A/N: Thank you to everyone who read, followed and favorited. This is the end, a little epilogue of sorts. Let me know what you think!
It was difficult at first, moving forward when we knew so much of our past selves. There were times where we had nightmares of things that couldn't be possible, not in this life. Certain memories seemed etched into our bones and were hard to erase. My deaths and yours were equally powerful, and some mornings we had phantom pains that were intolerable. I would wake with what felt like deep, welting bruises around my neck and I couldn't catch my breath for minutes, or I would jump awake with the brightness of lights stained into my eyes, the bones beneath my skin aching in a way that they never had before. You're memories toyed with you in the middle of the day, and sometimes you would let out a startled yell, dropping a brush or a plate and holding a limb like it had just been lost to you.
We carried with us haunting moments that dogged our footsteps like creatures of the night. There was no antidote for them, no sword to smite the evil away. I wrote some of our memories out in a journal that would never be published, and let others be swept back into the running script of history.
And then there were the memories of others.
Together we shared an unknown brand of sorrow, remembering people that were not restrung into our lives this time around. Some acquaintances, friends, even family. Some ties only stretched so far, it seemed. It left us frightful, wondering if those close to us now would not be carried over with us later. I wondered if I would lose my family or Yuuko or Takeshi or Phichit or Minako or even J.J. I know you worried over Mila and Chris and even that fledgling graffiti artist you ended up taking under your wing.
Mostly, we worried that there would come a time when our love wouldn't be strong enough and we, too, would be separated.
We kept moving forward, as much as we could. We clung to each other, to those around us, and focused on the life we had left to live and enjoy. Books to write. Art to paint. Family to see. Family to forgive. Friendships to strengthen. Friendships to forge.
A family to create.
We forgot other lives in time, until all we were certain of was that we are destined, and that we will share this love with other lives. We were wakened back into our own time and we knew then why it was that we forgot.
We aren't meant to carry other lives on our backs. One lifetime is enough.
I think back on it now as I sit out on the front porch, rocking forward and back, forward and back. My gnarled, arthritic fingers turn through the pages of our life together, pressed into history not only through words bound in a book, but kept forever in my soul. I sit beside Takeshi, watching his and Yuuko's grandchildren play like I used to with my sister. We share stories like we haven't always been a part of each other's lives since we were in our twenties, decades ago. He talks about Yuuko, tears in the corners of his eyes, sniffling, and I remember her bright smile, her gorgeous eyes, that straightforward nature that kept me in line. And I talk about you, my face and chest tight, fingers stumbling along pages, as I remember you.
I remember you laughing and yelling and crying, drunk in my bookstore.
I remember our first kiss, tasting of a fine blend of skittles and sprite.
I remember your paint-splattered shirts and pants and skirts.
I remember nights on the fire escape, and eating brownie batter on the couch, and crying at your door with a sticky note tucked against my palm.
I remember laying with you in a hospital bed as you begged me to propose until I finally caved.
I remember so, so much.
Three years have passed since you've gone, each year crawling by slower than the last. "We live together, or we die together," you said. But here I am, living without you, you hypocrite. I remember the day you left me, your ailing body lying in bed, a brush still between your fingers even as you were too weak to lift it. You told me to finish my story, wash out my grief with the thoughts I still had left to share. I could never wash away my grief of you, but I have finished.
My final tale.
I read you this, our story, written with my words mixed in with a sprinkling of yours, before it was finished. It took me months to finish it after you died. I didn't want to end this. End us. It was a conclusion I never wanted to reach.
It took me too long to realize, but we aren't over yet. This story has reached its finale, but we will have more stories.
More love.
Axel's youngest daughter cuts right into our conversation, wanting to show Takeshi a beetle she found. He laughs, gets up and his chair creaks about as much as his knees do, but he follows, delving right into the huddled circle of his grandchildren. In the dying rays of sunlight, I close my eyes. The quiet evening breathes against my face. The wind plays a trick on me, thick with the scent of paint and pine.
I open my eyes
And you're there.
Your hair is long and you're in those black overalls, a pencil clipped into the strap and your smile as vibrant as the day we met. "I waited for you," you say, and I shiver at the sound of your voice.
"Yes, you did." You hold your hand out to me and I grasp it, bouncing up and out of my chair and into your embrace. Shards of our life float around us, ready to disappear and be replaced with the pieces of a new life. A new journey for us to take.
Together.
"That was just one of our lifetimes." You gaze into the flashes of moments and they reflect in your eyes. "It was a perfect one."
I regret none of it. I'm no longer afraid of the future, of starting over. I know that I will find you.
"Imagine the next."
"Viktor, are you wearing my glasses again?!" I ask from the next room, head ducked under couch cushions as I search through old pennies and crumbs and… I'm not sure what that is. "If I have to check this couch one more time-"
"Maaaaayyyybeee~"
"Viktor!" I trudge into the bedroom, crossing my arms as I come to find you kicked back against the pillows, my glasses low on your nose as you read that book – always that book - over the rims.
You raise a brow, grin wide, but you don't look at me. You turn the page. "I'll stop when you stop secretly trying on my trench coats."
I scoff, but it may actually be something of a sputter. "That was one time! And don't pretend like you didn't like it. You wouldn't let me take it off!"
Your smile curls like a Cheshire. My stomach takes the cue to sink to my toes. You take off my glasses, twirl them around in a circle, and glance off to the side like you're thinking. Enjoying this, more like. Then you point them at me. "Tell you what, I'll let you keep one coat."
"Who said I want one?" I attempt to nab my glasses, but you're quick to twirl them away and I end up falling forward into your lap.
"For a price."
"So I'm bartering for it now?" I huff, lifting myself up.
"You just have to agree to wear nothing else under it."
Flames lick at the insides of my cheeks and now I full on sputter, "Wha-?! Y-You weirdo. Will you just give me back my glasses? I have to finish this page when everything's fresh in my head."
You whine, put out as you blow your bangs from your face and hold my glasses out for me. I snatch them away, slumping back into my desk chair. My laptop is open, a blank white screen staring back at me. Every word I was ready to write flees from me the second my fingers touch the keys. "Who said that me writing an autobiography was a good idea?"
"I did." You reply in my ear, suddenly behind me. You reach over my shoulders, cheek brushing mine, and type something out. "It will be a story that future generations of skaters will read and be inspired by."
"Yeah. I'm so inspirational."
It has a title now, Yuri on Ice. It sounds egotistical and I'm tempted to backspace it away, but so does the idea of an autobiography in the first place.
"Who knows? Maybe it will be something that we'll read in our future lives."
My writing session leaves my brain feeling battered and bruised and my pride somewhat defeated. But it stirs something inside of me. It feels cliché to call it inspiration, even worse to name it destiny, but it sits in my chest like it's something right.
I can tell my story.
And maybe someone will read it.
I get up and change. I grab my bag, leash Makkachin and check the clock. You're still reading.
"Come on," I say, rolling up your newspaper and swatting you on the knee with it. "Put that book down. We have practice."
"Nooooo." It's a nasally whine, one I don't take seriously in the slightest. I don't even look at you. I'm too busy packing up your bag. "It's my favorite. I'll never put it down."
"Do you have any idea how many times you've read this." I pick it up, scan the cover and toss it away. Sounds like some cheesy romance novel to me.
"I could read it a thousand times and never get tired of it."
"Yeah. Yeah. Let's go."
You join me at the entrance when you're finally dressed and you snatch up your keys from off the wall. "I love you," you chirp.
"And I love you," I answer as you tug me close.
You slip in a quick kiss and a whisper that I can't quite hear.
"As you are."
"What?"
But you're already halfway out the door, Makkachin trailing behind you. "Nothing!"
I sigh, bemused. I look over at the book now tossed onto the couch. I think that maybe I'll take the time to read it one of these days… I thumb over the title, and that same feeling from earlier lights up inside of my chest. It's a curious thing, but before I can think on it you're leaning back in the door, tossing out a "Who's the slowpoke now?"
"You. You always are."
"Hey, I am who I am."
Yes.
Yes, you are.
