morning; he seemed excited to be getting a tour of the cabinets and refrigerator. "Help yourself." We part ways and I shut my bedroom door behind me. After dialing, it doesn't take long for Mari to answer her phone.

"Are you still alive over there?" Mari deadpans. I don't think she'll ever let me live this whole Victor thing down. I roll my eyes.

"Hilarious. I checked out the bottom floor of the main house."

"Oh yeah? What're you working with?"

I let an exhale fill the momentary silence; she's referring to physical aspects, but the first thing that comes to mind is the unpleasant memory the dress dragged up. "There's a broken window, and everything is dirty as hell."

"Sounds fun. Anything left behind?"

Sometimes I wonder if she can read my mind, but then I remember that I'm fairly transparent. "Mom's old lavender dress." Mari doesn't say anything at first. "Some of the beads started falling off. It's dirty, too."

"No way!" Mari knows what happened the last time our mom wore that dress. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"That thing is so old. I bet it's still kinda pretty, though." She scoffs.

"Victor thought so."

"You took him with you?!"

Oh, did I let that slip out? My face burns, embarrassed. "He was bored, Mari. And he isn't dangerous. He's actually rather…nice." If I'd said sweet, I wouldn't hear the end of it.

Mari sighs. "Keep an eye on him, alright? He's a stranger in our house."

"I know that." I roll my eyes again. "Why do you think I'm so dumb?" Pretty sure we had a derivation of this conversation earlier. In fact, I'm positive all of this has been covered in full.

"Yuri, I don't think you're dumb. You know that."

"Then why do you keep telling me to watch out, like Victor's a wanted criminal?"

She sighs again. "It's not about him; it's you." What does she mean by that? I frown, confused. "I know that place isn't exactly a vacation for you anymore, but…I don't want you to get distracted from what you're there to do. Believe me, I get that meeting Victor Nikiforov is huge, but you can't avoid what's in that town, or the memories you have there, forever." Not for the first time today, I find myself at a loss for words. Mari may have good intentions, but she doesn't understand what it's like to try and tackle such ugly feelings I purposely hid. "I just worry about you, alright?"

That I can understand. "I'm fine. I'll be fine." The repetition weakens my argument, but I leave it alone as it is.

"Yuri, I made you lunch!" Victor shouts from the kitchen. His words barely reach me, but they apparently ring loud and clear on Mari's end. She starts laughing, making me turn a deep shade of red. I'm grateful I don't have a mirror in here.

"Was that Victor?" She asks. My silence is enough of an answer for her. "He made you lunch? Phichit told me you're surprised at how well you're getting along, but making you food?"

"If you must know, he's a very nice person." I'll admit, I wasn't expecting him to make me anything, but he's been nothing but kind to me; it's not that unbelievable, yet I can't quite wrap my mind around it. "I'll finish looking into the main house and update you when I get around to it, like when the weather gets better."

"Okay, thanks." Mari laughs. "I'll let you two get back to your domesticity."

I shake my head; sometimes she simply can't help herself. "You're the worst. I'll talk to you later."

"Make sure he doesn't poison you." Really, Mari?

"Great advice. I love you." I wait for her to say it back and hang up before tossing my phone on my bed. I scrub my face under my glasses, trying my damnedest to get the redness to subside. Okay, deep breaths should help and then I'll head to the kitchen.

"I hope you like cabbage!" Victor's laugh at the end of his sentence is quite audible. I get the feeling that even if I disliked cabbage, I'd still eat whatever it is he made. This realization only worsens my blush, but my stomach is demanding I get back into the kitchen. Why couldn't Victor be a pretentious bastard instead of this thoughtful enigma in my kitchen? Life can be strangely cruel; incredibly generous, yet cruel.


Next chapter is coming in a week and our lovely Phichit will make another appearance, so stay tuned for that XD