Author's Note: (Whoops, this has been up on AO3 for like a week now, but I forgot about Fanfiction…)

Oh, btw, I got into a grad program for creative writing. Yep, I'm in the big leagues now. Congratulations, me, on your future debt-I mean, success! (Yes, success, totally.)

I'm actually kind of nervous about this chapter...? Well, here it goes...

20 September 1895

Dearest Yuuri—

You do not know how it agonizes me, darling, to be kept away from you. But I fear Lady Minako's swift and terrifying retribution should I stride even one step towards your parents' house.

The only one who misses you, I think, more than I is our dear Makkachin, who whines and scratches at the door whenever someone comes to call; but upon finding it not to be you, he retires to his bed and doesn't stop his whimpering until I've placated him with treats. He's a spoiled creature, that one, but I think I can find it within myself to indulge him until I have you tucked back in my arms.

I won't bore you with details of work. I long for the days you will be back at my side to liven up the affair.

Always yours,

Victor Nikiforov

P.S. Phichit recovered our masks from the Siamese consulate. Shall I keep them as a memento, or would you rather I burn the evidence?

-transition-

23 September 1895

My dear Victor—

You may keep them, but they are for your eyes only. I shall sic Minako-sensei on you if I see one hide or hair of them, and this is not an idle threat, I assure you.

Sweet baby boy… I miss our Makkachin too. Grant him endless affection until the time in which I can do so myself.

I don't know what you would expect me to do to "liven up the affair," but I would certainly endeavor to do that, if it took the burden off you somewhat. I am bored regardless; I'm not allowed out of my family's sight until the marks have faded. They even make me wear a shawl when I go out to garden. Imagine: a shawl in September. My face burns in shame just recalling such treatment.

We cannot be together again quickly enough. Please keep me in your thoughts as I sweat in the late summer heat for you.

Yours eternally,

Yuuri Katsuki

-transition-

15 October 1895

My lovely Yuuri—

Seeing you briefly before I was forced to depart for France was such divine torture. I most certainly did something awful in my past life to justify such a sweet separation.

I truly cannot thank you enough for watching Makkachin in my absence. He will be far happier with you than Yakov and Lilia; they mean well, but they sincerely lack the capacity to give Makkachin the proper amount of affection. He deserves morning kisses and scraps under the table, and I know he wouldn't get either if those two had anything to say about it.

In any case, this is me informing you that I've made it to Paris safely. The new Russian representative appointed here is nice enough, though a bit on the stiff side. I suppose he wants to be thought serious enough for the position, but I hope I will be able to get him to lighten up a bit—perhaps with drink, if it comes to that.

I know you are worried about me—being here all by myself as I am—but you need not fret; I have just been made aware that Chris intends to join me later in the month.

I hope this manages to put your mind at ease.

Loving you from afar,

Victor Nikiforov

-transition-

23 October 1895

Beloved Victor—

That gives me no comfort. If anything, I am made more nervous than ever by this news. He always gets you into trouble, darling; haven't you noticed? Don't let him drag you into something that will force me to come after you.

Makkachin misses you, of course, but I can assure you that he is being rightly spoiled. He has even taken to sleeping beside me at night, and while it is very kind of him to think of me, it also serves to make my heart ache even more for you.

Please do be a friend to the new ambassador, Victor. Being alone in a new country is quite frightening. It is almost as terrible, in fact, as being an ocean apart from the one you love.

Forgive the selfish behavior I've exhibited in this letter. You must do what you must; but can't I do what I must too?

Thinking of you,

Yuuri Katsuki

-transition-

4 November 1895

Treasured Yuuri—

While I would enthusiastically welcome any excuse for you to join me, I cannot stand the thought of needlessly worrying you. There is nothing to fear, my love; Chris is taking very good care of me. He has taken to playing guide as though he was born to do it, and though I have met many charming Frenchmen and women, I can assure you with the utmost certainty that none of them hold a candle to the inherent loveliness that is Yuuri Katsuki.

If you are selfish, then I am downright egotistical, thinking about how I want to monopolize all your time once I have you within reach once more. I dare not pen it, but I can say for certain that Makkachin will have to find another place to rest his weary head when I return.

Forgive my forwardness,

Victor Nikiforov

-transition-

12 November 1895

Dearly missed Victor—

Who is this "Yuuri Katsuki"? Should I be worried?

Poor Makkachin. It is a good thing he cannot read. I hope you will at least put a blanket down for him before what follows.

By the way, I have heard that the aforementioned Yuuri Katsuki has a birthday at the end of this month. Would, per chance, the previous gentleman's lover be back in town by then? Mr. Katsuki has been cited saying he would love nothing more.

Yours truly,

Yuuri Katsuki

-transition-

21 November 1895

Yuuri, my life and love—

I have heard Victor Nikiforov, famed lover of Yuuri Katsuki, would be ecstatic, too, to see his beloved on his beloved's special day.

Unfortunately, it looks as though I will be made to stay in Paris until at least the beginning of December. I am so sorry, my darling. I would much rather be with you than here; when I return, we will have a special celebration, I promise. Until then, I send you my love and best well wishes on your twenty-fourth.

I would be remiss not to mention that my mothers have met me here, to help me smooth over any issue. They were surprised—when they arrived—to find that you were not with me; Mamochka, especially, seemed distraught. But neither so, I assure you, were more disheartened than me.

Mother, in particular, has been helpful with the transition. Once she has made her gregarious entrance, she can be surprisingly subdued and a calming presence among the chaos. I suppose you can say she is remarkably reliable in that way. And Mamochka is Mamochka; she hardly needs explaining.

This Victor Nikiforov misses you more and more each day. He cannot wait to see his Yuuri Katsuki once more.

With all my heart,

Victor Nikiforov

-transition-

2 December 1895

Victor, my unending chain of surprises—

My birthday was as wonderful as it could have been without you. I deeply appreciate the gift that you sent; from the beginning of this letter, you can extrapolate that I didn't expect it.

Still, it occurs to me now that we have spent a whole season apart. That is a season apart too many.

You and your mothers seem to be working very hard. I, myself, have tried to keep busy. Your present certainly helps in that respect. Dancing has been going well too, though I have put off going ice skating until a certain someone comes to join me.

I have also bought you something special, but you will have to return to London in one piece to get at it. Until then, I'll keep my own surprises.

With all my love,

Yuuri Katsuki

-transition-

11 December 1895

My precious Yuuri—

We think the same, my star, as I have gotten you something as well—something aside from your birthday gift. And as you've said, I think it will be all the more sweeter to deliver it to you in person.

It has been a long season, my love, but I am finally packing my things and returning to your side. I leave for the coast tomorrow, and with any luck, I am slated to come into port shortly thereafter. Stay strong, dearest heart; we can endure a moment longer.

I'm coming home, darling,

Victor Nikiforov

-transition-

Vicchan was nipping at Yuuri's ankles, becoming uninterested when Yuuri merely sighed at him, lovesick; the puppy then resorted to the frayed ends of the carpet, rolling along what he'd already thus unraveled.

Victor's birthday gift to him had proven to be a handful, a scrappy young thing that required quite a bit of Yuuri's attention. Even under Yuuri's newly appointed parental watch, the scamp had already gone through a fair bit of the shoes—and the rugs, as were his favorite—but other than some misgivings with the Katsukis' sense of fashion and décor, the young pup seemed to find his new family agreeable enough, getting along swimmingly with Makkachin and even going so far as to allow Yuuri cuddle him whenever he wished.

And he wished to engage in such a luxury now, it seemed, as Yuuri lifted the tiny thing into his arms and held him to his chest, his sigh mussing the pup's carefully coiffed fur.

"Yuuri, why don't you go for a walk?"

Yuuri lifted his eyes, finding Hiroko to be giving him a look that could only be described as motherly, fondness and concernedness etched into the gentle lines of her face in equal measure.

"Where to?" Yuuri inquired, tugging Vicchan tighter against him.

"Hmm…" The woman went about putting on a show of thinking it over, then remarked, "What about along the Thames? The dogs could use the exercise."

"Why there?" Yuuri questioned, short, recalcitrant.

"I don't know," she murmured, a clever twinkle in her eye. "The weather is lovely. I'm sure the view will be gorgeous. And the view from World's Avenue, even better."

Vicchan yipped as Yuuri involuntarily squeezed him, catching on to his mother's ploy. World's Avenue. Along the way would be Victor's estate, then the Russian consulate respectively. He could call on Victor twice within the span of a single leisurely walk.

"Yes… Yes, I do feel that a walk is in order," Yuuri decided, letting his dog down and whistling softly for Makkachin to join them. "I think it would do me well to get some air."

He had the dogs wrangled in record time, stepping out onto the fresh fallen snow before he'd even properly secured the scarf around his neck. It billowed behind him in deep burgundy clouds as he trudged along the path, the dogs displacing the worst of the conditions, soft kernels of ice clinging to their coats.

And just as the weather was looking to take a turn for the mean and ugly—

"Mr. Yuuri Katsuki!"

Yuuri sneezed, then lifted his head to find the eyes of Victor's governess dead set upon him from her perch before the Nikiforov estate, a disproving grimace weighing down her lips. "Madam?" he questioned—hoped he questioned—as her scowl turned murderous.

Lilia tramped down the steps, managing to look both a thousand pounds and light as a feather as she did so. "Just what do you think you're doing, walking out in this weather?" she demanded of him, halting before his trembling form. "Do your parents know you're out here, catching your death of cold?"

"My mother recommended it," Yuuri couldn't stop himself from providing—then promptly clamped his mouth shut as he recognized with what impudence he'd delivered his answer. "I mean—"

"I've heard quite enough from you, Mr. Yuuri Katsuki." She had his ear pinched between her perfectly manicured nails before the apology could properly materialize. "Come inside at once. I will not have Vitya's intended keel over on my watch."

Upon entering, Yuuri was immediately bundled in a blanket, then set in a chair with a cup of hot cider, the dogs wiped down to settle across Yuuri's feet without soaking through his stockings.

"Honestly," Lilia griped, beating pillows until they were fluffed to her precise satisfaction. "It is almost as if today's youth has no sense at all."

Yuuri sipped at his drink. "Yes, madam."

"Back in the old country, children had more sense than to wander around in the dead of winter."

"Yes, madam."

"And we got married. Young. To the people our parents told us we should get married to."

"Yes, madam."

"Without waiting this ridiculous amount of time, leaving the country right when they should be proposing."

"Madam—?"

"It's asinine. Good god, what was he thinking?"

"Forgive me if this is crossing a line," Yuuri preempted, fidgeting into the folds of his chair. "But are you… mad at Victor?"

She stopped, frozen in time, her back to him as she contemplated the fireplace. Then, she resumed her motions, albeit slower. "I'm not 'mad' at that child. Don't be ridiculous."

Yuuri sank further. "Of course, madam."

Lilia wouldn't let him even entertain the idea of departing before he was suitably dry—and even then, she wrapped another layer around him: one of Victor's suit jackets, if Yuuri judged correctly.

"And you'll take the carriage," she snapped, yanking the lapels of the coat down further as though to emphasize her point, "if you're going to be calling on the consulate. What kind of reputation do you think the Nikiforov name would have if we received our guests cold and shivering, without basic accommodations?"

"A poor one indeed, madam," Yuuri recited, swallowing at the garment was buttoned up tight.

Lilia appraised him, then patted his shoulder, once—twice, even, for good measure. "At least you catch on quickly."

Yuuri chose to take this as a compliment.

He left Makkachin under Lilia's watchful eye, seeing as how he would return not long after if the embassy was as bereft of its caretaker as it was expected to be; Vicchan he took, portable as he was. The pup was dutiful as ever in his assignment to watch over his fretful owner, curling up in Yuuri's lap as Yakov directed the carriage towards their destination.

"So then, you're looking for that fool?"

Yuuri really would never get used to how Victor's staff referred to him.

"I went for a walk." Yuuri stroked over Vicchan's fur, even as the tiny thing drifted off to sleep. "I thought I would check to see if he'd arrived while I was out."

Yakov huffed, grip steady on the reins. "Should be any day now."

Yuuri gazed out the window, an elbow propping itself against the lip of it in order to rest his hand upon his cheek.

"Yuuri!"

Yuuri's heart seized in his chest.

There was a thump against the carriage—the entire car rocking with the impact—and then the door was being yanked open, an excitable Phichit Chulanont depositing himself in the seat across the way, waving a leaflet before Yuuri's face. "Yuuri, did you see, did you see?"

"Good God—" Yakov griped from the helm.

Yuuri swatted the magazine down. "Baka! Did you just jump aboard a moving carriage? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"But Yuuuuuuri," Phichit whined, lifting the papers again. "It's reeeeaaaallly important. Did you receive the mail yet today?"

The other pouted, a quiet, disapproving thing. "It's quite probable," he answered nonetheless, "that Mari-neechan is looking through it as we speak. Why? Has something happened?"

"Well, be sure to save today's copy of The Strand," Phichit advised, flittering through the pages before he happened upon one, "because the newest installment of Sherlock Holmes is printed in it. Look, look!"

Gone was Yuuri's stern look, replaced with an expression of pure delight. "Really? A new one? I'm sure I remember the author mentioning something about taking an extended hiatus." He grasped for the papers, scouring them for the promised story.

"Well, it seems as though it is over," Phichit extrapolated, a bit smug at seeing Yuuri so enthused. "And I knew of your famous love for Sherlock Holmes, so I simply had to make my way over to you to make sure you hadn't tossed the thing out by mistake."

Finding that, indeed, the beginning of a new installment was printed upon the page, Yuuri held the magazine to his chest. "Ah, I'm so thrilled. Sherlock Holmes is a marvel. She's truly inspiring, isn't she, Phichit?"

Phichit nodded in agreement. "Watson too. A doctor and a war veteran? Could she be any more talented?"

"Do you think they'll get together?" Yuuri questioned, holding the copy ever firmer, the pages pulled taut. "It seems to me as though the author has been hinting at it for some time."

"You'll just have to read and find out," Phichit teased. "Oh, also," he added, offhand, "there looks to be an article in there about Victor."

"What?"

"What?"

"Phichit!" Yuuri began desperately leafing through the rest of the issue. "Why didn't you start with that?"

"Slipped my mind!" Phichit claimed, immediately caving under the intensity of Yuuri's glare. "Fine. You've been so down, Yuuri. I didn't want to bring you news of Victor if it would only serve to depress you."

"Did you read it?" Yuuri asked, even as his eyes scanned the article.

"You know my reading in English is far worse than yours. I only picked up bits and pieces."

"It says," Yuuri told him, slow, "that the ship bringing back the Russian ambassador from abroad left on the twelfth of December."

"That's a five-day journey, correct?"

"And today is…"

The men looked at each other.

"The seventeenth!"

"Mr. Feltsman!" Yuuri called, knocking on the divider. "Please hurry! Victor might be there after all!"

Hardly was the carriage halted in front of the building before Yuuri was ankle-deep in snow, clutching at his garments—losing his scarf along the way, strewn along the ground—in an effort to get through the door faster.

"Vitya!" Yuuri burst into the receiving room, whirling around, his eyes alight. "Vitya, where are you?"

"Yuuri, slow down!" Phichit, having finally caught up to him, took the opportunity to earn back his breath, stopping a moment to rest his hands on his knees. "We don't even know if he is here," he said, carefully. "He could very well be, but we should prepare for the possibility that—"

"Ah, Mr. Katsuki," Georgi—if Yuuri's memory served him right—greeted, appearing from the leftmost corridor. "Funny you've come for a visit. You just missed Lord Nikiforov."

Yuuri's eyes widened impossibly, the pupils blown out. "Victor was here? You're certain?"

"In the flesh," Georgi confirmed. "He was just dropping off some paperwork."

"And when he left, did he say where he was going off to?" Phichit questioned as Yuuri reacquainted himself with the concept of his own breathing.

Georgi hummed, low and considering, a hand to his chin. "He didn't say, but he seemed to be in quite a rush. If I had to wager, I'd guess he more than likely went home to settle after a few good days' worth of travel."

Yuuri shot a look at Phichit. "I have to go back."

After the faintest of goodbyes, Yuuri returned to the carriage, fighting the snow and sleet to recollect Vicchan, then tell Yakov of the information he had gathered, the company of three melding into the traffic, clawing their way back from whence they came.

Once more, the wheels were still turning when Yuuri sprung from his seat, trudging through the powder to Victor's front door. Yuuri rang the bell, bouncing back and forth in place, the tension rife within his frame as he waited for someone to answer.

(Hopefully, someone in particular, he prayed.)

"Yuuri!"

"Ms. Nikiforov—?"

"Oh, please," Victor's mother hushed, bundling him in a hug, "we're well past that. You can call me 'Mother,' you know."

"Ah," noted Yuuri, from against her bosom. "Sorry, Mother." He pushed away—though gentle—to address her properly, his hands lingering on her shoulders. "Is Victor here? I need to speak with him as soon as possible."

"No, I'm afraid he's out." She sighed, tilting her head wryly. "He went out to find you, actually. Said something quite similar—and took Makkachin with him too, out in this cold! Will the boy ever learn?"

"Where?" Yuuri tried not to tighten his grip around the woman's arms. "Where did he say he was going to look for me?"

"I haven't a clue, darling," she informed him, looking beyond the porch, towards the road. "I would assume he would try your parent's house first. But after that, who knows?"

Yuuri dropped his hands, contemplative. If Victor met Yuuri's mother, no doubt she would send him on Yuuri's walking route, which meant the Thames. And then, further—

"I know where he'll go!" Yuuri took two, three stairs at a time, bounding down the Nikiforov steps. "Thank you, Mother! You've been most helpful!" he called behind himself, choosing not to read into the woman's fond little giggle that trailed after him.

Yuuri had scarcely departed from the yard before a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Well if it isn't Mr. Yuuri Katsuki!"

It was from on high—and Yuuri could see why, as he turned to engage Christophe; the man was mounted on a sturdy-looking horse, well-equipped for a winter venture—and Chris ten times so, donning full riding gear, as though he expected to be out for a long while.

"Your timing is impeccable." Yuuri trudged through the slush—all the while clutching Vicchan ever nearer—to come astride the steed. "I need to borrow your horse."

Chris blinked down at him. "Whatever for?"

"Victor is here," Yuuri explained, eyes already scouting safe passage up the animal. "I need to go to him."

"Well, it is your lucky day, my dear!" Chris inched up towards the horse's neck—as much as he could with the saddle still in place. "I was just on my way to the docks to greet him." He offered a hand to hoist Yuuri up. "Can you ride sidesaddle?"

"No, but I've been told I'm a quick learner." Yuuri took the proffered arm, using a combination of that and the stirrup to aid his assent. "And he's not there." Yuuri provided, "He just left his estate looking for me."

"I assume we will be heading to your parents' then?"

"No." Yuuri took a fistful of the back of Chris's coat in hand as the horse was persuaded into motion. "He shall have already left by now."

"Then where—?"

"St. James's." Yuuri's eyes were steady, sparkling. "I am sure he is at St. James's Park."

En route, the storm settled into a soft snowfall, stray snowflakes dusting the curve of Yuuri's cheeks, the feathers of his eyelashes. He tried to wipe them off against his shoulder—arm full of Chris and dog as he was—but some remained, most notably around the line of his crown, stark against the charcoal of his hair. Chris thought it very becoming look on him indeed and let them be when he helped Yuuri slide down the belly of the horse, onto his feet on the outskirts of the park.

"You aren't coming?" Yuuri asked when Chris began to turn around with no indication of disembarking.

Yuuri had never seen Chris look more exceedingly fond. "You go on ahead, Mr. Katsuki. My work here is done." With a gentle dig of the heel, Chris was on his way, tossing over his shoulder, "I'll catch up with Victor some other time! Do find him for me, won't you?"

"I will!" Yuuri promised, waving his hand as though sending well-wishes to a departing ship.

Just as he had done all those months ago.

Yet, one-handed, Yuuri could not quite react quickly enough when Vicchan wriggled out of his hold, dropping into the snow.

"Vicchan?"

The pup took off like a bullet.

"Vicchan!"

Vicchan moved remarkably fast for a creature with so little legs—and with such precision too, bounding over the snow piles, dodging bushes, trees, the occasional pedestrian. He also had the distinct advantage of knowing where he was going—or rather, leading the chase—which meant Yuuri was always two steps behind, catching up, reaching for him, then missing him by the faintest of margins, slowing down as he had to readjust, earn back his morale.

It was only when they were coming upon the lake—Vicchan having just threaded his way through a bicyclist's wheels, nearly sending his owner into cardiac arrest—that he began to lose steam, round, vacant puppy eyes set on a particular spot before him, a familiar setting for his master, where a misunderstanding was resolved and feelings were laid bare.

"Vicchan! Vicchan, matte!"

"Makkachin! Makkachin, podozhdite!"

Oh, Yuuri knew that voice anywhere—

The dogs met before the water, twirling around each other, their respective leashes tangling up. They swerved and swerved until they ran out of lead, left panting, licking, yapping, tails wagging.

And they were followed by their owners, and oh, if Yuuri thought he couldn't run harder, then he was sorely mistaken, because he was flying then, the world blurring at the edges, only one person remaining clearly in sight, running just as hard, arms open.

"Victor!"

"Yuuri!"

Victor welcomed Yuuri into his arms, and Yuuri fit like he belonged there—like he wouldn't, couldn't ever leave that perfect man even if he tried; and he could hardly finish the thought before he was lifted and spun, a surprised giggle parting his lips as he held on ever tighter.

He was lowered then but still held, snug—secure like a newfound promise.

Yuuri barely recognized himself babbling, but it was probably inevitable; he didn't, however, account for what mortifying things would be saying, whispering into the crook of Victor's neck—directly into his skin—as though it would get through to him better that way, as though he just couldn't be close enough: "Don't ever leave me again; I want you to promise never to go again; you better promise, Victor; I can't be without you again—I just can't."

Yet, for all his selfishness, it seemed Victor couldn't agree more, answering in his own platitudes, in sweet promises and lullabies: "Of course, darling; I promise, darling; I was a fool, darling; I won't be leaving you again—never again."

So, too, was it inevitable that Yuuri cried; Yuuri Katsuki always cried. But less so was it certain that Victor Nikiforov would as well, his tears falling like the cherry blossoms Yuuri loved so much: just as you started to doubt, the winter melting into spring.

"You can't cry too," Yuuri rasped, thumbing at the dew of Victor's lashes. "That makes me want to cry all over again."

"You're still crying, my love," Victor noted, even as another wave of tears overtook him through his teasing smile, concaving down his cheeks at every blink.

"You're right," Yuuri couldn't deny. "I'm still crying. I may never stop. I'm not sure I want to stop, as long as the tears are happy."

"And they are, aren't they?"

Yuuri simply couldn't help himself then; he leaned in to press his answer to Victor's mouth. It tasted like the sea that kept them apart—the sea that would never keep them apart again. "Yes," Yuuri said, his lips moving against Victor's, a breath of an answer. "They couldn't be happier."

Yuuri could feel Victor's face pull upwards with the force of his grin, exuding a mysterious confidence as he queried, "Should I test the theory?"

"What do you—?"

"I have something for you." Victor pulled back—just a hair, just so they could properly see each other—and fumbled for something in his pocket. "I told you, didn't I? That I got you something?"

"Ah—" Yuuri retreated another step, reaching into the tamoto pocket of his kimono. "I have something for you as well."

They turned away then—to prepare, to mentally collect—but found as they returned to face each other that they had both sunk to one knee.

"Why are you like that?"

"Am I… doing it wrong? This is how you do it here, yes?"

"Depends on what exactly you are doing."

"Well—" Yuuri rifled through the kinchaku pouch he had so generously allowed to carry the key to his happiness. "This—" He bared it to the light—a ring, gold and glinting—to Victor's staccato gasp. "—is what ties people together here, isn't it? I hope I'm doing this right." Then, more quietly, the blush rising to his ears— "I hope I'm not being too forward…"

Victor could hardly speak, choked with emotion as he was. "Only—" He inhaled, a shaky, terribly endearing thing. "Only if I, too, am being too forward." He brought his hand forth to reveal a Western ring box, open with its own matching ring, in an answering gold.

"Oh." Yuuri could possibly turn redder.

"Oh indeed." Victor certainly meant to tease him, but his expression was entirely too fond. He held the box out closer to Yuuri, in offering. "Shall I extrapolate that you accept?"

Yuuri bypassed the gift in favor of throwing his arms around Victor. "Yes! Hai! Da! All of the yeses! Everywhere! For all time!"

"Darling…" He held Yuuri to him—a hand in his hair, another to the small of his back—for a long while, until he felt the other shaking against him. "Don't cry again on me, love," he said, the reprimand so soft it could be mistaken for compliment. "I told you how it tears me up inside."

"I'm not crying," Yuuri refuted; and Victor thought it halfhearted until Yuuri clarified, "I'm shivering."

"Ah—!" Victor pulled back to properly access his beloved. "Darling, you're soaked all the way through! How long have you been out in this?"

If possible, Yuuri's shaking redoubled. "Since early afternoon, trying to find you."

Victor was already stripping off his overcoat, tripping over himself to draw it across Yuuri's shoulders; and the latter did not voice any objections, despite having on now three layers, two of which belonging to Victor. "You should have said something! We could have moved this affair somewhere more suitable!"

"You'll get cold too," Yuuri argued, even as he pulled the layer closer.

Victor laughed, assisting in the motion. "My dear, I'm Russian. This is summer weather, as far as I'm concerned."

They rose together, but as Victor turned to assess the swiftest way back, Yuuri clung on to his sleeve, murmuring, "Wait, we haven't done it yet."

Victor faced him, lifting an eyebrow at this. "Done what?"

Yuuri scrounged for the ring he had been so doggedly guarding, holding it up for Victor's eyes. "I need to put it on you, yes? It's not official unless you wear it."

"Darling, later—"

"I'll be quick," Yuuri promised, already grasping Victor's hand, fumbling for his fourth finger. It took a few tries—with Yuuri shivering as he was—but with a tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth, a look of charming determination about him, he was able to slip it all the way forward. "Well?" Yuuri prompted. "Is it good?"

Victor gazed down at the band, twinkling in the low light. "It's better than good, Yuuri. It's all I could ever ask for." He retrieved its mate from his own pocket and placed it where it belonged, Yuuri momentarily forgetting his state as a warmth unfurled itself in his chest as he examined it.

"Then—" Yuuri swallowed, eyes lifting from the gold to his love. "Then it's official?"

"Well, we still have to get married," Victor chuckled, guiding Yuuri out of the park, an arm held around him, keeping him warm, close.

"I knew that!" Yuuri insisted, though he colored all the same. "It takes so long though. I want to be married to you now."

"I don't imagine people will care for us waiting longer." Victor huffed a breath, fond. "They were impatient enough with us as it is. I had everyone complaining to me—loudly and often—that I was taking too long. In the end, I had to placate them with updates, lest they drag us down to the courts themselves."

Yuuri flinched, a reaction so grand it was noticeable through his unremittent trembling. "Wait, they knew?"

Victor looked at him. "You didn't tell you parents? Your sister? Phichit?"

Yuuri shook his head. "I didn't tell a soul. I didn't plan it at all. I just… missed you. I missed you so much. I wanted to do anything that would bring you back, keep you by my side."

It seemed as though Victor couldn't decide which reaction was more appropriate, hanging his head with a wry grin. "That's not fair, darling. You cannot just say things like that casually. How am I to survive this marriage?"

Yuuri clasped his hand. "With me."

Victor smiled at him, bright and genuine. "With you indeed."

Author's Note:

My Victorian Crime Fiction professor: "Most Victorian stories are working towards a marriage at the end."

Me: *near-hysterical laughter from the back of the class*

(I guess I knew this subconsciously...?)

(Side note: Take a shot every time Victor calls Yuuri "darling" to end up in the hospital.)

Sorry about the delay! I hope this was worth it!