I DO NOT OWN YURI! ON ICE, NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH
I HAVE NO BETA!
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A revised version is out, called "Submerged."

Victor doesn't know why he stayed. Doesn't know why he continues to peer around the wall's corner and watch the three soldiers live in their own little world.

Their peaceful scene is calming in a way, a far cry from what they're preparing to do.

He's being a soldier for years, nothing they could be doing is going to be any different from his own experiences, but from the few words he can pick up, he finds himself locked in the persona of an observer.

The woman says something he cannot hear as he is too far, and then she goes to sit down at the side of the room. Gradually his voice of reason comes to make an appearance, telling him this is bad and he shouldn't be creeping on unsuspecting comrades in arms. He moves to turn around, but stops when the two men walk to the center of the room.

Victor resigns his previous exit as they fall into position, and he leans against the wall to watch in silence and hopes that he remains unseen by the others.

Years of training and executing many intricate ways of positioning himself for his own advantage has Victor quickly pin-pointing certain moves he finds in their actions. He catches how they dodge each other expertly and the angles they use for an upper hand. Easily, Victor falls into a small trance that he is all too familiar with, tracking their technique and the possibilities they could do before they happen.

He follows both of their feet work and the way in which they swing, how they move towards and away from each other, seeming as though to have a silent understanding of one another's influence. He almost doesn't notice how his eyes continue to watch only one pair of feet instead of two, or how he begins to only follow one of the men in general.

Fascination overcomes his element of a fellow soldier as well as the competitor within him.

He starts to burn the man's movements into his memory for later reference; how they seem to flow into a strike, as if their body works in sync with every muscle and bone to create something else. The choppy transitions he is accustomed to witnessing in every battle he has participated in are hardly noticed and he doesn't find that annoying and judging voice override his senses. There are a few weaknesses in his form that leads him into certain disadvantages and some hesitant lunges, but they are quick to retaliate their received attacks once they seem sure of themselves.

Victor compares it closely to a mesmerizing dance that his eyes refuse to separate from, where the music itself is a being sung by feelings that are pulled from his being in response to the performance. And their movements seem to create something Victor has yet to grasp. Something that he yearns to understand.

For now, Victor depicts it as something deadly that can be so outwardly beautiful that he's suffocating in the rediscovered emotions that are beginning to develop themselves.

A curled index finger rests on his bottom lip as he wonders, and a small part of his brain takes note of specific techniques the man uses; how they use their black sword reminds him of something that his mind cannot connect with.

The fight slows to a close with a final swing that sends the other's blade flying to the ground a few feet away from them, the one with black hair coming out victorious. The woman screams, seeming delighted at the display and jumps up and down, soon running over to hug both of the fighters.

Victor remains silent as the man gets pulled away to follow his cheering companions.

Phichit and Yuuko haven't seen each other since she had officially retired from field work. Yuuri had been the only one to have seen them most recently, when she was getting the rest of her belongings from her old living space. It had been by coincidence and was unexpected, but they used the opportunity to spend a few hours talking and exchange moments of hysterical sobbing of varying levels from both sides. The event had been enough to subdue Yuuri's emptiness that he had felt after her departure, but he is still over the moon to have the three of them back together after so long.

And after Yuuri had shared what he had been practicing for so long, the three of them had wound up pulling each other to dinner to celebrate their reunion.

Not wanting to disrupt their needed time of rekindling their friendship, Yuuri has taken up the act of sitting on one edge of the table while his two friends talk animatedly between themselves. Sometimes they bring Yuuri into the conversation whenever he's been quiet for too long, but he tries to speak the least amount as possible in order to sort his thoughts and thoroughly enjoy both their presences beside him. At first, Yuuri had tried to keep track of their rapid conversing, but after several long minutes of not completely following their many topics and feeling confused under their enthusiasm, he had instead allowed himself to enjoy the moment silently.

Their sometimes hyper personalities are a force to be reckoned with when combined, and Yuuri is all too thankful that he has somehow come accustomed to it.

Using his chopsticks, he is about to bring a piece of food to his mouth when someone not so far from their table whispers very indiscreetly, "He's the one who flopped his mission, right?"

The words are a calm but stinging force against his chest and mind, and the reminder makes him set his chopsticks down, suddenly feeling his appetite diminish completely.

Yuuri tries not make eye contact with his friends sitting beside him on the circular table, eyes staring tiredly at the surface of the wood and hoping that the silence that Yuuko and Phichit are now sharing with him will soon fade away like that small group that had passed by.

"Yuuri, do you want to talk about it?" Yuuko asks, concern lining her tone, and when Yuuri relents his show of shame to peer at her expression, her eyes show no different emotion then her words.

Yuuri shakes his head 'no', uncertain yet resolved all at once. He doesn't trust his voice to be anything less than his rapid thoughts so he stays silent, only letting his movements portray how he feels.

He wants to tell both of them so badly how much he hates the thoughts that roam steadily through his mind like a reckless and shameless havoc that is intent on ruining him from the inside out, but he doesn't want to share with them how much it actually burns to have all the same memories with the only difference being the temporary comrades that ignore his warnings.

"You know you can tell me anything." Yuuko whispers to him, her hand reaches over the small space between them to hold his own, stopping his fist from further being scrunched up in his pant leg, "I might not do any more field work, but I'll still always protect you."

Her soft but determined statement settles pleasantly against his pounding head and he grounds himself using her grip over his and moves his hand to hold hers in return, speechlessly telling her of his gratitude.

Phichit's hand is carefully placed on his shoulder closest to them, giving a gentle squeeze coming right after, "Me too, you know. I've got your back, on and off the field."

Both his friend's smiles are so reassuring and their sudden calm from their recent hyperactivity has Yuuri understand that their declarations are pure and genuine that he feels the smallest part of his anxiety die down with their presence. It's not anything permanent, but the temporary effect helps to briefly secure his withering state.

"Thank you." The words barely show how much gratitude he feels for them just being there with him, but he knows that with his uneven voice and slightly shaking body that it is all he is able to express without breaking down right in the middle of the cafeteria in the army's base.

Their hands carefully retract to their respective persons, hesitant to release him but giving the space they must know he needs.

"I can talk to Celestino about an official break before you make a final decision on what you want to do." Phichit adds, picking up his own chopsticks in more subdued movements then previously.

"It's okay, Phicihit-kun, I can talk to him myself," Yuuri rushes to counter his offer, the sudden volume he distributes has his voice sounding as though it's been locked away for so long when it's only been a few minutes and the only thing that had restricted him had been his own throat choking him. "I would feel bad if I left for too long. I couldn't do that to you…" his words trail off as his eyes once again fall away in his weak and ashamed state. He thinks about the guilt he would feel if he did leave his friend and their continuously replaced team for him to be alone in for however long, and to be susceptible to however many different possible scenarios. It's one thing to lose team members from death, as they live in perpetual war, but it's another to have someone leave willingly when they show no sign of physical injury.

Short breaks were acceptable in their contract for their mental capabilities to be rejuvenated, but if one were to be gone for too long it's likely for the higher ups to get suspicious of foul play.

Phichit shoves his chopsticks in Yuuri's direction, arm resting on the table for support of the ridiculous show of intimidation, his mood brightening considerably from what it was a moment ago, "Yuuri. Take the break. I'm fine with helping train the new recruits or whatever they have me do if it means you can decide what you want." The point of his gesture and the gentleness in his eyes contrast greatly that the act is immediately erased as intimidating and instead Yuuri can see the subtle attempt to lighten his mood. It works.

A small and fragile laugh escapes him and he doesn't try to stop it, "Thank you, Phichit."

Yuuri doesn't care that he drops his usual honorific as Phichit nods in triumph at the response.

Gradually, the trio fall back into their pleasant little bubble, shielded away from their world with their own wills to protect each other.

There's a bitter clang of metal against metal, sword against sword, and the squeak of material tightening before a piercing whistle is blown to signal the end of their short session.

It takes a little longer for the sound to reach Yuuri's ears past the pounding adrenaline rushing the blood to his head, and even longer for the black tint in his vision to thoroughly fade. He takes in a finishing breath and lowers his sword to touch weakly against the ground, barely noticing the other people leaving the room.

"Yuuri, your swings are sloppy," Celestino points out from his place on the bench against the wall.

He doesn't give a verbal response, only a weak nod of his head and begins to go into certain positions, letting his ingrained instincts direct his movements.

He's about to swing his sword at a nonexistent enemy when he suddenly is on an abandoned city street. Collapsed buildings and wrecked cars are covered with shattered windows, surrounding him, and his ears are filled with many unforgettable screams of his comrades. A reminder when the mission fell out of his control and he knows he never had it in the first place.

"Yuuri, strengthen your right arm." Celestino tells him, and only now can Yuuri tell that his arm is shaking slightly. He sighs before fixing his mistake.

He takes a deep breath, preparing to strike once more, only for the same scene to bleed into his vision and taint his heart with memorized adrenaline. He lets his sword swing heavily to his side in his weak grip, and his other hand runs over his tired eyes, trying to wipe out the images physically, but all he gets are bleached out spots to accompany his troubles.

Kiyoshi, stop it.

It's all you this time.

The cheerful response in his mind has the hand over his eyes curl angrily, as though willing to rip out the vision along with his demon. If only it were possible.

"Yuuri, you can't give up yet," Celestino's words ring behind him and he goes to set his sword on the stand. He tries not to let the meaning stick, because in a world like this people can't change themselves so easily without having bad retaliations. And giving up his career would be too big of a change for other's not to judge him by.

He hasn't even decided if that is what he wants to do and already his coach is telling him not to do it. If others are already guessing his choice, then he wonders if they would think any less of him if he did do what they are presuming.

Yuuri picks up an old polished stick to take his sword's place. "Have you figured out what you want to do?"

If he were to leave would they find it a terrible act and look at him in betrayal? Or would they think with a sigh 'I know it' and give him more pity then they already did? He could give up and they would act as though they knew all along that he was a weakling, always waiting until his own faults crumble down on top of him.

He takes place on a mat in front of a worn out training dummy.

His body goes into autopilot, letting himself slip away from the feel of his demon blade tempting him with its power under his fingertips, and tries to distance himself from his coach's attempts at convincing.

Quick flashes of the scene start to materialize in his vision.

Yuuri tries to play off his gradually strengthening hits as a way to expel all the anger he feels for other's assuming things about him. Tries to tell himself that it's something that he can't help and it's not him that's the problem. That he didn't kill anyone from being incapable.

His focus slowly leaves him, and it's as though his body empties itself from all responsibilities and the requests from others are just a buzzing at the back of his head. Just him and the dummy in an empty room.

He almost doesn't realize the silence that has surrounded him until Celestino's sudden question throws his mentality to recoil into itself.

"How is your demon doing, Yuuri?"

The words take a moment to process, but when they do his hits slow and decrease in strength. The answer is brief, but he knows he doesn't want to share, so he forces himself to continue his movements as they were.

He can hear Celestino's heavy sigh, long and drawn out as it is, before he speaks again, "I'll sign an official temporary release form."

Yuuri halts finally, and for the first time since he walked into the room, he looks at his coach, questioning and relief spreading through him like ink on paper. Like signing the release is already within reach and waiting.

Yuuri remembers from his training that a soldier only gets a few instances where they are allowed to take a temporary leave for more than a week, because they don't want the soldier to fall victim to their demon's control they find it mandatory to give people the option, if it can be solved with such a trivial thing, but any more than a hand full of times and it becomes suspicious. Yuuri never had been out of his duties more than the five-day maximum, so he's never had to use one of the forms, always thinking he could pick himself up after a much needed cry and a cool down. It seems as though his perseverance is finally in his favor.

Of course he'll still feel bad about leaving Phichit to the wolves of chance, but maybe after a much needed break he'll have an idea and his decision won't be as unsure as he is now.

"Clear you head. Maybe visit your family, and then make a final decision on what you want to do, okay?" Celestino tells him, a small smile on his face that almost masks the truth of how much this probably will hurt him.

Such a request must require a certain amount of paper work, and Yuuri isn't so sure of how he feels about the burden he is accidentally causing them. He opens his mouth to speak against the prospect, but something must have been read from his expression as Celestino quickly holds up a hand. "I'll deal with the higher ups."

Yuuri relaxes a little from his uncertain posture, and although his mind tries to tell him how much this is affecting everyone else, the noticeable feeling of a weight that been looming over him for a long time gradually gives way and he can't find it within himself to fight anymore. "Thank you, Celestino."

He doesn't know how he will ever repay Phichit and Celestino for their thoughtfulness, but he reasons that the best he can do is to figure out his decision as soon as he can.

A long training session had occurred, riddled with Yuri's stubborn insistence that he didn't need practice, and Georgi repeatedly reminding them of his love life. Somehow they had all finished their routine cool downs and had left for their shared living space, adamant on getting there before being too badly scolded by their coach.

The walk to where they were staying was scattered with idle conversations and playful teasing, though more held back and deliberate than usual. No one had been willing to cross the invisible boundary that has been drawn since a few days ago, a silent agreement that it would soon die away naturally, just like every other time.

Somewhere along the way, Mila had jumped onto Victor's back while Georgi and Yuri tried to best the other with their imaginary knowledge about the city, opinions clashing like blades.

The argument only stopped when Mila held Yuri's shoe up and away from his out-stretched arm and incessant threats, though Yakov's bellowing voice cuts their playing short.

"What did I tell you four?! Two hours is all you had, and now we're late!" Yakov starts walking in front of the group, directed to the building they were already travelling towards.

Is it a meeting? Victor can't remember clearly, but from Yakov's fuming he knows the occasion is important in some way or another.

Victor tries to readjust Mila's weight on his back, ignoring his coaches needless complaining.

He doesn't want to sit through a dinner, if that's what it is considering the late time of day, only to stay obedient like he is a personal puppet to all their whims and an audience to their show of power that many just love to flaunt every chance they get. And the only way that he ever survives is imagining throwing his food on their arrogant face and ruining their uniform that shows just how high in rank they are, but he never demonstrates his defiance of course. Waste of good food.

He comes to when Yakov suddenly goes quiet and looks angry, harshly glaring ahead of them and tapping his fingers on his crossed arms. It peaks Victor's interest somewhat, as it seems the same for the others when they all wait with bated breath for his upcoming words.

"We're leaving in a week." Yakov states gruffly, visible eyebrow twitching. Victor recognizes the unspoken words, 'for another ruler to test their position.' The concept of the older man's irritation is clearly understood, and because everyone had already agreed to come to Japan, the team would be going with. The must be feeling the same way then.

Victor feels familiar reluctance wind itself around his neck, but he already knows there's no way to escape the consequences for something he decided for himself at that first Tournament all those years ago.

He tries not to hear where they are going next. It's better for him to be at least surprised for another annoying situation.