Epilogue - The blue notebook

"What are you doing?" Yuri asked, leaning against Victor's back and putting his arms loosely around the man's neck, fingers intertwined near Victor's sternum. It was a normal weekday afternoon, few months after moving in. Victor was at his desk in their bedroom, completely focused on writing down something.

Yuri peered from above his companion's shoulders, trying to get a glimpse of what Victor was writing neatly in Cyrillic. Yuri didn't know the language well enough to understand it at first glance, but he had come to recognize his own name. He put a hand to the page Victor was working on, to prevent the man from turning it. He then pressed a kiss on Victor's crown.

"Come on," Yuri joked, as Victor tried to hide the notebook with his own body. "No secrets between us. What is that?" he went on.

There was a pause, with Victor still half splayed over the desk, the notebook pressed under his chest. "Well?" Yuri insisted, sliding his fingers down to Victor's hips and teasing the hem of his shirt tantalizingly. He knew very well how ticklish Victor was in that spot.

"You're a cruel man, Yuri," Victor protested. Nevertheless, he slowly pulled back, sighing.

"Promise you won't laugh, or find it creepy?"

He turned on the chair to face Yuri. Yuri lifted his pinkie finger.

"Pinkie swear."

"And cross your heart," Victor demanded.

Yuri obliged, tracing an exaggerated cross on his chest.

"And swear," Yuri opened his mouth to obey," in Russian!" Victor specified.

"Now, you're exaggerating! Come on!" Yuri mocked Victor, but there was nothing in his voice but soft affection. "When has General Nikiforov become so fearful?"

"I'm only fearful when it comes to love," Victor defended himself. "Can you blame me?"

Under Yuri's impatient stare, he eventually reached back to grab the notebook and hand it to Yuri. The once bright blue cover had faded. There was "MADE IN USSR" blazed across the title page in big, capital letters, as did most of Victor's belongings from his years in St. Petersburg. Yuri turned yet another page. His attention was immediately attracted to a small photo glued in the top left corner: it depicted himself; younger and serious, dressed in his Army uniform. He wondered where Victor could even get such a photo, but then he recalled Victor's connections with some KGB officers. Yuri had little doubt Miss Mila Babicheva was involved.

Yuri quickly turned the pages, eyes scanning over the lines of writing that filled them, sometimes broken up by photos here and there. 5 December 1985 was the oldest date in the notebook and today's date the most recent.

"You wrote a dossier about me?" Yuri pondered out loud. Victor smiled sheepishly.

"Guilty," he admitted.

"Why are you still writing it now?" Yuri asked after a while. Victor shrugged.

"There's always something new I discover and I want to write it down," he justified himself. "I'm pathetic, am I not?"

Yuri shook his head. "Not at all," he countered. Hastily, he tossed the blue journal into Victor's lap.

"Be back in a minute," he shouted right after, already on his way out the room.

The minute soon turned into an hour. Between the still fairly recent move and the fact that he hadn't opened it in a while, Yuri only had a vague idea of where the "Victor Nikiforov" dossier was. He was pretty sure of having seen it laying on the top of one of the boxes scattered around the newly built bookshelf, but apparently he was wrong. Those boxes regurgitated every kind of book, from narratives to politics, but not the one he wanted.

Then a flash of a yellow book peeking out from under the daily newspaper in the kitchen crossed his mind. Yuri followed it, finding the aforementioned newspaper, but no trace of the infamous notebook. Except for the fact that Victor had the tendency to grab the first thing available to chase flies away. And the last place Yuri had watched him trying to smash a fly was-

"Bingo!" he exclaimed, fingers curling around the notebook's spine to pick it from between the couch cushions. He caressed the date on the first page with reverence

08 March 1977

He was twenty-three at the time, so young, so inexperienced. He was just a boy in a new, unforgiving environment, with a notebook hidden under his bunk bed. Little did he know of what he would go through.

The first part of the old dossier washed over him with all the memories of a young, diligent, and yet passionate past-self copying scribbled notes in nice handwriting, with the concentration of a man on a mission. The sentences were concise, the style military-like.

That section ended few weeks prior the infamous joint mission. The next following date was 5 May 1988, not even a five days after it. The words were quick and uncertain, smudged and by now barely legible. It had taken all of Yuri's willpower to find the strength to write them, a rush of action in a sea of apathy. Ink had left a big splot on paper, like a tear.

Victor Nikiforov said he loved me. Is it possible?

Is it possible to turn back time?

12 February 1991

Victor still affirms to love me. Is it possible to turn back time?

When Victor's second letter had made his way from St. Petersburg, once Leningrad, to Hasetsu, to Yuri's hands, Yuri had slowly started coming to terms with the knowledge of having lost the opportunity of a lifetime. He would cherish the few good moments he had had with Victor and move on. Not that he wasn't ready to wait, but he had no doubt that Victor, despite his words, would soon find someone else.

Thus, when Yuri had read Victor's still professing love for him, the room had started spinning around so much he had to sit down on the floor. Warm tears had splattered on his glasses.

19 January 1993

I think I've had a heart attack. I didn't know I missed his voice this much.

He sounded so tired.

Yuri remembered how Mari had confronted him the very same night he called Victor for the first time on the phone. She asked for a little chat, with the tone she used when they were little to indicate there was a sibling matter to discuss. Mari couldn't walk on eggshells, even if she wanted to.

"Who did you call?"

Yuri flushed, bit his lips, and started fidgeting. Although Mari knew something about how obsessed Yuri had been with Victor - General Nikiforov - as he had always slipped some information in his letters home, Yuri found it difficult to explain the whole situation. He feared a bit for Victor's life, as Mari was a very protective sister.

"Do you remember the Victor I wrote about?" Yuri started.

Mari snorted. "How couldn't I?"

Yuri smiled sheepishly. "Well, I, he …" Yuri took a deep breath, tongue heavy.

"We fell in love."

Mari had been the first person Yuri had come out to, in a certain sense. In truth, there had never been an official declaration, a moment in his youth when he had gathered all his courage, sat down before his parents, and told them he liked both boys and girls, but mostly boys; and then, some years after, more specifically one man. It had never occurred.

Mari, however, had once caught Yuri kissing a boy behind the school building, just before heading home after lessons and the cleaning shift. It was around the last year of middle school.

So she had been the one to confront him, even back then, promising not to tell their parents, after a teenage Yuri had pleaded. Officially, she had never broken the promise, but Hiroko Katsuki was both a very observant woman and a mother: few things can escape such combo. It was not about behaviour, more about details, the way her son flushed when some classmates complimented him. Then came the letters, after Yuri enlisted, the first times Yuri had mentioned Victor Nikiforov. The seeds of a crush bound to grow into a full love were already there.

In the end Hiroko had told her husband, who was a bit old-fashioned but considered there could be worse things.

"Do you plan to move with him?" Mari questioned, cutting to the chase. Yuri sighed, the idea was still too new to think properly about.

"I don't know. In time, I guess. It'll be nice, I suppose. I haven't seen him in years. I would be happy just to have him not so far away."

Another huff. "I don't know."

Yuri had put his head on his knees, a surging sadness descending over him, menacing to be as big as the happiness he had felt just moments ago. Mari squeezed his shoulder.

She didn't lecture him in any way, even with the first-hand experience of a failed marriage, Mari refrained from pouring out negativity on her brother's still lingering joy. After all, everything was better than the shell of man the US and the Army had sent back home. So she simply said: "I trust you'll make the right decision. Whichever it be, I'll support you."

"Thank you."

Yuri had been glad to have a sister like Mari.

9 May 1993

He's coming to Hasetsu. One day and he'll be here. Can a person feel fear and happiness and pain at the same time? God, I hope everything will be fine.

Yuri had to use all his willpower to not camp out at the airport after Victor called with the date and hour of his flight.

10 May 1993

There was quick and messy kanji, words written in Yuri's native language in the haste of the moment. The handwriting was shaky.

He kissed me and I was melting. He complimented me. I cannot stop smiling.

Then, few lines under, written so small as Yuri was afraid to put it on paper.

We made love.

He's here. He's here.

All over the page.

20 September 1993

Victor Nikiforov is my boyfriend. Former Red Army General, pride of Russia, Victor Nikiforov is my boyfriend. I don't know how it happened. I don't even know if it has really happened.

Please, don't wake me up.

Often Yuri wondered how to call what Victor was to him. Boyfriend was a too simple and dull word, good for teenagers, not for them. Victor wasn't even his husband, technically; nor he was his lover or fiancé. Companion could be a better option, but Yuri wasn't 100% sure.

Once he mentioned the problem to Victor. The man had chuckled. "Is it really important?"

Yuri had shrugged. "I guess not."

The last ten pages were instead all the little ups and downs that came with living day-by-day with Victor. A fond smile curled Yuri lips as he read the last sentence, something about Victor being unable to cook rice without burning it.

"Yuri, everything fine?" Victor's voice snapped Yuri back to reality. He glanced at the clock on the wall, squinting his eyes at the discovery Victor had been waiting for almost an hour and a half now. Yuri rushed back to him, apologizing profusely.

"Sorry for the wait," Yuri breathed out. "I was looking for this," he explained, showing the yellow notebook with the same anticipation of a child. He tilted it towards Victor, hands trembling when the Russian man accepted it. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in wait.

"Oh," Victor whispered as he shuffled through the first pages. "You were right, you could make a good spy," he considered, talking more to himself. He closed the notebook using his right pointer finger as a bookmark.

"Can I read it?"

"I wouldn't have given it to you otherwise."

"Right. What's with that face?"

Victor's face furrowed, mirroring the frown between Yuri's eyes; no matter how hard he tried, Yuri was not good at hiding his emotions.

"Something wrong?" Victor questioned, raising a hand to gently grab Yuri's wrist. Yuri's diverted his gaze, fixing on some spot on the wooden floor.

"It's that… I never imagined one day you'd read it," Yuri explained, voice shy, as if he was justifying himself.

Not saying a word, Victor brought Yuri's hand to his lips, pressing them lightly against the ring finger's third knuckle. Seeing how pink spread across Yuri's nose bridge was such a nice view.

"I'll give it back when I'm finished," Victor then said, tapping on the yellow cover.

"Keep it," Yuri countered. He didn't need it anymore.

"Do you want to read what I've written about you?" Victor offered soon after, almost as an exchange, as he put the yellow notebook in the first desk drawer and took out the blue one once again. "I can translate, of course."

The offer was sweet, tempting. It had never been easy for Yuri knowing that people had their opinions about him. Not being able to know what they were, gave fertile soil for the worst scenarios his mind could produce; it made otherwise small flaws so giant, Yuri could think of nothing but them. Nonetheless, he was also well aware of the immaturity of such behaviour. The fact that he couldn't possibly know every single opinion others had about him didn't mean those opinions were negative. Paranoia was a beast better left starving.

Yuri took a deep breath.

"No, I don't need it."

"You sure?"

Yuri nodded, stepping ahead to sit on Victor's lap. "Yes," he assured, "You'll tell me the things you noticed about me in due time."

Choosing to not know what Victor had said about him was an act of faith, of love; just like giving Victor one of his most precious belongings. It spoke of "trust" loud and clear.

"It's a long list," Victor warned. Yuri didn't skip a beat.

"We have time."

It was funny how just a year before, Yuri would've never even dared to imagine sitting on Victor's thighs, having Victor's left arm hooked lazily around his waist, fingers just slightly pressing on his belly, brushing the cotton of his T-shirt.

"I like it when you are this bold," Victor hummed.

"Bold?" Yuri wondered.

"Yes. It's always so unexpected," Victor continued, pointer finger of his free hand running up to his mouth, tapping the lower lip as he was searching for the right word.

"And you like it?"

Yuri now teased, going with the sudden flow of confidence surging in him. He shifted a bit from his position, butt not quite accidentally brushing against Victor's groin.

"It's extremely alluring, Yuri, trust me," Victor purred, voice low, capturing Yuri's lips.

The blue notebook fell on the floor.

Notes:

Ok. It's the end. I started by publishing a three page long prologue because I had this sudden need for validation at 3 am, and the prologue was the only thing I had ready and I ended up writing a + 100 pages fan fiction. I basically wrote a small novel in the span of four months. It's not big, but wow.
It's the first time in ages I managed to finish a multi chapter fic without losing interest after the first few chapters. I'm so happy and proud.

I guess that choosing to write a long fic instead of an OS changed several things. In my view OS shouldn't be too long, a 15k words maximum. Otherwise, I start breaking them down into smaller chapters. So if I had written an OS instead, numerous details probably would've been missed. Instead, having to reach a nice length for each chapter forced me to dig into details and characters' personalities. It made me write more. I had a quirk for brevity, so it had been very strange to find myself writing more and more. I have still a long way to go, but it's a start.