Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's human nature to want to change the past

Whether it is the everyday regrets over words already said, or the current generation lamenting the choices of the generations who came before; all of humanity has at some point thought, “I wish I could go back and change that.” Humans will always make mistakes and subsequently, they will look back on them with remorse and that dreamlike fantasy of “what if” will flicker across their mind, treating them to a moment’s view into a world where things had gone differently. Even if subtle, the idea has been in our DNA for as far back as humanity could think; humans will always wonder: what if?

In the late 27th century, someone finally decided to try and do something to satisfy this itch that had plagued humanity since its inception. Though they each came with their own reasons, their goals all remained the same: what if. What if we could go back in time and salvage something that was no longer intact in the present? What if we could bring artifacts in their original state home to study instead of piecing together their worn and weathered fragments? What if we could bring back animals lost to extinction to once again let them live?

The H.G. Wells Initiative, a group of fifty-two people in various fields of study, aimed to do just that; to throw open the doors of time so that knowledge could be transferred from the source time to the present in the most direct of ways possible. It took them one hundred and forty nine years to perfect it, but in the year 3050 AD, the work they’d begun finally paid off. Despite what past theorists had speculated, time travel forward was actually far more difficult to achieve than travel to the past; but for the majority of those interested this was not a problem at all. They had envisioned time travel as a way to study the past for the sake of the present, not a means to peek into the future yet to come. At their core, and a sentiment carried over to the current organization, was the desire to obtain knowledge once lost to time.

The final act of the H.G. Wells Initiative was to form the Academy of Temporal Science, in which they would train a generation of experts in their fields of study on the methods and constraints of time travel. What they hadn’t accounted for, was how successful their methods would be. Within the span of two centuries, the Time Scientists had amassed such a collection of their trinkets from the past that no existing museum on Earth nor any on the Lunar or Mars Colonies could hold it all. Inspired by the largest collection obtained, the entirety of the Library of Alexandria pulled quite literally from the burning building, the scientific institutions and museums of the world created a museum unlike any other in all of human history.

An artificial landmass that stretched from Alexandria’s namesake across the Mediterranean Sea, it was titled everything from “The Museum of Earth” to the “Country of Knowledge.” But for those that lived there, it was simply called Alexandria.

Divided into five separate sectors of knowledge, and furnished by the work of the Time Scientists, Alexandria was a unique place to call home and perhaps the most amazing place in the galaxy to visit. You could spend a week living in Viking village, view animals and creatures of times past in their own biomes, or see a Greek play at the Theater of Dionysus then walk next door to Shakespeare’s Globe. For students of Earth History, it was the destination and there wasn’t a university in existence that hadn’t gone on one of the “magic schoolbus” Time Scientist led tours to past events. Alexandria was a celebration of the past by those who loved it the most.

And perhaps, that was the first of Yuuri Katsuki’s problems. He was always, from the day he was born, a boy more connected to the past than he was the present.

Sector Five was the back half of Alexandria, home to recreations of times and cultures long gone in living history exhibits operated by descendants of the cultures on display. This meant that for Yuuri, home was the Dōgo Onsen of Meiji era Japan, where his family lived in the Asian History District. And if that wasn’t strange enough for a small child of the 36th century, that was only the beginning; for his mother’s best friend and frequent visitor was not there to represent Meiji era culture.

It was through Minako Okukawa that Yuuri had his first experience time traveling, the licensed Time Scientist rewinding time by a few minutes to un-break the vase that Yuuri had broken. With Yuuri’s small hand clutched in hers, she’d undone Yuuri’s mistake, and in doing so piqued his interest in the field that would some day be his speciality.

For a child who grew up in a replica of Meiji era Japan, and who had a mentor who focused on the Heian era, it really surprised no one when Yuuri took a liking to a time period no where close to his own. But perhaps because he yearned to explore the world outside the history of Japan that was constantly around him, or maybe just because he found the literature of the time to be the most compelling, Yuuri somehow ended up becoming an expert on nineteenth century western literature.

And that, was most definitely, the second of Yuuri Katsuki’s problems; a child who lived in the past had became a man who fell in love with it.

Or perhaps, more specifically, he fell in love with the works of one particular author.

A full fledged Time Scientist now, Yuuri had done what most other Time Scientists had ended up doing sooner or later, he fixated. Minako had merely laughed when she’d read over his travelogue and she counted off over a hundred trips all within that span of a hundred years from 1800 to 1899. “I was wondering when you’d fixate,” she’d joked. As the head of the Literary Time Scientist division, she’d warned him that every Time Scientist did it sooner or later. No matter what, personal bias always finally won out.

That was why the sleeping quarters for the Time Scientists had finally instituted a rule that none of the four occupants of a pod could be in the same field of study. Because when you had too many interested in one subject in one area, very little work tended to get done, whereas varied subjects encouraged podmates to share their interests in a more reserved manner.

Yuuri had ended up in pod 327, housed with a zoologist who loved small mammals, an action-movie buff who collected teddy bears and a musical theater aficionado. And much like his podmates, and the majority of Time Scientists living on Alexandria, his home- his pod- reflected his fixation most vividly.

Furniture of ebonized wood with gilt decor of sunflowers, gas lamps with ornate adornments, and a fainting couch with carved mahogany and blue brocade were just part of the collection. Everything, from the bed to the desk to the table looked like it had been lifted right out of the late-Victorian era; namely because it had. For according to Unwritten Time Scientist Rule #57: if you’re there for business, you might as well bring back souvenirs; a sentiment the majority of Time Scientists took to heart.

But the most prized of his personal collection was housed in his bookcase, safe behind glass doors and sitting face out in the center; the jewel of all the books he’d ever brought back with him: a first edition, limited to 250 first pressing, copy of Stammi Vicino by Victor Nikiforov.

It was his favorite book out of everything he’d ever read, which was a list numbering in the thousands; the book that meant the most to him in every possible way. Never had another book spoken to Yuuri on such a deep level, connected with him in a way that felt almost intimate and personal. The only possible way he could cherish his copy more would be if he could have it autographed by the author himself; to share his feelings about the book with the man who wrote it.

This was Yuuri Katsuki’s biggest problem. Why? Because this book, the book that meant everything to him, was submitted to the publisher only a day before Victor Nikiforov was murdered. There existed no time that Yuuri could return to in which both the finished book and Victor existed together, for the man had never lived to see it finalized.

Even with all that time travel and science could do, it could not allow Yuuri this one simple joy.

He felt cheated somehow, as if time itself was mocking him and his ability to travel in it by taking this one moment away from him. It was as if his entire career as a Time Scientist was worthless, for even with his knowledge and his own time machine, there was no way that allowed this to be.

Well. There was one way.

The very first rule for Time Scientists was simple, clear-cut and did not allow for misinterpretation. It stated, “if the temporal apparatus detects that what you are attempting to bring back with you or your intended course will alter history irrevocably then it will activate the reset feature, returning you home and undoing whatever it was you attempted. Time Scientists who activate the reset feature knowingly will be subject to disciplinary action.” Simply put, tampering with the past was not going to be allowed.

But, Yuuri thought again and again, what if…

Ah, there was that what if again, that nagging feeling that pulled at the very soul of every human sooner or later. What if… What if he could save Victor Nikiforov? He entertained the thought quite often, constantly assessing pros and cons to the idea and inwardly either talking himself into or out of the plan. What if he could stop the murder from ever happening? What if a single author living didn’t alter history irrevocably? What if….what if…

That single what if was what brought him to where he was now, standing outside Minako’s office and trying to keep his calm about what he was about to do. If he could convince her, if she thought in theory it might work, then maybe... maybe he could actually go through with it.

“Phichit, I can’t do this.”

His best friend and podmate had insisted upon coming with him for moral support. Yuuri was somewhat glad he had tagged along now that he’d gotten this far.

“Sorry, what was that? You can’t not do this?”

“Phichit…”

“Yuuri, I’ve heard your argument a thousand times,” he cut him off, quickly going into lecture mode. “Victor Nikiforov was only significant in retrospective examination of the writing during the time period, being as his final book was only able to circulate in limited production. Even if he wrote more on the subject more blatantly, at most, he’d face legal action due to his name being attached to something of that nature; which given his connections to Christophe Giacometti, he would most likely be able to avoid by using a pseudonym. In short, I highly doubt allowing him to live would impact history in a way that would be deemed a problem.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t certain if he should be frustrated or amused that his friend had pretty much recited from memory the exact statements he’d prepared to handle possible denial of his request.

Phichit grinned. “Margin note, make sure they know this isn’t about me to trying to finish my book on Victor. Nor is it about trying to prove all the people who claim he wasn’t actually gay wrong. Although, I’m sure it might help both of those matters, that is not why I want to do this.”

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate your ability to remember everything.”

“Second margin note, if she tries to deny it after all this, bring up the fact she spent several months with Lady Murasaki and that I’m only planning on spending one month not half a year.”

“Phichit!”

He laughed. “I still think you need to cite that you’ve been kissed by Shakespeare. I mean, you interfering with authors tends to resolve a lot of age old arguments about their sexuality.”

“That is not what this is about!” Yuuri huffed. “Plus I didn’t plan on getting Shakespeare to you know…”

“Proposition you the second time he met you? Get very drunk and then just jump you?”

“O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy pow'r, Dost hold time’s fickle glass, his sickle hour,” another voice cut in. Yuuri turned sharply, finding himself face to face with his mentor; she smiled a very knowing smirk. “The scholars have debated for years what Shakespeare meant in sonnet 126 about holding time, but I think we know now, don’t we?”

Unthinkingly, Yuuri’s eyes darted to the watch around his wrist; its worn leather band and brass face looking far older than it actually was; it was Yuuri’s own, personally issued, time machine and it had taken him so many places and times.

“It’s not really my fault that he met me first on technically my second trip of meeting him, when I was two years older and then he saw me again when I was younger and…”

Yuuri stopped, his eyes narrowing on Minako and Phichit.

“How long has she been behind me, Phichit?”

His friend shrugged. “Oh, most of the conversation.”

Yuuri heaved a heavy sigh, for this had happened enough times that he was finding it hard to be more than slightly miffed at his friend for it anymore. He turned instead to his mentor, offering what he hoped was a confident smile.

“So uh...Minako-sensei, can we talk?”

She returned the smile and inclined her head towards her office door. “As always, Yuuri, my door is open for you.”

He took a deep breath and exchanged one last panicked look with Phichit.

“You’ve got this, Yuuri. Go on.”

As he crossed the threshold into the office, he felt a chill trickle down his spine and settle at its base. Everything he’d ever researched, all the things he studied and loved, were about to be put to the test; for if there was one thing he knew he had on his side, it was his knowledge.

“Yuuri,” Minako said, indicating the cushion on the floor before her desk. “What’s this all about your Victor?”

It always flustered him when she spoke of Victor that way, although she did it with most of the literary sector’s fixations, everyone from her own Lady Murasaki to Charles Dickens to J.K. Rowling. It was always your Lady, your Charles, your Jo, your Victor…

Yuuri placed a hand on her desk, the smooth pearl inlay something he always found calming when he was trying to put his words in order to ask something of her. For much as Yuuri’s pod and office were Victorian, Minako’s was Heian; the floor a mushiro dried flower mat, zushi-dama shelves along the walls, and enza cushions on the floor. He felt a fond smile tug at his lips, remembering how when he was young how the armrests on the ground would barely hit his waist, then turned to his mentor with a warmth of passion blazing in his eyes.

“I would like to petition the Academy for a formal time shift.”

Minako’s eyebrow quirked up, but Yuuri pressed on, knowing if he stopped now he might lose the confidence he had.

“I’ve been doing extensive research on Victor Nikiforov for my book on him, and in doing so, I have come to the conclusion that it may be possible to stop his untimely death. I have taken into consideration all possible ramifications of this shift, and I feel that although his contributions could be significant, it’s highly unlikely that they would be altering in nature. Oscar Wilde was...”

“Due to the Alan Turing Code of 3051,” Minako cut in. “Events which are deemed necessary to change in order to bring about the current future timeline we exist in can be excused under this code. For time travel to exist, Alan Turing could not be incriminated under the Labouchere Amendment.”

“Yes, something that was discovered by accident during one of the first incidents of time travel. They accidentally delayed Henry Labouchere that day, so the gross indecency act never happened but the fail safe wouldn’t let them fix it, therefore creating the code. Alan Turing lived longer and his contributions to science advanced our world faster than the original timeline,” Yuuri interjected. He’d done his research on this, on all of the possible things he thought they might throw at him. “Oscar Wilde ended up benefiting from this change in laws never taking place and he went on to write three more plays and two more novels, in addition to many short stories. Oscar Wilde was able to live longer and the time shift was not enough to disrupt reality, therefore…”

“There is no way allowing Victor Nikiforov to live would either?” Minako finished for him; but she was smiling, warm and wide and reassuring.

“That’s my theory, at least. And I’d like to make an effort to try and make that time shift. By my calculations, I’ve allowed myself an entire month before he was murdered to try and find out who the murderer was and stop them. I know enough about the time period and culture to blend in as simply a purveyor of rare literature from Japan that’s come to England seeking to make contact with lesser known writers of the time, and I hope with that I will be able to work my way into the inner circle of writers in Victor’s life. From there, well...I’ll try whatever it takes to stop his murder.”

Minako stood then, and reached out as if he was but a child once more, and ruffled his hair. There was something bright sparkling in her eyes, and after a moment, Yuuri realized it couldn’t be anything else but pride.

“No literary time agent has ever submitted a large time shift request before, but if anyone can do it and succeed, it’ll be you, Yuuri.”

He blinked, honestly surprised by her faith in him. “You really think so?”

Minako nodded. “I know so.”

Only on special occasions did Yuuri, and his three podmates, his mentor and his family ever sit down for dinner together; but tonight definitely warranted it. It was rare outside the living history sector to get non-machine made food, but nothing but the best extra large katsudon made by Mama Katsuki herself would do for Yuuri tonight. Why? Because Yuuri Katsuki’s request to the Academy was unanimously approved and it was to be his last night before he returned to the year 1887.

It was a celebration that was usually reserved for holidays or birthdays, but it’s family. It’s home. And most of all, Yuuri thought, it would be a month before he’d be able to see these people again.

“You know, when I teased about you just marrying the guy you’re obsessed with, I was joking,” Mari, his older sister said ruffling his hair before sitting down beside him.

“Mari…”

“Ooh, I hadn’t thought about that. Yuuri, you could have the world’s most insane long-distance relationship!” Phichit added in.

Yuuri sighed. He was sadly used to both his sister and his best friend’s relentless teasing. He leveled them both a look.“I’m not going on this time shift to seduce him, okay?”

Phichit and Mari exchanged a look of their own.

“Look, he’s probably already got someone anyways…”

“Ah yes, the elusive KY…” Phichit said knowingly.

Leo, one of his podmates, looked up from his food at that. “Okay, I vaguely remember some of this stuff, but you’ve been info dumping so much with your upcoming book that I can’t remember everything…”

“KY is the someone the final book is dedicated to,” Guang Hong, his other podmate clarified.

“How do you remember that?”

Guang Hong shrugged. “I always thought it sounded like a James Bond villain…”

“They’re on the murder suspects list,” Yuuri cut in, hoping he could steer the conversation to something other than his personal feelings about a certain author. “Right now, we have three that various records indicate might have already been in jail at the time of the murder, the person indicated in the dedication of the final book, KY, a person jealous of KY, and various possibilities due to Victor’s outspoken comments on everything from Judaism to gender to sexuality.”

“Are you going to be safe going after a potential murderer?” Yuuri’s mother asked, clutching her hands together. “I’m sure one of the criminal justice scientists would be willing to go along.”

Yuuri frowned. He’d considered it, honestly. But the fact was this murder had gone unsolved for such a long time due to Victor’s position in society; as a Russian immigrant, as a Jewish immigrant, as someone openly opposed to gender norms, and as someone who Yuuri was pretty certain was only interested in men. As it was, the prime suspect was probably going to be someone who never murdered anyone else, but due to prejudice of some kind, attacked Victor that night. It was something Yuuri, in all his research of the era, had found was shockingly commonplace. It was what made the Victor Nikiforov murder such a difficult situation to pin down; for given his position, over half of the Victorian London society he lived in probably hated him for one reason or another.

Yuuri just had to find the one person who took that hatred and acted on it.

“I’m not going to confront the murderer,” he reassured his mother. “I’m just going to make sure their opportunity to attack him never happens.”

“Do you really think you can find the murderer in time?” Leo asked. “I mean, there’s a lot of people in London and a month is only so long.”

“I’m hoping if I can become part of the group of writers associated with Victor, I can use that position to protect him. As much as I think the murderer acted on impulse, I also believe that there had to be some warning signs that were missed.” Yuuri took a deep breath, as if hoping the more he said these words the more he’d come to believe it would be as easy as it sounded. “As it is, I’m starting with the fact that shortly before Victor’s murder, a fellow member of this group wrote an article about hostile encounters she’d had while simply walking home at night.”

“Yuuri’s right, he’s found several indications that this wasn’t the first backlash the group received,” Minako noted. “In the case of Victor, someone just finally made it a personal attack.”

“Be careful, Yuuri,” his father spoke up this time. “Just because you know what’s coming doesn’t make you immortal.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ll be taking as many precautions as I can. But…”

Yuuri paused, looking around at the hodge-podge group of people that had come to be his support over the years. Each of them, in their own way, had helped him make it to where he was.

“This means a lot to me. I know you know that, I know all of you have heard me go on and on about how Victor’s words mean more to me than any other author’s ever have. That’s why, I feel like...maybe I can do something for him to repay that. Give him the opportunity to finally live out that life and love his characters always sought out so passionately. Only one of Victor’s books had a happy ending, maybe I can give him a way to write his own.”

Phichit leaned over then, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and giving him a squeeze.

“ Yuuri Katsuki, author of the definitive account of author Victor Nikiforov’s life, is also credited with saving his life. Has a nice ring to it, I’m just saying.”

A smile crept onto his lips at that, nervous at first, but growing stronger as he saw all the familiar faces smiling at him.

“Yeah. It kinda does.”

The honeyed glow of the library was a warm and welcoming place for a send off. The translucent marble walls casting their muted light into the building, dying it all golden as if it knew the books here were worth no color less than gold itself. It was the rare books library, and for Yuuri Katsuki, it was like a second home to him.

It was here where Yuuri had first come across Victor's works, tucked away in their respective location by publication date and rich with the words that had reached out and touched his very soul. Fitting then, that the very book which started this fixation, was present as he said his goodbyes.

It was only on momentous occasions such as this that filled the library's main hall with such a large group of people. Friends and family stood the closest, but the room also included peers and colleagues all here to send Yuuri off on the first time shift approved for the literary science department. There was the cluster of criminal justice scientists that had aided Yuuri in narrowing down his suspects, the historical fashion scientists who had approved all the clothing Yuuri was to take with him as period-accurate, and many more that Yuuri knew at some point in his career their paths had crossed.

It was a fitting farewell. Words of encouragement and hugs exchanged with family and friends at the forefront of his mind as he entered in the final data to his time travel device strapped to his wrist.

With a little wave and a smile, he pressed the final button.

The sensation of time travelling was always a bit odd, sort of like waking up from a particularly vivid dream. Yuuri blinked his eyes open, and just like that, found himself standing in a small alleyway in London. He didn’t need to check his device or ask to verify that he’d indeed arrived, for Victorian London was a place that was so distinct in the way it was, that there was no need to second guess. The sights, the smells, the very feeling of the city was something that could never be put into words, although Dickens sure did try; and Yuuri had been there enough that it was strangely welcoming with its soot covered chimneys and damp dark alleys and fog that liked to cause his glasses to grow hazy with condensation.

Picking up his suitcase, and looking out of place only due to his nationality not his appearance, he stepped out into the street and tried to get his bearings. The little alleyways and streets were so labyrinthine that even the technology of the far future could not accurately deposit him on the street he wanted to visit, but it had gotten him close enough that it took only a block or two before he knew where he was. And once he got himself to the Strand, well, he knew then exactly where he needed to go.

Holywell Street was, unlike the metropolitan and fashionable Strand it ran into, a narrow and dingy relic of the Elizabethan age; it’s cramped buildings with overhanging fronts seeming to tilt in towards the street itself as if protecting its dirty secrets from the world outside it. Booksellers Row, it was called, and that was perhaps its most kindly name; for the squalid little place had become over the years a place of ill repute for very good reason. Where there had once been second hand clothing shops and pornographic books displayed in front windows in the 1850s, now remained mostly rare booksellers when the Obscene Publications Act came through and cleaned house. Or, well, they tried.

For while the erotica trade had mostly moved on to other hovels in which to hide, many of the bookshops that dotted the street still dealt in them if you knew what to ask for. And, much to Yuuri’s embarrassment, the fastest and most surefire way to get himself into the group around Victor Nikiforov was to get himself into Christophe Giacometti’s arms.

A social activist by day and an erotica writer by night, Christophe Giacometti was credited with writing one of the most lengthy and detailed memoirs of homosexual life in Victorian London. Written off by many at the time as pure filth, Intoxication , was a bold and provocative book that detailed many burgeoning elements of homosexual culture along with, of course, countless extended passages of sexual activities. But perhaps most importantly, the book documented the fact that anyone who was currently involved with him was also allowed access to the exclusive group of writers known simply as the League of the Green Carnation.

And so, Yuuri found himself in a shop packed with books, waiting about in hopes his estimates about publication dates were correct. For if he was right, Gia - Christophe’s pen name- submitted a book for publication on a day somewhere between the 16th and the 18h to a publisher who secretly operated out of this store front.  

Thankfully, for Yuuri, a bookshop was a place he could easily spend hours without noticing a single second tick by; the rare books touted by the bookseller something that would not only excite patrons of the Victorian era, but also happened to be exactly the kind of books Yuuri’s own bookshelf was filled with. He need only drop a few names along with Victor’s and suddenly, the owner had whisked him off into a corner filled with precisely the “vices” he sought. After excitedly discovering a copy of Les Illuminations by Rimbaud and an earlier numbered copy of Victor’s Decisions of the Stars from the year before, Yuuri wondered if perhaps his luck for the day had been spent. But, as he approached the front of the shop with his finds, he noticed a particular gentlemen enter with a manuscript tucked under his arm.

There was only one surviving photograph Yuuri had ever seen of the League of the Green Carnation, but even then he would have recognized the man right away. A velvet jacket in burgundy, satin breeches and stockings to match and of course a silk top hat, it made Yuuri feel downright underdressed in his simple brown sackcoat and Homburg hat. But, he would honestly expect nothing less from Christophe from what he knew of the man.

Piercing jade eyes caught his gaze and held it, just long enough, that Yuuri felt his pulse race thundering through his veins. He dropped his eyes to the books in his hands, but parted his lips a moment and wet them with the tip of his tongue. Christophe immediately changed direction, heading instead right for him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” he began cordially, reaching into his jacket pocket and producing a card. “Christophe Giacometti.”

“A writer, I presume?” Yuuri asked, as he took it from him. He had to hold back a snort of laughter as his eyes skimmed over the card; bold and flirtatious just like Gia’s memoir had painted the man to be.

“Yes, but words are not the only thing with which I can create art,” he replied with a smirk. He nodded towards the card. “And you are?”

“Katsuki Yuuri.”

Yuuri hastily pulled out his own card from a pocket, its simple listing of his name and profession as a purveyor of rare literature seeming very plain compared to Christophe’s brazen approach. But then again, not many would be as direct as to present a card like Christophe’s; the edges adorned with everlasting pea flowers, which could mean something as innocent as a request for an appointed meeting. Or, well, everlasting pleasure.

“Mr. Yuuri?”

“Ah, sorry. No. That would be Mr. Katsuki,” Yuuri hastily corrected. “In Japanese it’s reversed.”

Christophe raised an eyebrow at that. “I thought there was something distinctly eastern about your appearance.”

Yuuri glanced once more at the card, and its direct request, before tucking it in his front pocket. May I have the pleasure of your company this evening? If so, keep this card; if not, please return.

Well. This was going far easier than expected.

“Yes, I’m seeking out rare literature from Europe to bring back to Japan with me. I’d been well advised to visit the shops here, and it seems I’m quite in luck today,” he offered what he hoped was a playful, flirty smile; but he honestly just felt embarrassed. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him to flirt to get what he needed.

“Quite lucky indeed,” Christophe replied with a wink. “I happened to notice your choices and well, not to brag, but I happen to be somewhat acquainted with Mr. Nikiforov.”

“Oh, you are?” Yuuri said, trying to sound pleasantly surprised instead of knowing. That was half the trouble with time travel, not giving away that you knew things that were not common knowledge at the time. “I’d heard he kept a fairly small and tight knit group of companions.”

Christophe’s smile grew at that, “That is true. But, fortune seems to be on your side, Mr. Katsuki, for I am one of that small group.” He darted his eyes down to the suitcase near Yuuri’s feet. “If you haven’t made arrangements yet, I would like to offer myself as host to you in your endeavors. Aside from my own writing befitting your type, the company I keep is made of similar types.”

Yuuri offered a small smile at that. “Then, if it’s not imposing upon your situation, I would like to accept that offer. Being with those of similar taste I feel will suit my needs much better.”

He shifted the manuscript into his other hand then.“Well if we both would like to finish up our business here, I can show you a few of my other favorite shops and we can relax at my place before dinner. It’s a lucky day for both of us, I feel, Mr. Katsuki. For it’s not every day I find myself entertaining such a handsome guest.”

Taking a deep breath and hoping he came off somewhat convincing, Yuuri replied in turn. “That sounds most agreeable then. It seems I’ve found myself in the care of both a handsome and charming host.”

Christophe reached out and gave Yuuri’s cheek a gentle pat.

“Flattery will get you everywhere with me, Mr. Katsuki.”

And before he could reply, Christophe had turned to go finalize his business and left Yuuri in a state which he suspected was very flustered and definitely unsure he liked what he’d just gotten himself into.

The League of the Green Carnation got their namesake from the gin palace in which they made their nightly meetings a standard; a beautifully adorned place that now only existed in photographs that didn’t do it any justice. It was here that each of these displaced Europeans found themselves crossing paths, resulting in the formation of a group that would collectively pen thousands upon thousands of words.

Maybe that was why the moment Yuuri set foot in the door, he felt as if he was stepping onto hallowed ground; the ornately decorated stain glass windows and the dim lighting of the gas lamps making it seem all the more like a cathedral for artists. And perhaps, in a way, it was. It was here that Victor was said to have written some of Yuuri’s favorite passages, tucked away in the hidden parlor that existed in the room behind the bar.

“This place is….stunning,” he couldn’t help from staring, committing each and every piece of glass or tile to memory.

Christophe chuckled, his hand coming up to press gently onto Yuuri’s shoulder and steer him towards their goal. But he was far too awestruck to let the action fluster him, even though in the hours since meeting him Christophe had made no secret of his willingness to fulfill any of Yuuri’s needs. This was sacred ground, perhaps only to him, but to him it was tenfold. Victor Nikiforov walked this same path, past the bar and in between the tenth and eleventh booth to a door locked to anyone not invited.

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet, Mr. Katsuki,” Christophe said, giving the door a sharp knock.

A female voice replied. “Chris, is that you?”

“And my guest, Sara. I do hope your brother delivered that message?”

The door swung open to a beautiful woman with dark hair who looked to Yuuri with sharp eyes.

“He did, but as always I want to check for myself.”

Christophe laughed. “Of course, of course. Miss Crispino must have things her way.”

“I’ve got more than enough bumbling suitors, that I have want for no more.” She turned to Yuuri then and gave him a warm smile. “I’m sorry for all the fuss, I’m Miss Sara Crispino.”

Yuuri inclined his head forward in a bow as he gave a tip of his hat. “Katsuki Yuuri.”

“You didn’t say he was oriental, Chris,” she said, her delicate poise suddenly gone and a smirk curling at her lips.

“I didn’t know we were in the habit of introductions via country of birth,” he remarked dryly in return.

Sara leveled him a look.

“Also, that makes it Mr. Katsuki to us,” Christophe clarified.

She turned back to him then with a smile. “Mr. Katsuki, please do come in. We’re being terrible hosts.”

She stepped aside at that and Yuuri crossed the threshold into the parlor; his heart surely hammering so loud they could all hear its constant beats. For although the room was elegant, deep green draperies and dark furniture seeming almost one with the walls in the dim gaslight, Yuuri’s eyes had found the pearl sitting at the farthest end of the room in a corner by himself.

It was Victor.

As his footsteps brought him ever closer, he noticed him look up from his writing and his blue eyes seemed to go just a bit wider as they took him in. Well, Yuuri supposed, it was probably rare to have someone from the east accompanying Christophe.

“Victor, I found one of your elusive fans today by chance. Mr. Katsuki here says he’s read most of your works,” Chris said as means of introduction.

Yuuri had frozen and he hoped that his stare wasn’t seen as anything but admiration of his talent, for it could surely be quite awkward. But he couldn’t help it. Victor was both everything he’d ever dreamed of and yet still somehow more breathtaking than he could have ever imagined.

Hair so light it glimmered silver, eyes of sapphire shining bright, and in a suit so well-fitted to his form that Yuuri wished for a moment he might be a tailor just to get closer to the man he stood before. Nothing in all his years, in all his time traveling, could have prepared him for this moment.

Victor stood from his chair and held out a hand. “Well then, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Katsuki.”

Yuuri took it, willing his mouth to form words in reply.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Nikiforov. Truly.”

Perhaps it was the lightning in the room dusting Victor’s cheeks a golden pink hue.

Perhaps it only seemed like their hands lingered because Yuuri wished it so.

Perhaps.

Perhaps Yuuri could save Victor, after all.

Chapter Text

At the sound of my name, I looked up; my heart which had been so somber that I’d thought it may no longer beat began to beat so strong I thought it might burst free from my chest and venture forth to be even the slightest bit closer to its new desire. For this man- no he could not be just a man for his beauty rivaled that of the gods- skin warm with the light of heaven itself and the stars plucked out and set amidst polished mahogany for eyes, radiated such beauty that it would be impolite not to stare, transfixed and completely in awe at the sight. A stray wisp of his raven black hair had broken free of the rest and reached down to kiss upon his forehead and I found myself yearning desperately to do the same. At a nudge from my sister, I found my voice long enough to respond, but I could not hear a word past that; for the moment Yakir’s hand pressed warm and firm into my own, I knew with a certainty that this man would change my life forever.

- Stammi Vicino, Chapter 1

The first thing he noticed was the walls, wallpapered in fine yellow-green silk and adorned with countless works of art. It wasn’t home and for a moment, Yuuri’s groggy mind tried and failed to process where he was. Then it hit him in a rush, 1887, London, Christophe, Victor .

Yuuri sat up at that, regretting it terribly when he did; his headache pounding bad enough already. Slowly he took stock of his situation, his mouth with distinct hint of gin still lingering on his taste buds and his rumpled suit seemed to be half discarded on the nearby chair and half still on. Blearily, he reached up and found his ascot tied around his head. Yuuri let out a heavy sigh.

It wasn’t that he was surprised he’d gotten so drunk he couldn’t remember the night past a certain point, in fact that had been his goal. There was no way in hell he was going to seduce someone like Christophe “Gia” Giacometti while sober after all. So he’d drank, quite liberally, in hopes his penchant for being a lively drunk might at least earn him Christophe’s attentions for awhile.

He only needed a month, perhaps less, to find out the murderer and stop them. He needed to keep Christophe interested long enough for him to get access to the League so he could help them. It was practical, in a way, he reasoned. The headache might not make it seem so, but the result was what mattered.

There was a sharp knock at the door and before Yuuri could respond it swung inward, a young man carrying a small silver tray entering and leveling him with a calculating stare.

“Mr. Giacometti said you might be in need of a tonic or two after last night,” he said, settling the tray on the nearest piece of furniture. He crossed his arms and went back to studying Yuuri.

“Thank you…?” Yuuri offered a hand and he stared at it.

“I’m just the help, Mr. Katsuki.”

Ah. Well that certainly explained the formal attire and the hesitancy to take Yuuri’s hand. Victorian social classes were sometimes such a pain.

Yuuri offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“And I’m not worried about your status, but would very much like to greet you and know your name, if that’s okay with you.”

He held his hand forward once more.

Thick eyebrows edged the slightest bit up at that, clearly surprising the butler with his dismissal of the societal norms and earning him the smallest hint of a smile on the man’s lips.

“If you insist,” he replied, reaching forward and taking Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri gave it a firm shake.

“Seung-gil Lee. Personal valet and butler for Mr. Giacometti.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lee.”

Another wave of surprise flickered across his features at that. He let out a small snort.

“I dare say, Mr. Giacometti always finds the strangest companions.” He took his hand back, but that smile and amusement lingered on his face. “If you need anything, Mr. Katsuki, please ring the bell and myself or the housekeeper will be with you.”

It was only now that the pounding of his head had ebbed slightly that Yuuri truly took in the room, the design a mixture of neoclassical pillars and Asian and Middle Eastern influences. It figured, Christophe would have a guest room this ornate.

“I have a small favor to ask, if you aren’t busy,” he began, eyeing the two glasses of tonic. “Actually two.”

Seung-gil raised an eyebrow.

“First, can you tell me about these tonics? I’m not as familiar with the local varieties and need to know which would better suit my health.”

“This one is mostly peppermint water, with a dash of nutmeg. The other is that American nerve tonic, coca-cola.”

Yuuri had to repress a smile at that. Oh good, one of them wasn’t soot. Victorian hangover cures could be worse than the hangover, he’d discovered in the past. Reaching for the second glass, he gave Seung-gil a smile.

“Thank you. I hate to bother you, but do you happen to have any idea what happened last night? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten a part of it.”

Seung-gil bit back a laugh at that, though it seemed to linger in the warmth of his eyes.

“You were escorted here by Mr. Giacometti and he told me to put you up in the guest room. Said it’s the best night he’s had in quite some time.”

Well, Yuuri supposed slowly sipping the tonic, that sounded good at least?

“I hope I wasn’t too much of a hassle.”

He shrugged. “He’s brought home worse.”

Yuuri cracked a smile at that, and reluctantly one seemed to find itself on Seung-gil’s face. Whatever the previous guests were like, Yuuri had a feeling that none of them had bothered much with the “help.”

“Thank you again. I’d best let you go before I get you into trouble.”

Seung-gil took the empty glass from his hand and sat it back on the tray, lifting it and turning towards the door.

“Mr. Giacometti said the bath is ready if you’re feeling well enough for it. Just use the staircase to your left when you exit the room.”

And with that, Seung-gil had left the room, leaving Yuuri with a lingering headache that he knew something like coca-cola wasn’t going to do much to fix. Perhaps a bath would help, even if it was a modest lukewarm one. Nothing much would compare to the onsen at home.

Standing up from the bed, he noticed now that a suit had been taken out of his luggage and pressed for him and beside it sat a silk robe. Gia’s memoir had talked about his “palace” but Yuuri was beginning to wonder if it was less of an exaggeration than he first thought. Clearly Christophe had enough money that he was able to adorn a guest room as elaborately as possible, and Yuuri with a hint of excitement now, slipped into the robe and cracked open the door.

One glimpse down the hall and Yuuri’s breath caught, rich deep peacock-green tiled walls, a gilded ceiling, ebonized wood stair railing- he found himself drawn towards the main hall at the sight, drinking in the utter decadence of the place. Looking over the railing he found the main foyer tiled as if it was a Roman mosaic with a large bronze statue of Narcissus standing in the middle. There was even a stuffed peacock at the base of the stairs near one of the columns that looked like it had come from a greek temple.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Yuuri turned sharply at that, finding Christophe lounging against the ornate doorway to what was presumably his own room.

“This is your house, right?”

He chuckled at that, closing the distance between them and coming to stand beside him at the railing.

“It is my palace for lovers and artists.”

Palace, Yuuri decided, was perhaps a fitting word to use for it after all.

“It’s beautiful.”

Christophe leaned closer at that, smiling fondly down at the room below them. “Someday, my words will surely be just as awe-inspiring. At least, that’s my dearest hope.”

They would , Yuuri wanted to say. Especially with the almost wistful tone Christophe had taken, it became very hard not to assure the man that his words would be something that inspired many.

“I hope so too,” he settled for.

He stood back up at that, studying Yuuri closely; and much to Yuuri’s embarrassment, his eyes tracing where the robe had slid open in his rush to look at the decor.

“It is so incredibly hard not to taste a fruit when it is dangled before me like this,” he began, voice low, “but I promised you last night I’d be on my best behavior for the sake of your Japanese sensibilities, so…”

He reached out at that and tugged the robe closed.

“Why don’t you go enjoy a bath before I insist on taking you out shopping and I’ll do my best not to come join you.”

Yuuri was sure he must be as crimson as the silk robe he wore, but he told himself, he’d done what he set out to do at least. Christophe was definitely interested.

“Thank you. For both your hospitality and your restraint.”

That earned him a laugh and Christophe shot him a wink as he sauntered back towards his room.

“You’re quite the mystery, Mr. Katsuki. Looks like I’ll just have to keep you around to see if I can unravel you myself.”

The door swung closed behind him and Yuuri let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

What the hell did I do last night?

By the time they’d exited their carriage outside Burlington Arcade, Yuuri had managed to put most of the morning’s surprises behind him. In fact, after discovering that the bath was an elaborately tiled Roman one, he decided Christophe’s insistence at “livening up” his wardrobe wasn’t much of a surprise; especially since his suits tended to be mostly plain in shades of black and brown.

Yuuri had clothing that was meant to blend in, hide the fact that he was a man out of time. Christophe’s clothing was a statement, every single accessory and adornment intentional. A true aesthete, it wasn’t surprising that Christophe’s wardrobe probably put Oscar Wilde’s to shame. As for Yuuri, he was just thankful they’d managed to find a balance; for he couldn’t imagine himself in the velvet suits and satin breeches of his host.

“If you want to impress, you’ll at least need to get more eye catching waistcoats; and you could use a few other little details,” he’d explained, looking over the suit that Yuuri wore.

It was perhaps his most eye catching and that was only because it was in a deep green plaid.

Yuuri just nodded, unsure what else he could say. Christophe had already brushed off his insistence that he couldn’t afford much, assuring him that he had plenty of money to spare; the luxury of being born into a family made wealthy by their wise investment in the industrial factories. Nothing in Gia’s memoir made it sound like Christophe lavished this much attention on his current partner, but Yuuri wasn’t sure who else he was supposed to impress.

Maybe he was just being kind because he felt his lack of fashion sense had something to do with being a new arrival from far away Japan?

So under the beautiful high ceiling covered the walkway of the arcade and surrounded by ionic columns they went from shop to shop; this little pocket of regency era still just as bustling as when it first was built in the early 1800s. A milliner that seemed to know Christophe well provided Yuuri with an elegant top hat and a bespoke tailor was able to find some waistcoats that were easily fitted to Yuuri’s size while they went on to the jewelers.

It was there as Yuuri started at the rows and rows of stickpins and watch fobs on display, that a familiar voice called out to them.

“Mr. Katsuki, what a pleasure to see you out and about,” Victor said, his smile wide.

Yuuri blinked up at him, then sheepishly looked over at Chris. “It was not my idea, I must admit. But Mr. Giacometti insisted we go out this morning.”

“Only the best for my guests, as always,” Christophe grinned at that and Victor’s smile seemed to dim.

Yuuri felt his face grow warm, belatedly realizing the implications that staying overnight with Christophe probably carried with it. He rushed to change the subject.

“Perhaps you might be able to help me, Mr. Nikiforov. Mr. Giacometti insists that I pick out some adornments and I really have no idea where to begin,” Yuuri stated, stepping between the two men.

Victor’s eyes flickered from Christophe back to Yuuri; the tepid expression suddenly replaced once more with some warmth. Whatever his feelings about Christophe’s habits, it seemed it was more a worry than outright disdain. Yuuri silently tucked that away in his mind, yet another little detail about Victor he clung onto in some desperate attempt to understand him better.

“Well, first off, Mr. Katsuki you should know that not everyone goes to quite the excess as Mr. Giacometti,” Victor began, indicating his own watch chain. Unlike Christophe’s which seemed to overflow with decorative fobs dangling from it, Victor’s only had a few. A small pencil, a wax seal with a dog sitting atop it, and a small locket with a bejeweled flower on the front.

Yuuri’s breath caught as he noticed one more thing; the hand Victor was using to hold his coat open had a ring on it with the letter K engraved on the top.

KY! Yuuri thought, wondering if the locket too was connected. Whoever this person was, it seemed they were already a part of Victor’s life long enough that he had both a fob locket and a ring associated with them. Which definitely led Yuuri to think the possibility that they could tie to the murder was higher than before…

“Mr. Katsuki, may I?”

Yuuri blinked up at Victor, unsure what it was he’d just asked. Not wanting to be impolite, he just agreed.

“Certainly.”

To his surprise, Victor reached forward and lifted up the pocket watch chain that looped from his waistcoat pocket to his button. Yuuri held his breath, suddenly very aware of how close Victor was, and also rather aware that he was holding the chain to not only what appeared to be a pocket watch, but Yuuri’s temporal device as well.

“Is this in Japanese?” Victor asked, his fingertip brushing over the numbers on the watch.

Yuuri found he couldn’t do anything but nod in the affirmative.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, letting it drop back down and meeting Yuuri’s eyes once more. “I think a few small adornments would set it off nicely.”

Well, Yuuri thought, a few wouldn’t hurt.

Nothing quite in the excess Christophe had, of course; his watch chain having almost every link filled with at least one fob hanging from it. His watch itself even, Yuuri felt, put his own plain one to shame; the gold watch with bright red enamel and a portrait of cupid on the front. Like Victor, he had a pencil and a wax seal, his a carnelian one of Achilles and Patroclus. But Christophe hadn’t stopped there, the rest of the chain having a pendant of a peacock, a garnet heart with a circlet of flames around it in gold, and several others that seemed to serve no purpose except decoration.

Yuuri settled for two. The first a simple gold charm with the letter Y engraved on it and adorned with a few small gemstones. And the second, a wax seal, with a swallow on it; the words “verba volant, scripta manent” around the edges. Both Christophe and Victor seemed to find that a fitting choice, and Yuuri felt he couldn’t have chosen a better motto. Spoken words fly away, written words remain.

Seeming reluctant to do so, Victor admitted he had other business to attend to; something about needing more paper and ink and not wishing to lose inspiration if he postponed it too much.

“Well, I do hope I’ll be seeing you both tonight then?” Victor asked, his voice suddenly a little unsure.

Christophe chuckled. “Of course, Victor. As if Mr. Katsuki hasn’t already made himself a most welcome addition to the League after last night.”

His smile returned at that, and Yuuri found that he was becoming incredibly fond of it despite every attempt not to. But there was just something about him that tugged at Yuuri’s heart in a way unlike anything ever before. Was it that Yuuri felt he knew him already so well from his writing? Surely, that must be so.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Victor said, cutting off Yuuri’s reverie. “Until this evening then, Christophe. Mr. Katsuki.”

He tipped his hat at them both and departed; Christophe’s hand coming up to press warm into Yuuri’s shoulder.

“You’re an incredibly lucky man, Mr. Katsuki.”

Yuuri turned to him at that, blinking. Was it really that unheard of for someone to be welcomed into the League so quickly? Well, it’s not like the group changed or added members that often at all. In fact, they were a notoriously small and closed off group.

He offered what he hoped was a grateful smile. “I only hope that luck continues to be on my side, for I feel I could most certainly use a great deal of it.”

The doubts Yuuri began to have about being considered a true member of the League out of the blue were quickly extinguished the moment he arrived to the Green Carnation that evening with Christophe.

First off, he definitely looked the part now far better than he had the night before. His nice black dinner jacket had been “freshened up” by a lively dash of color; a waistcoat of blue silk embroidered with lilies of the valley, his white ascot set off with a blue and gold butterfly stick pin and of course, the two new fobs dangling from his pocket watch chain.

Second, whatever he’d done the previous night had clearly endeared him to the group. Sara had gone out of her way to wear a Japonisme dress, the kimono silk used instead for the traditional Victorian cut of dress. Apparently, the fact she showed up in a dress with a bustle at all was practically unheard of and she pointedly made note that it was only for Yuuri’s sake that she’d dug this outfit out of her closet.

“I think my parents think I’m actually hanging out with someone they deem worthy since I didn’t sneak out in a tea gown again,” she noted with a smirk. “Though I make no promises about the bustle lasting the night.”

Christophe chuckled at that, whispering to Yuuri that the times she’d had to wear “proper attire” like her parents wished of her, she’d usually ended up stripping down once at the Green Carnation.

It made the sentiment behind her wearing it mean all the more to Yuuri and he politely informed her that the cream silk with its flowers of red made him think of home.

But whatever feelings were already stirring in his chest, they were in no way prepared for the tidal wave of emotion that came with Victor’s arrival. Unlike the perfectly poised Victor he’d met before, this was the writer whose words Yuuri had come to adore; ink smudged on his chin, still wearing the same pinstriped pants, navy blue morning coat, and tan paisley waistcoat he’d been wearing earlier that day.  Even his unchanged light blue ascot had clearly been loosened at some point and never properly redone. And under his arm he carried a bundle of parchment with words flowing over every page.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Christophe asked as Victor entered in a rush, heading straight for what seemed to be his favored chair.

“Sorry for being so late, but I had to finish this chapter before the words escaped me,” he replied, settling the papers onto the small table by his chair.

“I take it inspiration has struck?” Sara just grinned.

“Like lightning,” Victor breathed out, his blue eyes seeming to sparkle with excitement. “I do hope you all might give it a read. I fear it’s a bit different than my usual fare.”

Christophe and Sara exchanged a look at that, and Yuuri had to bite back an excited smile of his own. This was it, this was when Victor began Stammi Vicino ; to think he was actually going to be witness to this, the first reading from it!  

“Please tell me you’re finally writing something more like my work and less like Georgi’s,” Christophe remarked pulling a chaise over beside Victor. “Unless there’s ghost sex I don’t want to read any more about ghosts for another five years.”

Sara rolled her eyes, tugging over a chair of her own. “Then you’ll have to find a way to get Georgi to stop obsessing over gothic romances. Which given his recent relationship troubles I highly doubt will be anytime soon.”

“Our luck he’ll just start writing tragedies,” Christophe muttered.

“Mr. Katsuki,” Victor spoke over the other two, “Please, pull up a chair. You’re as much a part of this as they are now and we have a bit of a tradition for our handling of new material.”

Christophe patted the other half of the chaise he’d sat on and Yuuri nervously took it. “We sit in a circle and pass the pages around one by one, by the time they arrive back with the author of the piece, everyone should be prepared to give their thoughts and critique on it.”

His heart hammering with excitement, Yuuri opted to nod instead of attempting to formulate words. To be here, at this moment; it was something he was going to cherish for the rest of his life.

And so, one by one, the pages went from Sara to Christophe before arriving in Yuuri’s trembling hands. He knew these words practically by heart, already able to see certain passages that he knew would end up cut or revised before the final publication. There was the life that suddenly sparked into Vitale the moment he met Yakir, the flowing passages about the piano melding together with the violin, the introduction of the first obstacle of the plot in Shiri’s friendship with her new piano teacher. But even as he read page after page, he still felt the resonance of that powerful first paragraph echoing in his heart.

 I heard a voice weeping in the distance; have you been abandoned as well?

 

The piano sung out to me over the din of the room, each key reaching out for me, calling to me, drawing me in like a moth to the flame; I did not know what it was I would find seated before the piano- a siren perhaps? Or some other mythical being that could ensnare me with their haunting melody that spoke of loneliness like my own?

 

The voice called and I had no choice but to answer. Perhaps it was destiny at work, the hands of fate pulling me forward with an urgency I could not explain. The music came to a stop and with it, my heart did too; I was lost once more in the sea with no lighthouse of song to guide me home.

 

“Vitale!” Shiri, my dearest little sister, called out to me.

 

At the sound of my name, I looked up; my heart which had been so somber that I’d thought it may no longer beat began to beat so strong I thought it might burst free from my chest and venture forth to be even the slightest bit closer to its new desire.

 

“So,” Victor’s tentative voice cut in, sounding far more worried than Yuuri expected.

“He’s still reading, let him finish,” Sara scolded.

Yuuri stopped. He already knew what else was on that page, he could probably even recite the pages after it he’d read them so many times. Instead, he quietly handed the papers back to Victor with gentle smile on his face.

“I’m finished, sorry I just kind of got caught up in the moment.”

“Why don’t we let Mr. Katsuki go last since we already know he’s perhaps your biggest fan, hmm?” Christophe remarked, Yuuri knowing surely now, if he wasn’t already, he was blushing in embarrassment.

“Chris,” Sara chided. “I’m certain someone with Mr. Katsuki’s expertise on literature has plenty of comments that aren’t just praise.”

Christophe leveled her a look.

“Fine, I’ll go first, but Mr. Katsuki gets to go second. We all know you’ll be the least helpful.”

He shrugged at that, giving Yuuri a look. “Don’t listen to her, I’m very helpful. I always suggest just the right spice that would make the story even better.”

“Not everyone is writing pornography, Chris,” Sara muttered with a huff. “So if you’re indeed so helpful, have a least one other comment not about that.”

Christophe pouted, leaning over until his shoulder bumped into Yuuri’s. “Some people do not take my critique lightly.”

Yuuri offered a smile at that, but it slowly ebbed as he noticed the tense frown on Victor’s face.

“Well, if you’d like to start then?” he suggested, hoping to move the discussion along. He could tell it was making Victor nervous to wait for the verdict.

Sara, much like her essays Yuuri was familiar with, was very good at expressing her feelings on the piece so far. She pointed out a few bits of narration that she suggested polishing, awkward phrasing that could be reworded better, and asked intuitive questions about the direction of the plot and its characters.

Yuuri did his best to try and not sound like he was giving a lecture on the symbolism and subtle nuance present in the chapter so far, but it was somewhat difficult since he had given a lecture on that very aspect only a few months ago.

“So I guess what I’m trying to say is, I really like the way the piano represents Yakir and the violin Vitale. Even before you reveal that Vitale plays the violin, the mentions of it seem to reflect his emotions at the time. Like in the beginning when they’re at the débutante ball, the violin is only mentioned when it seems to relate to his narrative, despite it being played by someone else.”

Christophe was giving Yuuri a smirky grin and he knew he was probably rambling. That was the same expression Phichit always gave him when he got going on the topic.

“And um...I’m just really excited to see where this goes. It’s different, but in a good way.”

“Any idea if this is going to be another depressing ending?” Christophe asked, leveling Victor with a look. It was clear this wasn’t the first time he’d asked that question.

Victor, who had the hint of a smile dancing on the corners of his lips, turned to Yuuri at that.

“What do you think?”

“Me?”

“You seemed to get such a good grasp of what I’m envisioning already, so I’m curious. What sort of ending do you think it’ll have?”

Yuuri glanced down, suddenly very interested in the new fobs on his watch chain. He bit his lip, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it that didn’t seem knowing.

Brown eyes flickered back up, meeting Victor’s blue and holding his gaze.

“Well, I hope it has a happy ending.”

Victor’s smile blossomed.

“Me too.”

“This better be super important, Yuuri,” Phichit whispered, his fingers quickly swiping across the blue control panels that floated in the air before him. Finally, much like Yuuri had just done, his temporal device activated its invisibility cloak function, effectively creating a soundproof invisible room for the time scientist to work in while traveling.

“You’re on a collection trip?” Yuuri asked, noticing the unfamiliar background.

Phichit grinned at that. “Not too far away. I’m in 1906 in the Galapagos hanging out with the Rollo Beck expedition and collecting some mice.”

“Sorry, it’s just you said I could contact you if I had anything I wanted to talk about and…”

Phichit waved his hands, already sensing the ramble of apologies. “It’s fine. I just didn’t have the sound down on the device and I was afraid the alert from you was going to wake up the whole camp before I could cloak it. What’s up? Stop any murders yet?”

Yuuri bit his lip, looking down at the small little charm in his hand that he’d still been unable to put aside even after crawling into bed.

“Yuuri, I know that look. What’s going on with Victor?”

Yuuri knew he was probably on the verge of tears, but he’d spent most of the evening trying not to get choked up and now it was catching up with him.

“I was there. With the League. When Victor brought in the first chapter of Stammi Vicino for us to look at.”

Phichit reached out, his digital manifestation doing the same and ruffling Yuuri’s hair.

“Dream come true, huh?”

And before he could stop himself, Yuuri found all the words he’d kept inside pouring out. How there was nothing that could have ever prepared him for meeting Victor, how Christophe’s house was so ridiculously over the top, how Sara had gone out of her way to wear a dress with a bustle because of him. Before he knew it, tears had prickled at the corner of his eyes, and his cheeks ached from how much he’d been smiling.

“I understand now what you all mean about getting to meet your idols. There just...there aren’t enough words to even begin…”

Phichit’s hologram pulled him into a hug and Yuuri let himself settle in the digitized version of his best friend’s arms.

“I’m glad it’s working out for you. You’ve wanted this for so long.”

Yuuri nodded against his shoulder.

“He gave me a fob.”

Phichit pulled back at that and blinked at him. “Who gave you a what?”

Yuuri unclenched his fist at that, holding the charm up to the screen. It was a small golden book, a tiny hinge on the side opening to reveal a locket inside it. And tucked in the crevice meant to hold a photo was instead a scrap of parchment with a little doodle of a dog on it.

“Victor. Gave me this. And said he wasn’t sure what photo I’d want, so he drew his dog. And like, he didn’t have to get me anything. But he said he saw it while he was out and he thought of me so he found himself buying it before he could stop himself, because he’d run into me earlier when Christophe was insisting I put more fobs on my watch chain and...Phichit, he drew his dog!”

Phichit laughed. “Oh my god.”

“I know. It’s adorable. Isn’t it?”

“You’re crushing on him!”

Yuuri paused, blinking at his friend. “What?”

“Don’t you what me, Yuuri. You’ve been there what, one day? And you’re already completely smitten.”

“I’m not smitten.”

Phichit gave him a look and it oddly reminded him of the one Christophe had given him when he’d asked for some wax so he could write a letter thanking Victor for the gift.

“I’m not.”

Phichit sighed. “I don’t want to rain on your parade, but Yuuri be careful. I don’t want you coming home with a broken heart, okay? At least have a mutual fling or something like we’re pretty sure Minako and Murasaki did.”

“Phichit I’m not…” He looked down to the charm and he could feel the rush of his heartbeat swell just at the sight of it. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Victor was attractive, incredibly, beautifully , attractive. And Yuuri already felt as if he knew him so well and… “I’ll be careful, Phichit.”

He gave his friend a warm smile. “Cherish it, Yuuri. I know how much he means to you, so I’m not going to tell you to avoid him or something. But, just remember what you’re there for and that you’ve got me and a room full of small mammals all expecting you home in a month.”

Yuuri felt a smile creep back on his lips at that. “I take it you’ll have some new additions from the Galapagos when I get back?”

“Hopefully,” he replied with a grin.

“Do you…” Yuuri clutched the charm tightly once more, his nerves prickling through his excitement. “Do you think I can actually save him, Phichit?”

“I think if there’s anyone who’s stubborn enough to make sure time does what he’d like it to, it’s gonna be you, Yuuri.”

He snorted at that.

“Don’t laugh, I’m serious. I’ve seen how tenacious you’ve gotten with those other scholars over Victor. If anyone can save him, it’s you.”

“Okay.”

“Get some sleep Yuuri. And send me a text message before you ring in so I can make sure I’m not like in the middle of mouse catching or something.”

His hologram reached out once more and gave Yuuri a hug, giving him that usual reassuring smile when he pulled away.

“I expect to hear about murder suspects crossed off your list next time, okay? Don’t spend all your month flirting with Victor.”

Yuuri started to protest, but managed to stop himself.

“I’ll try. You try to catch those elusive mice, okay?”

“I will. Later Yuuri.”

“Goodnight, Phichit.”

Yuuri closed out of his device, flopping back on the bed with a heavy sigh. He held up the charm and inspected it, unable to keep from smiling when he saw the little dog picture. Phichit was right, he couldn’t let himself get distracted.

And there’s still that KY person, whoever they are… I wonder, are they with Victor right now?

Chapter Text

No matter how I tried to avoid it, I found my heart growing heavier by the moment; watching my dearest Shiri waltz around the room in Yakir’s arms, affectionate smiles on both their faces. I should be happy for her, for the fact that Miss Christina’s courtship of me allowed my sister the luxury of dancing in the arms of someone she truly loves.

 

“Vitale? Is everything all right?” Christina’s voice and timid hand on my arm drew me back to the present.

 

I offered what I hoped was an acceptable smile. “I’m terribly sorry. It seems my troubles have become yours as well, and that is not what I wished.”

 

She followed my gaze, her eyes touching on the happy couple. “Worried that your sister shall have to settle for a poor piano teacher? I can certainly see where such a matter would trouble you.”

 

I could not tell her that my issue lies not in their status, but in that I wish it were I in his arms instead. I bit my tongue and with it swallowed the bitterness of my reality down. For her sake, I would have to let him go.

- Stammi Vicino, Chapter 5

Christophe had always prided himself in reading people, a connoisseur of art in all its forms he appreciated everything the human body could be gifted with. It was in this observation that he began to read behind the facade, past the clothes and expressions people wore on the outside and to the sometimes very different person underneath.

People were like books, not to be judged by their covers alone. Covers could entice, gilt wording and embossed designs, but even the most beautiful of covers never rivaled the story inside. And beyond those covers, books could hide a myriad of aspects that only the astute reader could find.

This was what Christophe excelled at. At first, perhaps, due to necessity; for in order to find others with similar inclinations you always had to look past the cover. Not everyone was as blatant as Christophe himself was, and it was always the most beautiful hidden behind a rather simplistic cover.

Yuuri Katsuki was one such person.

Wearing something that seemed to desire to blend in with the crowd, he’d caught Christophe’s eye and in that moment, he sensed that there was a story quite unlike anything else he’d ever seen inside his pages. A mystery, complex and contradictory, equal parts yielding and closed off. Christophe had never met a man who intrigued him quite like this, and in fact, it was only one other who had ever peaked his interest even close to this degree.

A certain Victor Nikiforov, a book that Christophe had come to find had its cover bolted tight and its pages kept secret at all times. What little he’d come to find out about Victor’s past was only in what he wrote, his stories letting the smallest hints of his true self appear only in allegory or allusion.

It was incredibly interesting then to discover that apparently all it took was these two mysteries coming into contact before both of them began to reveal their secrets. For Yuuri, Victor seemed to be an open book; the warm smiles and the laughter unlike anything Christophe had ever seen of him before. And Victor’s warmth was all it took to melt the wax seal on Yuuri Katsuki’s heart, a new man suddenly emerging from inside.

As the two circled one another like moon and planet, an orbit once begun unable to be altered; Christophe found he couldn’t be more content to let this one slip away.

“If you sully him, you’ll break Victor’s heart,” Sara had confided in him that first night Yuuri had come to them. They’d become so enraptured in one another that they seemed to pay no heed to the other two people in the room.

“I hate it that you’re right,” he’d muttered back, sipping from another glass of wine.

Though Yuuri had danced his way into all of their arms, it was only in Victor’s that he looked so alive. As beautiful as he was, Christophe was not in the habit of breaking hearts; and it seemed that Yuuri’s had already long ago fallen for Victor. For although Christophe had gleaned much of Victor from his works, it paled in comparison to the depth Yuuri had taken from them; it wasn’t just praise Yuuri had for Victor, but a complete understanding of each and every nuance, some of which even Christophe himself didn’t know.

The Mist wasn’t just an allegorical tale about a man feeling deprived of happiness, but was about Victor coming to London and feeling homesick as well.

Limit of Bliss ? Although it had been rightfully taken to be a critique of society’s gender roles, the tale of a female greenfinch who painted her feathers to be taken as a male apparently had one other secret in its pages.

“After reading it, I wondered. Did you perhaps have long hair at some point?”

Victor seemed downright shocked by Yuuri’s question, and not because it was untrue. He confided he had, and Yuuri just smiled and said he must have been the most beautiful man or woman with it. It was then, in the complexity of Victor’s expressive face, that Christophe realized that Victor had at some point clearly used that fact to dress as a female and experience that vast societal difference that it afforded him.

Even Decisions of the Stars , which Christophe had written off as Georgi’s gothic obsession infecting yet another writer of their group, was not just that. The tragic tale of a girl who so loved the lady ghost that she took her own life to be closer to her, was rightfully understood by Yuuri as a critique of the treatment of men and women inverts such as themselves. Only in death might I find true happiness, for the world itself denies its existence, the character had proclaimed; something that Christophe knew everyone in that room had surely felt at one time.

Yuuri may have considered himself a purveyor of books, but in being such, he had come to know Victor better than Christophe ever had. It would be vastly unfair, he decided, to come between them; and after Yuuri had informed him that due to his cultural heritage he refused to rush into any sort of relationship, Christophe may have suggested that Victor keep an eye out for any other trinkets he thought Yuuri might need to liven his wardrobe.

Much like the Cupid that adorned his own watch, Christophe decided that this time it would be his job not to seduce and coax a scared and sheltered soul into the arms of bliss; but instead he’d look over them and nudge them along as they drew ever closer.

Like when Yuuri rosy cheeked and still breathless asked him for wax so he might send Victor a message of gratitude for the gift, Christophe may have been a bit vague in explaining the colored wax and its meanings.

“If you’re feeling grateful, you’ll want a shade of blue,” he’d lied, knowing full well that any shade of blue was perceived as passion. “Perhaps a light blue?”

Yuuri had taken him at his word, and Christophe felt that perhaps he’d set these two on the path that would lead to both of their happy endings. Their nightly exchanges at the Green Carnation surely seemed to indicate that all was well.

But Yuuri Katsuki’s mysteries did not stop there.

Christophe himself tied up during the week with business matters, he’d left Yuuri to go out and about of his own accord. And, at least based on the odd questions he’d asked of Seung-gil, he wasn’t just going to bookstores. He’d asked for Sara’s and Victor’s addresses, which was fairly normal; but he’d also asked the location of the closest Metropolitan Police station and if there was any Detective Constables on their force or if it they deferred to a neighboring borough’s Criminal Investigation Department.

Wishing to know where the local law enforcement was in a new country seemed strange enough, but the specifics of wanting to know where the CID was made it even stranger. When on the last day of business, Christophe returned to the house for paperwork he’d forgotten, Seung-gil stopped him and said he was worried for Mr. Katsuki. Why? He’d asked how to get to Whitechapel.

“Did you tell him how dangerous that area is?”

Seung-gil nodded. “Quite. But he insisted that he needed to go there for business reasons.”

Paternoster Row, Hatchards, Mudie’s Select Library. Those were the locations he figured Mr. Katsuki would go off to when unattended.

“The only thing I can assume is that someone got the idea of slumming into him and he’s taken to it,” Christophe replied with a frown.

“He doesn’t seem the sort for that,” Seung-gil replied.

“Why else would he go to the East End?” he reasoned. It didn’t make sense at all, but he also acknowledged that perhaps he didn’t know the man as well as he thought he did.

Seung-gil shrugged. “Would you like me to look after him?”

Christophe shook his head, handing the papers he held over to him instead.

“Take this to Mr. Emery and apologize for my inability to present it in person.”

He nodded, handing Christophe his cane and hat back.

“Thank you, Seung-gil, for looking after him for me. I’m afraid I’ve been a terrible host, so now it’s up to me to make sure he’s not got himself into trouble.”

And before he could let himself dwell on the matter any further, he departed from the house and quickly asked his carriage driver to change their destination.

Yuuri Katsuki, what are you looking for out there?

“I was hoping tonight I might get your opinion on a specific genre of novels,” Christophe began, pulling the chaise over by Victor’s chair once more. Sara seemed to catch on and follow suit and soon enough, she and Yuuri had taken their places in the circle.

“If you’re looking for us to convert Georgi to something else,” Sara began, shaking her head. “I do think that’s a lost cause.”

Christophe smiled, trying to play this discussion off as nonchalantly as possible. If he was to unravel this mystery, it seemed he’d have to do a little detective work of his own.

“No, but one could hope. The subject I’m curious about is the mystery type more focused on murders than ghosts.”

“You mean like the pamphlets they put out about criminal activity?” Victor asked, his eyes as always still drifting a little too far to Christophe’s left side.

“Those, yes, but also just your fictionalized accounts of it. It hasn’t really been a topic before and I became curious as to everyone’s feelings on it.” He turned then to his left, hoping his expression didn’t give way what he knew. “Mr. Katsuki, have you collected anything good in your purveying?”

Yuuri, who seemed a bit quieter than usual tonight, offered a weak smile. “On murder? Specifically?”

“Or well, the solving there of,” Christophe clarified. It was clear immediately that something about the topic made him nervous.

“I suppose I’ve read a few, Poe’s Auguste Dupin, and um, oh,” he fidgeted with his watch chain, something he only seemed to do when particularly at a loss for words. “Wilkie Collins, I’ve read his two.”

“I rather liked Anna Katherine Green’s The Leavenworth Case, ” Sara cut in, sparing Yuuri the struggle.

“I’ve read some of the true accounts,” Victor added, “Along with Poe and Collins.”

He looked to Yuuri at that, and it seemed to spark a bit more life back into him. They shared a small smile.

“Hmm, okay,” Christophe leaned back then, his arm settling behind Yuuri on the chaise. “What about writing it? Police and detectives and things anyone here’s cup of tea?”

Yuuri’s eyes flickered, a moment of panic almost, and Christophe wondered if he knew Seung-gil had told him where he’d inquired about.

“I...I have,” he managed, but it was rather weak. “Though I’d hardly consider myself a writer.”

Christophe quirked an eyebrow at that. “Oh? Mr. Katsuki and here I thought you didn’t dabble in the writing part. But you’ve thought murder might be a fitting topic?”

He shifted, uncomfortable.

“It’s...it’s not a pleasant subject,” he began, his eyes darting away from Christophe’s piercing gaze. “But, I think the thrill of solving a murder and bringing justice is a rather appealing an ending to a story.”

“I agree,” Victor replied, clearly eager to make Yuuri feel less awkward. “I rather like Dupin as a character because I find his job so interesting.”

The conversation veered off then, led by Victor, into everyone’s opinions on Dupin and Poe’s writing. But Christophe had gotten at least some sort of answer to his question. Mr. Katsuki, the same Mr. Katsuki who he’d found in Whitechapel talking to the police about recent murders, grew terribly uneasy when they were spoken about otherwise.

It didn’t add up. Who sought out that information without reason?

Christophe let the conversation go where it willed the rest of the night, but his thoughts continued to try and decode the mystery he had before him. Something about Yuuri Katsuki was not adding up to what he knew about the man, for there seemed to be no logical explanation for his actions earlier that day.

When they arrived back home that evening, he could tell from Seung-gil’s expression that the butler too was curious if Christophe had discovered any meaning behind their guest’s actions. He shook his head, then put an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Mr. Katsuki, why don’t we have a drink or two in the parlor before bed. I have the distinct impression we’ve both had quite an eventful day and I’m certain it would soothe our weary souls.”

He offered a hesitant smile at that. “If you insist. But I shouldn’t drink much.”

Christophe laughed. “No, though I do have reason to believe you could easily outlast me.”

He steered them towards the parlor, entering the extravagant room and pulling Yuuri with him onto the chaise. Seung-gil came and left them with a tray of drinks which Christophe held over to him.

“Anything you’d like to talk about? You seem a bit down,” which, Christophe supposed, was true. Whatever the intent of his actions, it had only seemed to make him grow more frustrated by the day.

Yuuri seemed focused on the ice in his drink, watching as it shifted before taking a hearty sip.

“I suppose I am,” he began quietly. “I’d been given a few leads on something I was looking for, but none of it panned out. Now I’m at a loss as what to do.”

Christophe took a sip of his drink before leaning over, his arm snug around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“I take it this is something you don’t believe the League can help you sort out?”

The question seemed to surprise him, and he turned abruptly towards Christophe, almost upending his glass as he did.

“Oh no, it’s not like that!” He said, shaking his head. “Please don’t feel like this trouble is yours to bear as well; I wouldn’t want to burden you with such a personal matter, Mr. Giacometti.”

“Call me Christophe or Chris,” he replied, his fingertips coming up to lazily dance across the nape of Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri froze and he offered a smile. “We are friends, are we not? Let’s be done with this formality.”

“If you insist…”

“I do. Might I do the same for you?”

Yuuri hurriedly took another drink before replying. “Of-Of course.”

“Good.” He traced a fingertip up into his hair. “Yuuri.”

He dropped the glass.

Amidst the flurry of apologizes, Christophe did his best to assure Yuuri he didn’t mind. It was his fault for teasing him, although it didn’t stop him from pulling off his ascot and beginning to unbutton his stained shirt.

The door cracked open and Seung-gil could be heard clearing his throat.

“Mr. Giacometti, you have a guest.”

Christophe looked up and caught Victor’s face, stricken with anguish. Inwardly, Christophe swore. This probably looked far more compromising than it was, and his reputation for such things was definitely not going to convince Victor that nothing had been happening.

“Sorry to bother,” Victor managed, his voice seeming small and lost. “But Mr. Katsuki left his gloves and I didn’t want him to have to worry about going out tomorrow without them.”

He had them clutched in his hand, his fingers seeming to tremble.

Yuuri moved then, faster than Christophe expected of him and rushed over to him to take the gloves.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Nikiforov. It most certainly would have bothered me the rest of the night when I’d noticed.”

His hand lingered longer than necessary and although he couldn’t see Yuuri’s expression, Christophe knew he had to be doing his best to try and reassure Victor that this wasn’t what it looked like.

It earned a small, meek smile from him.

“I’m glad I was able to help you then,” he replied, giving a tip of his hat. “Good evening.”

He turned and departed from the main door before Christophe could even get to his feet.

“Damn it all,” he cursed, setting his glass aside.

Yuuri turned promptly at that, his expression seeming almost as stricken as Victor’s had been. Christophe made his way to his side.

“Yuuri,” he began, his hands settling on his shoulders and realizing how painfully tense he’d become. “Yuuri, there’s been a misunderstanding here and I want to clear this up immediately before anyone else gets hurt.”

He blinked, but he still seemed too shaken to reply.

“Despite what just happened, I am not trying to come between you and Victor.”

That seemed to spark a little bit of life back into him, his impossibly beautiful brown eyes growing wider. “W-What?”

“I’m a terrible flirt at the worst of times and now I’ve made a mess of this for you. Yuuri, I do not intend to be anything more than a friend to you, let me make that clear.”

Confusion flickered across his features.

“But I thought…”

“You’re impossibly attractive, yes. But I’m afraid I lost my chance at you the moment you first read Victor’s books. I’d be a fool if I thought I could come between you.”

The color returned full force to Yuuri’s cheeks at that, both of them staining with blush. “I’m not...we’re not…”

Christophe gave a smile. “Yuuri, I can tell you’re hiding many secrets; but your affection for Victor is not one of them.”

He fell silent at that and Christophe gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“You’re holding back, yes, but ever so often it slips out and it’s terribly apparent. Except perhaps to Victor, because bless him he can be rather dense about this sort of thing.”

“I shouldn’t…”

Christophe sighed. He’d decided to play cupid and here it seemed was the challenge. Of course Yuuri was hesitant, knowing he’d have to return home to Japan at some point.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but,” he reached out and tipped Yuuri’s chin up until those beautiful eyes flickered up to meet his gaze, “your luck has gotten you this far, hasn’t it? Don’t give up now.”

His expression softened at that, the slightest warmth returning to a smile as he dipped his head back down.

“Thank you...Christophe. I think I really needed to hear that.”

Christophe pulled him into a loose hug. “I am terribly, terribly fond of you, just so you know, if Victor doesn’t work out.”

Yuuri had laughter in his voice when he replied. “I thought we were only going to be friends?”

Christophe grinned. “Friends can always have benefits packages added. Just so you know.”

The warmth finally reached his eyes and Christophe knew whoever won this man’s heart would truly be the lucky one.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Christophe had a handful of reasons he insisted Yuuri come with him the next day.

The dark and dreary exterior, with its steeply pitched rooftop in black, pointed arched stained glass windows and a deep burgundy paint looked as ominous as a castle on the hilltop; for much like everything else about Georgi, it was extravagant and gothic. It was always nice to have another person with you when calling upon him; especially when Georgi himself warned that he was under extreme melancholy and was prone to crying over just about everything.

So that may have been Christophe’s first reason for bringing his guest along.

But, in addition to that, there was a few other matters that he hoped a visit to Georgi might solve. Amongst the League, Georgi was perhaps the closest to a mystery writer and he did write quite often about death and ghosts, even if not murder specifically. So there was a small hope that Georgi might get some sort of insight into Yuuri that Christophe could not.

Then there was also the matter of Yuuri and Victor.

Christophe knew that telling Victor there was nothing going on outright wouldn’t work, because when Victor was determined to be depressed about something he often didn’t listen to reason. Which meant that the best recourse was to get Yuuri to step up his side of the relationship until Victor could see that there was no competition. Yuuri seemed reluctant enough to even admit it, still seeming to feel that his return home doomed the relationship before it began. And Christophe knew if anything could convince Yuuri his relationship was far from doomed, it would be Georgi who was perhaps cursed with the worst luck in love.

Maybe if he saw how Georgi kept believing in love, despite all his hardships, Yuuri would be willing to task a risk this one time. It was a longshot, perhaps; Christophe having a feeling Yuuri could be quite stubborn if he felt like it. But at the same time, Christophe had a strange feeling that if he could just get them to sort things out, then Yuuri’s other troubles might resolve themselves as well.

“I apologize in advance for insisting you come along,” Christophe said as they were led through the arched doorways to the parlor. “But I hoped a fresh face might cheer him up some.”

“I don’t mind,” Yuuri replied, seeming to be in a slightly better mood already. There clearly seemed to be some weight off his shoulders at least. “I only know of Mr. Popovich from a few of his short stories in the Struggimento issues that Sara loaned me, but he seems to be rather interesting.”

Christophe chuckled. “Interesting is a word for it.”

The parlor in its deep purples, rich upholstered furniture and draperies seemed more somber than usual; perhaps due to the fact Georgi had only lit the room with one candelabra.

“Georgi, it’s like a tomb in here,” Christophe remarked.

The black clad figure reclining on the chaise merely sighed. “It is a reflection of the death of my heart, for it shall beat no longer now that Anya has left me.”

Yuuri bit his lip at that and Christophe could tell he was already getting quite the impression of their oddball friend.

“I see. I take it that explains the all black attire as well?” Christophe asked, taking a candle from the candelabra and using it to light another nearby to give them some more light.

“I’m mourning, Chris. For it is like death itself has come.”

Christophe refrained from remarking that he knew the velvet tailcoat, cravat and pants were not Georgi’s only completely black outfit; for it seemed that this mourning period was an ongoing matter unless he was currently with someone.

“I’ve brought someone along with me that I’d like you to meet. He’s already been quite the welcome addition at the League.”

Georgi sat up from where he reclined at that, his darkly shadowed eyes focusing on Yuuri in the dim lighting. “Am I being replaced?”

Christophe had to refrain from sighing in frustration. “Of course not, we’ve been missing your input on our discussions. Haven’t we, Yuuri?”

Yuuri nodded. “You’ve come up a fair bit, actually. I’ve been very interested in meeting you.”

That seemed to spark another bit of life into him, and suddenly Georgi was on his feet, his hands reaching out to give Yuuri’s a hearty shake. “I’m Georgi Popovich, a writer of the darkness and tragedy of the human heart. And you are?”

“Mr. Yuuri Katsuki, a purveyor of literature from Japan.”

“Japan!” Georgi exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m quite fond of my copy of Tales of Old Japan ,” he turned then to his bookshelf and pulled the title from it. “See, I’ve make a notation of all the strange creatures spoken of here that you don’t see often in our ghost stories.”

Sure enough, there was bookmarks in several places that he flipped to, each featuring a story or picture of some sort of goblin or ghost much unlike anything Christophe had seen in English literature.

Yuuri’s smile was warm, if a bit homesick.  “I’m glad you enjoyed those stories. I’ve always found the older collections of them rather nice.”

“I wanted to go to the Japanese Native Village in Knightsbridge but I haven’t had the chance since my heart has been so weakened. I wanted to hear all their ghost stories.”

Yuuri, who was now holding the book, seemed to be flipping through it with a distinct fondness and Christophe found himself having to resist drawing him close again.

“If you feel your heart might be up to it, I can tell you some now,” Yuuri offered.

“Could you really?” Georgi asked, his hand coming up to press over his heart. “I feel that immersing myself in the supernatural might distract me from the cold reality of my situation.”

Yuuri handed the book back gently, then sat in the nearby chair. “Have you heard the Nihon san dai kaidan ? They are the three greatest ghost stories from Japan.”

Christophe settled in a chair next to his guest and smiled as Georgi hastily deposited himself back on the chaise. He’d not expected the two to bond over such a topic, but he couldn’t deny that it clearly bettered both their moods. But as Yuuri told the three stories, each rife with murder and vengeful ghosts, Christophe once again felt that things were not adding up. Why did a man who asked about murder, and could tell from memory ghost stories about it, become so nervous when asked about it directly?

Georgi, of course, was caught up completely in the stories; especially the tragic love and betrayal aspects he so favored himself. By the end, he was proclaiming that he felt he may return to the League soon, as he sensed that his inspiration might soon be returning.

“Have you ever considered something besides short stories?” Yuuri had asked.

Georgi shook his head. “If even my short stories cannot become popular, a full length novel should be no better.”

Yuuri offered him a smile. “What about poetry?”

Christophe blinked. Where had this come from? Georgi had indeed dabbled in poetry before, perhaps some of the best of his works, but he’d never focused on it. But how would Yuuri know that?

“I’ve written a little.”

And watching Yuuri closely, Christophe could tell there was something all-knowing about his reply.

“Try it. I think it might capture your passion and eloquence far better than a short story can.”

They talked of other things, Georgi’s favored gothic titles that he wanted to ensure were part of Yuuri’s collection, and Yuuri’s feedback on what of Georgi’s own stories he’d read. But Christophe couldn’t shake the feeling that the mystery of Yuuri Katsuki had only grown exponentially.

Like the fact he seemed so certain that Georgi’s success laid in poetry. And even though Sara had only provided him with the issues of the League’s periodical Struggimento from the last year or so, Christophe was almost certain that one of the stories Yuuri mentioned was from an issue the year before that.

They departed from Georgi’s place with Christophe finding himself in a more worrisome state than they left Georgi himself in.

He needed to get some answers. Soon.

“Yuuri, might I have a word before we retire for the evening?”

Yuuri blinked, but the worry crept up in his eyes. “Of course.”

Christophe lead them to the parlor, picking two separate chairs this time in case of sudden visitors; and called for Seung-gil. He’d become just as concerned about the matter as Christophe had and it was only right that he be privy to anything Yuuri was willing to admit.

“I don’t want you to think that Seung-gil has betrayed your trust in the matter, but he was concerned for your wellbeing after your requests this last week and brought that to me hoping I had some insight. Sadly, it seems I do not. So, I’m asking you as a friend, Yuuri what is it that you’re looking for?”

The conflict in his warm brown eyes was apparent, and he dropped his head to clutch at his watch chain, pulling his pocket watch out and weighing it in his hand.

“I’m sorry to have troubled you with my personal matter,” he began, trailing off and seeming at a loss for words.

Christophe sighed, reaching over and placing a gentle hand atop Yuuri’s knee. “I know you said you didn’t want to bother me with it, and I’m grateful for your consideration; but I’m worried about you and as your friend and host, I’d like to know what I can do to help.”

He let out a long sigh at that, finally putting his watch back in his waistcoat pocket and raising his eyes to meet Christophe’s gaze.

“I’ve not entirely been upfront with you,” Yuuri said quietly, his regret apparent in his expression. “I’m...as you know, I’m very familiar with Victor’s works and in being so familiar I’ve found myself learning as much as I can about the League of the Green Carnation. I’ve tracked down every issue of Struggimento , read every review in every other periodical and listened to many rumors in regards to your group. It was in doing this, that I encountered a bit of a problem.”

Christophe blinked. He was definitely getting answers, but at the same time, this was not at all what he expected.

“One such rumor, which I have done my best to investigate, is that someone who disagrees with your group’s viewpoints is planning to bring harm to you. The greatest of harm, perhaps, as the rumor is that at least one of you might be killed.”

Yuuri dropped his eyes at that, his hand trembling where it rested atop his leg. He balled it into a fist. “I’d come to admire all of you a lot. And the idea that someone might bring harm to you...I wanted to see if I could find a way to stop it.”

“Yuuri, this doesn’t sound like a matter to be handling alone,” Christophe said quietly. He reached over and placed a hand atop Yuuri’s fist. “No wonder you’ve seemed increasingly stressed these last few days.”

“I’m sorry. I stubbornly believed that I needn’t trouble any of you with this knowledge, but I’m at a loss, Chris. And I’m afraid I’m running out of time.”

“Seung-gil, get Mr. Katsuki a drink. Something strong,” he said, the butler nodding and quickly departing from the room.

Christophe gave Yuuri’s hand a pat. “Tomorrow let’s both go out and ask around, see if anyone’s had anything strange happen to them.”

He blinked up at Christophe. “You mean, ask the League members?”

“If it’s all right with you. I can even pretend that I’ve received a strange message and I’m merely seeing if the others have as well so you needn’t worry yourself about it further. Now, what was this rumor, if you would. What did you hear that makes you think this?”

Yuuri went quiet for a moment, but quickly composed himself once more. Slowly, he pulled back out his pocket watch, and after pushing a knob on its side, the back opened up to what looked almost like a locket compartment, a small scrap of newsprint inside.

“It’s the only clue I’ve got, the only thing I’ve been able to track down was this.”

He held out a small slip of paper, clearly torn right from a periodical review and folded carefully to fit. Slowly, Christophe unfolded it.

This rejection of traditional values is at the heart of some so-called writers, their type reveling in their proclamations of sin and vice. It is our duty therefore, to snuff such behaviour out at its onset, to prevent the poisonous effect of so-called Greek love from tearing our families apart.

The excerpt was all in type, clearly all part of an article from The Contemporary Review , except for one line written in the margin of the page in scrawled text.

The League of the Green Carnation shall pay .

Christophe jerked his head up at that, meeting Yuuri’s worried look with one of his own.

“Where did you find this?”

Yuuri hung his head. “In trying to find out about the League, I encountered a drunk that warned me to be safe at a bar. When I asked why, they dug this periodical out of a pile that had been kept in the corner of the room. Given the issue number, it had to have happened within the last week.”

“You don’t think they had anything to do with it?”

He shook his head. “From what I gathered from the bartender, they’re a regular and have never caused any problems even when at their drunkest. But this wasn’t their first time they’d warned someone of trouble either. There’d been some graffiti on the front of the building directed at the Jewish immigrants in the area that they’d apparently let the bar owner know about as well.”

Christophe handed the paper back and ran a hand up through his hair.

“Damn. This is…”

“Terrible. I know.”

He stood at that, pacing a few steps away before returning to where Yuuri sat. He held a hand down to him.

“Well, you don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore. You’re as much a part of the League now as the rest of us, so it’s all our problem now. We’ll figure this out together.”

Yuuri took the hand and allowed Christophe to pull him to his feet. He gave a wry smile.

“I hope so, Christophe. I truly hope so.”

Chapter Text

“Vitale, you can’t just call off your engagement,” Shiri said, clutching at her skirt, “Her father…”

 

“Her father spoke of you and Yakir as if you were no better dirt,” I replied coldly. “He can be furious for all I care. I will not allow myself to be related even by marriage to such a man!”

 

“But you’ve heard what Yakir said. He said he overheard them saying that if you call it off, there’d be hell to pay. I don’t think their kind means that lightly.”

 

“Their kind…” And it was if there was a predatory growl in my voice, the idea that he said such things of Yakir, how could he! “Their kind can go to their so called hell for thinking themselves above a man as kind and loving as him. They can bring down that hell upon me and I will not budge. Your happiness, Shiri. Yours and Yakir’s happiness, is all that matters to me!”

- Stammi Vicino, Chapter 10

In a way, he’d been lucky.

Despite his outings not amounting to any suspects, he did have a solid, physical, clue; a fact he found himself eternally grateful for upon realizing that Christophe was going to insist on knowing what was going on. It’s not like he could just tell them, “Hi I’m a time traveller from the future here to make sure Victor doesn’t get murdered.” Well, he could , but it’s not like they’d believe him. The tangible clue though, that was believable; and was enough for Christophe to not pry too much into Yuuri’s secrets.

He’d taken the majority of Yuuri’s story to heart though, and in a way it was indeed a true story; simply a true story with large details left out of it. He did learn about the League of the Green Carnation and read their works in an attempt to know Victor’s life better; and Christophe, with a sly look that Yuuri was beginning to think might rival Phichit’s, merely teased him about becoming Victor’s truest of fans and didn’t ask into it any further.

But Yuuri knew his luck was only going to hold out so long, and if he didn’t find something else to corroborate his story soon he’d be facing more questions that would be difficult to answer. He didn’t fault Seung-gil for going to Christophe with what he had, in fact Yuuri found himself touched that someone already worried about his safety to that degree. The League had already made him feel at home, welcoming him in with surprisingly open arms to their usually small and reclusive group and Yuuri found he had begun now to worry about all of their safety and not just Victor’s.

This worry only intensified when they called upon Sara the next day at her home and discovered that she’d indeed had some suspicious characters following her about.

“I don’t usually have to worry about them, because Mickey insists on accompanying me literally everywhere, but I’ve seen them. In the shadows of alleyways, sometimes rather close to my home or the Green Carnation.” She’d sighed heavily at that. “Mickey noticed as well, but he insisted it was my lax dressing that had attracted unwanted attention. I told him going about after dark in a tea gown does not a prostitute make, but you know how he is.”

But aside from knowing the person or persons that did this were male and about medium height, there wasn’t much else she could provide them.

Calling upon Victor, outside of seeming to pleasantly surprise him, resulted in no other clues. He’d not seen, heard or received anything suspicious. And maybe he sensed something in Yuuri’s gaze, that intense worry behind his facade, that knowing that Victor wasn’t safe and in fact might be the one who needed protection most of all; for he reached out and took Yuuri’s hand into his own and thanked him for bringing this to the League’s attention.

Yuuri’s mind finally caught up with him, and he realized that somehow Victor knew it was Yuuri who had done this and not Christophe. He replayed the conversation in his mind, trying to decide if he’d let something slip, but he hadn’t. Just like at Sara’s, Christophe had explained that they had reason to believe that someone might be looking to harm members of the League, not citing any examples or reasons past that. He said the worry on both his and Yuuri’s faces would be testament enough, and that seemed to hold true.

But somehow, Victor knew. Yuuri felt a small smile tug at his lips and hoped it would be enough to reassure Victor that somehow, all would be well.

“You’ll let us know if there’s anything suspicious that comes up, right?” Yuuri asked.

Victor gave Yuuri’s hand a gentle squeeze as he replied. “You’ll be the first to know.”

The touch lingered.

In a way, Yuuri had been using his non-existent relationship with Christophe as an excuse, allowing himself to believe in that lie so he didn’t let himself even consider the possibility of something between him and Victor. But now, now that Christophe had put that idea to rest, his and Phichit’s comments only seemed to linger in Yuuri’s mind as well.

I’m afraid I lost my chance at you the moment you first read Victor’s books.

Was it really that obvious? He found his fingers tracing around the fob Victor had given him, the cadence of the carriage seeming to lull him into a thoughtful state. It was true that he felt as if he knew Victor quite intimately, some of his insights into his books seeming to surprise even his fellow League members; but that was all about his books, wasn’t it? There had been so much that Yuuri didn’t know about him. The picture, the only one that Yuuri had tracked down of the League gathered together, didn’t remotely capture Victor’s beauty, that was for certain; and there were still so many thousands of questions in his mind that had yet to receive an answer.

And right now the one at the forefront of his thoughts, was the meaning behind three things; the locket, the ring engraved with a K, and the dedication to someone identified only as KY. Taken all together, it seemed that there was someone special to Victor whose name began with a K, but could they relate to different matters?

For a moment, Yuuri wondered if Victor’s locket too contained a drawing of his dog; a thought that had him smiling like an idiot in seconds.Christophe caught his eye and Yuuri quickly looked out the window; but he had the distinct feeling he already knew who Yuuri was thinking about. He was relieved when seemingly only a minute or two passed before they arrived at Georgi’s house.

Georgi, as expected, was a major distraction from the lingering thoughts in his mind.

“It’s gotta be Anya,” he insisted. “She always complained about me hanging out with the League and now…”

“Georgi, Anya is not going to kill anyone,” Christophe replied with a heavy sigh.

“Then how do you explain this letter? Hmm?” He produced it from under his ascot and Yuuri realized that he must have had it tucked against his heart. It figured, only Georgi would keep a threatening letter from his ex-girlfriend close.

But Christophe’s reaction to the letter was definitely not one of amusement at Georgi’s theatrics. He’d gone quite solemn and looked up to Georgi with a piercing look.

“How did you get this letter, Georgi?”

“It had been slid under my front door sometime late last night. I found it when I got home from the Green Carnation.”

Christophe’s look shifted to Yuuri.

“Yuuri, take a look at this. I think we’ve got something here, because I don’t think this came from Anya.”

He took it, his eyes quickly skimming the page and his heart hammering in his chest. Christophe was right, this was definitely not from Anya.

First off, it was not handwritten, the letters clearly typed or printed onto the page.

Second, he highly doubted that even at her potential worst, that Anya spoke this coldly to Georgi.

And most importantly, the same cryptic words that had been scrawled on that paper that was now tucked in Yuuri’s watchcase were written on this page.

This letter had come from whoever would become Victor’s killer.

I had hoped that you’d seen the error of your ways and stopped associating with the vile filth in the so-called League of the Green Carnation, but I suppose fools such as yourself remain unaware of how toxic such people can be. This is your last warning. Distance yourself from those who seek to bring ruin to society and repent for ever calling them friends. The League of the Green Carnation will pay and I will not hesitate to count you as one of them if you persist.

There was a distinct change in the air at the Green Carnation that night.

It was perhaps part of why Yuuri had hesitated to say anything, for he had a feeling that it would quickly change the tone in their gatherings from light-hearted to solemn. Christophe had insisted that no one leave their house alone and so they’d taken a carriage along with Victor and Georgi while Sara had her usual escort of her overprotective brother. Even the bartender seemed surprised at the sudden change, asking if anyone had died.

“Not yet,” Christophe had muttered in return.

Well, that did about sum their situation up.

Yuuri listened as Chris lead the conversation, each of them bringing up the names of anyone they thought might be a possibility. Sara’s was a long list of spurned suitors or their families, her concern that they saw her association with the group as the reason for her unladylike manners. Georgi had an equally long list of ex-girlfriends, some of which he very much thought would be a murderer if given the chance. Christophe’s was a varied list; some men he’d slept with of positions of power that maybe feared he’d bring their secret to light, others outspoken critics of things he’d written.

But when it came to Victor, he shook his head and said he couldn’t think of anyone.

“No one at all?” Yuuri had asked, honestly surprised.

“No one specific,” he replied with a frown. “Plenty I’m sure dislike me for various reasons, but no one I’m personally aware of.”

Well. There went the theory that Victor’s murderer was a former lover or lady whose advances he’d declined. Yuuri almost asked then, almost said, “Is there anyone special in your life right now?” but he couldn’t bring himself to. As much as KY was a suspect, Yuuri wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to that question.

He turned his gaze back to the letter that sat on the table between them, his mind trying to figure out what he could use to find out who wrote it. The majority of methods weren’t developed yet, so it wasn’t like he could ask the authorities to dust for fingerprints or run a DNA test on it.

“I wish Dupin were here,” Victor said wistfully. “He’d know what to do.”

At that, Yuuri’s eyes shot up to him, a spark of an idea flickering to life in his mind. He had to think like Dupin, think like Sherlock Holmes who wouldn’t even exist until later that year. If they were in this situation, they would find a way to trace that paper to its source.

Yuuri’s brows furrowed in concentration as he once more observed the letter, this time with a more discerning eye. There were a few letters backwards, which meant it couldn’t be from a typewriter. That meant someone had used a printing press.

“Do anyone of you know of someone familiar with printing presses?” Yuuri asked quietly, his focus still intently on the letter.

“Our friend Emil and his family publish our periodical out of their store,” Sara replied. “We could definitely ask him.”

He sat the letter back and smiled up at them. “If we can figure out what printing press was used to make this letter, I think we might be able to figure out who made it.”

“Couldn’t it be typed?” Christophe asked.

“No,” Yuuri shook his head, “there’s no way a typewriter can make these letters backwards. Someone had to use a press. Which means it had to be someone with access to one.”

Suddenly, there was a warm hand on his wrist. He knew even before he looked up that it was Victor’s.

“You’re brilliant,” he professed. “Our own Dupin.”

Yuuri felt his face flood with color, the room suddenly seeming warmer than it was before. He shyly ducked his head.

“I don’t know about that.”

But the rest of the evening, that warm fluttering feeling didn’t leave his chest, even long after Victor’s hand had gone.

The Papyrus Anastasi, like many others at the time, was in the business of both selling books and printing them. Owned by the Nekola family for going on four generations, they specialized in the obscure, unknown and deemed by others, unpublishable. Supplementing their income with reprints of existing works allowed them to publish books that rarely circulated over five hundred copies, but were deemed by the family no less important than the best sellers of the day.

“Everyone has a story worth telling” was their motto and they lived it truly.

Now, Yuuri hoped, their unique perspective might shed some much needed light on the matter at hand.

“This is quite the surprise, I don’t think I’ve ever seen all the League here at once before,” Emil said with a warm smile at the group. “Well, except for that one incident.”

“We do not speak of that dark time of my life,” Georgi muttered.

Yuuri flickered his gaze to the rest of the League and they all seemed to be biting back laughter; a moment that reminded him that he was an outsider to what had been an oddball group for years. But Victor caught his eye and leaned close, whispering in his ear.

“We had to stop the presses because Georgi’s book was dedicated to someone who broke up with him,” he explained.

Now, Yuuri too, found himself fighting the urge to laugh. He shared a amused glance with Victor, glad that he’d let him in on their inside joke. It was a simple gesture, really, but it meant a lot to Yuuri that Victor had gone out of his way to do so.

“What might I help you with? Your next issue is not out until July, right?”

Christophe threw an arm around his shoulders and spoke low. “We might want to step into the office for this one, Emil.”

The worry seeped into his jovial demeanor at that and he nodded, leading the group towards the doors at the back of the store. The winding staircase that seemed to be almost too big for the space it had been crammed into it creaked heavily with the onslaught of footsteps upon it; the group finally reaching the hallway upstairs and being ushered into the first doorway.

It was a small office, its window overlooking the shop below, and there barely seemed to be enough room for everyone to stand comfortably. Yuuri found himself squished in a corner between Victor and Christophe while Sara took the only chair across from Emil’s desk and Georgi seemed to hover by the door as if he was being followed and was on the watch for his stalker.

“We got a bit of a threatening letter,” Christophe explained, holding the paper out to Emil, “and hoped you might have some insight into what type of printing press it came from so we can figure out who’s got it out for us.”

His eyes skimmed the letter before darting up to the group. “This sounds pretty serious. Like I know you have your critics but, this seems…”

“Like a threat,” Sara concluded. “We’re taking it seriously for the same reason. Mr. Katsuki,” she indicated him over her shoulder, “here is from Japan and he figured out that the letter had to be from a press because a typewriter wouldn’t allow the backwards letters.”

Emil gave him a smile at that. “Good eye there. Yeah, this is definitely from a press. Let me look at it a bit closer and see if I can figure out what kind.”

He pulled up a small magnifying glass that hung as a fob from his watchchain, the gold smudged with printers ink, and examined the paper, the letters, the edges and the type.

From his expression, it seemed he was able to gather something of an idea.

“Well, first off, this is definitely from a rotary press, you can see a bit of the ink on the edges and that would not occur otherwise. Also, there’s a little bit of ink on both top and bottom edge,” he turned the paper at that, holding it horizontal, “which given the type of paper and the sharpness of the edges, I’m going to guess came from a web-fed machine that cut the sheets before it went through the press. Lucky for you all, there’s only one press on the market that does that right now and that’s a Marinoni.”

He handed the letter back to Christophe.

“Bad news is, there’s probably a lot of printers that have that type.”

“It’s a start,” Victor cut in. “That’s more than we had.”

Sara turned back towards the others. “So, where do we go from here?”

Thinking to his own plans throughout time to gain access to any sort of behind the scenes printing, Yuuri offered a suggestion.

“If we divvy up, go around asking as if we’re interested in having a periodical or novel done by a printer, and insist on seeing the machine and asking how it works…”

Christophe gave Yuuri a nudge. “You’re a natural at this detective work, Yuuri.”

Victor seemed to tense at that, and Yuuri realized with a jolt that this may have been the first time he’d heard the other man use Yuuri’s first name. As much as Christophe meant well, he had a feeling that whatever Victor thought it was probably not helping their chances at having anything develop.

Not that there was any sort of relationship in specific Yuuri wanted to develop with Victor.

“Christophe, why don’t you and Georgi go together, then Mr. Katsuki and I can and Sara has her brother,” Victor proposed.

Yuuri blinked over at him, surprised by his sudden insistence on them pairing off.

“I’ll have to go along with someone else,” Sara noted. “There’s no way Mickey will put up with this sort of thing without causing a scene.”

“I’d offer to help, but I’m tied up at least the next two days until my parents return from their trip,” Emil noted.

“Ms. Crispino, why don’t you come with us?” Yuuri asked, a part of himself regretting the words as they left his mouth.

“Are you sure?”

He offered a smile to her and Victor. “I feel like I haven’t spent as much time with you two, so I think this might be just the opportunity.”

“Victor?” Sara tried.

He forced a smile. “Oh that’s fine. As Mr. Katsuki said, outside of talking about our works we haven’t spent much time together so this is a great time for it, isn’t it?”

And although they carried on, giving Emil their thanks and promising to keep him in the know, Yuuri left there with the distinct feeling that Victor wasn’t happy that they weren’t going to be alone together.

A feeling that he truly wasn’t at all sure what to do about.

“Well I’m glad I at least snuck out in a dress instead of a tea gown,” Sara noted as they sat across from her in the carriage.

Yuuri took a look at the flowing garment, the apricot dress adorned with flowers and a neckline and sleeves that looked straight of the renaissance. It was definitely not something her parents would approve of, the style being more common amongst the aesthetic movement than the upper class; but Yuuri thought it looked lovely on her, the pale dress in contrast to her warm skin and dark hair.

“It looks nice, Ms. Crispino.”

She smiled at that.

But, as was becoming commonplace amongst the League, Yuuri felt once again underdressed; his blue gray overcoat in wool, much like the green coat and brown waistcoat under it. Victor, on the other hand, seemed to have a waistcoat in wine colored velvet, and a burgundy shirt of silk.

Granted, he supposed he was hanging out with aesthetes, so he truly should have planned his wardrobe better; but in all honesty, Yuuri didn’t really plan on spending as much time as he was with the League. It had just kind of...happened. And when he pressed Christophe for reasons as to why they’d accepted him in so quickly, all he got was a cryptic and vague reply.

You’ve come like spring to a winter of discontent and brought life where it was not.

As the carriage came to a stop and the three of them stepped out onto a street that seemed to be brimming with book and print shops. Yuuri turned to skim his eyes down the place and immediately he knew they were on Paternoster Row, the heart of the book and publishing trade; the narrow street featuring shop windows that seemed to be overflowing in literature.

“I personally don’t care, but I’d hate for someone to think either of you weren’t gentlemanly enough to escort me,” Sara said.

Yuuri, his eyes still drinking in the sight of so many books, held out his arm at a crooked angle, offering up to serve as her escort; but when an arm slipped through and rested there, Yuuri knew at once that the weight and feel of it was most definitely not Sara’s.

He whipped his head around to find Victor looking as equally perplexed and flustered; both of them frozen in their own mishap as Sara tried to hide a laugh behind her hand.

“Fine fine,” she finally managed between repressed laughter, “you can escort each other, if you so wish.”

They jerked apart and made profuse apologies, Yuuri certain his face must be as red as Victor’s waistcoat; something he was feeling even more embarrassed by until he noticed the warm pink that had spread over Victor’s cheeks and was just barely visible on the tips of his ears.

It was positively adorable.

Yuuri shook his head of the thought, the two of them hastening to catch up to where Sara had already begun her way down the lane, and Yuuri was relieved when they finally caught up and now walked with her in between them. He had far more important things to be dealing with right now than thinking about Victor’s blushing face.

So one by one, they entered each shop and presented their story; professing the dire importance of looking at the printing press and knowing about its specifications, something most of the owners were more than happy to brag about. But as they reached a shop about halfway down the street, they encountered their first problem.

“I’m sorry gentleman, but a workshop like mine isn’t any sort of place for a lady,” the man said firmly.

Sara looked like she was about to say exactly what she thought about that, something Yuuri had a feeling was most likely very unladylike, when he quickly butted in.

“Oh, a workshop in that state would be detrimental to the product, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Victor caught on right away. “Yes, most detrimental, I’m certain. If it’s not fit for a delicate lady than think how the delicate pages of our work might be treated!”

He had to bite back a laugh at that, but their ruse seemed to have worked, the owner hastily correcting himself that he was certain it was in acceptable condition for both ladies and pages. And it was good that he did, for in his shop they came across their first Marinoni printing press.

That seemed to put them all in a far more upbeat mood, their laughter barely holding back until they were far enough from the shop. Sara noted that this might be the only time she’s enjoyed being called delicate and that only started the laughter up anew.

Conversation began to flow freely then, Sara bringing up authors she wanted to ensure Yuuri had on his list and Victor adding in his feelings on the titles he’d read; and as Yuuri always thought, you could learn so much about a person from the books they felt most passionate about.

“I still think that The Bostonians should have ended with Verena ending up with the other cousin,” Sara noted.

Yuuri, who had suspected as much about her inclinations, heartily agreed. “Olive was a much better fit than Basil, but I feel that its content up until the end was quite enjoyable.”

They continued on about James’s works, Victor unsurprisingly liking Roderick Hudson and The Americans , two of Yuuri’s favored titles by the man for the relationship between the two male leads; although they both wished the tales had ended less tragically. Victor, despite all his writings before Stammi Vicino , seemed to be a stalwart defender of happy endings.

And so on they continued as they made their way up and down the street, little bits of personality spilling out amongst their literary ramblings.

“You liked Pride and Prejudice ?” Sara asked when Victor expressed enjoying it.

“Mr. Darcy’s relationship with his sister Georgianna made me find him most charming,” he admitted with a shrug.

Somehow, amidst the talk and the laughter, something had shifted between them. Yuuri noticed it first when they’d entered yet another shop, and it occurred to him that somewhere along the line, they’d begun to present the story as if Yuuri and Victor were a partnership seeking to publish something together.

“My partner and I…”

“Mr. Katsuki and I…”

Victor said it with such a natural ease and every time Yuuri felt his heart flutter at it; it was ridiculous, he really shouldn’t be so affected by the man, but yet he was. Even his spoken words seemed to hold some sort of strange power over him, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. And so, distracted and already quite focused on Victor, Sara’s question almost caught him off guard.

“So Mr. Katsuki, what is your favorite novel?”

“ Sta - I uh, I mean, right now I have high hopes for Victor’s current project, so maybe get back to me on that one?”

Sara hid a knowing smile at that, but something about it seemed to affect Victor even more so than it did Yuuri.

“Y-You do?” he’d asked, quiet and that damned adorable blush creeping back onto his cheeks.

Yuuri cleared his throat, realizing belatedly that he’d even slipped and used Victor’s first name.

“O-Of course, Mr. Nikiforov,” he corrected himself, hoping no one noticed the first. “I’m really enjoying it so far.”

Victor came to a stop at that, then reached out, clutching Yuuri’s arm as he smiled. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

Yuuri supposed it must be a bit nerve wracking to have someone who clearly loved your previous works read something so different, but even so, Victor’s reply seemed to make his chest grow tight with emotion.

“O-One last shop for today, right?” he said, trying his best to pretend like everything that had just happened didn’t affect him the way it did.

Victor nodded, the smile still not quite fading from his face. “Yes. Then perhaps we might all get something to eat before going to the Green Carnation?”

Sara seemed to sense Yuuri’s hesitation and quickly answered. “That sounds like a brilliant idea, right Mr. Katsuki?”

Yuuri found himself smiling back at Victor despite himself.

“It does indeed.”

Of all the people to set him up, he really did not expect it to be Sara Crispino.

Christophe, sure. Phichit, in a heartbeat.

Sara, he didn’t see coming until she “conveniently forgot” that she “had to have dinner with my family” and then almost too cheerfully said, “I guess you two will have to go without me!”

If Yuuri hadn’t still been somewhat reeling from their ordeal at the last shop, he might have protested it; but honestly after Victor had almost started a fight, he supposed he could allow himself one dinner with the man.

He thought back on the exchange as they rode in the carriage after dropping Sara off, the stark angles of Victor’s angered face still fresh in his mind. But even though they didn’t get a look at the printing press, being told “we don’t serve your kind here” as a welcome definitely put it on the suspicious list in Yuuri’s opinion.

It was Victor’s retort though, casual and confident yet with an icy cold smile, that Yuuri found himself dwelling on.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said, “but do you mean Jews, women or Orientals?”

The man couldn’t even respond and Sara had wisely pulled Victor from from the store before the matter resulted in blows; Yuuri had never imagined Victor the type to put up a literal fight, but something seemed to particularly anger him about this.

It lingered in his posture, in the tension of his shoulders and the set of his jaw; the flicker of anger still apparent in his eyes. And maybe that was why, Yuuri found himself reaching out before he could think better of it.

“Is that...was that a common thing for you?” Yuuri asked, his hand seeming to press feather light onto Victor’s arm.

The touch seemed to snap him out of it, the warmth of his smile and the brilliance of his blue eyes back to what they’d been before. He offered Yuuri a hesitant smile.

“Not commonly,” he said, something shifting in his gaze, “but I think European immigrants are sometimes a little more favored than those from elsewhere.”

It hit Yuuri then, in an overwhelming wave, why Victor had reacted so; why this situation had resulted in his anger and the first shop where they spoke ill of just Sara didn’t. It wasn’t that Victor could have been the problem, but it was his concern for them speaking that way of the only non-European amongst them.

It was because of him.

Yuuri found himself suddenly unable to find a single word, his hand tightening its hold on Victor’s upper arm as if somehow he could convey the depth of his gratitude. Minutes perhaps passed until Yuuri finally managed to push out a quiet “Thank you.”

Victor mirrored him then, reaching out with his other arm to press his hand warm against Yuuri’s arm. He seemed to hesitate, and for the briefest of moments, Yuuri wondered if perhaps he was going to hug him. He settled for shifting his hand, a little up and a little down, as if to soothe Yuuri with a comforting gesture.

Yuuri found his heart was suddenly too full.

It’s only when the carriage drew to a stop that they pulled their hands back, and Yuuri immediately missed the warmth.

Perhaps that was why all dinner long Yuuri let Victor lead the conversation wherever he willed; the topic for once coming to Yuuri’s life, family, and home. Perhaps that was why Yuuri felt like he was a little more open, a little more alive, and a little more in love with the man who sat before him.

It seemed, for a brief moment, that a smile wouldn’t leave Yuuri’s face.

But upon arriving at the Green Carnation, they received a harsh reminder that they were running out of time.

Chapter Text

“I’m afraid my sister isn’t here at the moment,” I said quietly as I led Yakir into the parlor.

 

“I know. I didn’t come to see her this time,” he reassured me, his smile warm and inviting. I found myself following it until he arrived in front of the piano and took his usual place upon its seat. I picked up my violin and before I could begin to tune it, he beckoned me closer. “Sit with me, Vitale?”

 

My eyes went wide, but he merely smiled even warmer. I found myself seated beside him before I could blink.

 

“I heard you broke off your engagement,” he began, his fingers slowly testing out a melody across the keys. It was something new, a song I’d never heard before. “I admit I find myself worried for your safety but…”

 

His eyes met mine, his gaze piercing and strong.

 

“I’m glad. You deserve better”

 

I picked up my bow at that, doing my best to follow along with the unfamiliar song he played; and somehow, despite the fact it was unheard of and new, we harmonized, the strong firm notes of the piano resonating through me as I matched it with my own.

 

Our conversation needed no more words, our heartfelt songs dancing together and communicating all that couldn’t be said aloud; the fear, the shame, the truth buried deep beneath it, and somehow, miraculously, our songs were the same. I couldn’t help myself from leaning back until I felt his arm brush against me. The piano stopped and for one brief moment, I feared I had misunderstood everything.

 

But strong and firm, his arms encircled my waist and his head came to rest against my back.

 

“You deserve to be happy, Vitale.”

 

I leaned back into his touch, the song of before now forgotten.

 

“At this moment, I am.”

-Stammi Vicino, Chapter 12

It was May second; ten days until time was officially up.

And their suspect had begun to make his move.

Perhaps that was part of way Yuuri felt so shaken, as if suddenly reminded that time was indeed still moving forward with an alarming pace and they still hadn’t tracked down which Marinoni press made the letter. Thankfully, no one had been harmed; but Georgi’s house had been broken into a week ago, which was alarming enough, but now it had been ransacked a second time in a way that made everyone fear for their safety. Christophe had been right to insist that Georgi come and stay with him, and perhaps even correct in deciding that it would be best if Yuuri went to stay with Victor.

But all Yuuri could process at the moment was that he was somehow going to be spending these last days with Victor, whatever the outcome might be.

“I’m terribly sorry for the state my home is in,” Victor said as he fumbled with the keys to his townhouse. “When I’m writing I tend to let everything else get out of hand.”

The door swung open and he paused a moment, pressing his fingers to a small container affixed to the door frame with Hebrew on it. He brought his fingers back and kissed them before stepping into the house. Yuuri paused.

“It’s a mezuzah. It’s there to remind me of my faith, although I’ve been rather lax at it.”

Yuuri offered a smile. “Faith can be helpful in times like this.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Victor replied, a gentle smile on his lips.

A large chocolate dog came bounding up to them at that and Yuuri found himself not hesitating to bend down and greet it.

“Is this Makkachin?” he asked as the dog greeted him with a slobbery kiss.

Victor’s smile brightened, “She looks just like her picture, doesn’t she?”

Yuuri gave her one more pet before standing back up. “A perfect rendition, certainly.”

Ahead of him, Victor had turned on the paraffin lamp and it illuminated the entrance hall, the green William Morris wallpaper and the ornate Minton tile floor visible now along with the doors leading off to other rooms, one of which Makkachin scurried off to. Yuuri tried to commit every single minute detail to memory, but there was so much to take in he knew he’d forget something.

But as they made their way up to the drawing room on the second level, Yuuri noticed something rather distinct amidst all the decor. Outside of the entryway and the drawing room itself, the house looked barely lived in, and clearly no servants were around given the accumulation of dust.

The drawing room was as cluttered as Yuuri expected, the norm for the time period and the aesthetic movement; ebonized furniture, sunflower motifs, the walls crammed with framed prints and blue and white china filled it from one wall to the other. Victor stoked one of the fireplaces to life and the room took on a warmer hue; but even here, there seemed to be far more chairs than had ever been occupied.

“Mr. Katsuki?” Victor’s voice seemed quieter now, perhaps because he could tell Yuuri was still trying to take the decor of the room in.

He turned to him where he indicated two plush green chairs near the fireplace and gave him a smile.

It was certainly nowhere near the excess of Christophe’s or even Georgi’s parlors; many of the items here Yuuri knew were cheaper than what the two other men had. But it clearly looked as if Victor had done his best to look the part, filling the room to the brim in hopes that the abundance made up for the lack of money spent on it.

“I like the decor,” he managed, feeling exceedingly lame for his simplistic statement.

But Victor smiled all the same. “Thank you. It’s not often I have company outside of the League; although I suppose you’re a part of that now as well.“

Yuuri took a seat, the warmth of the fireplace a comfort after the evening’s chill, and before he knew it, Victor had taken the seat beside him.

“Is everything alright? You’ve seemed a bit upset since we found out about Georgi’s house.”

He could see Victor shift his hand, as if he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he could; and something about that chipped away at what little defenses Yuuri had put up against it.

“I’m just...terribly worried. This time no one was hurt, but next time…”

Yuuri couldn’t explain to Victor that he knew the man would kill if given the chance, couldn’t say that he knew that Victor’s life was on the line. Bringing the League into the knowledge he had simply made it all the more difficult for him to keep what he knew to himself. How much he wanted to protect each and every one of them…

Victor’s hand moved now, reaching out and hovering just above where Yuuri clutched at his pant leg in frustration; he let go, turning his hand palm up in a silent invitation. Victor took his hand and Yuuri held it tight.

He flickered his eyes up at that, meeting Victor’s own worried gaze, as his words tumbled free from his lips. “I’m afraid we’re running out of time.”

Victor gave his hand a gentle squeeze, something soft and gentle in his expression as he tried to smile. “Then we must have faith that somehow we’ll make it through,” he said quietly.

And laced amongst the concern and apprehension, there was that thin thread of hope, shining out in the blue of Victor’s eyes; as if trying its best to tell Yuuri that he believed in him to make it so. It lit a spark of hope in Yuuri’s heart, small and tiny and overshadowed by all the fears and worries that crept in the darkness of his mind; but somehow it stayed lit, flickering itself to life.

The tiniest of smiles pulled at his lips, and he gave Victor’s hand a squeeze back.

“Thank you.”

They seemed to linger in each other’s presence, the silence seeming to wrap around them and if anything draw them closer; until finally, Victor pulled his hand free and stood up from his chair.

“Let me get some tea going. I have a feeling we could both use a drink.”

And as he turned to the samovar, stoking it to life so it could heat up the teapot atop it, Yuuri clutched his hand back into a fist, this time in resolution.

Somehow, he would find a way to save them all.

TEMPORAL EXCURSION APPARATUS SYSTEM ACTIVATED.

COMMAND?:

Yuuri bit his lip and whispered it out.

“Cloak activate. Diameter Umbrella.”

CLOAK ACTIVATED. DIAMETER UMBRELLA.

A pale blue light flickered around him, almost like an umbrella that created a bubble down to his waist; and with it, came the soundproof safety of the system’s cloaking device. He breathed out, his nerves a little less shaken at that.

“TEAS contact Phichit.”

CONTACTING PHICHIT…

The screen before him flickered a few moments until finally, Phichit’s smiling face appeared. He had no idea, but just seeing him brought a new level of calm to his current state.

“Hey, what’s up? Figure out that printing press thing yet?”

Yuuri shook his head. “No, the list narrows, but still not narrow enough.”

“Ugh, that sucks. What’s the backup plan?”

Yuuri flickered his eyes down then bit his lip once more. “You are totally not hearing me say this, but right now my backup plan consists of trying to get the murderer to target me first.”

Phichit’s uncharacteristic frown was what he expected. “Yuuri…”

He held up a hand. “I know already what you’re going to say, Phichit. Right now, it’s a last resort and hopefully we won’t have to use it. But at the moment, I’ve kind of...got a bigger problem.”

He blinked. “Define ‘bigger problem.’”

Yuuri tilted the pocket watch downward, allowing the screen to see what was currently possibly the biggest problem Yuuri could be dealing with right now.

Phichit’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit, is that him? Please tell me the guy sleeping with his head in your lap is not the porno writer.”

Yuuri allowed himself a small smile at that, his heart still fluttering every time he even peripherally thought about his current predicament. But somehow, through a strange sequence of events that Yuuri was still not quite sure was actually happening because it was so surreal, Victor had ended up there, sound asleep.

“It’s not Chris,” he clarified.

“So that’s him. Victor Nikiforov? In your lap? Okay you gotta tell me how in the world you managed this, because I need to know about your insane ability to be an author-love-magnet.”

“I am not a...whatever that is.”

Phichit narrowed his eyes and began counting off his fingers. “Okay we all know about Shakespeare. Byron is, from what I know about the guy, kind of expected. But what about that poet guy? Whitman? Or Langston Hughes! He said you had pretty eyes once. And wasn’t even Agatha Christie…”

Yuuri was certain his face was scarlet. “Phichit! How do you even know about half of those? I know I didn’t tell you about Hughes, or Christie, or...”

Phichit grinned. “Your coworker Cao Bin has a big mouth and is easily bribed with chocolate.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to retort, then snapped it shut. He sighed.

“And let me guess, you’ve been sitting on this until the exact moment it supports your argument?”

He held a hand to his heart. “Oh Yuuri, you do know me!”

“I know I’m about to disconnect and call up someone else instead, that’s what.”

Phichit snorted out a laugh. “Yuuri, let’s face it, we both know you are not going to call up Minako or your sister about this current problem of yours.”

“Leo or Guang Hong might be a little less teasing…” he levied.

Up went the hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. I’ll tease you when you get home. Tell me what’s up, or should I say, what’s down and how it got there.”

As much as Yuuri was not going to admit, because like Phichit needed more reason to be a tease about it, the usual banter between them really did seem to ease his mood a little. It was normal, and normal made all those lingering feelings of homesickness fade just a little.

“I got up this morning, and at first, I couldn’t find Victor. So I kind of panicked, because the last thing I need right now is for him to wander off and get killed. Turns out he was downstairs in the kitchen making breakfast, because not only does he not have a housekeeper, but apparently he stayed up all night writing so he didn’t realize how early it was.”

“Oh there’s the dealbreaker on your sweet romance, he’s a morning person.”

“Phichit, do you want to hear this story or not?”

“Listening,” he replied, pretending to zip his lips closed.

“He apologized like at least five times, because he didn’t have any normal bread. Just matzah. Which I get it, Passover just happened and everything, so I didn’t mind. But I think he thought he was a terrible host because of it. So I tried to change the subject to his writing, because it was pretty obvious that he’d not slept and was a little jittery from drinking tea to stay up.”

Yuuri could feel the traitorous soft smile on his lips, but couldn’t bring himself to stop it.

“I offered to read the new part, so he rushed us up to the parlor and sat me down on a chaise and hovered over my shoulder while I read so he could see what part I was at. And...at some point, he dozed off against my shoulder.”

Phichit seemed to match his smile. “And you didn’t have the heart to wake him up, started worrying that he was uncomfortable how he was, and moved him to the current location with his head in your lap?”

Yuuri flickered his eyes down, the soft content expression on Victor’s face enough to make his whole chest overflow with emotion.

“Yeah.”

Phichit reached out at that, his holographic form giving Yuuri’s shoulder a squeeze.

“He’s not making it easy, is he?”

That, was indeed, the problem. Yuuri had steeled himself the moment he realized he would be in constant close proximity to Victor at his house in hopes he could avoid this problem entirely. But Victor wasn’t making it easy. It was if he was finding every single reason to stay as close to Yuuri as possible.

“You know, there’s been several Time Scientists that have done the long distance thing…” Phichit offered.

“I know.”

“Yuuri,” he said, waiting until Yuuri’s eyes drifted back up to him. “What’s stopping you?”

Yuuri had gone over it, probably too many times, all the reasons for and against it. And there was one major reason he kept holding himself back, despite finding it increasingly hard to do so.

“What if I can’t save him, Phichit?” he said quietly, as if even speaking it aloud might cause it to be.

“Yuuri…”

“Georgi’s place was sliced up. This wasn’t some random act of violence, it was planned and executed with intent. And we’re no closer to finding out who it is…”

“Hey,” he reached out, nudging Yuuri’s face until he looked him in the eye. “I’ve told you this before, and I’m telling you again. There’s no one I’d trust more with solving this. You’ve been researching Victor and the League and this murder for years . Something will click. Something will give you a hint. And...as much as I hate to admit it. I know that you’ll throw yourself into harm's way before you let anything happen to Victor.”

He gave a hopeful smile at that.

“So, don’t fight yourself on top of everything else. You want to control the situation so he doesn’t get hurt, but when it comes to your relationship with him, just let it happen naturally.”

Yuuri felt himself grinning before he could stop himself, reciting the next words along with Phichit because he knew exactly what his friend would tell him next.

“I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright.”

Phichit grinned too. “Listen to my boy Thoreau, Yuuri. It’ll do what it needs to do. You just let it and go back to changing fate instead.”

“Okay.”

“Phew, okay, so are you done talking about your Victor so I can talk to you about my new precious widdle angel,” Phichit asked, turning to pull something that was definitely not “widdle” out of a cage.

“That’s a pretty big angel,” Yuuri replied trying to keep back a laugh.

The rat was the size of a small cat.

“Megaoryzomys curioi, or MC Galapagos for short. There’s never been a live one found until now!” He gave it a kiss on its head and it seemed to settle happily in his arms. “I’m hoping I can find it a lady friend so I can take a breeding pair back with me.”

And as Yuuri let his friend ramble on about the specifics of romancing giant Galapagos rats, he let his arm drop to rest along Victor’s back.

Subtle magnetism seemed to be quite a fitting term.

One by one, little by little, the walls Yuuri had so fortified against sentimentality that he’d built up for Victor came tumbling down; the innate magnetism of Victor’s presence drawing Yuuri closer and closer by the day. And, for all he was discovering he didn’t know about Victor, despite his years of study on the man, Yuuri found that the true Victor was perhaps even more wonderful and charming than the one he’d created out of scraps of history in his mind. With each day, nay perhaps with each moment, it seemed as if he learned something new about Victor that made him all the more endeared to him.

It had begun the first day, when after hours of sound sleep, Victor had awoken to find himself resting in Yuuri’s lap; his embarrassment such that a dusting of pink seemed almost permanently stuck in the curve of his cheekbone. He’d been extremely apologetic, but despite Yuuri’s own heart fluttering away as if a residence of butterflies had taken flight, he’d managed to maintain his calm.

He didn’t want to give Victor any more reason to think himself a most terrible host; nonchalantly passing it off that he didn’t mind having the chance to sit and read over a story that he knew by heart. But something, perhaps in his own traitorous blush, had told Victor that there was more to it than that; for he seemed to linger even closer now that this had passed.

And what feeble barrier remained in Yuuri’s mind, found itself soon to be heavily knocked down.

As they’d stood, simultaneously, they stumbled into one another; each of them falling back a few steps to find their balance again. It was then that Yuuri’s foot caught just enough of the table’s leg to jostle the contents atop it; the picture frame and the trinket box tumbling to the floor.

The box was lucky enough to land atop one of the rugs, but the frame was not; shattering into millions of little pieces of glass as the picture itself slid out. Yuuri stooped down along with Victor to help try and salvage the picture out of the mess, and it was there, underneath the first photo, that there laid another.

The first, Yuuri noted through the scattered pieces, was a photograph of Victor, his elder brother and his parents.

The second, whatever it was, caused Victor’s expression to immediately shift; his look of shock if anything growing stronger. Then slowly, with an almost reverent fondness, his face relaxed into a smile quite unlike anything Yuuri had ever seen from him before.

“She did keep it,” he murmured, speaking more to himself than anyone else.

He pressed it against his chest, his eyes fluttering closed as he took a deep breath. When he opened them, he was met by Yuuri’s perplexed expression. He met it with that smile still lingering in the curl of his lips.

“Mr. Katsuki, would it trouble you if I divulge a secret? I find myself very much in need of someone else to share it with.”

Yuuri blinked. “Of course. If you see it fit, I’m willing to keep it safe.”

He slowly lowered the photograph, holding it over so Yuuri might see it better.

Pictured were two twenty somethings in their society’s best, the dress looking to be one used for the balls that fellow wealthy families might hold. But therein laid the confusion, for both the girl and the boy pictured had identical silver hair; the girl’s pulled up and adorned and the boy’s handsomely tied back at the nape of their neck. Yuuri thought perhaps it might be his cousins, but they were clearly too old to fit what he knew of them.

Victor’s soft voice broke through Yuuri’s whirling thoughts, his fingertip pointing to the girl in the photo.

“That, believe it or not, is me.”

Yuuri flickered his eyes up at Victor, knowing his surprise had to be etched on every facet of his face. He’d theorized that Victor at some point may have experienced the troubles of a lady in society, had suspected from one or two throwaway lines in his writings that he’d formerly had long hair. But this? This was something else.

His words found themselves before he could process a single thought.

“And the boy?”

Victor’s smile softened at that, a wistfulness dancing in his eyes.

“My dearest Klara.”

Klara? In all his research, he couldn’t think of a single person related to Victor named Klara; but it was clear, both in her hair and her face, that she was related. In fact, now that he looked once more, he found only the smallest little differences between the two in the photograph.

“Who is she?”

Victor reached out at that, taking him by the elbow and leading him over to a set of chairs away from the shattered glass. Yuuri sat down, knowing the thousands of questions on his tongue must be somehow getting through, for Victor began to talk.

“She was my other half,” he murmured, his hand leaving Yuuri’s arm to reach back over to his own hand. He touched the ring there, and with a burning realization, Yuuri felt all the pieces click into place.

The ring with the letter K. The locket with the forget-me-not flower on the outside. The stories written about the struggles of a woman in high society and her unhappiness there. And even, most importantly, the elusive KY, suddenly had meaning.

“You…” he treaded carefully now, his understanding bringing with it a reverence now too. “You had a twin sister?”

Victor nodded. “When we came to England, my parents very much wanted to fit in with the rest of the upper class. That was how I first met Ms. Crispino and her family. It was for their debutante ball that we were dressed up that night. But, and even Sara does not know this, as my affections aligned better with the gentlemen and my sister preferred the company of the ladies, we decided we’d go in each other’s place. It was both the most wonderful and most heartbreaking experience I’ll ever have.”

“ Limit of Bliss ,” Yuuri said as his mind drew yet another connection, “it’s about this night, isn’t it?”

“Yes. As you correctly noted about the story before, I had long hair at the time. We’d both just turned twenty one and I had yet to cut it.”

The lack of Klara in written excerpts and journals suddenly made sense now too. Like his hair, Victor lost something so irreplaceable, that he could do nothing but write about it in fictional stories. The man haunted by a mist that shrouded him from happiness, the greenfinch with the painted wings, the girl ghost who only wanted to find love even after death, Vitale’s beloved sister Shiri...that was Klara. She was hidden amidst his words all along.

Victor’s voice was softer as he spoke once more. “I blame myself for what happened to her. I suggested we swap places that night, never knowing that once she had that taste of happiness she’d never be happy ever again. The doctor said it was a weak heart, but Klara’s heart was stronger than anyone’s. She died of a broken heart, knowing that she could never be that free.”

Yuuri reached out before he even realized it, his hand pressing warm against Victor’s back. He offered what he hoped was a sympathetic smile.

“She lives on, you know. In your stories. She always will.”

Victor’s eyes met his and the blue seems almost overflowing with tears he was fighting not to shed.

“Far, far off in the distant future, someone will read your stories and know your sister through them. She’ll never truly be gone. Words, books, they’re timeless.”

Suddenly, Victor’s arms were around his neck and his voice rumbled low near his ear, choked but not yet quite a sob.

“Thank you. I wanted to believe that if I could, in some small way, keep her alive…”

“You will,” Yuuri stated firmly. “Your stories will keep her alive forever.”

Victor clutched him closer at that, and Yuuri could feel his ragged breath against his neck. He was trembling just a little and Yuuri found himself wrapping his arms around him in return, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Victor’s head.

“She deserved to be happy. And so do you. So does every person on this planet that finds their happiness in the arms of someone society says they should not.”

The tension seemed to ease out of his shoulders at that, and for one moment, their embrace became less of a comfort and more of an affection.

Victor’s words were so quiet, Yuuri almost missed them in between the cadence of his breath.

“At this moment, I am happy.”

Yuuri was, in fact, going to have to rewrite his entire book at this rate; and surprisingly, he couldn’t be happier about that fact.

The current draft of The Life and Times of Victor Nikiforov had been written mostly based on what had been written about Victor by peers and scholars, Yuuri’s own input on the interpretation of his stories, and what little surviving journals and family information there was.

It was only thanks to a Time Scientist specializing in Ashkenazi Jewish culture that Yuuri discovered an article written by Victor when they still lived in St. Petersburg. The first issue of Voskhod providing Yuuri information on Victor, his brother, and his family’s connection to the anti-Jewish pogrom in Kiev. That put them still in Russia in 1881. By 1882, they’d fled to England and were trying to fit into society in hopes they could use their connections to earn enough money to get their family safely to America.

The stress and strain of this move, and then being thrust into the upper society’s strict roles, clearly took a toll on Victor. And now, Yuuri knew even more so why. Klara Yefimovna Nikiforova, his twin sister, seemingly lost her life because of it all.

The family records Yuuri had were mostly after they arrived in America, meaning that Klara was never mentioned in them. But Victor’s writing told the story if you knew where to look, and now, Yuuri did. In late 1882, his first and perhaps most depressing novel, The Mist was released. The story was about a man who was overshadowed by a mist, preventing him from finding any sort of happiness. It was about Victor’s homesickness for Russia, the passages about longing for home making that quite clear; but it was also about the sudden loss of happiness, the almost listless state the man found himself in, and the mist which seemed to haunt him wherever he went. There was one line that Yuuri always felt was the strongest in the novel and now he knew why.

I am only one half of a whole with no way to complete myself. This is the burden I bear.

It would be two years before Limit of Bliss was completed, installments of the story in later 1883 issues of Struggimento and the completed publication in 1884. The story of a female greenfinch who painted her feathers so she could live the carefree life of a male greenfinch. It was a rich allegory for society at the time, using the birds to viciously attack the way women were treated in comparison to men. The story ends when the paint fades, revealing the facade; and the female greenfinch finds herself so unhappy she dies of a broken heart. It was Klara’s story, the story of that night they switched their roles and discovered how society treated them differently based on the gender they presented to them.

Decisions of the Stars in 1886 was a gothic love story, with what might seem to most a rather tragic ending. A daughter is ordered by her father to wed a wealthy man when their castle falls into decline; but the woman has already fallen in love with a lady ghost of the castle. In the end, she commits suicide to be with her love in death. But if you look at the story from the view of the ghost, it’s a happy ending. She finds someone to love, and in death no one can stop them from being together. It was, in a way, Victor’s way of trying to give Klara a happy ending.

Yet Stammi Vicino , the story still in progress, was the one Yuuri found himself still uncertain about. Shiri, Vitale’s beloved sister, was clearly inspired by Klara. But in the story, it was Vitale that received a happy ending and not her. What had changed his focus? What little pieces of reality were hidden in the pages he was writing?

What story was Victor trying to tell now?

There was something Yuuri knew he was missing, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

But the thing about stories was, they tend to write themselves.

Whitechapel, it was said, had never quite recovered from the overcrowding that arose when night after night wagon-loads of poor Jewish immigrants came in from Poland or Russia. It was, as were all the slums of London, dingy and dirty in a way that you felt long after your left it; the vestiges of it lingering on your personage in a way that even a good bath couldn’t remove. Holywell Street, in comparison, was immaculate.

Yuuri knew these streets; Buckle Street where the Polish called home, Petticoat Lane and its crowded marketplace, the collection of kosher butchers on Wentworth Street- all from Victor’s vivid imagery of them in Stammi Vicino ; the location Yakir’s home that he reluctantly brings Vitale to.

And there was that same hesitance in Victor now, as he kept darting glances down at Yuuri as if worried he’d recoil in horror at the sight of it all. But there’s the warmth, the sense of welcoming even to a stranger such as Yuuri, the way everyone seems to know Victor by name that makes all appearances pale in comparison.

Much like Vitale concluded that Yakir’s warmth and love were born out of this place, Yuuri too finds himself wondering the same.

“I’m sorry,” Victor began, once again grabbing Yuuri by the elbow and steering him through the crowd, “this is probably not reflecting well on me.”

Yuuri shook his head, coming to a stop and leveling him a look once they were free from the throng of people. “I don’t see what about this wouldn’t,” he said, earning a look of surprise out of him.

“It’s the only place I’m familiar with acquiring groceries, and I know it’s extremely…”

He stopped him short, reaching out and giving his hand a squeeze. “Mr. Nikiforov, I am in no way going to judge you for spending time amongst fellow immigrants from your home country. I would honestly think less of someone who did judge you for that.”

The surprise gave way, and like a sun emerging after a cloudy day, the smile that lit Victor’s face was full of warmth. “I’m indebted to your kindness once more, Mr. Katsuki.”

A passage from the book came to mind then, and unable to help himself, Yuuri asked the same of his host. “Can you show me around?.”

Victor’s smile, if possible, grew even brighter at that.

“I’d love to.”

Something changed, as of that moment, and it wasn’t simply their daily routine. Sara had Emil free now to accompany her, leaving Yuuri and Victor to themselves as they continued to widen their search for the elusive printer that made the letter; but now the afternoons became a series of outings to places Victor clearly held near and dear.

It was as if Victor was opening up his heart, fully and truly, for Yuuri to have; allowing all the hidden facets of his self shine out as if suddenly illuminated from within. Victor Nikiforov, at least the one Yuuri thought he knew, was nothing at all like the real thing.

For unlike the quiet, reserved and stately person Yuuri had expected, the real Victor was surprisingly not any of those things. In fact, if Yuuri was to use a word that hadn’t even been invented yet, Victor was in fact...kind of a dork.

The first sign of this was definitely his love of his dog and his very adorable, if not exactly talented, artistic renditions of her. In fact, Yuuri would definitely go as far as to say that Makkachin was pretty much Victor’s entire world outside of writing. When Yuuri asked what he normally did during the days, it consisted of two things only- walking Makkachin and writing.

And Victor the writer was no more composed or serious than he was otherwise. In fact, staying up all night and forgetting to sleep was apparently a common occurrence with him as he proceeded to repeat the matter the second night Yuuri stayed with him. After that Yuuri had insisted he sit up with Victor, partially in hopes to see him at work but mostly to make sure he went to sleep at some point.

So the third night there, clad in silk pajamas and with a small notepad of his own, Yuuri got to see his idol at work.

The best way he could describe it, if he had to try and put it into words, was it was much like students cramming for their tests at the academy back home: somewhat frantic, muttering to himself, and clearly under the influence of far too much caffeine. Despite that though, he was illuminated as if he was a work of art through the stained glass window above his desk.

At some point, Yuuri had nodded off himself where he sat and he woke a few hours later to find himself covered in a blanket that had been tucked around him. He wasn’t surprised to find that Victor was still awake and writing.

“How goes it?” he asked, a yawn threatening to swallow up his words.

Piercing blue eyes found him in the darkened room, half of the candles having burned themselves out hours ago and not yet relit, and Victor smiled, soft and gentle.

“How are you so impossibly beautiful even at this hour?” he countered, his brain lagging to catch up with his words. Luckily, Yuuri’s was equally sluggish and didn’t quite register it until much later. Victor quickly amended it. “Good. Good, it’s going good.”

“Well,” Yuuri corrected automatically.

It earned him a brighter smile. “I see there’s a bit of an editor in you, Mr. Katsuki. But right now, it’s all in the first draft so errors are to be expected.”

Yuuri got up at that, his slippered feet finding the floor and closing the distance between them. He stifled another yawn.

“What time is it, you should probably sleep…”

Victor shook his head. “I can’t until I finish this chapter. I’ll lose track of where I want it to go.”

Yuuri hated to admit it, but he understood that quite well himself. He settled for nestling himself in the corner between the desk and the bookshelf on the wall, leaning back, crossing his arms, and busying himself with perusing the titles on the shelf.

Beside him, Victor had come to an abrupt halt.

“What’s the matter?”

Victor stood at that, and Yuuri suddenly became very aware of how little space there was between Victor’s chair and his spot in the corner. Even more aware when Victor braced his hand against the bookshelf and leaned towards him.

His shirt was disheveled, his ascot long tugged off and his waistcoat discarded and Yuuri swore he could feel his warmth in the cool of the night.

He swallowed, holding Victor’s gaze with his own.

“Are you familiar with Walt Whitman’s work?” he asked. Yuuri blinked.

Well, he’d technically met the man. And as Phichit had reminded him, he’d been rather friendly about it too.

“Yeah,” he replied, thinking of the title on the bookshelf, “ Leaves of Grass ?”

Victor nodded. “All of a sudden, one of his poems just came to me. Isn’t that strange?”

Yuuri offered a small smile. “Sometimes that happens. I often find myself remembering little bits of writing I’ve read.”

Victor swallowed and Yuuri found his eyes watching the slope of his throat as he did. He held the blanket a bit closer.

“It’s the one that starts off, O You whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you. ”

His eyes went wide. Oh he knew that one well. And, he could chance a guess at the reason why it had suddenly come to Victor’s mind too. Yuuri found himself finishing it off before he could talk himself out of it.

“ As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me. ”

Victor reached out at that, giving Yuuri’s upper arm a squeeze and letting his hand linger there.

“I’ll go to bed, but only because I honestly cannot bring myself to say no to you.”

He turned away then, going to put up his writing before he retired for the evening, but Yuuri found himself glued to the spot.

There was that subtle electric fire, coursing through his veins, and leaving him wishing Victor had done more than what he had.

The clock across the room chimed two in the morning.

It was May 5th. One week left.

Chapter Text

It had surely not been the first time I had entered the room to find them this close. In fact, at this point, I should have simply resigned myself to the fact that it was happening. Yakir had his arms around Shiri, directing her across the piano keys, with a smile upon his lips.

 

Shiri too was smiling wide and I could feel my heart tear itself in two. For as much as I had come to find myself completely enamored by Yakir, it was clear that my dearest sister had won his heart first.

 

But as much as it pained me, it also brought me such joy. I cared for them both, dearly, and so their happiness was also mine. It was only I who was cursed with this heart unable to love as it should, my affections falling with someone not just below my status but of a gender unbefitting. How lucky for them, for they need not suffer I as I do.

 

And so, I vowed to bury my love away, to kill that part of my soul so it shall not interfere; and place all my happiness on their union.

-  Stammi Vicino, Chapter 14

“So,” Chris said, sliding his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and leaning in close. “How are things with Victor?”

Yuuri offered a weak smile. “Things with Mr. Nikiforov are fine. Why shouldn’t they be?”

He huffed at that. “Well, something is not fine if you’re still not on less formal terms with one another.” He reached up and redirected Yuuri’s chin until he was looking across the room at the Green Carnation to where Victor sat talking with Georgi and Sara.

“I don’t know if he’s not being obvious enough, but he’s exceptionally fond of you, Yuuri.”

“Oh. I’ve uh...noticed,” he managed.

Christophe gave a dramatic sigh. “Look, I may not understand your culture and its whims, but please tell me you’re going to do something about this.”

Yuuri blinked and finally Christophe removed his hands from around him, turning instead to meet him face to face, hands settling on his shoulders firmly.

“Yuuri. What’s going on in that head of yours? For someone who can be exceptionally bold, you’re suddenly very hesitant.”

He lowered his eyes at that. “I’m just worried about his safety. Everyone’s safety and that…”

“That,” Christophe retorted, “should be all the more reason to say something. Doesn’t the dashing hero always confess right before he goes off to the big battle?”

“I hope there’s no battle…”

“Yuuri,” he interrupted, “I know that emotions are tense right now and rightfully so, but in this uncertain time, shouldn’t you make other uncertainties obsolete?”

It was his conversation with Phichit all over again, and in both instances, they really did have a point.

But something, that deep down fear, that what if I can’t save him, was holding Yuuri back.

“You may not understand, but you’ve changed Victor. This Victor, this man who smiles and laughs, he wasn’t around much before you came. He’d move to Japan for you without a second thought.”

Yuuri bit his lip. How could he possibly explain to Christophe that it was May 7th and that time was running out? How could he think of anything but that? The traitorous tick of the clock on the wall seeming louder than before as if to drive the point home.

They were out of time. It wasn’t time for romance, it was time to stop getting caught up in Victor’s eyes and figure out who this murderer was before it was too late.

“Yuuri,” Christophe said, this time his voice quieter than before, “if god forbid something does happen to any of us, I hope our last days are the happiest in the world all the more. It’s why I’m telling you this now. Because I know you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

That, if anything, made more sense than anything else right now.

“Okay,” he murmured, bringing his eyes up to meet Christophe’s. He took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to him tonight when we get back. You’re right, this isn’t the time to hold back.”

Christophe gave a smile at that, pulling him into a loose hug.

“Sorry to get all serious on you, but I can tell from a mile away that you’re tearing yourself up inside over this whole ordeal. I just want you and Victor and everyone in this room to be happy.”

It was what Yuuri wanted too, perhaps more than anything.

He smiled back. “Thank you. I needed to hear it.”

They headed back towards the others at that, but Yuuri noticed right away that Victor forced a smile when they approached.

“Done with your secret talk?” he asked, far too cheerful to be believable.

Yuuri found himself drifting over to him, as close as he could without notice. He offered what he hoped was a warm smile.

“Sorry. It was nothing important.”

But it was. And Yuuri had the distinct impression Victor knew it too.

Victor was quiet as they made their way into the parlor, a certain tenseness in his posture that had lingered with him all night. Yuuri was certain it was probably the same worries burdening himself taking their toll.

“So, uh...what did you want to talk about?” Victor asked, choosing a chair across from Yuuri’s instead of beside it. “I hope today wasn’t too much for you.”

Yuuri thought back to it, their afternoon in Whitechapel. It had been so lighthearted and just genuine that it had caused him to worry himself the rest of the day over it. And it had started off so nice too.

They’d gone to one of the same sellers that they had in the days before, but this time the old woman had pulled Yuuri aside and given him a gentle pat on the hand. “It’s so nice to see Victor with someone. Thank you for taking care of him, he could use it.”

She probably saw it as nothing more than friendship, but it stuck with him, making him feel as if they might as well be married by the way she doted. Victor too had seemed rather flustered by the exchange, and there was a notable something in the air between them afterwards. That something finally met its match when they came across some musicians playing in the street, several people in the crowd dancing along to it.

“What kind of dance is that?” Yuuri had asked, not expecting anything more than a simple answer.

“Would you like me to show you?” Victor had offered.

He’d been honestly so surprised he couldn’t find a way to decline it, instead settling for nodding in reply. And before he knew it, Victor’s arms were around him, reaching over his shoulders to take his hands and walking him through the steps one by one.

The Polka koketka was easy enough, but that wasn’t what had Yuuri’s heart racing as if it would fight its way out of his chest. It was the way Victor looked at him, cheeks pinked with a blush and blue eyes sparkling with something Yuuri truly couldn’t call anything but affection that set his heart ablaze, a tidal wave of emotions surging through him and leaving him left with nothing but affection in return.

Much like had happened to Victor only a few nights before, Yuuri found a passage from a book suddenly speaking as if it was his own heart.

I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, green and strong!

Victor may not be any Mr. Rochester, yet his smile easily outshone every single one present. And Yuuri was certainly no Jane Eyre, but he too found himself drawn in despite every attempt not to be. By the time the dance ended, both of them breathless, it seemed almost normal that Victor should wrap his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and lean his forehead down against his. His words still echoing in Yuuri’s heart even now.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun before.”

“Neither have I,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation.

They lingered, perhaps a moment too long, before they hastily drew apart; warily glancing about at the crowd to ensure that no one seemed to find them anything more than friends. It was then, when Yuuri’s eyes met with a hard hateful gaze in the distance, that his worries had come back tenfold.

That could have been him. That could have been his only chance to stop him.

No, it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the day. It was that he enjoyed it so much he let the importance of his mission fall to the wayside. Phichit, Christophe...they both were right. Yuuri needed to do something about this before it distracted him even further.

“Today was…” he poured every ounce of feeling into his smile, hoping somehow he could get the message through, “absolutely wonderful. Please, don’t worry over that.”

That seemed to surprise him, for he blinked and sat back as if shocked to hear such.

“Then what did you wish to speak to me about?”

Yuuri took a deep breath and reached out until his hand could settle upon Victor’s knee, the mere touch of him getting his heart racing once more.

“Mr. Nikiforov, if it’s not too much to ask of you, might I refer to you by your first name?”

Victor’s eyes lit up with a brillance Yuuri had never seen before, the worry long forgotten and his expression nothing but absolute happiness.

“Only if you might permit me to do the same for you, Mr. Katsuki.”

“Of course. Nothing would make me happier.”

They both hesitated a moment, a nervous laugh escaping them both. But as they stood and departed for their bedrooms, they finally managed it.

“Goodnight, Victor.”

He paused by the guest bedroom door at that, reaching out to give Yuuri’s hand a timid squeeze.

“Sleep well, Yuuri.”

Even after what seemed like an hour had passed, Yuuri still laid upon the bed with his hand over his heart for it had yet to stop beating with the frantic excitement that still coursed in his veins. How could such a simple thing as Victor saying his name cause him to be such an emotional wreck, he didn’t know. But he suspected, from all he’d read on the subject matter, that it was perhaps because that’s just how love was.

PARAMETER BREACH. PARAMETER BREACH. PARAMETER BREACH.

Yuuri snapped his eyes open, ice piercing his veins as he took in the fact that his temporal apparatus had activated its cloaking system and was blaring an alarm at him.

There was only one possible thing that could have activated this, and that was that something in his parameters had been violated. Yuuri’s parameters? That no one within a certain mile radius of the League of the Green Carnation had been murdered.

The parameter had been breached.

“TEAS, report statistics on the last hour. Name any and all victims,” he managed, already reaching for his clothing. Maybe if he was lucky, he could still stop him. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

DATA INDICATES ONE BREACH OF PARAMETERS. DISPLAYING DATA NOW.

If Yuuri’s heart hadn’t already frozen, his whole being filling with dread when he saw the dot on the map displayed only a few blocks away, it certainly did as the data reached the name of the victim.

Christophe Giacometti.

Yuuri was on his feet in seconds. “TEAS isolate time of murder, reset to one hour before that.”

SOFT RESET REQUESTED. REQUEST PERMITTED. ACTIVATING RESET.

The room blinked out in a blur and suddenly Yuuri found himself sitting before Victor once more in the parlor. Based on Victor’s expression, they’d just finished talking and it looked like he was getting up to retire to his bedroom.

Yuuri felt his throat go dry.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

This time, his name coming from Victor didn’t elicit any sort of happiness or fluttering heart. Instead, he closed his eyes and forced out the next words.

“I have a really bad feeling. I need to go check on Christophe. Right away.”

He opened his eyes to find Victor looking as stricken and shook as he felt.

“Should I come with you?”

Yuuri bit his lip. If the murderer was waiting near Christophe’s house, he could ambush them as they approached. He couldn’t risk it.

“No. I think it would be best if I went alone.”

“Are you sure?”

He did his best to make amends, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

“Yes. Please stay inside and lock all the doors and windows. Hopefully I’m wrong, but…”

Victor reached out, suddenly pulling him into an embrace. Yuuri froze and Victor started to withdraw. Quickly, he pulled him back, clinging to him as if he wished he didn’t have to leave.

“Victor. Please. Stay here.”

As he’d told Yuuri before, it seemed he was truly unable to argue with him. “All right. Be careful Yuuri. It would break my heart if anything were to happen to you.”

And oh how did he understand that, how he could feel his heart already breaking at the mere thought of leaving him even this one night. If only Victor could understand, if only he could just tell him that he had to do this so he could live. So all of them could live.

“I know,” he said softly, pulling back and giving his best attempt at a smile. “As would mine break if anything were to happen to you. So please. I beg of you. Stay here and lock up.”

Victor nodded, pulling Yuuri to him once more and squeezing him tight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

There was sadness in his tone now, a wistfulness Yuuri never wanted to be the cause of.

“Of course. Hopefully my concerns are for naught.”

They drew apart with a begrudging reluctance, Victor’s hands lingering on Yuuri’s arms until they could reach him no more. Yuuri forced himself away, turning now with purpose and haste towards the stairs which he practically ran down and out the front door. He hoped Victor listened and locked it behind him. He hoped with every fiber of his being that he could protect them all this cursed night.

By the time he reached Christophe’s doorstep, he was winded and a bit frantic.

“Mr. Katsuki?” Seung-gil was clearly perplexed upon answering the pounding knocks at the door to find him there.

“I need to speak with Christophe. It’s urgent.”

Seung-gil blinked. “He just stepped out to try and find his cat. She hasn’t come in for the night yet.”

Yuuri’s blood ran cold.

“Which way?”

“What?”

“Which way did he go?”

Seung-gil had barely raised a hand to point and Yuuri had already ran off in that direction, his eyes scanning each and every shadow and alleyway in hopes he could find him before it was too late. In one dark alleyway, he spotted a white cat eating from a pile of discarded fish and immediately he knew that it was a trap waiting to be sprung.

He glanced both ways, and on spotting no bystanders, he pressed the button on the side of his pocket watch. It flickered open to a small blue screen.

“TEAS. I need a sound that will attract a cat to me without alerting any humans. Now.”

SOUND FILE PLAYING.

Sure enough, the white cat came bounding over to him and stopped right at his feet. Yuuri reached down and gently stroked the cat’s head.

“Hey, let’s get you home before anyone gets hurt, okay?”

“Yuuri?” Christophe’s voice was close and when he looked up, he found him running towards him. “What’s going on? I stopped back at the house and Seung-gil said you ran off after me.”

“I had a really bad feeling. So please, let’s get your cat and you safely back inside.”

He blinked, looking down to find his cat waiting at Yuuri’s feet.

“How did you find her?”

He slid his pocket watch closed and back into his pocket.

“Just luck I guess.”

Christophe stooped down and scooped her up into his arms. “You’re right. Let’s get back inside.”

And as they walked back towards Christophe’s house, Yuuri had the distinct feeling that they were being watched from the alleyway behind them and hastened his steps forward.

It wasn’t until they were safely inside the house with the doors locked behind them that he finally felt at ease.

He’d been so close. But getting Christophe to safety was more important than confronting whoever it was that waited down that alleyway to strike.

Seung-gil, at Yuuri’s urging, double checked every window and door in the house before bringing them drinks to the parlor. By now, the whole household was awake, with Georgi coming in wearing a nightgown and stifling a yawn.

“What’s going on?”

Yuuri offered a weak smile. “Just had a bad feeling, so I had to come check on you two.”

Christophe frowned. “What about Victor?”

He shook his head. “I only sensed the danger here. I wouldn’t have left him otherwise.”

Christophe raised an eyebrow at that, but Georgi simply nodded along.

“He must have done a reading, Chris. Clearly, only the nine of spades could shake someone up so!”

As Georgi expounded upon cartomancy and the importance of listening to the spirits around them, Yuuri began to drift off to sleep in the chair, his sense of dread gone, for now.

He awoke in a sea of red silk.

For one brief moment, Yuuri forgot where he was; having grown accustomed to the simpler room at Victor’s townhouse. But, like everything else about Christophe’s house, this bedroom was extravagant.

The sheets were red, the canopy and drapes were red, and even the wallpaper seemed to be an intricate east-Asian pattern in yet another shade of red. Immediately, Yuuri suspected he must be in the master bedroom.

That realization came twofold. First, he reached out for his glasses; then when they had been settled on his face, he looked over at the other side of the bed. Christophe, for his part, had strewn accent pillows down the center of the bed, as if to give Yuuri even the slightest bit more privacy.

It was small, but it truly meant a lot.

But the second realization, that his pocket watch was not in his waistcoat pocket, knocked all other thoughts from his mind. He darted his eyes around and came to find that he wasn’t alone after all. Christophe was sitting across from him in a chair, a curious smile dancing on his lips.

He must have noticed the way Yuuri patted his pocket for his watch, for he pointed over to the side table.

“I took it out so you didn’t roll onto it in your sleep.”

Yuuri snatched up and cradled it in his hands, the little fobs decorating the chain bringing a little smile to his face.

“Yuuri,” Christophe’s voice was suddenly closer and he turned to realize he’d crossed to sit on the other side of the bed. “What happened last night?”

He blinked, trying to process everything; the panic and the frantic run to Christophe’s house causing a frown to overtake his smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to impose upon you.”

Christophe let out a sigh. Then without another word, tossed a handful of burnt papers unto the bed beside Yuuri. He leveled him with a serious look.

“This was burning on my doorstep this morning. Probably one of the more direct criticisms of my work.”

Yuuri reached out, the burnt papers brittle and flaking off small pieces as he picked it up and examined it; it was, a strong emphasis on was , a copy of one of Christophe’s books. Across the top, written in thick black ink in a scrawling hand, were a few words. At first, Yuuri couldn’t quite make them out, but as he held it closer, some of the dustings of ash blew away, leaving it legible once more.

Pernicious Literature Shall Burn in Hell!

He darted his eyes up to Christophe.

“But I think what I most want to know is, why did you come here last night, Yuuri? Georgi might believe you read some magic cards or gazed into a crystal ball, but you don’t seem the like the type that would. I have a strong feeling you would only leave Victor’s side if you were absolutely certain that he would be safe.”

Yuuri swallowed. Hard. How could he begin to explain this? There was really no use trying to lie and say that he did use some metaphysical method to divine the events of last night, for he knew Christophe wouldn’t believe him.

Instead he stared down at the words, having a nagging feeling he’d seen them somewhere once before. But where?

“Yuuri,” Christophe tried once more, this time leaning closer. It said everything that for once, Yuuri was positive the slide of Christophe’s robe off his shoulder was not intentional. “Please. I’m trying to understand.”

There was an unwritten rule amongst Time Scientists, one that applied very much so right now. It was, surprisingly, not something Yuuri had ever had to use before. But he felt he owed it to Christophe’s kindness if nothing else.

He would have to tell him the truth.

“I’m not sure if you’ll believe me,” he began, meeting Christophe’s gaze.

“Try me,” he countered.

Yuuri took one long, deep breath.

“I’m not a literature purveyor from Japan. I am Japanese and I do love literature. Very much. In fact, that’s why I ended up coming here when I did.” He held out his pocket watch now, his eyes on it as he opened it up; not to its time period accurate appearance, but to the blue screen that flickered in digital readouts that wouldn’t be invented for years to come. “I’m a time traveler. I came from the future to try and stop someone from killing off members of the League of the Green Carnation. And I knew I could leave Victor last night because it was not him, but you that were in danger.”

He can see the words settling into Christophe’s mind, his eyes flickering over to the strange glowing watch and then back to Yuuri. Finally, after what seemed like minutes had ticked past, he smiled.

“I think I’m beginning to understand now why you’ve been so hesitant with Victor,” he said, leaning forward and pulling Yuuri into a hug. “Thank you. It seems I owe you my life.”

Yuuri blinked. “You...you believe me?”

Chris sat back, letting his hands linger on Yuuri’s shoulders. “Just as I don’t believe you the type to consult the spirits, I also don’t see you as someone who would make such an elaborate lie up to get out of something. I may not understand the how, but I do believe you.”

It’s the certainty with which it was said it that made Yuuri wrap Christophe in his arms, giving the man a hearty hug. He had not expected to find such a friend when he made this trip, and yet, here he was, proving himself to be a stalwart one at that.

“Your writing is going to become famous,” he blurted out, suddenly overcome with excitement that such things were no longer necessary secrets. “The first memoir written by a man who loves men, and well...the most explicit.”

Christophe’s laughter warmed them both.

“It seems I have a memoir to write then.”

There’s a knock at the door then and they both pause, Christophe first to call out.

“What is it, Seung-gil?”

“Mr. Nikiforov is here.”

It isn’t until they’ve made it out to the stairs that Yuuri realized how bad this must look. First he runs off to Christophe’s in the middle of the night, and now he’s coming out of his bedroom with his clothing a rumpled mess and Christophe in a robe that could hardly be deemed decent if it was to be perfectly honest. Even the thought of it burned his cheeks red.

“Oh thank goodness, Yuuri.” Victor was already up the stairs, his hands settling on Yuuri’s shoulders. “You’re safe. I was so terribly worried.”

Hoping it might make amends, Yuuri pressed his hand against Victor’s chest, leaning into his touch. His reply though, was completely heartfelt and genuine.

“As I was worried about you. I was just about to come check to make sure you’d stayed safe.”

It earned him a brilliant smile.

“Thank you for understanding, Victor,” Christophe spoke up. “Yuuri’s quick reaction may have just spared my life last night. I’m afraid it’s come to the point that none of us should venture forth alone.”

Yuuri turned then, hoping this idea might appease them both. “Given the circumstances, is there any way we can both stay here until we resolve things? I feel it’s best for us to stay together.”

Christophe turned to Seung-gil immediately. “See what we can arrange in the parlor in terms of sleeping accommodations. Once Georgi’s awake we can go to Victor’s place and get whatever belongings you both need.”

Seung-gil nodded. “Shall Mr. Katsuki be residing in the parlor now or will he be continuing to stay in…”

It was the sudden pressure in Victor’s grip that alerted Yuuri to the problem of where this conversation was headed, but Christophe cut him off before it could get any worse.

“Yes. Mr. Katsuki and Mr. Nikiforov can both reside in the parlor for the time being.”

Yuuri hoped that might be the last of the problem.

But sadly, it was not.

There was a distinct tension in the household, one that Yuuri knew he was the inadvertent cause of; for in sharing his secret with Christophe, it only drew him closer and pushed Victor further away.

How could he explain it to Victor? How could he convince him that it was only for his sake that he kept leaving the room, whispering conversations to Christophe under his breath and by all accounts distancing himself.

Yuuri needed to focus. He needed a chance to run a check on the TEAS database for that term that had been nagging at his memory from the moment he saw it that morning. And with the answers only came more questions.

Pernicious literature- that Yuuri’s database traced to the National Vigilance Association, and immediately he recalled the trials Emile Zola faced in regards to it. It certainly seemed to have some connection, but what? How could knowing about a publication from two years in the future help them now?

“Is there a way to get a list of the membership for the NVA?” Christophe had asked, once again tugging him aside.

He was trying to help, unsure what Yuuri’s technology was or wasn’t capable of so he kept throwing every suggestion he could at it. Which he was extremely grateful for, because in sharing this burden it meant he had a second mind trying to decipher what clues they’d been given.

“I tried. There’s never been a full list. But,” Yuuri paused sensing Victor’s eyes on them. He swallowed. “I have a lead. I’d rather speak about it with everyone else.”

And so he held that information close, waiting until that evening at the Green Carnation to bring it forth.

“So, let me follow this,” Sara clarified, “The National Vigilance Association are known to use that term. Assuming then it was one of their members, you discovered what?”

“W.T. Stead is heavily involved with the NVA, and he’s the current editor of   The Pall Mall Gazette , which based on our notes has a Marinoni press. It’s a stretch, but it’s all we’ve got.”

“And what are we supposed to do,” Victor’s curt voice cut in, “walk in and tell them that one of their employees is trying to attack us? What can we do about it without proof?”

Christophe gestured towards the burnt remains, “Sadly this doesn’t really amount to much proof in the eyes of the law.”

Yuuri rubbed at his forehead. That was their biggest problem, for even if they were a hundred percent certain that their culprit was employed there, there was nothing anyone could do without irrefutable proof.

And the only way they were going to get proof would be to deal with the attacker face to face.

“Look, tomorrow Emil and I can go and talk to Mr. Stead,” Sara offered. “We won’t make any accusations outright, but simply ask if he has any idea who might be sending such threats.”

“No, you can’t,” Yuuri said. The NVA hadn’t written about pernicious literature outright yet. “If any of us are seen going there I have a feeling it’ll only draw him to lash out more viciously.”

“Perhaps just send Emil?” Christophe suggested. “Considering his family’s business, he could come and go there without arising too much suspicion.”

Which was true. But he’d also been seen out with Sara and her brother countless times. They’d just have to risk it.

“Okay, but no one go anywhere without at least two others from here on out,” Yuuri said with a heavy sigh. “I hate to say this, but at this point I have a feeling the attacks will only escalate.”

It wasn’t a feeling though. Yuuri knew from what could have happened the night before that it was a fact.

This man was capable and ready to murder any of them that crossed his path.

At this point it was simply a matter of time.

May 9th, 1887.

Yuuri didn’t know it, couldn’t know it at the time, but he was going to forever remember this day.

It started after breakfast, Christophe pulling Yuuri aside and insisting they have a word before following the others to the parlor.

He wanted to protest, but at the same time there was a chance Chris had hit upon some other idea that might aid them. And so, under the steely look from Victor, he forced a smile and reassured him that they’d be right with him.

But Christophe’s concerns were becoming to be more of a personal matter.

“Wait a minute, so you’re telling me Victor doesn’t know?” Christophe sounded honestly upset on Victor’s behalf. “No wonder he keeps looking like he’s about to murder me before someone else gets the chance.”

“I just…” he floundered, for he really didn’t have a good reason for it. “I don’t want to burden him with it. I know that’s stupid and selfish of me, but…”

“But you love him.”

Yuuri darted his eyes up at that, his heart stuttering to a halt as a blush blossomed on his face.

“I...”

Christophe placed a finger over his lips and shook his head. “Darling Yuuri, you’re not going to fool me on this one. You want to protect him, it’s clear as day.”

He couldn’t deny it. Once he’d told Christophe more, explained that he specifically came because in the future Victor was killed, it only made it more obvious how he’d fallen for him.

“But the longer you keep this secret, the more you’re hurting him,” Christophe continued softly.

It was a thought that stuck with him the rest of the day, but every time he’d just about worked up the nerve to sit down with Victor and discuss it, something else came up. They got word from Emil that Mr. Stead had a few employees that he’d singled out, but having their five names sadly didn’t give them anything but a narrower list. Sara said she’d enlisted a few of the Crispino household’s servants to go out and see what more information they could get about any of the five men, but until she heard back, all they could do was wait.

And with the tension and apprehension in the household, it really wasn’t a surprise that everyone’s emotions were a bit on edge.

“Just one second, I need to speak with Yuuri a moment,” Christophe had said to Victor where he waited by the doorway. They were just about to leave together to go to the Green Carnation.

Yuuri should have seen it in his eyes then, should have done something .

Instead he let himself be tugged around the corner and into Christophe’s arms.

“Yuuri, please,” he whispered, his voice low, “tell him. I know you want to shield him from this, protect him from the knowledge that he could die any day, but you’re breaking his heart. Before we leave, please, talk to him.”

He knew then, as his blood suddenly ran cold; knew it with a certainty he didn’t need confirmation of before he tore himself from Christophe’s arms and rushed down the stairs.

The door had been flung open and Victor was gone.

Yuuri ran with everything he had, his chest tight with fear, his eyes desperately and frantically trying to find him in the dim evening. But he already knew from the ice flooding his veins that he was too late.

It was in the darkness of a small alleyway, lying in the depths of the shadows on the ground, that Yuuri spotted a dash of silver; his lungs burning and his chest heaving as he tried to gasp in some air. He forced himself forward, his heart wrenching to a sudden stop as his eyes fell on Victor; covered in blood and struggling to breathe.

“Victor!” his voice sounded as if it had been ripped from his throat; and he dropped to his knees beside him.

He’d been stabbed. At least seven times, perhaps more. And judging by the amount of blood staining his clothing and the ground around them, Yuuri knew he didn’t have much time left.

“Victor, Victor,” he pleaded, drawing him into his arms and cradling him close. “Hang on. Just hold on.”

Yuuri pressed his hand over the largest gash on the front of Victor’s chest, the warm blood sticking to his hand and coating it.

“Y-Yuuri?” Victor blinked, as if trying to bring him into focus.

He nodded, tears already spilling down his face. “I’m right here.”

Victor gave a feeble shove with his hand at that, his eyes narrowing. “Go. He could still be around. Please.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Yuuri replied, voice half choked in a sob.

That brought a weak smile to Victor’s lips.

“You know…” he gasped in a breath, reaching out until he cupped the side of Yuuri’s face with his blood soaked hand. “I thought dying would be easy.”

“Victor…”

He gave a weak chuckle at that. “I could see Klara again. It wouldn’t be so bad.”

His fingers trembled as he gently brought his thumb down to stroke across Yuuri’s lips.

“But you changed that,” he coughed out, blood trickling from his lips. “You were…” There’s another gasp now, his chest heaving to try and provide him with more air. “You were my happy ending.”

“Victor, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

But Victor forced one last smile, his eyes drifting closed.

“I love you, my Yuuri.”

And as his hand fell away, Yuuri’s alarm blared out what he already knew in his heart had happened.

Victor Nikiforov was dead.

Chapter Text

Yakir’s fingers came to an abrupt halt on the keys, his eyes flickering over to me with an intensity I’d not seen before.

 

“I’m sorry, Shiri,” he murmured before standing to meet me, “but I must talk with Vitale before we go any further.”

 

I blinked at him, confused. What could be so important to interrupt things like this?

 

“Christina has confided in me, on account of her feelings for you, that she suspects her father is going to bring harm to you. In her words, he plans to ruin your family so you’ll have no choice but to crawl back and beg to marry her.”

 

I resumed my playing at that. “There is nothing that man can do to change my mind.”

 

Suddenly, Yakir’s hands were on my shoulders, his eyes flashing with passion. “Vitale, please, He seeks to harm you.”

 

My eyes flickered to Shiri. “I’ll send Shiri and my parents away. As long as he can’t hurt them…”

 

“But what about you, Vitale?”

 

He must have seen something in my eyes, for he gasped in surprise.

 

“Vitale. Please, it would break my heart if anything were to happen to you.”

 

“You can go with Shiri, your happiness…”

 

There seemed to be an understanding dawning upon him, his eyes wide as he looked to her then back to me.

 

“Vitale, while I care for Shiri very much, she is like a sister to me.”

 

It was my turn to be surprised, my bow striking a sharp note as I dragged it back.

 

“But I thought…”

 

Yakir’s eyes flickered to her then back to me, something suddenly different in the way he looked at me.

 

“All this time, I’ve only ever had my eyes on you.”

 

I dropped my bow in my shock. “Truly?”

 

He smiled and my heart, which I thought dead and buried, burned to life once more.

 

“Truly.”

-  Stammi Vicino, Chapter 15

Time reset and Yuuri found himself once more in Christophe’s arms.

Something he was momentarily thankful for, for he was still shaking and his eyes were still welling with tears. But he wanted to fix this. Now. Before it was too late.

He jerked himself free from the embrace.

“Sorry Chris, but I know what you’re going to say.”

Yuuri ran at that, just barely catching Victor as he walked towards the door.

“Wait, Victor! There’s been a misunderstanding.”

As Victor turned back, his beautiful eyes flickering up to where he stood on the staircase, Yuuri’s chest seized up at the mere sight of him alive once more.

“Yes. There has been. And I’m sorry.”

Yuuri blinked. “What?”

“I’ve clearly misinterpreted things between us and now I’m making it awkward by lingering around.”

“Victor no, the truth is…”

“The truth is I love you, Yuuri Katsuki, more than life itself. And as much as it pains me to step aside, your happiness is all that matters to me.”

Yuuri froze.

For all he could do was see Victor, lying lifeless in his arms. Victor, reaching up with that last bit of strength to tell him those same three words. More than life itself echoed over and over inside his mind. He fell to his knees, a shaky hand coming up to press over his mouth, that ghostly touch of Victor’s finger still lingering across his lips.

The door slammed open and Victor went out it, Christophe yelling after him and following suit. Yuuri couldn’t move. Frozen in a memory that was so vivid because to him it had just happened. It had been real.

Victor loved him and yet…

His pocket watch blared its alarm. Almost mechanically, he pulled it out; his voice sounding hollow as it he asked it once more. “Victim?”

Christophe Giacometti. Victor Nikiforov.

The sobs overtook him, tears spilling forth and splashing against the tile. He could still feel Victor in his arms. Still feel his blood against his cheek. Still see the light go out in his eyes.

It was as if his heart had been torn out and he had been left a hollow shell, empty of anything but overwhelming grief. Maybe it couldn’t be changed. Maybe there was no way to save him.

Maybe there couldn’t be happy ending after all.

You were my happy ending .

Victor’s words came back to him at that and the tears started anew. He allowed himself to cry, to let all the grief and pain and sorrow flow out of him until he was left with nothing else.

It’s there in the nothingness that he hears it; the faint sound of a piano and violin playing together in the distance and a gentle voice calling his name. A woman’s voice.

Yuuri. Dearest Yuuri.

He looked around but there was no one. In fact, with his device open he should be in a completely soundproof space.

Sometimes you must write your own happy ending .

The words jolted his heart back to life. He knew those words. Had read them in Stammi Vicino thousands of times. Shiri spoke them to Yakir as she placed his hand in Vitale’s and wished them well.

“Klara?” Yuuri called out as understanding dawned on him.

There’s a soft little laugh.

Take care of him for me, won’t you?

Yuuri got to his feet, his fingers clutching his watch tighter. He didn’t know if he was dreaming, so far gone in his grief that he’d imagined it all; but what he did know was the words that came next in the story.

“I will.”

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

They were back in the parlor again, perhaps an hour before they were leaving and Georgi was giving Yuuri an odd stare.

Well. He may have just spoken with a ghost and the other two people in the room were just murdered. If he looked visibly shaken, it was probably to be expected.

He honestly couldn’t remember what they had talked about in the parlor that afternoon, and finding he didn’t really care if they think oddly of him for it, he stood up with a single purpose.

“Sorry. I just realized I have something very important I need to discuss with Victor.”

Yuuri crossed the room and reached down, taking Victor by the wrist and tugging him up to his feet; the feeling of his pulse against his fingertips the most reassuring of all. They hadn’t even made it to the door before Victor spoke up.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

Yuuri caved at that, turning around abruptly and wrapping his arms tight around Victor as he buried his face against his chest.

“Sorry. I…” He steadied his breath, his eyes prickling with emotion at feeling the steady beat of Victor’s heart against his ear.  He had hoped to at least get out of the room to maintain some dignity, but he was past the point of caring.

“I need to make something clear before anyone else gets hurt,” he said, fingers clutching Victor ever closer as if he’ll never ever let him go again.

Hesitantly, he felt Victor’s arms loop around him; and he fought back tears once more.

“Victor, there’s nothing romantic between Christophe and me. There never has been. He perhaps said it best when he told me that he’d lost that chance the moment I read your books.”

Tentative fingers clutched the back of his jacket, as if Victor was still not quite certain this was really happening.

“Then...you mean…”

Yuuri leaned back then, looking up into those blue eyes so full of life, and gave a lopsided smile. He couldn’t say everything he needed to now, for there wasn’t the time for it, but he could at least give Victor this.

“All this time, I’ve only ever had my eyes on you.”

There was a beauty beyond words in the reaction that earned him, Victor’s cheeks staining pink and his eyes seemed to sparkle with realization as a smile brighter than any other alighted his face.

“Truly?”

“Truly,” he reassured him.

There was such joy in his expression, such life, and he seemed to be overcome by it; his arms wrapping tight around Yuuri, lifting him up off the ground as laughter spilled forth and he spun them around.

By the time Yuuri’s feet were back on the ground, he was laughing in his happiness too.

And as they pulled back, each of them lingering even a moment longer in the other’s arms, Yuuri felt his heart burning with a feeling like any other.

He’d find a way to give Victor a happy ending, no matter how hard he had to fight for it.

No matter how many times it took.

By the end of the evening, Yuuri was completely emotionally drained.

They’d spent hours at the Green Carnation, going over what they knew about each of their five subjects and finding that no matter what angle they looked at, they were still dealing with the problem that they couldn’t call the police about an attack that hadn’t happened yet.

In addition to that, Christophe brought to light yet another problem they had: their most solid clue would most likely just result in his arrest for writing such vulgar things.

No matter how they looked at it, it seemed that there would be no certain way to do this except to catch the man in the act, which was not only potentially deadly, but going to be far easier said than done.

But perhaps because he’d been in such a good and optimistic mood, or maybe just because he didn’t quite understand exactly the danger he was in, Victor got up as they were readying to go and said he needed to go to his house first to check on Makkachin.

“Alone?” Christophe had asked. “We could come with you.”

Victor shook his head. “Maybe I can luck out and catch them in the act if I go alone, isn’t that the only way we’re going to resolve this?”

Yuuri dropped the glass in his hand, the shattering sound the only thing he even registered. It’s as if the alarm was blaring inside his head, his entire body freezing up at the memory. He felt sick, his feet somehow taking him forward until he could grasp Victor’s hand.

“No. Victor, you can’t.”

“Yuuri, it’ll be fine. I’m sure if they try something Makkachin or my neighbor will notice and then we’ll have a way to catch them.”

He reached out at that, grabbing Victor by the shoulders.

“It will not be fine!” He could feel the tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t care; he had to make Victor understand. “Please, Victor...if you leave now, if you go alone,” the memories washed over him as the tears began to fall once more, “you're going to die, Victor. And I don't want that. I never ever want that! Don’t you understand?”

Yuuri took a deep breath, his emotions overflowing along with his tears. This time he would leave no room for doubt.

“I love you, Victor. So please. Stay by my side and never leave me.”

He could feel the warmth of Victor’s touch, his hands coming up to cradle Yuuri’s face as his thumbs brushed away the tears.

“If you keep making him cry, I’m going to take him back,” Christophe cut in.

“Chris!” Sara scolded.

But Victor didn’t seem to care, his eyes focused solely on Yuuri as he leaned his forehead down against Yuuri’s.

“You...you love me?”

He seemed completely disbelieving that he’d heard it.

Yuuri nodded, his words sticking in his throat.

“More than life itself.”

This time, he believed it; returning the sentiment by pressing a passionate kiss to Yuuri’s lips, his fingers threading into his hair as he did. And now, unlike the first two times fraught with worry, Yuuri too believed it. Truly. Victor Nikiforov loved him and somehow, time itself be damned, he would protect him.

They parted, cheeks stained with blushes and breathless, their eyes locked on one another as if there was nothing else in the world.

“I’ll come home with you,” Yuuri said quietly, breathless now for much better reasons than he had been earlier in the night.

Victor reached down and took Yuuri’s hand.

And perhaps it was in the blue of his eyes or the way he hesitantly twined their fingers together, but Yuuri knew that he’d face whatever he had to to keep this man safe.

If you’re going to do something excessively reckless and potentially life-threatening, at least give yourself the peace of mind of having prepared to do something excessively reckless and potentially life-threatening.

Yuuri Katsuki was at least somewhat prepared to do what he was about to do.

They’d gone to Christophe’s first to collect what few items they’d taken there, then at his insistence, took a carriage from there the few blocks to Victor’s townhouse. By all accounts, things seemed to be absolutely normal; Victor brought his writing down from his room to his desk in the parlor so they could drink tea and keep watch, at least until Yuuri felt it was safe enough for them to sleep. For perhaps it was because he was already having potentially one of the worst days imaginable, Yuuri had a nagging feeling that the moment they went to sleep something was going to happen.

He was not exactly pleased to be proven right.

The sound was muffled enough even Makkachin didn’t wake, but both Yuuri and Victor immediately turned to one another, their eyes wide; for the one good thing about being so completely on edge was that every single noise that seemed remotely out of place drew their attention to it. This had hardly been the first of such noises, but this one was followed by more.

Namely, the sound of soft footsteps slowly coming up from downstairs.

Yuuri was on his feet in seconds, rushing to Victor’s side and pushing him back down into his desk chair.

“Stay here.”

“You’re not going down there alone.”

His heart was already racing, pumping that adrenaline through his veins once more; for he could already hear the steps coming ever closer and the last thing he needed was wasting valuable time arguing with Victor about this.

“Stay with Makkachin and keep her quiet. Please, Victor. Trust me.”

Blue eyes were still swimming with worry.

“Yuuri, you can’t…”

The footsteps were on the landing, Yuuri was running out of time yet again.

He turned and quickly and quietly moved the teacups off their metal tray, hoping the impromptu shield might buy him even one moment more. But as he turned for the door, Victor was on his feet again and Yuuri ran back to him, frantic worry starting to overtake his mind.

“Victor please, I’m begging you…”

“I’m not letting you go without me.”

“And I’m not letting you die again. Please .”

He ran from the room before he could even register Victor’s reaction, slamming the parlor door open and closed with a bang and heading directly down the stairs as ready as he was going to be to do this.

In the dim light of the staircase, colored patches of moonlight filtered through stained glass making the lighting mosaic and irregular, Yuuri finally laid eyes on the man; his profile in shadow and his knife already poised to strike. And at the sudden appearance of someone, that’s exactly what he did.

It was fast, too fast for Yuuri to get the tray up in time, and the knife sunk into his side, its serrated edges tearing off chunks of flesh as he drew the weapon back and readied himself for another blow.

Yuuri staggered to his left, wanting to clutch at the injury with his hand but knowing he needed both free if he was going to survive this fight. The attack came yet again and he barely had the time to deflect it with the tray at the last moment, using the momentum to shove the man backwards down the stairs.

He fell back to the landing, getting to his feet far too quickly for Yuuri’s liking, and rushing forward with a practiced precision; this time the blade sunk itself into Yuuri’s left leg and he barely stifled a cry of pain.

Yuuri knew if he cried out, if Victor had even the slightest hint that he was in mortal peril, he would come to his aid; so as much as it hurt, he bit it back, swinging wide with the tray to buy himself a second to compose himself.

He could feel his blood running warm and thick, the blood from his side mingling with that from his leg as it coursed its way to the floor. Right now, he had one priority and one priority only.

Keep Victor safe.

Yuuri rushed forward once more, doing his best to drive the attacker down the stairs and further away from Victor. But for every jab or thrust Yuuri was able to dodge or block yet another hit its mark, the knife piercing into his right arm, another slash slicing across his cheek.

By the time they were out of stairs and back in the entry hallway, Yuuri was pretty sure he had been stabbed at least five times. It was there, in the illuminated shadows of the hall, that Yuuri finally got a good look at the man’s face, his blue eyes filled with such hatred that Yuuri was momentarily taken aback by it. But the splashes of blood on his face and the darkness of the night kept much of him hidden and any attempt to draw closer only resulted in yet another attack.

“I see the Jew got himself a yellow whore,” the man sneered in a low voice.

Yuuri felt his heart lurch at the slurs, for although he’d long expected this man to be prejudiced, having it spat in his face made it downright chilling.

“What do you want from us?” Yuuri managed.

“To send you filthy sodomites back to hell where you belong!”

He drove at Yuuri, tackling him to the ground and sending the tray skidding out of reach, the knife pierced once more into Yuuri’s side, this time his right, and he used all his strength to shove the man off of him. As if it was some sort of sick game, he allowed Yuuri to stagger to his feet; the blood loss making his mind grow fuzzy and his vision obscured by the blood spattered across his glasses. He clutched at his side, his hand coming to rest over his waistcoat pocket where his watch resided. If it came down to it, he could always reset; but right now he was willing to risk a little longer in hopes he might gain some upper hand over the attacker.

Something. Anything. He just needed a way to stop this man before he could finish what he came to do.

In the haziness of his mind, he tried to remember his training; the Time Scientists in the criminology sector all giving him one piece of advice that he really took to heart.

If you want to catch a murderer, then you may find yourself the victim.

So he’d asked the scientists that had been in that situation, each of them imparting vital advice for what to do when you were up against your target; and he’d asked the scientists specialising in martial arts for methods to use during a knife fight.

It was now as he stood in the darkness, the man waiting before him as if simply toying with him, hoping he’d run, that he remembered something that might just work. He turned sharply towards the dining room, spinning back towards his attacker just as he was close enough to the table; he landed on it, china shattering and crashing to the floor and the man hovering over him with a cocky grin, clearly thinking he had won.

But as he raised his arm to bring down that final blow to the heart, Yuuri brought his one uninjured leg up and kicked hard in his stomach; it threw him back onto the floor and the knife went skidding towards the nearest fireplace.

Yuuri was on his feet and racing for the knife before he knew it, his fingers fumbling with it in the dark, its handle slick with blood; finally turned back towards the man. The man ran, and Yuuri tried to keep pace, but the amount of blood he’d lost must finally have hit a point, for his vision blurred and he had to grab the stair rail to keep himself upright.

He watched as the man slid out the backdoor and into the night.

It might have been a moment, it might have been a minute; but once Yuuri was certain he was truly gone, he sunk down to the stairs, suddenly, overwhelmingly, tired.

As he began to reach for his watch, ready to reset and try once more, he remembered the knife in his hand. Yuuri wasn’t cut out to engage in brutal knife fights, and he really wasn’t sure he wanted to risk his luck trying this night over once more; so unsure if it would be enough, he decided he’d have to hope the knife itself was enough proof to get the police involved.

He’d also have to hope that Victor took the truth of who he was well, because at the moment Yuuri had a feeling his health wouldn’t hold out much longer.

“Victor!”

The door slammed open before he could even finish calling his name and suddenly, thankfully, Victor was there.

“Yuuri,” his name sounded like plea and suddenly there were warm blue eyes, filled with love and worry. “Oh...Yuuri.”

“Victor, listen, I’m going to be okay.”

“But Yuuri…”

He knew it probably looked terrible, his own memories fogging over with seeing Victor in probably much the same state, but this time Yuuri knew he was close enough to help.

“Get me upstairs,” he could feel the effect of his risk now, knew there wasn’t much time to reverse the damage done. “I need my suitcase. Hurry.”

Suddenly Victor’s arms swept under him and his lips pressed to Yuuri’s bloodied forehead; his voice quiet as he began to run up the stairs.

“My beautiful brave Yuuri.”

And although he’d probably been stabbed or cut somewhere nearly twenty times, those simple words alone made it entirely worth it.

There was a Ripperologist amongst the Time Scientists that Yuuri had gotten to know pretty well during all his research about Victor’s murder. Murders in late 1880s London? Find the one girl obsessed with Jack the Ripper to the point she’d almost been killed by him at least five times.

Not only had she given Yuuri a potential list of suspects that may have been active in 1887, she’d also impressed upon him quite seriously that he needed to be prepared to handle severe injury.

“Sometimes, you can’t just reset things because you got a clue or got something good that you don’t want to erase, but that still leaves you bleeding to death in a time period that is by no means equipped to save your life. So you gotta take a little extra in your suitcase, even if it seems excessive, because that may be the difference between life or death for you.”

He’d taken her at her word and packed not only a large scale bioregenerator that was capable of restoring up to one limb but also the means to give himself a blood transfusion.

Yuuri had walked Victor through the use of the bioregenerator, from how to turn it on and to the correct setting to using the small almost pen sized wand attachment to run over each wound. As the deep cuts seemed to heal before his eyes, his serious expression and worried frown began to ease. He may not have understood how, but he could understand that somehow it was going to safe Yuuri’s life.

Still light headed, Yuuri opened his temporal device and had it run a body scan, not that surprised when it notified him that he had lost too much blood and needed to amend it in a timely fashion. So, still covered in blood and definitely still feeling like he was injured, for the bioregenerator might speed the healing process up but could not remove the pain and exhaustion, he had to then walk Victor through the blood transfusion process. Given the amount he’d lost, the machine quoted a time of slightly over an hour.

“Victor,” Yuuri said once the process had begun, “now we just have to wait. I’m…” He paused to take another breath, still feeling as if he was short of it, “I’m sure you have a thousand questions.”

He watched as Victor walked around the guest bed, his clothing and the sheets both stained now with Yuuri’s blood; and without seeming to care for the mess, he sat down beside where Yuuri laid. Victor was smiling now, soft and gentle, as he reached down to brush the hair out of Yuuri’s eyes.

“Only one. Are you going to be okay?”

Yuuri nodded. “Thanks to your help, yes. But...I meant, about all this.”

He gestured now to the cluster of technology that would not exist for centuries upon centuries on the table beside the bed, one part of it still connected to his arm. This wasn’t how he wanted to talk to Victor about this, but he really had no choice.

Victor laid down now beside him, his gentle smile not wavering.

“If something from the future is able to save your life, then I don’t really care how it works.”

Yuuri blinked, the wind feeling knocked out of him now for a completely different reason. How did Victor know it was from the future? Was he just guessing?

He shifted as best as he could, his left side still aching from multiple wounds that had been healed, until he could look Victor in the eye.

“I owe you a lot of explanations and I can’t fall asleep until this is done, so I suppose I might as well get started. I’m…”

Victor’s smile brightened. “A time traveler from the future here to save my life?”

Yuuri’s mouth hung open a moment, the shock on his face so apparent that Victor quickly clarified.

“How drunk were you that first night, Yuuri?”

Very. Had he just told everyone? No, because Christophe didn’t know until recently. Victor seemed to realize the dilemma, his hand reaching down to hold Yuuri’s as he spoke.

“You um...you were rather drunk, and I suppose I shouldn’t take a drunk man at his word when it comes to such bold claims, but…” He leaned forward now until his forehead gently rested against Yuuri’s. “Something about the way you said it to me, whispered into my ear while leading me in a dance to some music only you could hear, just made me believe you.”

Yuuri finally found his words. “You’ve known...this whole time…”

“That was all you told me though, so until tonight I don’t think I really understood how serious a matter this was.”

“I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Yuuri muttered, gesturing to his arm still attached to the machine.

Now a hesitant frown surfaced as Victor sat back a little, his hand pulling free and coming to rest over Yuuri’s heart.

“I suppose, I...I do have one question about it.”

Yuuri’s mind reeled with all the possible things he could ask, preparing himself to answer any one of them. But once more, Victor surprised him.

“Earlier tonight, you told me...right as you went downstairs to face this villain, you said you didn’t want to see me die again. And, while I don’t understand exactly how time travel works, I feel this might explain your suddenness in the parlor at Christophe’s earlier.”

The worry was back now, perhaps even more so than before.

“Yuuri, how many times have you seen me die today?”

The memory seemed to cause him an almost physical pain and he winced as if one of his wounds had been ripped back open; for of all the things he’d wanted to spare Victor from, it was this. That was to be a burden he carried alone.

But something in the way Victor’s fingers softly splayed themselves over his heart, the raw and open expression on his face, made Yuuri cave.

“Twice,” he managed through gritted teeth, the memories already threatening to overtake him once more. “Both you and Christophe have died twice and I’ve had to go back.”

Victor’s expression shattered at the revelation; blue eyes momentarily wide in shock before they blinked once, twice, and tears began to fall.

“Victor?”

Yuuri did his best to sit up, using his left arm to push himself up until he was propped against the pillows enough he could reach out with that very hand, fingers brushing the fringe of hair out of Victor’s face and hesitating only a moment before he moved to cradle Victor’s face.

Victor melted into the touch, collapsing forward into Yuuri’s arms, tears flowing freely now as he hid his face against Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Why? Why would you go through such a thing twice just for me?”

“Victor…”

“I don’t understand. I’m no one, Yuuri. What could be that important about me ?”

And how could Yuuri begin to put that into words? He’d tried, in so many essays, submissions to scholarly journals, and in the rough draft of his biography. He’d tried a thousand times to explain why Victor Nikiforov was so important, why he deserved a second chance at life.

When he’d submitted his request for this mission to the Academy, he’d highlighted three major points: the importance of Stammi Vicino as not only the first English language novel that featured a gay couple but also the first that featured a happy ending for the pair, the importance of his works about the positions of women in Victorian society and how many had come to consider Limit of Bliss one of the seminal works of feminist literature, and most of all how he didn’t ever shy away from presenting all the facets of himself despite societal pressures. Victor Nikiforov was a Russian-Jewish gay man who wrote about all of those things without ever trying to veil his intent or hide it behind something considered socially acceptable. He was a writer before his time.

“Do you really want to know?” Yuuri asked, warmth in his voice now. “I’m writing an entire book about how important you are. Right now the rough draft sits at about four hundred pages, but given everything I’ve learned about you since coming here, I think it’ll probably be at least seven hundred now.”

Victor leaned back at that and blinked up at him in shock.

“About me? Truly?”

“Truly,” Yuuri replied, smiling at him. “Your writing means everything to me.”

The tears had stopped now, replaced instead by the dawning of something akin to awe on Victor’s face. Somehow, this wonderful, talented man, had absolutely no idea what an impact his words would make.

He let out a nervous laugh, his arms wrapping around Yuuri’s neck as he sank once more into his embrace.

“Yuuri, my wonderful Yuuri.”

Victor looked up at him now, his eyes brimming with emotion.

“I do not know what horrors you have endured today for my sake, nor do I understand what it is you see in me or my writing that would make such a thing worthwhile. But what I do know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is that I love you and will for as long as I shall live. My heart is yours and I have never been a happier man.”

Like a tidal wave, all of the day’s trials and tribulations culminating into one moment, Yuuri felt it all wash over him; it did not matter that he’d almost died, it did not matter that he’d lived through two timelines where things had gone wrong, for here, now, Yuuri felt as if time itself had stopped if but for a moment to rejoice along with him.

Yuuri kissed Victor then with all that he was; all his passion, all his emotion, every fiber of his being that adored this man and his writing so much that words would never be enough to convey.

Somehow, some way, Yuuri would give Victor his happy ending and no man nor time itself was going to stop him.

Chapter Text

“Vitale, it’s Yakir. My father...he…”

 

Christina’s appearance upon my doorstep may have surprised me, but nothing could have prepared me for what she’d come to say, my heart constricting in my chest as if it had been crushed.

 

“He found out,” Christina managed, tears flowing freely down her face. “He did something truly horrid and set some men upon him…”

 

How naive I had been! For I thought my worries gone, safely whisked away in the night when my parents and Shiri fled; even the household’s servants gone with them. But oh my heart- he had truly pierced it with this merciless act, and I found myself frozen in horror as she tried to find words to explain.

 

The Viscount had found out that Yakir had alerted me to his plans, had paid off some gang of men to attack him, and had left him for dead. It was only Christina’s kindness that had spared him, secreting him away to her doctor and now to my door.

 

As she led me to the backdoor of our kitchen, I felt as if I was in a nightmare unfolding. But there, in a carriage parked behind our home, was my dearest Yakir, still trying to give me a smile; his beautiful skin now marred with bruises and cuts beyond number.

 

A sob broke forth from my lips, raw and unguarded; caring not what any of them may think of me, I rushed to him, gathering him gently into my arms and weeping openly as I laid a kiss upon his head.

 

Christina’s hand pressed feather light to my arm and I glanced up to see an understanding look in her eyes.

 

“I must go before anyone suspects, but I want you to know...I’m praying for your safety and your happiness. Both of you.”

-  Stammi Vicino, Chapter 16

He awoke to the sound of Victor’s heartbeat against his ear.

As the last vestiges of sleep clung to him, ghosts of the night before still trying to take hold, Yuuri found there was one little thread pulling him forward; that heartbeat, good and strong and alive. He did not question the how or why, not concerned with how he’d come to awaken in Victor’s arms; but instead let himself linger in it, content for a moment to simply be, to let the overwhelming emotions attempt to settle in his heart.

Yuuri was not certain how long he allowed himself to lay there, eyes closed and heart full; but finally Victor’s soft voice called out to him, gentle fingertips caressing his face.

“Yuuri,” Victor’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “Yuuri, I’m not sure if this is important, but your watch is glowing.”

He flickered his eyes open at that, momentarily finding himself breathless at the blueness of Victor’s eyes this close; they must have fallen asleep together in the guest bedroom, he reasoned, but reason didn’t stop his heart from racing at it.

Sleepily, he rolled and reached over to where his watch sat on the nightstand, relieved immediately on seeing the gentle blue color as opposed to a possibly troublesome green or red. He was not surprised upon opening it to find a message from Phichit to contact him back.

“It’s nothing bad,” he reassured Victor upon seeing the worry in his expression. “Just a message from a friend to call him back.”

“Thank goodness,” he replied, sitting up and leaning forward to press a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “You’ve been through enough.”

And there was something in the way he said it, the tenderness in his voice, that caused the already overflowing emotions in Yuuri’s heart to bubble forth once more; any hesitancy in himself pushed aside as he wrapped Victor in his arms and drew him close. Holding him tight, listening to that steady heartbeat, and knowing that despite the nightmares of the night before he somehow managed to protect the man that had come to mean everything to him.

“Would you like me to draw you a warm bath?” Victor murmured after a moment.

“We need to contact the police first,” Yuuri replied still not letting Victor go. “They need to see me bloody and bandaged if we’re going to get them to believe us.”

“Then let me hasten to get them,” he said, reluctantly pulling away. “So we can put this whole matter behind us.”

As he began to stand up, Yuuri reached out once more and beckoned him near, simply so he could press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said, giving Victor a gentle smile. “For everything last night. I know it might not seem like much to you, but it was to me.”

“It’s the least I could do, Yuuri. I owe you my life.”

“And I owe you mine,” Yuuri asserted.

The statement seemed to take a minute to settle, Victor clearly wanting to protest but finding himself unable to do so; for the genuine gratitude in Yuuri’s eyes could not be so easily dismissed.

“Then I’ll have to repay you with the rest of mine and you with yours,” Victor said softly, turning now with purpose as he slowly drifted out of Yuuri’s touch.

And it’s not until he’d left the room that the depth of his words fully registered to Yuuri, the sudden realization that Victor truly meant that he’d be more than willing to spend the rest of his life with him almost bringing him to tears.

He hastened then to pull out his watch, knowing that only returning Phichit’s call could stop him from dwelling on it further.

“Oh god, Yuuri, please tell me you’re okay,” Phichit exclaimed the moment the feed opened up. He was clearly back home now, the hamster tubes snaking all around the walls something only his pod would have.

Yuuri grimaced on realizing that he probably looked far worse than he felt.

“I’m okay.” Phichit gave him a look and Yuuri clarified. “Yes, I did something really stupid and almost bled to death, but I’m all healed up now and very much alive still.”

Phichit let out a resigned sigh. “I thought that was to be a last resort.”

Yuuri let out his own sigh now, a frown tugging his lips down. “Yeah and I had to live through two bad end timelines so last resort is kind of where we’re at now.”

His friend reached out at that, his holographic form wrapping him in a hug. “You going to be okay? Emotionally speaking? From what I’ve heard living out one of those timelines can really mess people up.”

Yuuri nodded. “Yeah. I think so. It uh...well, I think the emotional fallout has already occured.”

Phichit blinked. “What do you mean?”

A small little smile tugged at his lips now, almost sheepish as he admitted it. “So uh...Victor knows. Um pretty much everything? The time travel. The reason I’m here. And uh…”

“You finally admitted that you’re head over heels for the guy, huh?”

Yuuri bit his lip. “In front of everyone.”

At that Phichit smiled. “As always, you never do things half-way, Yuuri. Did your stupid stunt at least get the murderer out of the picture?”

He shook his head. “No, but I did manage to get his weapon. Do you think there’s any way I can use it to identify him?”

Phichit tapped his lips thoughtfully. “I’d have to see it, but it’s possible. It’s better than nothing.”

Yuuri leaned over to where the knife sat next to all the medical equipment, picking it up and once more taking a close look at it. There were fingerprints in the dried blood on the handle, a strand of hair caught in the mess, and probably more of Yuuri’s blood on it than he’d like to think about.

“This time period isn’t really that great when it comes to using fingerprints or DNA, so I’ve basically got two things that I doubt will help much,” he admitted with a frown. “At most, I guess we’ve got hair color? But that’s not a lot.”

But Phichit’s eyes had gone wide. “Okay, I hate myself for saying this, but I don’t think the cops there can help you.”

“I know.”

“But there is a way you can track the killer now if that hair really is his.”

Yuuri looked at him in shock. How? It’s not like some random guy from the 1880s would have his DNA on file anywhere, even in the future.

“Are you sure? It’s just a hair.”

Phichit nodded. “It’s a little trick us zoologists use to track like-species animals. We catch one, input their DNA, and use it to create a parameter search for similar matches. I’m pretty sure we can set it to only look for an exact match too.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you? You can use this hair to let me track him?”

“Downside is, it only works in a small radius from your location. So you’d basically have to wait for him to come within range before it’ll pick him up.”

So all they needed to do was lure him close enough and then they’d know he was coming. And if they knew he was coming, they could alert the police and have them arrive in time to catch him in the act.

“Phichit, I think you just solved this.”

“I think I just gave you another excuse to endanger your life,” Phichit countered with a frown. “But I’ve kind of gotten the impression you’re up for that kind of thing.”

Yuuri’s mind was whirling now, slowly planning this out in his mind. Tonight, they could test the DNA tracker and if it worked, then they’d just have to risk it once more. He could give Christophe his signet ring, which doubled as a small connection to his TEAS system, and use it to signal him. Then once the police arrived, they’d surely catch the man in the act of the attack.

It was a big risk, but they were out of time to try anything else.

“Can you help me set up the DNA tracker on this hair?”

He nodded. “I will, but you’ve got to promise me that you’ll not let yourself get as sliced up as you did last night. I can see all those bloodstains Yuuri and just because you can insta-heal yourself doesn’t mean that it’s good for your body to endure that again. If healing myself from a rodent bite still leaves a bruise and an ache for a week, I don’t think you can handle getting mortally wounded a second time in such a short span of time.”

Yuuri frowned. “Okay, I’ll try. But I can’t promise anything. If Victor…”

“I know. If Victor’s in danger, you’ll do whatever you can to save him. I hope he at least reciprocates your feelings.”

“I do,” Victor’s voice cut in from the doorway.

Yuuri about dropped his watch at that, the visual jostling a bit as he regained his balance; while Phichit was clearly trying not to laugh.

“Good,” he finally managed before leveling Yuuri a look. “Am I going to need to get you a 1327 form before you come home?”

Yuuri’s face flushed bright red, for that form was the one issued when a Time Scientist wished to carry on a long distance relationship with someone in the past.  

“Um…” He looked over at Victor now, who was curiously observing the TEAS visual with wide eyes. “Yeah. I think so.”

Phichit gave a warm smile at that. “I’ll pop down to the records department once we get this tracker going. But first, and more importantly since you left cloaking off, Victor come in and sit down, I’d like to meet the author who Yuuri’s been going on about since I met him.”

It was now that Yuuri realized why Victor had returned so soon, in his hands a tray with a small breakfast for two laid out on it; it wasn’t much, clearly just what he’d had on hand, but it still made Yuuri’s heart do a little somersault.

And as Phichit and Victor began to talk, there was a little spark of happiness that flickered to life inside Yuuri’s chest; a hope burning strong that they were one step closer to bringing this story to a close, happy ending and all.

Viten'ka, you must promise me two things, no matter what. First, don’t stop writing, because I know that someday your beautiful words will reach the whole world. And second, don’t close off your heart, because your beshert is waiting for you in the future. Live the life I cannot have, Viten’ka. Be happy for me.

More than anything else, Victor wished he could tell Klara she was right.

It had been her words, her wishes, that had kept him afloat since her death; some part of him feeling that it was almost his duty to live twice as much just for her sake. For without that, Victor wasn’t sure if he would have taken up Sara when she kept inviting him out for drinks, even though he knew she was by no means trying to flirt with him.

“You can’t mope around your house by yourself all the time now that your family’s left for America,” she’d scolded him. “Victor, come on. A few drinks, that’s all I’m asking for. We can talk about anything at all.”

He’d finally caved, allowing her to whisk him off to the Green Carnation under the cloak of darkness to a private booth that apparently she frequented. It was after a few rounds of gin that she’d admitted to her ulterior motive, namely that she wanted to start up a periodical filled with “words for those that think they cannot have a voice.” Victor, being one of the few she’d confided in about her real reason for turning down every single suitor her parents threw at her, and being a person of similar unbecoming inclinations, she thought would be a strong voice.

“Klara always said you told the best stories,” Sara had finally told him somberly. It was a moment that would change Victor’s path forever.

Before Struggimento , Victor had never written a fictional story; in fact, the only time he’d ever woven such a tale was when Klara and he were little, for she’d insist he create a story for them to act out. His stories always brought her such joy, even if the path to get to the happy ending was fraught with countless dangers and sorrows; and he thought maybe he could still give her that happy ending, that in his writing he could somehow make it be.

But at first, he couldn’t write about Klara, for every time he tried he found himself lost and aimless, as if he was searching for something just out of reach. So he wrote about that instead, wrote about how missed Russia, about how he felt as if the veil of sorrow Klara left upon him was never going to lift, how helpless he felt and how out of reach any sort of happiness seemed.

He never expected his thoughtful meanderings to become a novel, but somehow, The Mist came to be.

It was like Klara was giving him a sign, a little nudge in the right direction. Keep going, Viten'ka. Your words will reach the whole world. Your happiness is out there waiting for you. Keep going.

With the acclaim of the novel came a flurry of offers from other writers to contribute to Sara’s periodical, first Georgi, then Christophe, until the League of the Green Carnation came to be. Sara always credited Victor with doing what she could not, with reaching out with his words to find the other voices she was seeking, but he always felt she sold herself short. It was not just Victor’s novel that sold those issues, but Sara’s thought provoking and insightful essays; her criticisms of popular literature that she tore into, rightfully pointing out that only a white male could enjoy such self-indulgent tripe, and her witty yet brutal views of society and its constant appearances that were supposed to be upkept.

Georgi brought the periodical humor, although Sara suspected much of the melodrama in his pieces was intended to be wholly serious, and Christophe brought his view as a provocative and outspoken man of the world who didn’t shy away from much of anything. Together, the four of them had carved out a niche in a society that was trying to pretend their sort of people didn’t exist.

With friends supporting him, Victor found just enough happiness to begin to try and tell Klara’s stories, first with Limit of Bliss and second with Decisions of the Stars ; the words hard to come at first, but once they began, they flowed strong and steady, as if they’d just been waiting to be let free.

He’d written a few short stories since then, little anecdotes and vignettes, but for a moment he thought perhaps his well of inspiration had run dry. But Klara knew, somehow she just did; and sure enough, Yuuri Katsuki appeared, as if his sister was just smirking down at him, telling him to remember his promise.

And never had Victor ever felt so completely and totally at a loss for words until he met this man.

Three languages he knew, two fluently and one mostly just from his grandparent’s use of it. It was that third though that came as close as possible to putting Yuuri Katsuki into a word. For how else could he begin to explain how such a perfect man just suddenly appeared in his life, already adoring his writing and professing that he was there to save his life?

Destiny. Fate. Soulmate. Beshert. What other word could he use but that?

But that still wasn’t enough. There would never be enough words for Yuuri; even if Victor wrote a thousand novels full of words it could still not come close.

Yet, for Klara’s sake, and perhaps maybe a bit for himself, Victor still tried to put his every feeling, every thought, every emotion, into the words he wrote; for never had he ever wanted to describe a feeling more than the feeling that Yuuri created within him. He’d been so lost, felt so helpless at times he’d almost given up, but now hope burned stronger inside his heart every day.

It was that hope, that searching for something you never knew you’d been missing, and the joy finding it gave you, that Victor wanted to most capture in his novel; to reassure every other person out there who was about to give up that there was hope, that someone out there was waiting in the future just for them.

If he was going to reach the world with his words, then these were the words he wanted to do it with.

It was why, despite every bit of logic and sense screaming at him to turn back, that he was willingly jumping into a room full of flames; because those words were worth fighting for and he knew that somehow, someway, Yuuri would find a way to keep him safe.

As expected, the police had been little help to their situation.

Yuuri wasn’t that surprised, even with the information he provided there was little they could do but keep watch; that was all any of them could do at this point, keep watch and wait. At least now, with the tracker, they had some way to be alerted to when he was coming; but that still didn’t settle the unease in the air, every noise or movement causing a momentary panic.

And perhaps it was that strange tension in the air, that pallpatible feeling that something had shifted, as if he could somehow feel that time was flowing differently now, that made Yuuri feel so much more confident than before. Something big had changed, and although he still wasn’t certain exactly how it would pan out, it gave him the courage to press onward, to allow himself things he would normally avoid; like Victor’s affection for him, so openly given, Yuuri found his heart opening fully in return.

Victor had been at his side the whole day, blue eyes filled with such an overflowing of love that Yuuri thought he could drown simply by looking at them. He may have tried to ignore the magnetic pull before, but now he gave himself up willingly to it, his every look and every word infused with a love that had been burning inside him for so long.

Phichit had told them to take care of each other and it seemed to be something they’d both taken to heart; for whether it was Victor’s insistence on washing away every speck of blood from Yuuri’s skin or Yuuri’s inability to let him out of his sight for even a moment, they poured their hearts into it.

There were still doubts, many doubts, that lingered in Yuuri’s mind. The tracker might give them a warning, but they would still have to face whatever horrors followed alone. They couldn’t risk contacting the police tonight until they knew for certain the tracker was picking up the right man after all, and that meant all they could do was hope and pray that they could weather the oncoming storm.

Yuuri took all the precautions he could, Victor and him using the hours of daylight to call upon the others in the League and telling them that they were not to go out tonight at all; for they couldn’t risk the attacker going to one of them instead.

“You’re using yourself as bait,” Christophe had noted with a deep frown. “Yuuri, is that really the answer?”

“We’re out of time for anything else,” he’d explained, knowing Christophe would understand him. “If we can successfully lure him out tonight, then tomorrow we can catch him.”

He’d given Yuuri and Victor both lengthy parting hugs, imploring them both to keep safe. He knew, perhaps better than anyone else, exactly the sort of danger they were in.

But the thing about danger was, it came in many forms; and while Yuuri and Victor waited that night for one kind, another came in its place.

They’d fallen asleep in the parlor, both of them seated on the chaise by the fireplace talking about anything and everything that came to mind. Victor had asked about Yuuri’s home, and Yuuri had tried to find a way to explain it in a way that he could understand. “It’s like the Crystal Palace Exhibition, but it’s not temporary. It’s a whole country meant for education and knowledge.”

And maybe it was that wistfulness for home, or the warmth of Victor’s arm snug around his waist, but Yuuri’s eyes kept drifting closed no matter how he fought to keep them open. Victor too found that the longer the hours trudged on, the harder keeping oneself awake became.

This time though, the blaring alarm from Yuuri’s watch and the red light it emitted, woke him up with an immediate start.

To be safe, he’d set it to a frequency that only he could hear; a slight evolutionary quirk that had only developed in humanity from the 32nd century onward. But it meant that more so than ever, Victor had to rely on him for safety.

“Victor,” he whispered, still uncertain just how large a radius the tracker was detecting, “It’s the alarm.”

They had a plan, Victor to get Makkachin and go upstairs while Yuuri would once more go downstairs to face the attacker alone. It wasn’t a decision Victor was happy about, but Yuuri insisted that he could not and would not risk it until they knew police were on their way.

But as Yuuri went downstairs to wait and Victor went upstairs, they both left the second floor parlor unattended; not knowing that the attacker had also changed his plans for that night.

In retrospect, Yuuri realized his mistake, but it wasn’t until they heard the shattering of glass from the second floor that either of them could act; for this time the man had decided to take his wishes of hellfire for them both to a literal degree.

It was a fire meant to kill, a bundle of papers set aflame saturated in gas immediately roaring to life the moment it hit the floor; its proximity to the fireplace only fueling its wrath as it grew to a tremendous size in the blink of an eye.

Yuuri really should have known what was going to happen next, should have seen the parallel for what it was sooner, but all he could do at the time was rush upstairs in hopes to get Victor and Makkachin safely from the house. He found Makkachin alone in Victor’s bedroom and all of a sudden, the understanding washed over him chilling him to the core.

The climax of Stammi Vicino was a fire, the cruel Viscount Byrne paying off someone to set Vitale’s house aflame in the night; hoping in burning it to the ground and leaving them homeless and broke he might force Vitale to marry his daughter. But it was what Vitale did in the scene that should have told Yuuri everything, his feet heavy as he raced back towards the parlor with his heart in his throat.

Vitale had gone back into the heart of the fire for his violin after getting Yakir to safety and much like Yakir decided he could not wait while the one he loved was in danger, Yuuri too rushed into the parlor ready to pull Victor from the flames.

The smoke was already thick and heavy, Yuuri’s glasses quickly becoming more of a hindrance than a help as he struggled to find Victor in the room; the fire already having spread halfway across the room.

“Victor!” he called out in desperation. “Where are you?!”

The sound of coughing drew his attention and without thinking about the possible dangers of heading straight towards a raging fire, Yuuri made his way towards it; two of the chairs upturned in the mess and creating a fiery maze to navigate.

“Yuuri!” he replied finally, but his voice was weaker than it should be. “Get the fire grenades near the fireplaces!”

Yuuri’s mind froze up. Fire grenades? For a moment, terror overtook him, his knowledge of the past not enough to tell him what he was needing. He’d learned so much from reading about the time, there had to be an answer in his mind somewhere.

I coughed once more, my violin cradled in arms against the flames that licked at my body. It had seemed I was trapped, the pathway I’d taken to reach my prize now a hellscape of fire that was not going to be easily traversed again.

 

“Vitale!”

 

His voice lit a different fire, this one burning strong in my heart like a beacon, a lighthouse in the storm calling out to the ship at sea trying to come home; and miraculously, I found Yakir’s eyes meeting mine across the room.

 

The fires seem to rise up between us, as if they too found our love as something to be destroyed; and all I could do was pray that somehow Yakir might be spared the hellfire that had come to claim me.

 

“Yakir! Get out of here!”

 

“I’m not leaving without you!”

 

“Please, Yakir! Save yourself!”

 

“There is no Yakir without Vitale beside him! You are my other half and I shall not go anywhere in this world or the next without you beside me!”

 

It was then, my heart shining out the strongest at his words, that I spotted them alongside the wall and snatched them down, their glass bottles shattering and driving the fires back to the hell where they rose up from.

Bottles. Something glass in a bottle. Near the fireplaces.

Yuuri felt his own fire alight at that, knowing that if the story was right then this was the answer; this was the way he could save Victor now. His eyes scanned the mantle tops, and there he noticed two matching blue bottles one sitting at each end of the mantle.

He made for the first one, knowing the second fireplace closer to the blaze would have to come after he’d done something to push it back first; the star on the bottle like a beacon in the storm. As he snatched the first one up, he felt the liquid inside sloshing and he knew now what this device was meant to do; a fire extinguisher of some sort that could be used in the home.  He lobbed it towards the base of the largest flame and watched with relief as the flame shrank back at it as if its oxygen had been stifled.

“Victor, stand back from the fire as far as you can! If you have to, break the window and jump out!” Yuuri called as he threw the second fire grenade at the same spot and the flames hissed as they fizzled out.

“I’m not leaving without you!”

A smile tugged at Yuuri’s lips then, the words of the book resounding now out of Victor’s own lips.

“You’re right,” he yelled back, able now to just squeeze past the flames on the floor to the other fireplace. “There’s no Yuuri without Victor beside him! You are my other half and I shall not go anywhere in this world or the next without you beside me!”

The words, along with the shattering of the two other fire grenades, made Victor stand out like a beacon in the room, Yuuri easily finding his blue eyes aglow in the firelight.

“Come here, Victor! Let’s go together!”

He extended a hand out at that, knowing if Victor could just jump across that last expanse of flame, then they could made it to the doorway safely. Victor nodded, a smile now on his lips as well as he stepped back and ran forward, his jump just enough to clear the fire and bring him down safely into Yuuri’s arms.

It’s not until they’ve gotten Makkachin and were outside awaiting the fire carriage to come and extinguish the remaining fire that Yuuri realized exactly what it was Victor had been so intent to retrieve.

The pages of Stammi Vicino he’d been working on in the parlor and the photo of himself and his sister all cradled in his arms as if it were a precious treasure.

Yuuri drew him close at that, hoping the shadows of the night kept them hidden from anyone who might disapprove, and pressed a searching kiss to his lips.

Victor blinked in surprise as he pulled back.

“What was that for?”

“Because I love you. Do I need another reason?”

He couldn’t tell him that he would have probably been just as intent on running into the fire after those words, couldn’t explain to him that it was those very words that may have saved him that night; for that was something he knew he’d never be able to capture in his own words.

Instead he hoped the message got through.

Victor’s smile brightened the dark night, the smudges of ash on his face unable to diminish how beautiful he looked in the moonlight.

“Did you mean it? What you said to me inside?”

Yuuri felt a blush threaten to overtake him, but he knew the night and the smudges on his own face would probably hide it well. He nodded quietly.

“Every word.”

Victor kissed him in response and Yuuri decided his message must have made it through after all.

“So I’m trying to come up with a title, for the story I’ve been working on. And I think I’ve got something, but I don’t think it sounds quite right in English.”

They’d all gathered at Sara’s the next day, her parents away on a business trip and her tolerance for them disallowing her friends staying over finally at a point she no longer cared about. Yuuri had quickly fallen asleep in the guest bedroom, but Victor found himself once more inspired and unable to do so. So he’d sat up in the parlor writing with Sara, Georgi and Christophe for company.

“What’s the title in English?” Georgi asked.

“I want it be something like- stay beside me and never go, but that just sounds simplistic.”

“What about in French?” Christophe offered. “Reste contre moi?”

Victor shook his head. It still wasn’t right. He supposed he could ask Yuuri what it was supposed to be titled, but he didn’t want to take advantage of his trust in revealing himself a time traveler with such a frivolous request.

“Stammi vicino, non te ne andare,” Sara said, her rich Italian pronunciation making it sound almost melodic.

He’d not had a book with a subtitle to it before either, but he supposed this book was going to be many things his previous works were not.

“Could I break it into a title and subtitle without losing the meaning?” he asked.

“Stammi Vicino,” Sara answered, “is for ‘stay close to me’ and non te ne andare is ‘and never leave me.’”

It was absolutely perfect.

“I think I like that a lot. Stammi Vicino, it sounds so sweeping and romantic.”

Sara laughed at that, her smile infectious to the others. “Mr. Katsuki has certainly changed you, Victor. I never knew you were such a hopeless romantic until now.”

He blushed at the statement, although he knew it to be completely true in content.

“Love brings out a different side of every man,” Georgi mused, “Like a pearl hidden in the oyster, it shines out brightly from the heart when the right person opens the shell.”

“There’s your hopeless romantic,” Christophe countered. “Victor’s a man in love. It’s completely different.”

Georgi pouted at that, leaning forward in his chair as he pointed at Christophe. “Oh and what about you running into that bartender from the Green Carnation yesterday? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered before, but…”

Sure enough, that tell-tale blush blossomed on Christophe’s face at that. Victor already knew the man they spoke of, they all did, for there was one of the bartenders there that seemed to be particularly fond of their little group.

“I was merely touched that even outside his place of work he was asking if we were all doing all right. He’s seen how stressed out we’ve been lately, and went out of his way to reach out. That’s all.”

Sara was biting back a smirk and Georgi simply rolled his eyes. Victor withheld his tongue, but only on account that it was Christophe who he had to thank for bringing Yuuri to them.

“So Victor,” Christophe hastily recovered, “you figured out the big ending to your story yet? That latest scene with the fire was pretty intense, but considering you’d just lived it, I’m not surprised.”

He shook his head at that. As much as he wanted to say with certainty that it would end happily ever after, he still hesitated to do so; as it was, he still wasn’t certain what Yuuri’s role as a time traveler meant for them as a well...couple.

Could a time traveler even be involved with someone from the past? Phichit, Yuuri’s friend, seemed to imply that it wasn’t commonplace in their society and Victor knew that not commonplace was often a polite way of saying “not allowed.” But as much as he wanted to ask Yuuri about it, he couldn’t find it in him to do so; content to allow this dream continue as long as fate allowed it to be.

Maybe it would have been easier if he was a woman? He’d never asked how far from the future Yuuri was from, and it was definitely a possibility that society still frowned upon any union that didn’t result in children. But at the same time, it was Yuuri who had so boldly proclaimed that he was not planning on going anywhere in this world or the next without Victor beside him.

A different worry fell upon Victor at that, for he’d not considered that Yuuri might just be willing to sacrifice his future for Victor’s sake.

This was why he was still uncertain how his book was going to end, because there were so many uncertainties about his own future that he just didn’t want to think about it at all.

There was a man trying to kill him and Yuuri was trying to stop that.

But what happened if Yuuri succeeded?

What happened then?

Where did the story go next?

Chapter Text

It was in the guest house where I’d been caring for Yakir that we retreated to, the embers of the fire still burning our great home into ashes.

 

But there was only one thought that I could hold in my heart, only one thing that mattered when my whole world had come crumbling down; and that was that Yakir was here, alive and breathing, in my arms.

 

We had faced the fires of hell themselves and somehow, our love had pulled us through; our hands unable to keep from one another now that we’d gotten to safety, as if still trying to assure ourselves that the other was there.

 

“Vitale, come let me wash the dirt from your skin,” he said, reaching for the water basin.

 

I caught his hand with my own. “Only if you let me return the favor.”

 

He seemed surprised by the offer, even now, reluctant to change the roles society had pushed us into. Even these last days while he healed, he’d been so apologetic, insisting that I need not tend to him like this.

 

“Yakir,” I said, taking his hand into my own. “I care not to who you were born nor how much money you have or ever shall have. As I’ve said to you before, you are not just a simple piano teacher to me. You are an equal and I wish to embrace you thinking not of you as anything but such.”

 

“Vitale…”

 

“I love you as a man no different from myself. I wish to tend to you, care for you, as any beloved would their lover.”

 

He smiled then, a warmth that reached out and pulled me in with it. “Then lovers shall we be, equal in all, and caring for one another always.”

 

“Nothing would make me happier, Yakir.”

-  Stammi Vicino, Chapter 19

The future was always uncertain.

Yuuri knew perhaps to some, being a time traveler made it seem like you had control, like you could bend events and time itself to your will; even amongst the people of Alexandria, the Time Scientists were treated as if they were somehow superhuman simply because of their ability to visit the past.

But like all the Time Scientists before him, Yuuri had learned that the average time traveler had no more control over the outcome of a situation than the people unaware of the outcome. Time was like a river, flowing down the same path it had for eons and rarely diverting off its course despite humanity’s attempts to make it heed to their plans. You could try and change a river, but chances were it would still find its way back to the river bed sooner or later; for the only thing that truly changed the path it flowed was itself.

Rivers could reroute themselves, time could reroute itself, but the moment humanity tried to do it for nature, it usually backfired. Dams broke, levees were flooded over, all the things humanity tried to use to change its course sooner or later were beaten down by the sheer will of nature to do what it willed.

A formal time shift therefore was only approved under very specific conditions.

As time travel had evolved and the knowledge of years became the knowledge of centuries, humanity learned that they couldn’t change the past but they could convince it to try a different but similar path to the future. A divergency sequence was just that, an algorithm that could seek all the potential paths and eliminate those that would fail. To get his time shift approved, Yuuri had to submit his proposition to a full divergency sequence, the computer running through thousands upon thousands of timelines and seeing if any of them had the potential to maintain the same future as they now lived in.

They had approved his request, meaning that somehow there was a way. Now if Yuuri could just find it.

The fire had shaken him, the change of tactics from their murderer just enough to put a heavy unease on Yuuri’s mind as they headed toward this very crucial day; for with the tracker proving to have worked, it was now or never if they were going to catch him.

But what if he didn’t approach them face to face again? What if his encounter with Yuuri was just enough that he’d decided to try another way to achieve his goal? What if Yuuri had already entered a timeline that was destined to fail?

Yuuri didn’t think he could handle seeing or knowing Victor had died one more time, the previous two still weighing on his heart with a heaviness he thought might never leave; he understood now why there was counselling for time travelers who had done time shifts before, the whole ordeal could haunt someone for the rest of their life.

He’d spoken with Phichit briefly, acquiring the form he’d need and submitting it before he could talk himself out of it. But it was on something Phichit said that Yuuri’s mind now lingered, his offhand comment making him overthink his current situation.

It’d be so much easier if you could just have someone tell you- okay there’s three paths up ahead, pick the left one .

It would be the only way to ensure that another failed timeline didn’t occur if he just knew what pattern of actions he needed to take to get the result he wanted. There had to be a way to do that, right?

Yuuri pulled up the TEAS directory and skimmed through the departments until he came upon the one he needed, Time Management , and he dialed their line. He was surprised to be greeted with a familiar face when they answered.

“Oh, Yuuri hi!”

Yuuko had been a childhood friend who also had a family residing in the Japanese area and although he knew she’d gone into Temporal Sciences for her degree, he never expected to get her of all people at a time like this.

“Uh hi. Wow, I didn’t expect to get you when I contacted this department, even though I know you work there.”

She simply smiled, warm and bright as always. “Luck must be on your side today, because there’s about five hundred other people working today that could have picked up this call. What can I do for you, Yuuri?”

He bit his lip, hoping that she was right, that luck was on his side this day.

“I need to run a localized divergency sequence.”

Yuuko blinked. “Oh no, did you encounter a problem on your shift mission?”

Yuuri shrugged. “Only two bad end timelines so far, trying to avoid doing it again. It’s worse than I thought.”

She reached out at that and wrapped him in a hug. “Yuuri, I’m so sorry. I’d never wish that kind of thing on someone I hated. But hopefully, I can find what you need so it won’t happen again. Are were working with your current statistics?”

He nodded. “Same time and day as current, but can you set the focus on a different location?”

“Have you been at this location recently?”

“Last time was...maybe about twelve hours ago to be safe?”

Her fingers danced across the computer as she isolated the data and added it to the parameters for their search. “Okay, give me all the other relevant parameters.”

“If you sync with my TEAS, you’ll see that I have a tracker on a specific DNA, can you copy that over to your search?”

“Sure can,” Yuuko said with a smile. “Anything else?”

“I need to know when that DNA point is taken to the police station and I need to make sure no one is murdered before that happens.”

She bit her lip, then after a moment of silence, she began typing again furiously. “How’s this: Parameters in ten mile radius from given location, time and date, list all deaths, and looking for this DNA signature to move to the nearest police station we have in our databases. That work?”

“I think so. How extensive can the search be?”

Yuuko punched some more data in before replying. “With that many parameters it’s limiting my search window to twenty four hours from your current time marker. Is that going to be okay?”

Yuuri thought it over, he could run a shorter search on just Victor, but after the two times with Christophe, maybe keeping it broad would be better. At least, they could start there.

“Yeah. I sure hope it’s resolved that soon.”

She gave him an understanding smile at that. “Running the divergency sequence now, once the results come up you’ll have to tell me how we want to narrow it.”

“Okay. First off, eliminate all timelines where the DNA sequence is never located in police custody.”

Yuuko did, a large portion of information suddenly gone from the display; and Yuuri’s eyes caught on the next tab at the top.

“Can you open up the list of deaths?”

She opened the tab and Yuuri took in the unsettling data before him; most unsettling being that there wasn’t a single name on the list he didn’t recognize. His throat went dry.

Crispino, Michele

Crispino, Sara

Giacometti, Christophe

Katsuki, Yuuri

Nekola, Emil

Nikiforov, Victor

Popovich, Georgi

“That’s...that’s in the narrowed down list that involves the DNA holder being caught, right?”

Yuuko gave him a solemn nod.

“Is the list of deaths set in the same range of twenty four hours?”

“Now that we’ve narrowed it, the parameter is allowing a range of one week. We can continue to narrow it and it might give us a bigger window.”

Yuuri took a deep breath at that.

“Okay, remove all timelines that result in the deaths of everyone on the list but Victor Nikiforov.”

One by one the names disappeared from the list until only Victor’s remained. Maybe...maybe if he knew how Victor died he could stop it? Get him help in time? He knew it was a reach, but at this point he was becoming desperate.

“Open the details for Victor.”

There were so many, over fifty timelines, and Victor seemed to die in every single one of them; Yuuri knew what this meant, knew that he was possibly in a timeline that would end that way, knew that the only way to avoid it might be to go back to the beginning and start all over again.

But the thought, the mere thought, of going to a time where Victor didn’t know him, to a time where everything that had happened between them had never happened, made Yuuri feel sick.

What if that was the only way?

“Yuuri, look at this entry. Something’s odd here,” Yuuko’s soft voice cut into his thoughts.

He let his eyes skim down the list, seeing Victor’s name listed over and over, sometimes with one of the others names, sometimes with his own. But there, near the end, was indeed an anomaly.

As they opened the result to show more details, it became even more bewildering to try and understand.

In this timeline, the killer was caught and then a few days later Victor’s status was not listed as deceased like all the others, but instead simply read “data no longer available.”

“What....what does that mean?” Yuuri asked.

Yuuko shook her head. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen that before in a death list.”

Yuuri looked closer at all the details, what little bits he was able to put together. He was with Victor at his house when the killer came into the radius of the search, then before dawn of the next day, his DNA signature was clearly showing as inside the nearest jail. But Victor and his day seemed to continue as normal, them staying mostly at the house until going to the Green Carnation that evening. The next day he could see that they went to Emil’s shop and then once more to the Green Carnation that night. Then they simply...disappeared.

“Yuuko, go back to the death list and pull up my name.”

She backed up to that screen and selected it, scrolling down the list until Yuuri spotted it. It was the same anomaly, listed on the same night and location as Victor’s.

“There, on mine, it says “data no longer available” at the same spot. I think…” he looked up to her with a smile growing on his face, “I think we time travel.”

Yuuko’s eyes went wide at that. “You...you mean this Victor comes back with you?”

“If it says the same thing for my listing, then that’s all I can think it is, my data would suddenly become out of range of the search if I came back home.”

That seemed to spark a memory in Yuuko, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “I think you’re right, I knew I’d seen that data error before, but I couldn’t remember where. I think it’s indicating time travel, as then there’s no data in the time period of the search.”

A flood of relief washed over Yuuri at that, this one little timeline having the answer he’d never thought of before. He was going to have to contact Minako, probably had a lot more forms to fill out, but...but if it was data in an approved time shift, then it meant it could work, right?

“Thank you, Yuuko. I think I know what I need to do now!”

She gave him a big smile. “Good luck Yuuri. I can’t wait to meet this Victor when you get home!”

He couldn’t even become embarrassed by the thought because the excitement outweighed it tenfold, his fingers already tabbing out of the window and back into his contacts list.

His was most likely grinning like an idiot by the time Minako answered his call.

“Yuuri, what…”

“Minako, listen I need a huge favor. And it’s gotta happen today, because that’s what the divergency sequence timeline showed.”

She blinked at him, but slowly a smile crept onto her face. “I take it you’ve found a way to save your Victor?”

He nodded. “I need to bring him back home with me.”

That was clearly not anything close to what she expected; the smile sliding off her face and a look of utter confusion taking its place.

“What?”

Yuuri took a deep breath, trying to calm himself enough that his words didn’t rush together in their hurry to get out. “The only timeline where we can catch the killer and save Victor’s life involves me bringing him back to the future with me. I need to get...whatever kind of approval I need for that.”

“You’re completely serious, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

Minako laughed at that. “And here I was surprised enough by that 1327 crossing my desk. Okay, I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises. I’ve never heard of them allowing a human to come back with anyone.”

That was the biggest worry left, that it wouldn’t be allowed, that the timeline could never be.

“Try. Please. For my sake and his. Try.”

She gave him a reassuring pat to his shoulder. “I will.”

“Victor?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever thought about what your future would be like?”

Night had come once more and with it, all the apprehension and worry that they’d pushed aside during the day. Their day had been full of planning, preparing, and knowing that the only way they could do this was to throw themselves into the fire.

Christophe had protested it at first, when Yuuri had pulled him aside from the others and explained what he was to do; it was too risky, he thought, to rely on him to get the police to them before it was too late. But even though he knew it was his life on the line, Victor found himself confident that Yuuri would not put them in this position without good reason.

This was the man who almost bled to death just to hold onto one possible clue that might get them closer to stopping this man, that was willing to endure that pain on top of everything else he’d been through that night. Yuuri would not risk Victor’s safety unless he was as close to certain as possible that it would be all right.

It had been Victor’s assertion that Yuuri wouldn’t risk their lives on a whim that tipped Christophe on his decision, the man taking the signet ring that Yuuri said would alert him when the murderer was near to Victor’s house.

And so they waited.

Seated at the top of the stairs, as the parlor was still in no state to be used, they waited; side by side with their shoulders brushing together as they talked. It had mostly been Victor’s questions to Yuuri, about his family, about his life up until now, each little piece of information something he tucked away in his heart with all the other things he loved about Yuuri.

But then Yuuri had gone quiet for awhile and after a moment, asked him this.

Victor hadn’t thought much about his future, at least not in the last few years. Originally, he’d planned to follow his parents to America, but then he began writing and suddenly he wasn’t so certain about his life anymore. England gave him the opportunity to write, the connections to get his stories out into the world; both things he knew he’d be lacking in America.

And the only thing Victor was certain about was that he wanted to keep writing.

But as for the future? As for years and years down the line? He hadn’t thought much about that.

“Victor?”

He turned then, the gentle moonlight coming through the windows dappled across Yuuri’s skin in a way that made him look ethereal, and gave a small smile.

“Isn’t that kind of an unfair question?”

Yuuri nudged him back with a shoulder. “Time travelers don’t know everything. There’s...there’s so much we still can’t change, so much we don’t know.”

“All I know,” Victor’s words slipped out before he could stop them, “is that I want my future to have you in it.”

Beautiful brown eyes went wide at that, his glasses seeming to amplify his surprise, and a pink blush dusted his cheeks as he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Victor’s neck.

“Yuuri?”

His voice sounded thick with emotion. “I’m glad. Because that’s what I want most too.”

Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri, bringing them around to clutch at the back of his waistcoat. He wasn’t sure what Yuuri knew about his future, what things someone from the future who studied his life knew that he did not, but the raw emotion in his reply spoke louder than anything else.

Somehow, Victor thought, somehow they’d find a way.

Yuuri suddenly froze up and drew back, his eyes wide. “It’s the alarm. He’s coming.”

He’d explained how it was an alarm only he could hear, but it was the fear in his expression that told Victor more than anything that this was it. Now, they’d just have to hope that he returned to his normal pattern of attack, which meant they were hoping he was about to break into the house and try to kill them.

Victor took a deep breath and Yuuri’s worry settled in the arch of his brow. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Yuuri had offered to do it alone again, had assured Victor that he wouldn’t think any less of him if he wanted to stay out of the way; but Victor knew that if Yuuri was going to put his life on the line for his sake that he wanted to do the same in return.

“You asked me to stay by your side, Yuuri, and so I intend to do just that.”

He didn’t expect such a statement to earn such a reaction, but it did; Yuuri almost tackling him over as he kissed him with such passion Victor thought he might swoon from it. They parted breathless, a fire burning in Yuuri’s eyes; that passion, that confidence, roaring to life as the battle approached. This wonderful man, this brave and beautiful man, who was fighting so hard simply for Victor’s sake.

Yuuri leaned his forehead down, letting it press against Victor’s as he steadied his breathing.

“No matter what happens, I won’t let you die. I’ll reset time as many times as I must to keep you safe.”

Victor closed the space between them once more, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“And no how matter how many times, no matter how many ways, I will find my way back to your side; because you are my home.”

There were tears brimming in Yuuri’s eyes at that, and Victor thought the same might be said of him; the two of them laughing nervously as they embraced once more, their hearts so full and yet so fearful of what was coming for them.

There was a shattering of glass from below them and within seconds they’d made it to their feet as quietly as possible. Yuuri had given Victor the metal tray he’d used the night before, telling him how to use it to keep the attacks from hitting target; but it left him with just a fire poker which seemed to Victor not nearly enough for what they were about to do.

“Has Christophe already…”

Yuuri nodded. “The moment my alarm went off, he would have gotten the signal. Help should already be on its way.”

There were footsteps on the stairs now and Yuuri moved until Victor was behind him despite having less of a shield. Victor leaned down against his back, whispering against his ear so quiet not another soul could hear it.

“I love you. I’ll always, in every single time you must endure, love you.”

Yuuri breathed back, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And I will always love you, Victor. No matter how many times it takes.”

The man was before them then, Yuuri striking out with the poker in an attempt to try and knock the knife from his hand; but it wasn’t enough, his arm retreating only a second before he lashed forward once more.

This time Victor moved to meet it, sliding the tray between the driving force of the knife and Yuuri; giving him time to strike at the man’s legs. He groaned in pain as he fell back down to the landing.

Yuuri was upon him in the blink of an eye, once more trying to strike the knife from his grip; but he changed the direction of the attack at the last second, bringing it back towards the left and slicing it into Yuuri’s leg.

The fear that was spiking through Victor’s heart shifted at that, suddenly pushed aside as something else coursed through his veins in its place. He’d seen what this man was capable of, knew how badly he’d hurt Yuuri last time, and the adrenaline thundering through his system collided with such a strong surge of protectiveness that he found himself launching himself forward at the man.

He made it just in time to block another attack from hitting Yuuri, using the tray to try and drive the man down the stairs. Disarm him and try and knock him unconscious, Yuuri had told him earlier that afternoon, the less time they risked fighting him the better.

But he was fast, too fast and before Victor could even realize it he’d pulled back and thrusted the knife forward once more; the sharp blade piercing into his shoulder in a way that almost made him drop the tray.

Victor blinked down at the warm red blood as it flowed from the gash, the sight of such a wound only able to be weathered because he’d seen worse on Yuuri; but he was still stunned and left himself wide open for another attack.

“Victor, watch out!” Yuuri pushed him aside at the last moment, the blade sinking into his back instead.

“Yuuri!”

It didn’t seem to slow him down though, for Yuuri whirled around at that and smashed the poker across the man’s face. He staggered back clutching his nose as blood poured from it.

“If you kill me, there’s plenty of others that will take up my fight,” he spat at them, a loose tooth coming with it.

He launched forward once more, Yuuri rising to meet it, just barely able to clip his hand with the poker as the knife skidded across the skin of his arm; he shook it off as if it was nothing, holding the poker across him as if it was a sword.

“And someday, your kind will be the minority, easily outnumbered by the diverse world around you,” Yuuri growled back. “I don’t have to kill you, your kind will destroy itself.”

The answer seemed to surprise him, even if it was for a brief moment, and Victor barrelled forward at the chance, slamming into his side and tumbling with him down the stairs.

As he scrambled to regain the tray, he could hear the man getting up behind him, the footsteps drawing ever closer. But as he turned to meet the blow, knowing he wasn’t fast enough, knowing that his arm had easily dodged past his defenses and was headed straight for his heart, Victor saw a flashlight shine through the front door and voices calling out.

“Halt there!”

“Hands in the air!”

He wasn’t about to stop now, Victor realized, and his eyes fluttered closed; bracing himself for the pain. But it never came, instead a pair of warm arms settled around his neck, holding him close.

“Yuuri, no!” His eyes shot open, realizing what he must have done.

He gave a pained smile. “It’ll be fine. He missed any vital organs. It’ll heal.”

Victor reached behind him, pulling the knife out of Yuuri’s back and tossing it down onto the ground. It was over now. It was finally over.

“What’s wrong?”

The police had come and gone, Christophe and Georgi even coming by to ensure they’d made it through the ordeal safely; all of them only persuaded from calling a doctor by Victor claiming he’d had medical training and would handle it.

It in a way, it was true. Victor did indeed know how to use the bioregenerator to repair what damage had been done and Yuuri would take care of the injuries he’d incurred in return; all of it nothing to what Yuuri had already been through. Some of the new wounds were layering over others that had still not yet fully healed.

Perhaps that was why Victor had lingered over the two wounds on his back, his fingertips coming up to press gently over the skin after he’d healed it as if to feel for himself that the deep injury was now gone.

“It’s nothing really,” he began quietly, pressing his hand now over the scars that remained. “Just... he made it look like a cross.”

Yuuri’s eyes shot wide as he turned to look at Victor, his eyes downcast and focused on where he’d placed his hand.

“Victor…”

“Was that why he attacked us? Over that?”

Inwardly, Yuuri knew it was probably a lot of things, his racist and anti-Semitic slurs from the other night still fresh in his mind; but he could see how it would bother Victor, it was an attack on the Jewish community his extended family lived in that had caused them to flee from Russia.

“Possibly,” he said softly. “Religion is one of those things people use to justify their prejudices after all.”

Victor set the bioregenerator aside at that, moving to sit behind Yuuri on the bed; his arms coming up to wrap around him as he rested his head against Yuuri’s shoulder. He went silent, just his steady breaths tickling against Yuuri’s skin.

Finally, he spoke again.

“Is it any better? In the future you’re from?”

Yuuri pressed his hand over Victor’s, where they rested against his stomach interlocked, and leaned even the slightest bit back into his touch.

“Yeah. It’s not perfect, there’s still plenty of people that are terrible, but...it’s better.”

That seemed to ease the tension in Victor’s arms, and knowing it might comfort him some more, Yuuri let himself continue.

“Right now, the biggest debate is whether humans should be able to marry aliens.”

“Aliens? Like...from space?”

Yuuri held back a chuckle at the excitement that had entered Victor’s tone.

“They haven’t come to Earth yet, but...the space colonies have encountered other beings from other planets. And well, some of them have fallen in love.”

Victor sat up at that, his hands withdrawing with it, drawing Yuuri’s gaze to follow; there was a shyness to him all of a sudden, an innocence in his blue eyes that shone out bright.

“What about….people like us?”

Yuuri blinked. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed hard, a blush spreading quickly across his face as he rushed out the next words. “Like, would we be allowed to marry?”

The statement momentarily stunned Yuuri, his heart seeming to skip a few beats before it began to race loudly in his ears. He didn’t need to see his reflection in the mirror on the nearby vanity to know his face was scarlet.

But Victor’s almost pleading expression was enough that Yuuri knew he must answer, a smile sneaking onto his lips just a little as he spoke.

“Yeah. We could, no problem. Partners of any gender can marry in my time. It’s been that way since….oh I think the twenty-first century? It’s…” he knew this would be the most important part, “considered normal.”

There’s a relieved smile on Victor’s face at that, almost heartbreaking in how content such a simple thing seemed to make him.

“I’m glad,” he managed, voice sounding a little choked up.

There was a gentle silence that fell over them at that, both of them not able to look away from the other and not able to keep their smiles from overflowing. It was such a simple thing, but Yuuri knew it perhaps meant the world to Victor to know that things had changed for the better.

And maybe that’s why Yuuri let the next words tumble from his lips so freely, because there was relief in knowing that there’s no shame in it, a relief he wanted Victor to share.

“Victor...could we…” he steadied his breathing, feeling the embarrassment threatening to outweigh his decision, “sleep together tonight?”

He took it with innocence and a soft smile. “Of course, I...kind of assumed as much.”

“No I…” Deep breaths. You can do this Yuuri. He practically just implied he wanted to marry you, the least you can do is this. “I meant...I want to sleep with you.”

Perhaps it was the intonation, or maybe it was something in Yuuri’s expression that made Victor realize his intent; his face burning bright scarlet, blush trickling down his neck to his chest.

“Oh.”

“Sorry, that was extremely forward of me,” Yuuri rushed out.

“No I just…” Victor ducked his head at that, seeming even more embarrassed than Yuuri felt. “I’ve never...I mean, I never was interested when it came to women and Christophe tried to convince me to go with him to some sort of... place but it didn’t feel right because I…”

He managed to bring his eyes up at that and the honesty in them was startling.

“...I wanted it to be with someone I deeply cared for.”

Yuuri gave a timid smile. “I think I might just qualify then?”

Victor’s arms were around him in an instant, his voice reverberating in Yuuri’s ear.

“My dearest Yuuri, nothing would make me happier than to be with you.”

The words shifted something inside Yuuri, heartbeat thundering so loud he couldn’t hear anything else; he got to his feet and reached out to Victor, taking him by the hand and leading him towards his room.

The door to Victor’s room swung closed behind them and then they were truly alone.

There was a timidness, for both of them, a silent understanding that this would be something new that they’d face together. Victor’s eyes were sapphire blue in the moonlight, his pale skin glimmering like it was a pearl, and Yuuri knew he’d never be able to look away.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuri murmured, voice low. “A beautiful pearl.”

He slid a hand over Victor’s heart and he could feel it thrumming inside his chest, a bird much like his own, trying to fly free.

“If I’m a pearl, then you must be a diamond,” Victor replied, pressing his hand over Yuuri’s, “the rarest and most beautiful of them all.”

Yuuri dipped his head down at that, fighting a blush he knew had already won over; he licked his lips before glancing back up and closing the space between them, pressing Victor back against the door as he met his lips with his own.

Kissing Victor was like fireworks in his veins, an explosion of emotion bursting forth from his heart as the space between them disappeared completely; the two of them only parting when they must, their breaths ragged and heavy.

“Yuuri…” Victor exhaled, leaning his forehead down against Yuuri’s. “I’m yours. Show me the way to make love to you.”

What little hesitance remained quickly evaporated, Yuuri’s heart stuttering to a halt before racing back with a surge of emotion he knew he could never quite name; for although he’d read thousands upon thousands of words about love, there was not a single one that could capture the way Victor made him feel.

And Victor, beautiful wonderful Victor, was alight with such glow; his genuine happiness positively overflowing, his excitement palpable as he tugged Yuuri over to the bed and tumbled back onto it, drawing Yuuri down with him.

The feeling was contagious, Yuuri coaxing Victor out of his pants and sliding off his own, before his mind even began to register that this was it; this was really, truly, happening.

“Victor,” he asked quietly, “do you have any macassar oil?”

The question momentarily surprised him, eyes blinking a few times before he replied, “Yes, but...what…”

Yuuri pressed a finger over his lips. He wasn’t going to fumble through the embarrassment of trying to explain that thanks to Christophe’s memoir, that he hadn’t written yet, Yuuri knew exactly what he could use for lubrication. Victor pointed to a container on his dresser and Yuuri quickly went to snatch it up before he could overthink it any more and have his nerves kick in.

On seeing Victor’s perplexed expression, he offered what he could in reply.

“It’ll make it a little more comfortable for me. I’ll have to...you know…”

He made an awkward vague gesture before rushing out the rest.

“It’ll hurt if I don’t stretch properly and something slick helps a lot so…”

The dark blush blooming on Victor’s entire face let Yuuri know that he managed to understand.

“Oh.”

Victor reached up after a moment, settling his hands firmly on Yuuri’s hips as he pulled him closer; as if all he could think was that there was too much space between them and he knew he must quickly remedy that. But with only thin cloth now between them, a simple brush became exhilarating yet frustrating all at once, a frustration that Yuuri found himself quickly removing.

Bared, heart and soul and everything else, Yuuri could feel Victor’s eyes caressing each slope and curve of his body; his own gaze lavishing the same attention in return.

And it was in that magnetic pull, that force of nature far beyond them, that they found themselves unable to resist drawing closer; the kiss of skin against skin setting off sparks wherever they touched. There was a tenderness there in the night, the silence outside their hearts and breaths a comfort, urging them on, drawing them in. Fingertips tried to memorize every inch, mouths tried to kiss every centimeter in between, until there was not a single secret left between them.

There was no more fear, no shame, no hesitance; only love, pure and raw and unguarded.

Writers could try and capture such feelings, but Yuuri knew only one would ever come close; the very same man lying beneath him in the moonlight perhaps only able to do so because he was here, in this moment, sharing in the same love that dare not speak its name.

There were not enough words in all the world to convey his beauty in the night, his dark eyes alight with a fire that burned within me as well. I saw my name upon his lips, breathless and yearning, crying out for something only I could provide.

 

“Stay close to me and never leave me.”

 

His words echoed my own heart, two beats harmonizing as if they were instruments all their own. And as he drove the melody onward I hastened to follow; my touch, though it was uncertain and unfamiliar, somehow finding the warm rhythm within him, stroking just the keys to draw music forth.

 

His hands, his legs, my hands, my legs, our heartbeats were blending together; our two songs now became one.

 

There arose such joy, such ecstasy, in my heart that I found myself overcome by emotion; my very soul touched by the depths of his soul. It was the purest euphoria painted across my skin and the hard earned release of all that shackled me that left me clinging to him in awe; for never could I dream of such a love!

 

It was a love that dared not speak its name, spoken now in a nocturne for two that would play forevermore upon my heart.

- Stammi Vicino, Chapter 20

Chapter Text

He found him sitting by the window, bathed in moonlight and dressed in a flowing violet nightgown that kissed his skin a lavender hue. For a moment, Vitale thought clearly such a beautiful man could not be real, the stillness of the night curling around him and painting him with an otherworldly glow; but the warmth of Yakir’s body still lingered on his skin as if he’d been kissed by the stars themselves and he knew that somehow this man was real.

 

Somehow, he was his.

-  Stammi Vicino, Chapter 20

For a moment, Victor found himself alone; something that ordinarily would be commonplace yet now filled him with fear. Yuuri should have been with him.

His eyes shot wide as he surveyed the bed, only to find its other side empty. Instantly, ice filled his veins and a fear unlike anything he’d ever felt trickled down his spine; but his panic had barely begun to build when he heard a slight shift across the room. It was Yuuri, wearing his purple peignoir and looking like the most beautiful angel come to earth in the moonlit night. Victor drank in the sight, as his panic was quickly replaced by utter adoration; the burning feeling in his chest reminding him over and over again, he loves me.

This was a man who held time at his beck and call, a man who had come to him solely to save him; and Victor wondered if Yuuri even understood that he had saved him in more ways than he could ever put into words. He was about to call out to him, to beckon him back into his arms, when he saw the somber expression etched on his face.

A different fear overtook him at that, one perhaps worse than the first.

Had Yuuri regretted what they’d done? Had their passion been merely a decision made in the heat of the moment that he’d come to wish hadn’t been?

Victor wasn't certain how long he remained there, frozen still and afraid, deathly afraid , to break the spell; wanting to linger even just a few moments longer in this world where Yuuri loved him openly and unashamedly.

“What’s wrong?” the traitorous words slipped from his lips, and Victor knew that whatever Yuuri’s answer, he’d still love him just the same.

Yuuri turned at that, the silver of the moonlight seeming to shimmer across his skin, the sheer purple gown only further making him appear as if he was a master’s work of art.

There was a sad smile on his lips, and Victor wished with all he was, that he could kiss it off them and return the happiness they’d had only an hour before.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,” Yuuri said quietly.

Victor could see now that he was seated at his desk by the window, his fingers gently resting atop the parchment that told perhaps the most important story he’d ever written. He thought back to that first night he’d brought the story before the League, thought back to how he’d asked Yuuri what sort of ending he hoped it might have.

Well, I hope it has a happy ending.

He closed his eyes and wished with all his heart that Yuuri’s own prediction would hold true. For in order for Stammi Vicino to have a happy ending, Victor knew he needed one of his own.

“Is there...something bothering you?” he tried once more, every second after seeming to take longer and longer.

This answer would decide everything.

There was a hint of a smile again, but the sadness still clung to it and tried to drag it down. Then Yuuri met his gaze and it was as if time itself had stopped.

“I’m afraid of losing you, Victor.”

Victor was certain the shock must have flickered across his face because Yuuri’s gaze became steadier, firmer, as if trying to reassure him that he meant every single word.

“I couldn’t sleep well because I kept worrying that something is still going to go wrong. That somehow, I’m still going to lose you. And…”

There was a hitch in his voice and Victor found himself getting to his feet in a rush, his arms finding Yuuri as his words pressed muffled into his shoulder.

“I love you so much. I can ’t lose you.”

There was relief at that, for although Victor feared the same, there was some great comfort in knowing that Yuuri too felt it so strongly. That somehow, time itself be damned, they knew they couldn’t live without the other. He wanted to say something, anything to try and ease his worries; but what could he do? It wasn’t like he knew what the future held, there was no way he could assure Yuuri it would have a certain outcome.

But perhaps…

“Yuuri, I think I might have a way to know our fate.”

He pulled back at that, blinking up at him in shock.

“In your future, you know how I end my book I’m writing now, don’t you?”

Yuuri nodded.

“I haven’t written it yet, but I do know that the endings of my books always reflect my emotional state at the time I wrote it. It’s why none of my books have had a happy ending before. Which means you know how I was feeling when I finished writing it; you know my future, even just a little. My book has given you the answer.”

The words seemed to settle, his wide brown eyes suddenly welling up with tears as he reached out to cradle Victor’s cheek in his hand; the hint of a smile on his lips as he leaned his forehead in to rest against Victor’s.

“Thank you,” Yuuri murmured softly, his eyes drifting closed in contentment. He paused a moment, choosing his words carefully. “It seems...I’ve got nothing to worry about then.”

It was simple, those little words, but they made Victor’s heart flutter free; knowing now that if Yuuri was happy, then he would be too, come what may.

“Come back to bed, darling,” Victor said quietly after a moment. “More than anything, you’ve earned a night of placid dreams, free from all that you’ve carried on your shoulders this whole time alone.”

His eyes fluttered open, just a bit, and he wrapped his arms around Victor’s neck. The question went unspoken, but Victor understood; gathering Yuuri up into his arms and carrying him back to bed, the most brilliant of smiles alighting on his lips as he did.

“You didn’t have to,” he noted, pulling Victor back down into his arms.

“I know, but I wanted to,” Victor replied, reaching up to sweep the bangs off Yuuri’s forehead before pressing a kiss to the spot one of his injuries had been.

He curled into Victor’s arms at that, nestling against his chest and placing his hand over his heart. “Victor?”

“Hmm?”

“Stay close to me and never leave me.”

Victor’s heart swelled with affection at hearing those words once more and he pulled Yuuri closer, until their noses are but a breath apart.

“Forevermore, my love; for at your side is where I always belong.”

My book has given you the answer.

Over and over, Yuuri thought this; a calming inner mantra to drive his nerves away. He wasn’t a temporal studies major, so he wasn’t certain about the intricates of time but from all he knew on the subject, Victor’s logic was sound. The time Yuuri came from was called the Central Timeline, and only time shifts such as the one Yuuri was on were allowed to alter anything major in the past. But being the Central Timeline, it meant that something that existed in it- like Victor’s novel- had to be the result of anything prior to it.

If Victor’s novel had a happy ending, then Victor would too.

But it wasn’t until later that morning that Yuuri got the call he’d been waiting on; Minako’s notification setting his nerves immediately into overdrive. She’d finally gotten official word on what they’d decided to do with Yuuri’s request to bring Victor back to the future with him.

He excused himself from the room, retreating to the guest room he’d been using before opening his device in cloaking mode and returning the call.

Minako’s warm smile was a good sign.

“Yuuri, sorry that took a lot longer than I think you wanted it to. But it was such an uncommon request, I had to keep getting ahold of higher up and higher up members of the Academy until they finally put it before the dean herself.”

Yuuri’s throat went dry at that. He’d never, in all his years, heard of something so serious that the dean had to get involved in it.

“Apparently, although it’s not been commonly used, there is an exceptions clause to the prohibition of humans being brought back from the past,” Minako explained. “The Amelia Earhart clause states: if the disappearance of a human from the past timeline is deemed consistent with records from the Central Timeline, such as their disappearance has historically never been solved, then the dean of the Academy may issue approval for the human(s) involved to be brought to the future.”

He blinked. Once, twice, three times, before a wide grin spread across his face.

“You mean…”

“Time Scientists from the criminology department have verified that Victor Nikiforov’s murder was never solved and a body was never found. The case was deemed a murder due to bloodstains in the household only. Also, Literary Time Scientist Department Head,” Minako said, grinning now too, “verified that despite being a known member of the League of the Green Carnation, none of his fellow members have ever mentioned his death. Meaning it’s entirely possible that his disappearance was not a murder.”

It hit Yuuri then, fully, the true impact of what Minako was telling him.

She reached out, the holograph placing her hand on Yuuri’s shoulder as she smiled at him, warm and proud.

“Victor Nikiforov was always supposed to have you go back for him. Everything is happening just as it should, and on the night of May thirteenth, you two are meant to come home.”

He almost dropped his watch in shock.

Yuuri had always thought it strange that no one in the League mentioned Victor’s death, assuming perhaps it was too personal for any of them to put into writing. The reports of his murder only cited that they could not discover a body and that the entire entry hallway to his house and staircase were covered in blood; one small report citing a call to the fire department a short period before his death. It was believed that someone had it out for him and finally did him in, the body assumed to have been thrown into the Thames to hide any evidence.

But now, now Yuuri could see that all those facts were already there. The house was covered in blood - his blood - and they had no DNA testing to verify who it belonged to. They would have no idea that it wasn’t Victor’s. The fire, the lack of any body, the neighbor noting that even his dog seemed to have run away…

He pressed a hand over his mouth and just stared at Minako. Victor was right, his book had given him the answer already; for the story ended with the two leads happily departing for their new life in the new world.

Yuuri Katsuki was always meant to go back in time for Victor Nikiforov.

“I...I don’t know what to say,” he finally managed.

Minako gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I always knew you would change the world, Yuuri. And now I know how.”

He hugged her at that, incredulous laughter spilling forth as he felt the weight of the bigger picture fall into place around him.

But most importantly, after all the revelations and surprises settled into place, Yuuri held onto one thing and one thing most of all.

Victor and him were coming home together. Just as it was meant to be.

“So uh...how’s the writing going?”

There was something off in Yuuri’s tone, not necessarily ominous, but strange; as if he’d much rather ask another question but forced this one out instead.

Victor turned from where he was seated at his desk by the window, giving him a warm smile.

“Good. I think I really have a solid idea where the rest is going.”

Yuuri entered the room fully then, coming over and seating himself on the edge of the bed facing Victor; he had his head down, his fingers idly opening and closing the small little book shaped fob Victor had given him.

“Can we...um...talk?”

Something was definitely strange.

He shifted the chair until he was fully faced towards Yuuri and offered up what he hoped was a neutral smile; although inwardly, there was a flurry of panic that had spiked into his veins and had caused his heart to start to race.

“It’s uh...it’s about us.”

The color drained from Victor’s face as his heart stuttered to a halt. Had something changed? Was Yuuri going to have to go back and never be able to see him again?

“Victor, I’m...I’m really not quite sure how to put this so I’m just going to say it and then I can explain further if you want.”

Yuuri took a deep breath, bringing his timid gaze up to meet his.

“I need you to come back to the future with me.”

He waited, wondering when the bad news would follow; certain there had to be something more to it than this. But nothing came, Yuuri’s nervous eyes watching him carefully as if he too was waiting for something terrible to befall them.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t put it so bluntly,” Yuuri clarified. “But...I’d like you to come home with me and I’ve gotten approval to do so.”

Victor was out of his chair in seconds and pulling Yuuri up to stand before him, his heart suddenly rushing as if a dam of emotions had broken free.

“I don’t understand,” he began, his hands resting on Yuuri’s shoulders and searching his eyes for the answers. “Why are you upset about something like this?”

Brown eyes flickered up to meet his, confusion giving way to surprise.

“I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to, to take you away from your friends and your family. This is kind of a big move...”

“Of course I’ll miss them, but I would hope my friends and family would understand that I love you more than anything and I’d love nothing more than to be with you always, whatever the circumstances.”

Yuuri blinked before his eyes widened in understanding.

“You…”

“Yuuri, you are my home. I want to go wherever you are because I’d be lost without you, but I didn’t think given your circumstances that it would be possible. If it is, then nothing would make me happier.”

Relief flooded over him as suddenly he burst into a brilliant smile. “You mean it? Truly?”

“Truly,” Victor said hugging him tight. “Let’s leave together. I’m ready now.”

All the tension was gone from Yuuri now, giving way to a giddy happiness that mirrored Victor’s own; Yuuri grabbing Victor by the ascot and yanking him in to a heated kiss that meandered its way into a dance of tongues.

When they finally parted, Yuuri’s bright smile could surely outshine the sun itself.

“Okay, okay... we can’t leave right away. You have to finish your book. Today, if possible. And I’d like to explain everything to the League, it’s the least I can do for them all welcoming me with such kindness.”

Victor let his hands drift down until they captured each of Yuuri’s and clutched them tight.

“Normally, I would insist that such constraints would be preposterous, but I believe with such joyous news in my heart, surely my words will flow joyously as well.”

Yuuri stepped closer, tilting his head to the side as if trying to understand something. “I think...as long as you can give it to Emil tonight, it should be fine. The publication process just has to begin today, it’s…”

There was a flicker of a larger understanding now for Victor; Yuuri’s questions, his timidness about asking them, suddenly piecing together to make a bigger picture.

“Yuuri,” he let one hand drift free to reach up and press to his cheek, caressing the small scar that was practically faded already there. “Is this...is it something predetermined that we must follow? Something that we know must be?”

That seemed to break what little resolve Yuuri had, the man suddenly tugging him into a fierce embrace and his voice suddenly a little more choked up than before.

“They told me...I was always meant to come back in time for you. This whole month, everything that’s happened, it was events playing out the way they were supposed to. And tomorrow night, you’re going to come home with me and everything will be exactly as it should.”

To know, that on some grandiose scale, their lives were written together on the cosmic fabric of time itself was an overpowering thought; for as much as Victor felt like they were meant to be, there was something utterly magnificent in knowing that the greater powers of the universe seemed to believe so as well.

Your beshert is waiting for you in the future.

Klara had been right all along and at the thought of her, Victor realized there was something he must do before he left with Yuuri.

“I don’t know if it’s possible, but…is there a way I could say my farewells to family and explain to them what will become of me?”

Yuuri pulled back but lingered in Victor’s arms, his eyes sparkling with an idea and a smile on his face.

“Yeah, if you know an address of where they are in America, we could definitely visit them before we go. Is there anyone else you’d like to see?”

It was almost as if Yuuri understood the small little thread of hope that had come before Victor’s mind, the thought of the abilities of time travel lending itself to one selfish request.

“What about Klara? Could I see her one more time?”

There was such kindness in those warm brown eyes, a fondness and affection that Victor could feel in the depths of his heart.

“We’ll have to be careful about it, but...yes, we can visit your sister.”

Victor embraced him at that, his voice thick with emotion as he replied.

“Thank you. Now I truly can finish my novel with the greatest of joys in my heart.”

Stammi Vicino was finished. The League of the Green Carnation was now all aware of the mystery behind Yuuri Katsuki’s sudden appearance in their lives; Georgi being the only one who heavily protested the matter and only because he’d been certain that Yuuri was a vampire instead. And now, Yuuri had just finished explaining to Victor’s family that he was about to take their son into the future with him.

It was a small, cramped space in New York; the space more suited for one or two inhabitants rather than the entire family that was living in it. That, at least, Yuuri knew was about to change for the better; for Victor had written a will and left all the possessions of his townhouse and the royalties from any of his novels to them. But what was still uncertain was how his family was going to take this very strange revelation.

Victor’s grandmother had stood up from the table, and for one terrifying moment, Yuuri thought she was going to protest the whole matter.

Instead, she walked over to where Victor and Yuuri sat and took one of each of their hands in her own.

“Vityusha, if this is what will make you happy, then I want you to have my blessing. You’ve sacrificed so much to ensure we made it here safely, it’s about time you did something for yourself.”

Victor’s eyes welled with tears at that and he wrapped his grandmother in a hug, whispering something in Russian to her that Yuuri thought might be an expression of gratitude. His aunt exchanged a tentative look with Victor’s mother, the sisters clearly somewhat surprised by their mother’s reaction.

But then everyone in the family was on their feet, all of them coming over to shake Yuuri’s hand or to wish Victor well. Victor’s brother pulled Yuuri aside a moment, his voice a whisper as he told him.

“Take care of my brother, won’t you? He’s needed someone ever since we lost Klara and I can see how much you mean to him.”

Yuuri nodded, wondering if his brother was aware that this was not just a friendship but something more between the two of them. “I will.”

It was as they were about to part, Victor having done his best to say his goodbyes to everyone from his parents and brother, to his aunt and cousins and grandmother, that there passed a look between his mother and father, the two of them hesitant, but finally seeming to agree to say what they had on their mind.

“Vitya,” his father began quietly, “you said this man has saved your life, multiple times, am I correct?”

Victor blinked, but nodded in reply. “Yes. Yes he has.”

His parents exchanged one more look, before his mother reached out and took Yuuri’s hand.

His father spoke once more. “Then, you should devote the rest of your life to him in return; both of you taking care of one another.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide, realizing suddenly that they knew, and in their own way, they were trying to tell him it was okay.

His mother gave Yuuri a warm smile. “Be happy. Both of you. That’s what we want most.”

Victor was trying his hardest not to cry, but that seemed to be the tipping point; the tears spilling forth as he threw his arms around his parents; the family exchanging words in a mix of Russian and English.

It was perhaps the best wishes they could have hoped for before departing, a fact that Yuuri knew would only make their next stop an even more emotional one.

It was five days before Klara Nikiforova was going to die.

Yuuri had told Victor to think of a time where he was certain Klara would be completely alone; the only thing he was able to remember was this, right before she'd died when they'd all gone to synagogue and had to leave her alone at home. As long as she didn't call for one of their servants, she would have been alone in her room that whole time.

It was there now that they materialized, the room dimmed so any excess light would not trouble her already deteriorating health and her curtains drawn around her bed.

Victor took a deep breath. "Klarochka?"

He could hear her shifting, the curtains starting to move, and he rushed to her side, unable to stop himself. As the curtain drew back, they both came to a halt, eyes wide.

"Viten'ka? You...your hair."

He gave her a warm smile, his hand drifting up to touch the back of his head. "Oh yeah. I'm a...I'm a little bit older now too."

She narrowed her eyes as if trying to understand what he meant, but that's when she noticed the other man in the room, her eyes darting from Yuuri back to Victor.

"Viten'ka, you...you are my Viten'ka, aren't you?"

Victor knelt at her side, his hands reaching out to clutch around hers gently. "Yes. But I'm from a time a few years from now. We...Yuuri is a time traveler and he's going to take me with him back home. It was selfish of me, but I asked him this one favor first."

Klara studied his face, as if just now noticing how the years had changed him; his jawline a little sharper, his face a little less boyish.

"I'm going to die then, aren't I?" she asked, matter of factly.

Victor tried to keep his smile from faltering, but he knew it was hopeless. He nodded silently in reply.

She gave his hand a light squeeze. "Tell me something that'll make me happy then, Viten'ka. Tell me one of your great stories to help me smile through these last days."

And so, he does.

It’s the story of Victor Nikiforov, the author. How in his grief he found inspiration, her dying wish that he never stop writing the one thing he clung to in his darkest hours; his words painting out the emotions he’d tried to keep pent up inside. How those very words lasted, for years upon years, centuries upon centuries, until the future time where Yuuri came from and that Yuuri read those stories and loved them so much he wanted to save the man who wrote them.

“It’s a love story then, isn’t it?” Klara asked with a knowing smile.

Victor nodded. “The most beautiful love story ever told.”

He spun her the tale of Yuuri’s sudden appearance in his life, how it lit a creative flame in him he thought long lost to the happiness of his youth, and how he’d begun to write what would go on to be such an important book. For that book, Stammi Vicino , was the book that brought Yuuri and him together. He told her how they recited poetry to one another, danced in the streets, and found themselves inexplicably drawn to one another. How bravely Yuuri had fought to ensure that Victor wasn’t harmed, how together they’d managed to ensure that he was arrested by police. And how now, they were going to go to the future; a future where people like them were considered normal, and how even their parents had given their well-wishes.

By the end of the story, both Victor and Klara had tears in their eyes; a silent understanding passing between them unspoken.

I would have saved you if I could, Klarochka. If I could only find a way, I would bring you with us.

I know, Viten’ka. But now I can rest peacefully, knowing that you’ll be happy. Knowing that your future is so bright.

Victor realized suddenly, that Klara had seemed in much better spirits those last few days she had been with them; her health seemingly unable to keep her from smiling and laughing.

And now, now he understood why.

“When your Viten’ka has to say goodbye,” Victor said, tears streaking down his face, “let him know what you can of this. Give him the hope that kept me going those years without you.”

She held her hands out at that, beckoning him into an embrace and holding him as tight as her weak arms could manage.

“I’ll make you promise,” she reassured him. “I won’t let you give up.”

“Thank you,” he choked out, clutching her tighter as if somehow he could impart even the smallest fraction of his love for her. “I’ll never forget you. Not even for one moment.”

“You’d better not,” she teased, pulling back and smiling at him. “Even in your happy future, I’ll be watching over you. I’ll always be with you.”

The room fell silent a moment, both of them wiping their tears away, as they smiled at one another.

Finally, Klara turned to Yuuri.

“Let me meet my future brother-in-law, Viten’ka, before you go.”

He couldn’t even find it in him to become flustered by the statement, his heart too full already; turning to hold his hand out towards Yuuri where he waited quietly in the corner.

“Mr. Yuuri Katsuki,” he said by means of introduction, taking Yuuri’s hand and passing it over to his sister’s hand. “This is my most beloved sister.”

Yuuri gave a bow of his head, his smile tender and kind as always.

“It seems I have you to thank for ensuring that Victor becomes the man I love, so you have my eternal gratitude.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“And you have mine, for giving my beloved brother a life that we both thought unattainable for people like us. I can already see how happy you’ve made him and for that, I will be always grateful.”

The clock across the room chimed and Victor knew, with a heavy heart, that they needed to leave soon in order to not cause a disturbance. Klara seemed to sense it, her eyes darting between them before she held out her arms wide.

“One last hug before you two go. From both of you, if you please.”

Victor smiled over at Yuuri, the two of them leaning down together to wrap her in their arms. When she sat back upon her pillows, her smile could not be brighter.

“Live the life I cannot have, Viten’ka. Be happy for me.”

Victor gave her one last smile.

“I will.”

Past the bar and in between the tenth and eleventh booth to a door locked to anyone not invited, there was a very special room at the Green Carnation gin palace. A small parlor meant for parties and other gatherings, it was most frequently rented out under the name of Sara Crispino, every night, after dinnertime, for a gathering of a special kind.

The League of the Green Carnation may have begun as just a group of friends, all of them fellow Europeans who were trying to find their way through British society and all of them armed with nothing but their eloquent words to fight with. But fight they did. Unfazed by critics and naysayers who wrote off their works as improper, immoral, and indecent, the group let their souls shine between the pages of their quarterly periodical without a bit of hesitation.

Bold, daring and honest, the writers of the group would go on to pen some of the most notable works of the late 19th century; the most notable being none other than Victor Nikiforov’s final novel, Stammi Vicino .

It was in these hallowed halls that they gathered the night of May 13, 1887, to wish two of their members the most heartfelt farewell.

Victor read out portions of Stammi Vicino to the group, everyone sitting in rapt attention and hanging on each and every word.

Emil had spoken at length about the ideas he had for the cover of Victor’s book, the group unanimously selecting on the one Yuuri knew would come to be its final cover.

Georgi had written a poem, dedicated to the power of love over time itself, that had both Victor and Yuuri crimson faced with embarrassment by the end of it.

Sara had purchased, for every single member of the League, a gold locket with a carnation on the outside; having the inner face of the locket inscribed in Italian, noi non potemo avere perfetta vita senza amici , “we cannot have a perfect life without friends.”

Seung-gil had come, at Yuuri’s request, and was quietly tending to Makkachin in the corner; but even he seemed to be pleased that everything that worked out for the best.

And Christophe had led the room in a toast that ranged from touching to, mostly thanks to Christophe himself, borderline inappropriate.

“You will visit, won’t you?” he’d asked as they knew the time was coming for their departure.

“I’ll see if I can get permission to do so,” Yuuri assured him. “I’ve got to make sure you write that memoir after all.”

Christophe smiled at that, wrapping an arm around him. “Is my memoir really that important, hmm?”

Yuuri bit his lip, then deciding he really had not much more to lose, he replied. “Let’s just say, if nothing else, you’ve done something that has made my first night with Victor rather memorable.”

It was worth it for the look of realization crossing his face, Christophe of course having no shame in calling over to Victor. “You lucky sod, Victor! Getting Yuuri’s exquisite body all to yourself like that!”

The resulting embarrassment was only dampered by the happiness of their friends, all of them clearly just pleased to know that they’d found someone special to share such a moment with.

As the hands of the clock edged closer and closer to midnight, Yuuri knew that soon they’d have to leave this place once and for all; his eyes tracing over each and every corner of the room so he could remember it just as it was right now, filled with friends and happiness.

“Yuuri, I think it’s time,” Victor said to him softly, his hand sliding into Yuuri’s grasp as if it was always meant to fit there.

“I know.”

There were tears and hugs all around as they said goodbye to each and everyone in the room; from the bartender to Seung-gil and his quiet smile, to Georgi and his tearful professions of memorializing them in everything he wrote, to Emil’s well-wishes and Sara’s warm smiles and Christophe’s lingering embraces.

Finally, they stood in the center of the room, each of them clutching a suitcase; Makkachin’s leash around Victor’s wrist as Yuuri reached out and clasped their two hands together, entwining the chain of his watch around their wrists, binding them together.

He gave the room a smile.

“I will miss all of you, terribly.”

“Thank you, for everything. I’ll never forget any of you,” Victor added.

Christophe just smiled. “Just remember, The League of the Green Carnation meets every night here after dinner and the door is always open to friends. Even if they have to come from the future.”

Yuuri nodded, his eyes finally able to pull away from his friends to meet Victor’s eyes.

“Ready?”

“I’m ready.”

And in a blink, they were gone.

Chapter Text

Furniture of ebonized wood with gilt decor of sunflowers, gas lamps with ornate adornments, and a fainting couch with carved mahogany and blue brocade were a welcoming sight; for even if Victor seemed surprised by the room being bedecked in a way looked much like his time, Yuuri knew this was home.

“This…”

Yuuri smiled, setting his suitcase down and working to untwine their hands. “It’s my room. I’m um...a little bit fond of your time, as you can see.”

Victor let Makkachin free from her leash, the dog happily going to sniff around the room before settling on Yuuri’s bed; the green curtains around it swaying at the sudden weight.

Slowly, Victor let his suitcase down to the floor, his gaze sweeping around the room and clearly trying to take it all in.

Yuuri could see how his eyes had stopped at the window, the sight outside clearly not the streets of London despite the interior looking so much like home. But even that didn’t catch his attention the way the bookshelf did, his eyes going wide as he realized the title of the book seated in the center.

“Is that...my book?”

“First edition,” Yuuri clarified. “The cover’s a bit worn with age, but...it’s the same one Emil was talking about. Green cloth boards with gilt gold flowers and in the center…”

“Yakir and Vitale embracing,” Victor finished, walking closer to it. “May I?”

He nodded and gently, Victor opened up the glass doors of the shelf and pulled the book out into his hands almost reverently. And as he flipped through the pages, his face filled with wonder, Yuuri found he couldn’t resist asking the one question that had still eluded him.

“I never asked. What inspired Stammi Vicino , Victor?”

Blue eyes flicked up to meet his, clearly surprised. “You don’t know?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I’ve read thousands of theories and speculations as to everything from the symbolism of the musical instruments to critics claiming the story was all allegory and not actually a romance. But I’d rather hear it from you.”

At that Victor flipped the pages back to the front and he walked towards Yuuri with a smile.

“ To KY - my life and love. ” He gave Yuuri a tender look at that, “K.Y. - Katsuki Yuuri, it was dedicated to you for a reason.”

Suddenly, and at last, it all made sense.

He’d thought it a coincidence at first, thought that perhaps events like the fire were inspired by Victor’s own life, but never had it occurred to him that Yakir and Vitale’s story was their own.

He dropped the hand that was over his mouth, closing the distance between them as he threw his arms around Victor’s neck.

“I always knew this book spoke to me in a way like nothing else,” he murmured quietly. “Now I know why. It’s our story, isn’t it?”

Victor nodded. “The most beautiful love story ever told.”

Yuuri kissed him at that, trying to express even an ounce of the overwhelming emotions he felt; for how could he explain it, that without even knowing he’d been drawn to this story, had felt as if it spoke to his very soul. Of course it was meant to reach him, a story of love written across time itself that would become self-fulfilling.

“Yuuri, if you two just stay in that room and make out when you’ve got the rest of your lives to do that, me and all one hundred and twenty-eight of my rodents are going to be very upset,” Phichit’s voice called through the door.

They pulled apart at that, smiles wide and hearts full.

“Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri began, “would you like to go see your new home?”

He just smiled. “I’m already looking at it.”

Books are timeless.

Those were the three words gracing the entryway to the library, and those were the words every literary time scientist took to heart.

For no matter when something was written, that story could still touch so many lives far beyond the author’s reach; each story carrying within themes and messages that people throughout the ages could relate to and fall in love with.

Yuuri Katsuki had been one such person.

Now, it was his job to write a book of his own.

The amount of fanfare and welcome they received upon arrival was surprising to say the least, Yuuri not expecting anyone but perhaps his friends and family waiting up for him that night.

But the story, like all good stories before it, had spread.

As they made their way from the pods across Alexandria to the Dōgo Onsen the Katsuki family called home, so many people stopped them to give them congratulations, to wish them well and to ask if what they’d heard was true.

“Yeah, Yuuri almost died,” Guang Hong explained to one person as they passed through the bustling science sector; Yuuri having to get Victor’s health checked over before they enforced any sort of quarantine on him.

Upon reaching the library, they’d been practically mobbed by fellow time scientists, all eager to see the author that their Yuuri Katsuki had brought back with him.

“I really think you should make Stammi Vicino into a musical,” Leo had insisted. “If you’re up for it, I bet I can get some of my sector to develop one.”

Another stop, this time in the zoological sector to have Makkachin checked over, resulted in Phichit recounting the story of how Yuuri had fallen in love with a book, gone back in time to save the author’s life and ended up falling in love with him too.

By the time they’d arrived at the Dōgo Onsen, Yuuri’s head was spinning with the amount of attention it seemed his simple little mission had gotten while he was gone.

Minako, who was waiting outside the onsen with a welcome home banner in her arms, was probably partially to blame. She’d given Yuuri a fierce hug before inviting Victor into her arms as well.

“Come on now, I feel like I know you already, Victor.”

And perhaps in a way, she did. Because so much of Victor was in between the words of all the books he’d written, it was easy to feel like he was an old friend, finally coming back home.

Yuuri’s family had been just as excited to welcome him in, the banquet hall prepared with their son’s favorite meal awaiting for both of them. And by the end of the night, everyone had a full stomach and a full heart.

In the quiet guest room at the onsen his parents had prepared for them, Yuuri shifted a bit closer to Victor on the futon, his fingertips tracing the front of his jinbei where it hung a little loose.

“I’m sorry if tonight was a little overwhelming,” he said quietly. “I really didn’t think anyone but my family would wait up.”

Victor was quiet a moment, watching as Yuuri’s fingers slid under the fabric and pressed over the scar near his heart. It was something he’d seen Yuuri do multiple times since he’d gotten the injury, and he had a feeling there was something comforting about seeing this wound healed and closed.

He’d never asked Yuuri for the specifics of what happened in those two failed times in which he’d died, but he could caution a guess that this wound had hit a little close for comfort.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, love.” He reached up at that, pressing his hand over Yuuri’s and feeling them both settle over his heart. “It’s the hero’s welcome you deserve for all you’ve been through.”

His brown eyes darted down at that, but after a moment they came back; this time shining brighter than before.

“The only hero’s welcome I need is right here,” he replied, sliding his arms around Victor and melting into his embrace. “Knowing you’re safe, knowing you’re here...it means more than words can say.”

“I can think of a few words, but they only come so close.”

“Hmm?”

“And when I thought how my dear friend my lover was on his way coming, O then I was happy,
O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food nourish’d me more, and the beautiful day pass’d well,” Victor began, reciting the poem from memory.

As he expected, Yuuri knew it as well.

He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Victor’s lips, before continuing it. “And the next came with equal joy, and with the next at evening came my friend, And that night while all was still I heard the waters roll slowly continually up the shores, I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands as directed to me whispering to congratulate me.”

They were both smiling now, curled in each other’s arms, as they finished the verse together.

“For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night,
In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me,
And his arm lay lightly around my breast – and that night I was happy.”

It was true, some words were timeless. Just like love itself.

Everyone's life is important.

Every single person makes connections, forms relationships, and touches the lives of those around them each and every day. It's like a ripple in a pond, once started, reverberating outward until it reaches to each and every shore. All it takes is one moment, one chance meeting, one small seemingly unimportant thing, and you've done it. You've left your mark on history whether you know it or not.

Victor Nikiforov had never expected to be important.

In fact, he'd spent much of his life feeling like nothing he ever did would amount to anything. A lost child wandering through life, trying to keep himself afloat as the world around him tried to bring him down. He'd never thought his words would mean much of anything to anyone but himself, never expected them to touch even one life let alone many.

Victor had resigned himself to being unimportant, abnormal, and forgettable much like many others in life had done. But that one thread of hope, that one little ripple, was something that he never knew he'd started.

His words reaching others who felt the same, reassuring them that they weren't alone after all. His stories telling others that maybe there would be a struggle, maybe everyone in your life wouldn't be kind, but that being true to oneself was admirable above all else. And his final book did one thing that didn't just create ripples, it created waves.

It told each and every person who felt like they were different, who feared that they would never find a place that they would belong, that there was hope.

Don't give up! Keep going! I believe in you!

Even now, centuries upon centuries after his book had been written, his story was just as important to people. The first English novel to allow a gay couple to have a happy ending. It was historic. And despite countless so-called scholars and critics trying to tear it down, they couldn't stop the impact that it left.

Now, centuries and centuries after it was first published, Victor was still discovering how many little things his life, and Yuuri's place in it, had changed things. Scientists from other divisions in Alexandria often coming up to one of them and sharing some little detail they'd discovered connected to their story.

A literary scientist made the first connection, tying a short story Emil Nekola had written about time travel to H.G. Well's famous story The Time Machine . Another discovering that a young Isaac Asimov had grown up playing with Victor's cousins in New York, hearing tales of a time technician from the future and the person from the past they fell in love with that would later influence The End of Eternity .

Even little ripples still had great impact.

After Yuuri, Christophe paid Seung-gil's way into the university, allowing him to continue the studies of English he'd traveled so far to achieve. But he didn't mind having to do more things around the house himself, for he'd settled down with the bartender from the Green Carnation, and the two spent the rest of their lives together.

Sara went on to continue her fight for women's rights, using her social standing to help form some of the early Suffrage Unions; she too finding love with the last member of the League of the Green Carnation, Mila Babicheva.

Georgi, at Yuuri's prompting, had shifted his focus to poetry and found great success in it; his odes to love earning him many admirers, one of which he finally married.

And Victor's family had, with the money he'd left to them, been able to open a bakery; the business thriving generation after generation and becoming one of the city's best kept secrets.

The thing about their story, about Victor's story, was that it had touched so many people and without Yuuri, he would have never known. He'd learned about so many people- from artists to writers and beyond- that would only gain fame and notoriety after their deaths.

So when Yuuri asked him to pick something to be a closing message to his book on Victor's life, he knew immediately what it would be. The final paragraph of Stammi Vicino still holding true after all these years.

If there was one thing, most of all, that loving Yakir taught me, it was this: life was meant to be lived. There may be times of struggle and strife, times in which survival was all that could be managed; but live, keep on living, and someday you will find a reason for it. Someday, you will find a someone who loves you for who you are, impossibly, irrevocably, and your whole world will change.

 

Life and love are two things so woefully neglected by many people, most of us simply existing instead; but if you live to the fullest and love to the fullest, then you will change the world for someone else.

 

Truly.

 

The End.